Tangled Threads

Soltaevar Velca seeks the truth. [CLOSED]

Fellsgard is the foundation of Khy'eras' history and through reconstruction, it is now a vibrant and lively city. People reside here due to mild climate, opportunities, and safety and stability. Adventures often start from Fellsgard. Read more...
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Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar woke up with his face smashed into the pillow, wearing yesterday’s shirt and little else. Groaning, he cracked his neck to work out the kinks his uncomfortable sleeping position had afforded him. A trail of clothing from the door showed how tired he’d been; one shoe lying haphazardly across the room where it had clearly been kicked off, pants puddled on the floor, socks flung toward - but not on - a nearby chair, not to mention his half-unbuttoned shirt he’d slept in.

After a very hasty scrub, he piled the discarded clothes with the others. ‘About time to get everything laundered again,’ he thought. He dressed, trying to remember what he had scheduled for today. There were no more visits left in Ajteire on behalf of Mistfire. At least today he could enjoy Rembina Mélamar’s delicious breakfast without rushing off.

As he came into the lobby, the desk clerk waved him over. “Mister Velca, an urgent letter came in for you,” they said, handing him an envelope.

“Thank you,” Sol said, taking the letter and opening it as he turned away. He pulled out the piece of paper, scanning the letter. “The Citadel - Cetnisadel Bay - a storm, injuries - representative of Mistfire,” he muttered as he read.

Well, as best he knew, he was the closest person to the Bay; he’d send a response informing the managers under him that he would oversee the repairs. Asking the desk for a paper and pen, Sol began to scribble a notice to the staff at Mistfire as he ordered breakfast.

He wiped the crumbs from his mouth and took the letter over to the desk. The clerk promised to send it express immediately and was about to turn away when Sol stopped them. “This is unfortunately a bit of an emergency. Would there be a way to rush an order of laundry?”

“Well - yes, but it’s double the cost,” the clerk said, looking up at him.

“Not a problem. I’ll have everything bagged up in just a moment. I will need them finished by the end of the day or first thing in the morning at the latest.” Sol began to fish in his pocket for coins, but the clerk held up a hand.

“I’ll put it on your bill. Don’t worry about fussing with coins.”

“Thank you,” Sol said and left. He hurried to his room, cramming the laundry sack full with every article of clothing he could find that had been worn. He put it just inside the door to the room as he exited.

The next order of business would be finding a way to get to Cetnisadel Bay. He’d have to find a ship to take him; Cetnisadel was curiously isolated for being a well-known port. Ajteire, despite being on a river, had little in the way of boats or ships. He remembered there being a port - Mar’duin - where the southern fork Ordinuad spilled into Res’lora Azure, the great sea.

Considering his options, Sol thought that if he could make it to the port tomorrow morning, he could probably find passage on a ship heading to the Bay. He’d need to get there quickly, though, and that was a dicey prospect in Ninraih’s forests. Even a fast horse might not be enough.

He saw an advertisement for a stable on the eastern edge of town offering discounts to Rangers and touting their “extraordinary” mounts. Sol huffed an incredulous chuckle. Well, he’d go by the stable and see what their mounts could do.

He approached a large sign on a tall fence, indicating the stable he sought lay inside. Pushing the door open, Sol approached the first stablehand he saw. “I saw your ad. I need a mount that can take me to Mar’duin by mid-afternoon tomorrow. What do you have?”
Word count: 656
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I could be anybody!
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by NPC »

The stable hand that approached Soltaevar had seen better days. His face was practically covered with dirt and there were scratches and bruises marring his skin. One would have thought the youthful Fae was involved in a series of battles, but no, this was the territory that came with taming Ajteran mounts. The creatures were often unpredictable and feral upon arriving to the stables, but once tamed and able to ride, the animals were optimal choices for getting around the tangled jungles.

Despite all of this, the stable hand met Soltaevar with a pleasant grin on his face, giving a quick bow in greeting to the much cleaner and taller Elf. When standing straight again, the Fae's wings flicked out a little bit behind him and he nodded, placing a hand thoughtfully under his chin for the briefest of moments.

"Ah, the quaint little port of Mar'duin," he said. "Lately the path there has been covered with a messy patchwork of flowers and vines. You'll need a mount both fast and athletic! Something that will be able to leap over roots without missing a beat. I believe I have just the thing. One moment, please."

Turning away from Soltaevar, the Fae walked down the hall to a stable that was partly obscured by shadow. Even with Soltaevar's height (and probably keen eyesight), it was unclear what the stable hand was attaching a saddle to. Eventually, the door to the stall swung open and out came the stable hand with a velociraptor that predominantly had brown, leathery skin but was marked with auburn colored stripes much like a tiger's pattern. The reptile was about eight feet in height, supported by two strong legs adorned with talons.

