For a moment, Aveline simply looked at her. Then she laughed. A short bark of a thing, rusty from lack of use. "You're very good at this." The admission escaped before she could stop it.
Hospitality. Reassurance. Making people feel welcome. Whatever gift it was, Iris wielded it as naturally as a knight wielded a sword. Aveline shifted her weight.. The armour is warm enough outside; in the steam of the bathhouse the weight of it seems almost unbearable. "Very well." A reluctant nod. "I'll reserve judgement until after the bath. If I emerge transformed, I'll concede defeat." It is an almost alien thing, this kindness, and it makes Aveline acutely aware of how out of practice she is at receiving service. This sort of service, that is, the kind that isn't a tankard of ale slammed in front of you with a grunt.
Unbidden, it makes her think of her student days. Scrounging together enough coin for a trip to the bathhouse, revelling in the luxury of it; the steam soothing muscles aching from too many hours hunched over scrolls. It feels almost wrong, as though Iris is speaking to a version of Aveline that no longer exists. There is a sudden fear, as though this woman might identify Aveline as a fraud, an interloper in this place.
The sound of Avelineβs laughter was a rough-edged and unexpected thing, like the crack of a branch underfoot in an otherwise silent forest. Iris felt the corners of her own lips lift voluntarily, just slightly, at the unfamiliar warmth of it. It was a small thing, that laughter, but it carried the weight of sincerity, and that was rarer thing than the sycophantic titter of a courtier. "You could say Iβve had some years to practice," she admitted, her voice light but laced with truth. The bathhouse had been her stage for so long now, her performance so finely honed that even she sometimes forgot the lines were, in fact, rehearsed. But Avelineβs reaction was a reminder that not everyone saw the world through the same cynical lens, tainted by her past. It was... refreshing.
Her gaze flicked over the swordwoman, taking in the way the steam seemed to cling to her, the way the heat of the bathhouse made the armor look like a burden rather than a shield. "Do you frequent other bathhouses on your journeys?" she asked, the question genuinely curious. "If youβd like me to run down all the facilities we offer, including a complimentary soft towel for new guests, I will gladly do so."
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Night enveloped Novigrad, the sky alive with bright stars and a moon half full. It was the most dangerous time to be caught unsuspecting, but Felix wasn't exactly the type to keep his wits about him. He was rather more the kind to simply walk with his head up, one foot in front of the other, and never dare to imagine the worst. Novigrad's busy streets were a far cry from Oxenfurt's, but still, it took more than the smell of the city to dampen his spirits.
This street, however, was calm at this time of night, much like the ones he was used to. There was only the figure of one person walking quite a way ahead of him, minding their own business he imagined. But as he took another step and felt the crunch of metal underfoot, he looked down to realise he had stumbled upon a coin purse. It must be the stranger's! He picked it up, tightening its string, and took off after them. "Hello!" He called, hailing their attention.
The moonlight caught the glint of the purse in his hand, and Iris felt the familiar prickle of exasperation crawl up her spine. As she watched him blindly follow his first instinct, she did wonder why she had ever allowed him to strike a deal with her. She had seen this scene before. The way he moved, all earnestness and no caution, as if the world were a place that rewarded such blind trust and kindness. She almost let him suffer the expected consequences. And yet, here she was, stepping from the shadows like some guardian spirit, her arm outstretched to halt his reckless charge into whatever trap awaited him.
She exhaled sharply, the sound more irritation than breath. "Donβt." A single word touched with a tinge of ice. For Felix, with his puppy-dog eyes and disarming smiles, was still a fool even if she did chose to keep him from harm today. Her gaze flicked from the purse to his face, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips despite herself. "Have you seen this city?" she asked, the words laced with the kind of patience one reserved for children and drunks. "Nobody loses a full purse like that, if not on purpose. - Besides, I think you might need it where you are going."
where:Β the Serpentine bathhouse, Novigrad
when:Β late evening
with:Β Damian van Lowka @the-heart-eater
This late in the evening the air in the Serpentine Bathhouse was thick with steam and the quiet murmur of the few patrons left who were eager for a nightly soak. All seemed quiet and peaceful, but Iris had always been able to sense the shift in the atmosphere before she saw its cause. It was a prickling at the back of her neck, a tightening in her gut. An instinct honed over years of navigating Novigradβs underbelly, and surviving hostile conditions the years prior. So when the worker burst in, her face pale and her words tumbling over one another, Iris knew. She didnβt rush. Hurry was for the reckless, and Iris van Rinde had long since learned the value of patience. But her steps were deliberate as she moved through the labyrinth of tiled halls and scented air.
