Open [World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Zeltiva, Winter 516 AV, Day 7, Afternoon

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Salara Kel'Halavath on January 6th, 2017, 1:24 am

[World’s End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Zeltiva
Day 7, Winter 516 AV, Afternoon

Un-hooded, Salara stood firm against the winds that always seemed prevalent in coastal towns although these winds whipped more wildly than usual. Two long thin braids, wrapping remaining loose locks into two tails trailing behind her ears to nearly her waist, swayed in a controlled fashion. Her dark cloak does a teasing dance with each gust exposing a simple white gown which takes freedom’s advantage by whipping ‘round her sandal wrapped ankles until being captured and contained again by dark folds at each windy lull. Lifting her nose to the air she felt the potential of an atmospheric change. With this unseasonal warmth it could only mean rain was on the way.

Amongst the smells of salty sea and clean forest the wind changed bringing - Salara inhaled deeply - the smell of horses corralled at the World’s End Grotto. Should anyone stand close they might see her eyes become brighter and her attention more focused as she gazed over the colorful combinations of horseflesh captured behind the fence. She approached to rest her sharp-nailed hands on the wooden fence’s top rail. Being near hooved creatures always seemed to sharpen her mind; and of all times, now was a good time for clear thought.

Shifting winds again bring that nearly imperceptible - almost instinctual - tingle of too much moisture that meant life would become tougher yet in Zeltiva. With the gust the horses in the corral make a snorting racket running to the back in a kaleidoscope of colors as far from her as possible. A heavy thump and pair of equine squeals call her attention to a particularly small spotted roan that had just let loose with a mighty kick at a nearby companion. Their distressed sounds bring a stableman through the open barn doors. His baggy leggings and chaff flecked shirt press in the wind against his body as he looked out across his charges. One hand lifts his hat as the other runs through greasy brown hair. She offers an innocent smile and shrug as he looks to her trying to figure out what was stirring the small herd. She recognized the roan mare right off as it stood more firmly than the others not really seeming to fear her but certainly not trusting. Salara reaches out her fingertips with a chirrup from her lips to see if she could coax the mare closer as the stableman returned to the darkness within.

She thought back on the hunt she’d interrupted two days back. Times were tough as now it seemed that everyone in the city with any skill to hunt had been tasked to provide their own food or sell it to the merchant’s guild. Already local game was scarce and rain would complicate the ability of many to get to farther regions where more could be found. She may have advantage if she chooses to dare the coming wet. Her nose wrinkles in distaste at the idea of stalking prey in the rain. The nail of one forefinger begins unconsciously picking at a wood splinter. Something large as a deer would feed her once for days and the rest she could parcel out for mizas.

‘Mizas,’ she growls under her breath remembering her encounters at the tavern days earlier. Whatever had behooved her to tip that barmaid sixty copper mizas when a handful should have sufficed? Or would it have? It had taken her a few days to realize that all she had learned from the woman was what she would have found out had she only taken the time, put forth a little effort and just listened to the locals. So, the university was opening enrollment and the Navy was causing some kind of political friction. Something was mentioned about a persecution of Vantha? She had learned the merchants’ guild was paying for venison and coneys. Oh, and don’t forget, all the animals were off kilter because some god forgot to change the weather or was it the season? Really? Perhaps the barmaid wasn’t the best to approach and how accurate was rumor after all?

Head shaking bemusedly her thoughts of that night turn to the Kondi woman she had met. Weren’t Kondi known for being powerful seers and diviners? She’d heard they seemed to know personal things about people they had even just met. A niggle of an idea being born is lost as the winds shift her way yet again and the hot scent of horseflesh causes a grumbling snarl in her tummy. A point-toothed smile springs to her face seeing that the little roan had advanced a few steps her way although she would never consider eating an acquaintance. Perhaps the bold mare sensed it?