When reaching Soltaevar, the stable hand held the reins to the bridle out to the Elf. "This here is Muffins! Don't let his name fool you though. He's a powerhouse and will not only get to your destination fast, but he'll protect you along the way."

To this comment, Muffins offered what appeared to be a smile, a deadly set of pointed teeth encased in an elongated snout.
Word count: 353
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Sol glanced up at Muffins’ toothy smile, and forced down the sensation of unease. He took the reins from the stablehand, gripping them firmly. “Ah, I’ll need a runner to go to Rembina Mélamar. They’ll need to drop off something and pick up some personal items.” Fishing in his pockets, Sol pulled out a coin pouch and dumped it into his hand.

He calculated roughly how much he owed for his stay, his laundry, and a tip for their services. Tossing a number of coins back in the bag, he tied the bag close and shoved the remainder of the coins into his coat. “I don’t think Muffins would be welcome in the tourist sections,” Sol said with a half-smile.

A younger Fae came to the whistle of the stablehand, looking at Sol with curiosity. The Kerasokan handed the pouch to the Fae. “Take this to Rembina Mélamar, tell them you’re closing out the Velca account for this stay, and ask for personal articles. They have my laundry,” he said, chuckling slightly.

Taking off into the sky, the younger man hurried to obey. Turning back to Muffins, Sol studied the tack on the reptile’s back. Fortunately, it was similar enough to horse’s tack that he could figure out how to mount without trouble. Muffins scratched at the ground, impatient to be off.

“Anything in particular I should know about Muffins before we head off? And does your stable have a representative there who can take him?” Sol asked, addressing the roughened stablehand.

“Not much. Should be someone there, just before the docks. Oh, here’s some snacks for him, if he gets peckish,” the stablehand said, turning and dragging a large bag of meaty bits over to them. Sol thought he saw parts of bird carcasses and offal from animals he couldn’t identify. The stablehand crammed them into the right saddlebag and buckled it down. “There, all settled.”

Sol blinked and resolved to stay on Muffins’ good side as much as possible. “I’ll make sure he stays well sated then. As soon as your lad makes it back, we’ll head out. No point in waiting.” Muffins nodded, as if in agreement.

The young Fae landed noisily with Sol’s case in his arms. He panted as he handed it over. “They said they got most of it clean, but-” he stopped to put his hands on his knees, wings drooping. “Didn’t press them, and kinda shoved them in. Didn’t argue, hope that was okay,” he said with a deep exhale.

“That’s fine. I appreciate your speed,” Sol said, and handed the man a half silver. The Fae’s face brightened and his wings fluttered in excitement. Sol wiggled his case into the saddlebag; tight, but it fit well enough. He handed the stablehand a handful of coins. “I’m fairly sure that’s more than the rental charge, but keep it. You’ve accommodated my requests admirably.”

Holding Muffins’ reins by the front of the saddle, Sol set his foot in the near stirrup and jumped hard to maneuver up into the saddle. He barely caught himself in time to keep from thudding on the animal’s back. Muffins let out a loud screech as Sol nudged him forward.

Guiding his mount to the trails leading east, Sol started to accustom himself to Muffins’ unusual gait. The animal had honestly begun to remind him of a chicken - an enormous, featherless, hungry chicken. Watching the path disappear under Muffins’ bobbing head, Sol began to think he might make it to Mar’duin in good time after all.
Word count: 611
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Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Muffins had carried Sol just past the official border of Ajteire when he heard a guttural growl. Looking over his shoulder, Sol noticed the leaves and bushes waving some paces distant. Muffins continued on the path, seeming utterly unconcerned.

A few paces on, Sol noticed that the murmur of birdsong had disappeared. Only the rustling and an occasional growl broke the silence. He patted his pockets and waistband, searching for a penknife or anything that might be usable as a weapon. The Ninraih forests were known to be home to many predators and the ambient magic often amplified their traits.

Finding nothing he could use, Sol debated spurring Muffins on, but there was no guarantee that they could outrun whatever was stalking them. The road to Mar’duin had proved as hazardous as the stablehand had warned. Trees hung into the path, vines and roots crawled across the way, and brightly colored flowers - probably poisonous - threatened to brush against travelers. Though unconventional, Muffins was proving to be well chosen for the terrain and kept a steady pace through it all.

Suddenly, a shape crashed through the underbrush. A vaguely human shape stumbled on the trail and began moving toward them. Sol glanced back, seeing the figure. The chalky skin and shambling gait identified it immediately. “Shit!” Sol hissed, instinctively squeezing Muffins tightly.