The heat grew heavier as she approached the more secluded chambers, it's steam curling like ghostly fingers around her. Even through the haze, in a place dimly lit, he was hard to miss. Somehow he felt like a presence that seemed to bend the air around him. His posture seemingly careless as ever, unfazed by the chaos he had possibly left in his wake outside of her doors. She arched a brow, her voice cool and calm as she spoke "Eager to scare the children tonight, Maester van Lowka?" she remarked, "The poor child at the door thought I would either find a murder victim floating in my baths or would soon be a lifeless husk myself."
She folded her arms, the fabric of her dress whispering against the tile. The last time they had spoken, it had been about a deal that had proven far more elusive than either of them had anticipated. But Iris was not a woman to abandon a hunt once she had set her sights on the prize. And Damian, for all his theatrics, was a man who knew the value of a promise. "You look as though youβve been through the wars," she observed, her voice dropping to a murmur. "Or perhaps youβve just started one."
where: books and scrolls, hierarch square
when: evening
with: open!
As the sun sets over Hierarch Square, Aled aep Gruffydd emerges from his shop to a chorus of plaintive meows from the motley trio of cats gathered around his door. It seems the absence of the two temple guards usually installed on the street outside has made them bold, and he himself breathes that bit easier, in turn. "Hello, my dears," he says in a soft, fond voice as he bends to scratch the friendliest - a whip-thin ginger tom - behind its ears.
But it is not only animals brought to the streets by the promise of a golden midsummer evening, and Aled looks up as he senses the presence of another. Supposing them to be a prospective customer, he straightens, his expression suitably apologetic as he moves to address them. "Sorry, I'm afraid I'm already closed for the day," he says, before glancing back down at his feline companions, "Ah, unless one of these is yours? I imagine even the most well-loved cat might fancy themselves a stray, if it meant a soft-hearted fool might feed them..."
It was this ginger tom cat the shopkeeper seemed so fond of that noticed her few. Sensing her gaze, flicked its tail in her direction before returning to the safety of Aledβs scratches. She had seen this scene before, the bookkeeper's softness for creatures that most would shoo away. It was a trait that amused her somehow, though she would never admit to finding it endearing.
She shook her head at his question, the motion deliberate as if to actively dispel the very idea of ownership. "Have one of your dear friends here have ever confessed to you about having affinity to large quantities of water?" she said, her voice laced with dry amusement, "Besides, if one of them were mine I suspect they would have long since learned the folly of expecting affection from me." The words she spoke were light, but there was an edge to them. A quiet acknowledgment of the truth of having spent a lifetime ensuring nothing and no one could be a weakness. Cats, with their fickle loyalties, were no exception.
Her gaze flicked to the shopfront, to the darkness beyond it's windows at the dayβs trade had ended. "No exceptions for a fellow entrepreneur? Covering the town in frilly flowers, or whatever your plans were for this evening, can wait a few minutes, can it not?
Aveline has never been a vain woman, nor has she cared about creature comforts in a long time. But when in a town, she does enjoy the chance to soak in the warm, clean steam of a bathhouse. It is simply better than scrubbing off the dirt in a cold river. The Serpentine Bathhouse is, regrettably, rather nicer than she'd been led to believe by the traveller in the tavern who directed her to it. Immediately upon entering, she feels like a fish out of water, with her grubby armour, with weeks of sweat and dirt in her hair, with soil and blood beneath her nails.
She becomes really quite alarmed when Iris approaches her. This woman is perfectly manicured. The air is fragrant. The echo of each sound on the tiles echoes dizzyingly.
"Either your establishment is far better than advertised, or I'm far more tired than I thought." Aveline says gruffly. Gruffness is her response to discomfort, and she really does feel uncomfortable right now. Beautiful women tend to have this effect on her, only compounding how awkward and out of place she feels. @caedmilfolie
Iris nodded her head as a greeting. The well-practiced smile, that did not quite meet the eyes, unwavering as she studied the knight before her. The womanβs armor bore the marks of a journey she believed longer than the road to Novigrad, and there was a weariness in her stance. The bathhouseβs warmth had different affects on different people and it seemed like it clung to the woman before her like an unfamiliar embrace.