The thought of eating reminds her of the reason she prowled this corral searching for the clarity of mind her feline-self provided with prey near – mizas - she needed a job. By season’s end her living expenses alone would get her evicted with less than a copper. Yet so many others with more skill were vying for the same opportunities. She had posted a job request with the establishment amongst a choking amount of city declarations. Every one required her to claim her Kelvic heritage and nature. She had applied for opportunities as Thief, Investigator, Mercenary, Falconer - she chuckled at the thought of the governing representative’s reaction to that one - Information Broker or Guard. Her skills in Larceny and Subterfuge lent most qualification to thieving. A scowl wrinkled her forehead. No matter how she tried it seemed fate repeatedly put her on the same path just to survive. So she needed to find a way to use those skills in a more positive fashion. Although they were enrolling students she couldn’t afford the university and it was unlikely she would be granted the work she wanted. What she needed was a patron - someone who might see her eagerness, intellect, and inherent skills and use them accordingly.

Nodding decisively her gaze crosses the much more splintered fencepost under her fingertip then lifts to the horseflesh in front of her. Teeth flash again seeing the entire herd more settled than it had been having perhaps grown accustomed to her ever re-appearing scent on the winds. ‘Well, we can’t have that,’ she says in amusement. Just before turning her back on the herd her form changes within a flashing sparkle of light into a billowing pile of lumped cloth. Not only does her enhanced scent send the horses into renewed frenzies but also her deep-rumbling growl, disappearing from her throat as she shifts again in a flash, sends them into a virtuoso of panic. She doesn’t see the stable hand run from the barn as she readjusts her clothing but she mock-grumbles in slighted complaint as two patrons exiting the tavern at the horsey hullabaloo bungle against her. She knows if she keeps it up she won’t be able to come here much more often to think.

Insistent belly rumbles send her in seeming innocence into the tavern for a bite. Vigilant gaze travels around the room as she finds a seat to the side near the door. Broke would be broke after all. What’s another silver or two for a bite of rare meat and water? Especially if the barmaid gets only a copper for her effort. Perhaps over dinner she could start considering ways to make herself and her skills noticeable – in a more positive fashion.
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[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Salara Kel'Halavath on January 9th, 2017, 8:29 pm

Sitting at a table in the World’s End Grotto, Salara puts her brainstorming thoughts in order: 1) find a job that she may not be most qualified for; or 2) find a way to improve her skills and abilities through training = patron; 3) herself new to Zeltiva, who best to identify potential patrons; 4) once identified how should she approach likely personages who may be inclined to take a moment to hear her out; and with any luck, take her on for some training or work. Her fingers rise to rub tiny circles against her temples to ease an ache building behind her eyes. She had come up with and discarded several ideas that were, with her luck, more than likely to get her into trouble; however her thoughts kept circling back to the city declarations she had been required to submit with the Lord of Council’s office– one of which was a seasonal census of the city that records various details of individuals residing therein. If those records were open to the public she could get a good idea of whom she might approach and maybe where to find them. Considering the time, if she hurried, she might still find the office open.

Tossing two silver mizas on the table for her meal she hurries across the Old Quarter to Zeltiva’s City Hall. Pushing open one impressively heavy door she doesn’t pay mind to the rich furniture and lavish accouterments but walks directly up to the secretary’s desk, “Beg pardon.” A mousy woman with horned spectacles perched upon the end of her nose looks up from stacks of paperwork, a sharply shaped eyebrow raised in response, “Your name…” she requests in a dry husk of a whisper. “Salara. Salara Kel’Halavath. Can you please tell me if the seasonal census is public record?” Too busy to take more time Salara is pointed towards a columned platform holding a rather large leather tome with an alarming number of pages.

Her heart drops as she flips through page after page of eye-glazing resident profiles. If she started in the pages for Old Quarter she might find a few names quickly so her effort here wouldn’t be a total waste. Perhaps not on the right track she still feels her spirits lift when she comes across her own entry and those entries of the few acquaintances she had made. Curiosity, of course, pauses her momentarily to read up on Liriope and Leliana. After a fruitless search she begins aimlessly flipping through the pages and her attention is caught not by a name, but by a title – private mercenary investigator – SWI Service. Surely such a person would have a finger on the pulse of those who lived in the area and could offer some advice or direction.