Muffins swung his giant head around to the side to see what had unsettled his rider. As he caught sight of the undead running toward them, Muffins swerved quickly. Loosing a growling staccato call, he ran toward the rotting figure, teeth bared. Sol clung to the saddle, white-knuckled, and gave Muffins as much slack as possible.

Another figure shuffled up to its companion and snarled. Muffins reached the original undead first, rearing back and clamping his jaws on the creature’s neck. The reptile shook it vigorously, saliva and scraps of rotting flesh spattering the area. Reaching up with one of his feet, Muffins’ talons sliced through the softened flesh, effectively shredding the entrails of the undead.

He flung the dripping, decaying carcass at the newer undead, catching it by surprise. The second figure tried to turn and run, but Muffins chomped viciously on its neck as well. Sol winced as he heard bones splinter and break between his mount’s teeth.

With a jerk, Muffins tossed the corpse atop the other. He stomped on top of the two bodies and raked his talons through them, as though they were nothing more than mud he wished to be rid of. After a number of vigorous swipes, Muffins stood tall and called loudly, the deep sound reverberating in the trees.

Sol patted his mount’s shoulder weakly. Remembering the stable hand had packed ‘treats’ for the animal, he leaned back and pulled out a chicken carcass. “Muffins, good boy,” he said, voice shaking slightly. He tossed the meat a little in front of Muffins’ enormous head. “Good boy, get your treats,” Sol told him, trying to cajole the creature much like he would his own cats.

Muffins scooped up the chicken, crunching bones and feathers in his mouth. Sol gently tapped the reptile after he’d eaten. “Good boy, let’s get going.” Muffins obliged, resuming his previous ground-eating gait. Sol felt a rumble from beneath him; if he wasn’t fairly sure he knew better, he’d think Muffins was purring.

---

The sky was beginning to lighten as Muffins came to the lanterns that marked the edge of Mar’duin. Sol clung wearily to the saddle. They hadn’t encountered any more undead, though Muffins had let out a few rumbles and shrieks at some rustlings in the brush. Sol had thrown him more treats after these occasions and that saddlebag was conspicuously flatter now.

Though he’d caught a brief catnap or two, Sol felt like he’d been running right alongside Muffins. The enormous reptile didn’t seem terribly fatigued, but he was noticeably less bouncy. Sol guided his mount toward the docks. Muffins suddenly reared a bit and gave a shrill cry.

“Muffins, ya daft lizard!” called a woman from a squat wood building a little in front of them. “You’ll wake everyone, an’ then we’ll both be sorry!” Sol let Muffins trot over to the woman.

“So, um, I gather you’ll be taking him now,” Sol said dumbly as he scrambled off Muffin’s back. His boots landed on the ground with an ungraceful thump. Muffins swung his head around and Sol automatically reached to scratch him. The reptile closed his eyes in pleasure as Sol scratched around his eyes and petted the top of his head.

“If you’re here for a ship, you’d best hurry. Like to set off first thing,” the woman said, trying to bite back a grin.

“Just need my things,” Sol said. He turned and wiggled his case out of the saddlebag. “Oh, and one more thing.” He went and opened the other saddlebag, pulling out the mostly empty bag of treats. “Here you go, Muffins,” he said, dumping the remaining bits in front of the reptile.

Muffins stuck his face into the pile, scooping it up gleefully. He gave a rattling call and butted the stablehand with his head. The woman rolled her eyes. “Silly thing.”

Sol gave Muffins a pat and then picked up his case. “My thanks again to the stable. I admit I was skeptical, but Muffins was a perfect mount for the route.” The woman nodded, her eyes and hands already focused on Muffins.

Sol trudged to the docks. He knew the captains would want to be off as soon as possible. If he was lucky he might find a ship that needed an extra hand and he could leave off being ‘the boss’ for a few days.

Coming to the first ship, he found they were headed to Verdant Row by way of the Preldova Narrows. He shuddered, remembering one passage that had cost dearly. The second ship was going to Cetnisadel Bay. Speaking to the first mate, Sol offered himself as crew.

The man eyed him up and down, clearly not impressed. “You, crew? I ain’t signin’ you on without the captain’s say-so.”

Sol raised an eyebrow. “Can you get the captain, then?”

The first mate huffed as he turned. Sol caught him muttering about the captain having enough to do as he walked. The man came back shortly, with a stocky, dark-haired woman. “This here gentleman-” the first mate said, pointing to Sol. “Wants to sign on as crew for the run to Cetnisadel.”