Her chuckle was soft, a melody of amusement that carried just the right note of understanding. "It's not often that I meet someone who finds my establishment regrettably nicer than expected." the hostess hummed, "The people of Novigrad tend to be quite the critics. Naturally, I think I offer nothing but the best to our customers, but I suggest you enjoy some time here to come up with your final judgement. - Decide who was right after all" Iris gestured lightly toward the steam-filled halls beyond, where the murmur of voices and the gentle splash of water painted a picture of indulgence.
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Β in Novigrad, names have a way of reaching the wrong ears, and IRIS VAN RINDE is one spoken more often than most. the HUMAN Β has lingered in the city for ELEVEN YEARS, working as a/an OWNER OF THE SERPENTINE BATHHOUSE. depending on who you ask theyβre either RESILIENT or DETACHED. the eternal fire has yet to decide which. their presence is steeped in QUIET FOOTSTEPS IN A DARKENED CORRIDOR, THE RATTELING OF GILDED CHAINS, and STEAM RISING FROM WARM WATER IN ORNATE STONE POOLS , the kind that draws attentionβ¦ and not always the right kind. speak carefully. the pyres are always hungry.
Bio in bulletpoints (tw: Child labor, manipulation)
Irisβ childhood was no warm nest but a game of survival. Born the fourth of five children to a destitute family in the small town of Rinde, near the Temerian border, Iris was sold into service to the Count of Troffke at the age of ten. Her parents, unable to care for all of their children, saw it as a mercy. A place she would get fed, perhaps learn a thing or two with the small chance that she might once rise above their faith.
The young girl quickly proved her worth as a sharp-eyed, silent, and resourceful servant. Not only quick with her tasks, but resourceful as well. The Countess, impressed by both wit and discretion, chose her to be a personal informant within the household. A child nobody expected to listen became a resourceful shadow within the household. Little by little, Iris became more proficient in the art of espionage and learned the value of secrets.
Iris was never mind to uncover secrets of the lady of the house herself, so it was a fire that would almost certainly cause her to get burned. At the age of 14 she uncovered the Countessβs affair with Sigismund Dijkstra, a rising power in Redanian politics. A secret she kept with her safely for over 2 years until it came to light. When the affair was exposed along with several allegations of high treason, the Count and Countess chose exile over execution. A deal offered to them by the sly Redanian, who had returned wielding more power than ever before. Iris intends to flee with them, but Dijkstra, seeing her potential, intercepted her with the offer of a deal: five years of unyielding loyalty in exchange for her life and future freedom.
The five year mark came, after years spent training and serving missions in various parts of the known world where Redania needed eyes. It was during this time that the man she had always reported to fell from grace at the court of King Radovid. With the change in power, Sigismund found a way to track Iris down and presented her with a contract she had no recollection of signing. Still trapped in his web, knowing well enough he still had contacts that could track her down, she followed. Witnessing another rise, but this time not in the light but in the darkness of the criminal world. Under the alias Sigi Reuven, Dijkstra co-founds the Syndicate, an underground alliance of criminals and corrupt officials who claimed their aim was to stabilize Novigradβs chaos. Eleven years ago, he placed Iris in the Serpentine Bathhouse, a place where city dwellers came to relax, merchants camee to discuss investments and the heads of the criminal underworld planned their murky dealings. A den of secrets he entrusted her with, only because she was still firmly in his grasp. She learns the art of power and laundering influence, all while masking her true allegiance.
Iris excelled in her role, turning the bathhouse into a hub for Novigradβs locals andΒ underworld alike. She charmed, blackmailed, and outmaneuvered rivals, slowly earning the respect. But she would never be content as a simple pawn when she was once promised more. She played the game better than her masters, using her wit, beauty, and ruthlessness to carve out her own influence. The serpent rose.
After six years in Novigrad, and over ten years in Sigismundβs service, Iris renegotiates her freedom with Dijkstra. The details of how she broke free are nothing but whispered words but she emerged no longer his subordinate, but almost his equal. Some whisper she held a blade to his throat. Others that she knew a secret even he couldnβt afford to leak. Whatever the truth, she regained her independence and chose to turn the Serpentine Bathhouse into her sole domain. Forging on to build her own empire as the Serpentine queen, hosting the powerful, desperate and the dangerous - for a price. She knows well enough that the game is endless and she can not afford to lose.Β
As Novigrad teeters on the brink of rebellion against the Eternal Fire, Iris watches, waits and schemes. She holds little to no loyalty to any faction, focussed manly on her own survival. But the tides are shifting, and the day comes closer that she might need to decide: Will she strike from the shadows, or will she finally risks careful steps into the light?