The woman’s tan face bore a look of doubt. “You look awful soft to be working as a sailor. What business do you have in Cetnisadel?”

“I’m there to check on a ship for Mistfire Trading Company,” Sol replied. “I’ve sailed before, many a time, but work has kept me on land a while.”

The captain squinted, rubbing her face. “And what did you say your name was?”

“Sol Velca,” he said, sighing to himself.

“Sol Velca? As in, Soltaevar Velca, head of Mistfire Trading?” The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, we can arrange a cabin for you, sir, not a worry about that.”

“I’d rather be with the crew-” Sol began.

“Now, now, I can’t have it said I mistreated Soltaevar Velca on my ship,” she said with an indulgent chuckle. “Besides, you fumble and hurt yourself, and it’s me and my crew’s necks on the line.”

“I would never-” Sol said, flushing red. “Madam, I’m not sure what you have heard of me, but I take my failings on myself like any other sailor.” Unconsciously, he’d begun to fall into a more aggressive stance.

“Either way, if you set foot on this ship, you’ll not be working for me.” The captain crossed her arms over her chest, staring him down. Her first mate mimicked her posture, standing a step behind.

Sol huffed. “So be it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I must get to Cetnisadel. Please show me to wherever I’m to be useless dead weight on the journey.”

The captain nodded sharply and the first mate came forward. He took Sol’s case, slinging it on his shoulder. “Follow me, sir,” the first mate said, ignoring Sol’s gesture of protest.

Fuming, Sol followed the man up the gangplank to a generously sized cabin. “Here you are,” the first mate said, swinging the case down. “Galley’s down to starboard aft, head’s on the larboard side down the hall here.” He pointed down the narrow passage at a door. “If you’ll excuse me, sir,” the first mate said with a nod and a crisp turn before walking out.

Sol sat on the bunk and growled. He kicked the edge of his case, sending it to bump the opposite wall. ‘What am I going to do on ship as a passenger? Twiddle my fucking thumbs?!’ Stewing, he shoved his back against the wall.

He heard the calls of the crew preparing to cast off and leave the docks. Surely, he could at least watch on deck, he thought, and made his way out. “Mister Velca,” the captain said as he emerged. “Why don’t you stand by the wheel where you’ll be safe.”

Sol’s anger flared again. “I wouldn’t wish to crowd you, captain,” he forced himself to say in a relatively even tone. “Surely an unobtrusive observer at the waist would be in little danger?”

Giving an indulgent chuckle, the captain shook her head. Sol tried not to stomp to the indicated spot like a petulant teenager. On deck was still better than in the cabin, he reminded himself. Sailors passed around him as he walked, Sol moving instinctively to avoid running into them.

The captain raised an eyebrow. Giving orders to her crew, she ignored Sol, which he expected. He watched the sailors go about their work, studying them. As the sails filled with wind, he eyed their rigging. “Captain, you may want to ask the bo’s’un to have that sail eased away,” Sol commented, pointing.

Pausing, the captain studied the sail and then Sol. She called an order out, which was relayed to one of the seamen. “Hm. I guess you know enough to not be a nuisance,” she commented. “You’re welcome to be on deck, as long as I don’t hear anything against you from the crew.” Sol nodded his thanks and watched the carefully orchestrated movements of the crew.
Word count: 1772
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Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

(See The Wind at Our Backs for Sol's time in Cetnisadel Bay)

Soltaevar Velca stood and stretched. Though travel could be interesting and occasionally enlightening, there was something to be said for one’s own bed, he mused. His trip to Ajteire had proved both fruitful and fruitless, for work and his personal life respectively. Now that he was back in Fellsgard, his docket of things to do threatened to extend from his house in the north to the bottom of the docks in the west.

Fortunately, Mistfire had capable managers and could mostly handle its own affairs. He did intend to ask about how their agents reached Ajteire - damnit. Verlas. He hadn’t sent word to her that he’d had to leave early due to the Citadel being damaged. Sol hoped she hadn’t turned down any other guide jobs to wait on him.

Striding over to his desk, he pulled a sheet of paper toward himself. Before the pen touched the paper, he thought better of it. Instead, he wrote a note to the team that oversaw the traveling agents of Mistfire. He wanted to know if any agents had preferred guides to and from Ajteire, and if having a permanent guide would be preferred. Better to write Verlas once he knew if he could offer her and her brother a secure position, he thought.

He set the pen down, folding the paper and sealing it. Dominic could have someone deliver it; maybe the maid or the footman wanted to take a bit of a walk. Sol slumped back in his chair, toying with the edge of the letter. There wasn’t anything pressing, other than making sure he had the things he would need for Claira and her yet-unborn kittens.

Maybe he should just take the letter himself, check on the office, and ramble about town. A knock at the door caught his attention. “Come in,” he called.

“Sir, the housekeeper wished to know if - why are you not dressed?” Dominic crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his employer.

“I’m not naked,” Sol pointed out, amused. “I’m wearing a shirt and trousers, clearly.”

“But no waistcoat! No doublet, no coat either!” Dominic’s frown deepened. He sighed. “You may not be ‘naked’ but neither are you fit to go out in Fellsgard. In Ajteire, you might get away with that, but not here. And well you know it.”

Sol groaned. “I still find all the frippery distracting and unnecessary, but I’ll put something on - to please you.” Ignoring the face Dominic made, Sol began rummaging through his closet. “Something plain, something plain-”

Dominic interrupted him by handing him a rather plain gray linen waistcoat and a dark blue coat. “Here. Your friend O’Dell must despair of you.”

“Often.” Sol slid his arms into the waistcoat, fastening it, before repeating with the coat. “Come to think of it, I should probably go see him today.”

“Trying to see if he’ll take one of Claira’s next litter?” Dominic asked with a raised eyebrow. “She’s getting round.”

Nodding, Sol picked up the letter and slid it in his pocket. “I already asked and was told no.”

“Not surprising. He took a kitten from one of the last litters, didn’t he?” The butler thought for a moment. “Maybe he knows of someone looking for a cat, a colleague perhaps.”

“Good idea. I’ll ask. What did Merry want to know?” Sol asked, as he fished out shoes and slid his feet into them. He kicked his slippers aside to the pained look of Dominic.

“What you wanted done with those little tins that got thrown in your luggage.”

“Oh! Those you can leave on the dressing table. Marvelous salve I came across in Ninraih - my forest guide’s mother made it.” Dominic gave Sol a look of mild scorn.

“Is there anything else, sir?” Dominic straightened his spine, returning to a strictly formal demeanor.

“No, that’s all,” Sol replied, grinning. He leaned in toward his butler. “Nick.” Dominic gave him a scathing glare before turning smartly on his heel and marching off.

---

Sol hummed as he walked down the street toward The Fine Gentleman’s Attire. He’d delivered his letter to the office, surprised a few people who hadn’t expected him, and ducked out before his presence could become common knowledge. If he hadn’t been expected to still be away, he would have felt guilty - but as it was, he didn’t at all.

Stepping in the door of Dash’s shop, he heard a bell jingle. One of the apprentices appeared, stuttered a quick greeting, and disappeared behind the curtains. “Well. Mister Soltaevar Velca. What an unexpected surprise.” Dash strode forward from the back room.

Sol stiffened slightly, a guilty expression beginning to emerge on his face. “Mister O’Dell,” he replied, matching the formality of Dash’s address. “I don’t suppose you might have the leisure for lunch? My treat, of course,” he added hurriedly.

“A moment.” Dash returned to the back room, where Sol heard him speaking to someone. Reappearing, Dash held his coat over his arm. “May I ask after the nature of this appointment?”

“Apologies?” offered Sol.

Dash huffed and put on his coat. “If you would lead the way.”

Sol led them out onto the main street. “The Knight and Marquis? Or would you rather something less ostentatious?”

“I’d rather you spit it out. What hare-brained scheme took you off to Ajteire not a day after dinner at my house?” Dash looked entirely unamused.

“Well - you see - I thought I might catch Inessa there-” Sol began.

“More fool you, then. She’d already been out there some time, man-hunting, most likely.”

“Mm, yes. That’s more or less what I found out - that she’d headed back west a few days before. I just - I wanted to know, Dash,” Sol said. He sighed.

“And now you’re back in Fellsgard to chase another trail. Rather different timetable than in your note, I might add,” Dash said, heading in the direction of The Knight and Marquis.

“One of the ships took a beating, and I was closest, so I volunteered to oversee the work,” Sol replied.

“Volunteered - like it was such a sacrifice. I’m pretty sure that in the same sentence you told the managers about the damage and that you’d go.” Dash snickered. “Still on about going to sea again?”

“I - it’ll depend on how this whole situation untangles,” Sol said. “I would enjoy being on a ship again, but if I’m needed here-”

“Ever dutiful, eh? Do remember that if it turns out that you have a child, they’re grown by now.” Dash turned into the avenue that led to University Square. “It’s not like you’d need to be on hand to supervise their education or make sure they eat their dinner.”

“Yes. I know. I’ve missed out on that already.” Sol swallowed hard, his words having an edge as he spoke.

Dash patted his arm companionably. “Since I gather you’re probably not taking my advice against seeking out Inessa, I’ll get started on some clothing for you. I can’t have you swanning about society soirees in waistcoats ten years out of fashion. Like that one,” he said, poking Sol in the chest.

“It’s plain!” Sol protested.

Dash chuckled. “The cut and collar aren’t fashionable anymore, and the new fad is glass cabochons in buttons for dress clothing. It looks old and like you’re either broke or completely out of touch with the social scene in Fellsgard.”

“I’m not broke anymore,” grumbled Sol. He bumped Dash with his elbow lightly.

“Then don’t dress like it!”

Groaning, Sol rolled his eyes. “It’s so ridiculous, the fashion and the fads. Why can’t we all just have nice fitting clothing and agree to be done.”

“Because then I wouldn’t have a shop.”

“Fair. Okay, why can’t I-”

“Because like it or not, with Mistfire’s wealth and reputation, you’ve become a gentleman of standing in this city, and dressing in respect to that station is expected,” sighed Dash. “I know you’d be happy if I made you a pile of plain, everyday trousers and shirts, but you’re expected to be the exemplar of Mistfire’s wealth.”

“And here I hoped I’d not have to deal with the excess fripperies of rank ever again once I told the Orlbelle elders to shove it,” Sol grumbled, grimacing. “Businesswear is one thing, but all the ever-changing formal fashions - it’s never made sense to me.”

“Would it help if I said it doesn’t have to?” Dash clapped a hand on Sol’s back and steered him toward the restaurant. “Now, we’re going to eat, you’re going to pay, and we’re going to discuss your situation. Tell me what you’ll put up with in the way of fancy dress, and I’ll see if I can scare up an invitation and an outfit for you - for which I expect you to foot the bill on all my expenses.”

Sol waited until the hostess’ back was turned to stick out his tongue at Dash. “Fine, and I would anyway. My fault you’re getting dragged into this, and though I’m loathe to admit it, I probably should have at least one good suit of clothes for this sort of thing.”

“Oh, I’m going to have to mark this in my diary. ‘Today, Soltaevar Velca admitted I was right.’ “ Dash mimed a flourish with a quill pen. “Diana might even make a cake for the occasion.”

Rolling his eyes, Sol bumped his friend. “Then you better invite me over.”

“If you’re lucky.”
Word count: 1662
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Dash had reminded Sol that formalwear is not created in an evening, but Sol didn’t relish pacing around his house for the next - however long. Claira wasn’t that far along yet - though he still fretted over her - and he felt the urge to unearth the truth. Despite Dash and Diana both having warned him away, he set out for the residence of Peter Marcant and his family.

-

“Sir, a Mister Soltaevar Velca to see you,” the butler for House Marcant announced with practiced formality. Peter Marcant took the calling card from the salver the butler held. Soltaevar Velca - now that was a name he’d not heard in a number of years. Nor, frankly, had he cared to, after that winter in Ajtiere two decades ago. Inessa had run off after being seen in Mr. Velca’s company frequently - and then turned up three years later with a half-elf child and no husband.

“I’ll see him. Send him in, Walter,” Peter commanded. The butler bowed and left. Peter steepled his hands, resting his elbows on the leather-topped desk in his study. Why was Mr. Velca turning up now?

The butler announced the man’s arrival as the tall, red-haired elf approached. “Mr. Marcant, thank you for agreeing to see me. I won’t waste your time.” Soltaevar took in a breath. “I’m trying to find Miss Marcant -”

“There is no ‘Miss Marcant’, Mr. Velca,” Peter said, barely managing to keep his voice from a growl. “There may be an Inessa Marcant living, but I know not where she is.”

Soltaevar fought the urge to step back from the anger in Peter Marcant’s eyes. “She’s still your family, though -”

“Not anymore.” Peter said flatly. “Not since the day seventeen years ago that she showed up, having been gone for three years, and disgraced the family.” He exhaled forcefully. “Why are you here, Mr. Velca?”

“I came seeking information. I see I have disturbed you, and for that I do apologize. I shall take my leave,” Soltaevar said, with a slight bow.

Peter snorted derisively. “Disturbed? Don’t you mean to say, disgraced? Or am I wrong in thinking Inessa’s bastard was your doing?” Soltaevar froze, hit with the sensation of icy water thrown on his back.

Soltaevar turned jerkily back to the angry man. “Bastard?”

Peter stood behind his desk, slamming his palms down. “Yes, bastard. A half-elf child. You were the one plying Inessa with honeyed words that winter. The child was of an age to have been-” He cut himself off. “Get out of my house, Soltaevar Velca.”

“My deepest and most sincere apologies,” mumbled Soltaevar. He rushed out of the house and on to the road. There was a child. She hadn’t been lying.

Tomorrow - he’d go back to Mistfire. Surely work could keep him busy. Tonight called for something from the liquor shelf.
Word count: 494
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Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
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Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

With Dash’s help, Soltaevar managed to find a party the beginning of the next week, finagling an invitation through a friend of a friend. The friend had promised that Inessa would be sure to be there; the hostess was known to throw lavish parties. Dash grumbled incessantly about ‘having to rush artistry’ but produced an outfit both formal and frivolous enough for the occasion.

On the night of the party, he approached a large house, well lit with lanterns and doors attended by conspicuous footmen. He passed through the doors and bypassed the room for cloaks, as his coach driver had dropped him off. Sol hadn’t gotten ten paces into the room before being approached by a very well-endowed middle-aged lady in a very low-cut dress.

“My goodness, Mister Velca! I’m so grateful you’ve come to my little soiree tonight; it’s well known the mysterious Mister Velca never comes to parties!” The hostess, whose name Sol couldn’t remember, bubbled over in greeting.

“Oh, I never say never,” Sol returned, smiling. “Thank you so much for the invitation.” He looked around the cavernous room. A large ballroom, with a dais at one end for musicians and a generous assortment of refreshments at one corner, was respectably full. Little knots of conversations were sprinkled around the room, with gentlemen darting between. With a final smile at his hostess, he began to amble amongst the groups.

Sol spotted her across the room, wearing an ice-blue gown that set off her dark blonde hair nicely. She’d worn her hair up in an explosion of curls that seemed to be the fashion now, he noted as he approached. “May I have the next dance?” he asked, carefully sliding into the group around her.

Inessa tipped her gaze down and looked up at him through her lashes. “That depends on if I may have your name,” she said. A smile tugged at her lips until she lifted her face.

“Velca,” he said. “Though you never called me that,” he continued in a quiet tone for her only.

“Soltaevar?” she whispered, her eyes wide. She blushed prettily still he saw, and she brought up her fan quickly. “I suppose you may,” she said, affecting a playful nonchalance. She hooked her hand through his arm, pressing hard against his forearm to lead him away.

Giving him a bright smile, Inessa hissed, “Why are you here?”

Sol shrugged. “I was in Ajteire recently. It reminded me so much - well, I wanted to see you.” He reflected her smile back to her.

She huffed, pursing her lips. “It’s been a very long time, Sol. I know you’ve been in Fellsgard. Why now, twenty years on?” Playing with her fan, Inessa presented a picture of flirtatiousness to everyone else, but Sol caught the nervous habits she’d had even as a much younger woman.

“I-” he stopped, trying to collect himself. “I’ve heard some things-” Inessa rolled her eyes, but he continued. “That tell me I should have trusted you, back then.”

“Really?” She lifted her eyebrows and gave him a derisive smile.

“Yes. Believe me, I never thought-” Sol was interrupted with the calling of the next dance - a waltz, which would at least allow for conversation. He led Inessa to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly into her ear as they assumed the dance’s positions. She gave a small shiver, his breath tickling her.

“Sorry for calling me a liar and a conniving spoiled brat, or that you abandoned me and your child?” She maintained a smile on her face that showed not at all in her voice.

“I- Yes. Both,” Sol bit the inside of his lip and tried to maintain an air of ease, though Inessa was clearly more practiced at dissembling.

“I tried to follow you, you know. After I realized you were well and truly gone, I found my family had left as well. Since there was no one left in Ajteire that cared if I lived or died, I used the last of my meager pocket money to bribe the stationmaster at Ninraih station so that I could ride with cargo.” She pushed his wrist up slightly, and he lifted his arm to spin her under and back.

Inessa settled back into his hold as though she enjoyed it though the glare she gave said otherwise. “I arrived in Verdant Row, heavy with your child, and couldn’t find anyone who even knew your name in more than the abstract.” She flashed a smile up at him, her eyes hard. “I found a tent and lived outside the town. A ghost took a liking to me, checking on me. They were so attentive to me, and they were there with me when the time came.”

Sol swung her gently in an arc in time to the music. “I-I’m sorry. It won’t make up for it, I know-”

“I had no one with me when I birthed my daughter, save for that ghost. They were the one that made certain I was not harmed - beyond the terrible pain of birth - and that I could feed the baby.” Sol spun her out again in response to her insistent cue. “They disappeared shortly after. I couldn’t do much of anything with a baby, and it took me three years before I could get back to Fellsgard.”

Inessa came closer then. “My father disowned me and, as he put it, my bastard. I had to find some way to keep me - oh, and your child - fed and clothed.” She swayed, mimicking enjoyment of the music. She kept her voice low. “Not many men were willing to help a young mother.”

Sol’s hand crept around her shoulder in an unconscious attempt to soothe her. “Inessa, I wish I’d known-”

“I did tell you. It’s all your fault. I had to rely on the kindness of strangers for all those years,” she said, her eyes and low tone angry. She twitched her shoulder to move his hand back.

“You’re right, it’s my fault,” he said placatingly. “I should have believed you.”

Sol saw her lips press together to suppress a smile. He’d barely caught it, but he’d seen it more than once when she had berated someone serving in one of the Ajteirian restaurants that catered to westerners. “I tried, Soltaevar. I had to live going from one house to another, getting my hopes up time and again only to be rejected and kicked out on the street.” She blinked rapidly, her eyes becoming slightly glassy with tears.

“One year, I lived out of a tent while I tried to find someone to help me. Another, I had to move from one end of the city to the country. The only way I had anything nice was when someone gave me a present.” She sniffled a little, though nary a tear had fallen.

“I am sorry, Inessa. I’d like to make it up to you and our daughter. Can I meet her?” Sol relaxed his arm, letting Inessa press closer.

Her cheeks flushed crimson. “You wouldn’t want to - she’s not very pretty, she was always a difficult child, and besides, she abandoned me five years ago,” Inessa said, angrily. “I was always working to make our lives better, and that’s how she repaid me.”

“That’s awful,” Sol replied, his eyes widening. ‘Was the young seamstress actually a spoiled runaway?’ he wondered. Inessa swallowed hard and met his eyes.

“I taught her her letters and a bit of needlework, tried to teach her to behave like a lady should, and then she tried to seduce the man that was helping me.” Her chin rose and her eyes were hard when they met Sol’s. “I told her she shouldn’t do such a thing considering how delicate my position there was, but in the morning her bed was empty.”

Inessa heaved a sigh. “I suppose I should have tried to help her more, but I did the best I could. She was never an easy child, and more than once I was at my wits’ end on how to reach her.” She tipped her head in a well-practiced look of manufactured shame.

Realizing that she had no current information, Sol led Inessa over to the refreshments as the dance ended. “Thank you for the dance, Inessa. I apologize for interrupting your evening, but I hope you’ll answer two more questions for me. One, are you alright now, with a place to stay? And two, what is our daughter’s name?”

A smile spread across Inessa’s face, which he’d begun to notice had rather more fine lines and red patches than the last time he’d seen her. “Someone is helping me now, but I don’t know if he might turn me out. I’ve seen your ships and your warehouse. Surely you could spare some money? Maybe ten gold?”

Sol gulped. He didn’t have that large a sum to hand, and he doubted that giving Inessa a banker’s draft would be the best course of action. “I’ve got three and a half gold and a handful of silver right now. I hope that will see you through the next few months?”

“I can make it do, I guess.” Inessa gave him an almost sad smile. She lifted her hand toward him.

“What of my other question, though?” Sol asked while pulling money from his coat pocket. “Our daughter’s name?” he prompted when Inessa looked confused.

“Oh. The ghost suggested her name. I couldn’t think of one,” Inessa said, clearly stalling. “Ksenia, that’s it,” she said at last, with an air of triumph.

“Thank you, Inessa,” Sol said as he handed the coins to her. His chest was tight as she carefully squirreled away the money. He handed her a cup of punch from the table, which she set down with a slight frown.

“Take me back to my friends, since you stole me from them,” she said, giving him a playfully chiding smile. She hooked her arm through his and pushed him into leading her across the room. Sol was reminded again of how much Inessa enjoyed being the center of attention and being in charge.

“Ah, Inessa, I wondered where you’d gone!” A dark haired woman in an ill-fitting dress scurried over. She tugged the shoulder back onto her arm as she spoke with Inessa. Sol gave Inessa a last smile and slid away into the crowd.

He ducked into an alcove leading away from the main ballroom. Inessa had confirmed his fears and hopes. Fear, that he’d unjustly accused a woman of lying and abandoning a child; and hope, that the talented young seamstress was his daughter and might come to see him as family. He’d missed having any semblance of family since his mother’s death fifteen years ago, and now it seemed Ixaziel had seen fit to give him another chance.

Sol slipped out of the house, avoiding the hostess - and potentially making a few enemies - so that he could run home. He had so many things he wanted to plan, so many things he wanted to do. It had been his fault that he had missed out on twenty years of his child’s life, but he had no intention of missing more.
Word count: 1927
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