Committing the address to memory she turns stopping short at finding the very tiny secretary standing directly behind her with her arms crossed, ragged ink smudged nails tapping upon opposite forearms. “Ms. Kel’Halavath,” her dry whisper hadn’t changed but a shiver of dread slips up Salara’s spine at the tone, “vagrancy is not permitted in Zeltiva and we have no record of your housing intentions.”

Relief eases her heart at such a minor concern, “Oh, is that all?” Usually such a tone is followed instead by ‘you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble missy’ or ‘you are under arrest.’ The secretary though obviously offended huffs, straightens herself to her tallest height, and with lips pursed in certain reprimand catches her fingertips in a loose fold of Salara’s cloak and literally leads her across the hall to a different crusty old tome with pointed expectation. Rather meekly, Salara hurries to write her entry into the housing application and escapes the critical eye of the biggest tiny secretary she had ever met.

Shadows are growing long as Salara hurries down wrong streets, gets herself turned backward a time or two and finally finds herself on the doorstep of ‘Scarred Wolf Investigations.’ Reaching for the door handle she gives it a tug. Locked. Just to be sure she gives the handle another tug just because that’s what people often do it seems. Still locked. Another day wasted. Perhaps, if she peeks into a window…
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[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Fallon on January 9th, 2017, 9:45 pm

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Fallon was furious.

Or more that was the only immediate way she could put it. Her attempts to hunt through Zeltiva's library had proven fruitless, a mere act of regurgitating information that she quickly learned and already knew. Again and again, the same things on repeat. It made her innards turn, knotting tightly and making her blood run hot. How was she supposed to learn if she could not find a new source? How was she supposed to lead herself to do the right thing if the current well had simply run dry?

There was always the fine art of intelligence. Espionage and spy work.

But since when was she a spy? Yes she understood the mechanical aspects of such, resulting in a dangerous combination if she ever chose to apply such to her work. She was an Inspector, an upstanding member of society who was able to exist within the light. Not to always linger in the shadows. Besides the word spy left a somewhat bitter taste in her mouth, a small strain upon her chest before she began to stamp her way through the streets once more. She would retreat to the office for a while, clear her thoughts and bury her mind in her work. It was for the best to bring the stewing temper out.

Maybe, if she was so lucky, she would even be allowed to sip some tea in peace for a while.

One can always dream.

Survival kit on her waist, cloak thrown over her shoulder, the inspector did little to mask the seeming distaste. It was obviously broadcasted, the few locals that did speak up to offer a polite passing greeting merely starting before their jaws grew slack. She could feel her fists already clenching up, tightening while the knuckles grew white. A snort of an inhale, scowl upon her face as she found herself going through the Old Quarter. Fingers fished for keys in her pocket, the heavy footfall as she strived to try and find some form of inner peace.

Calm Fallon. Clear the thoughts. Do not act blindly on instinct. Do not become the Wolf once more. You are no longer Bitzer.

The thoughts cycled through her mind. Rinsing, repeating, even as she neared the building that held a collection of offices - including her own. It was through the entrance door, her feet stopping at the foot of the stairs a heavy sigh escaping from her chest. She managed to find the keys, rattling upon their loop, a brief tightening of grip before she eased it. A deep inhale, dragging in the cool air to her stomach, holding it there before exhaling. Calm, collected, think.

She pinched her brow with her other hand, another deep inhale as she heard the scraping of one of the other office doors. One of the others was seemingly locking up and upon noticing her spoke, "Afternoon inspector. You alright? Look like you need a stiff drink!"
Fallon felt the brow begin to ease, there was no use holding anger against them. Her voice remained hard however, "Neigh, just a bit tired. I'll be right as rain tomorrow. Just you watch."
"Alright then lass, just don't work yourself too hard. You'll show the guard up otherwise!"

A small passing pat on the shoulder, she watched the worker leave before ascending up the stairs to her office. Another deep inhale and exhale, fingers looking and turning the key with thought within her fingers with such focus that she did not immediately notice the form that hovered outside her door. She stopped when she saw the feet, eyes lifting to look at this stranger from beneath her brow. Briefly she licked her lips, weighing up the form and shape before turning to the locked office door.

Let's play a game.

"The inspector not in?" Fallon asked, throwing her tone down to be heavy. Of course she knew the answer, but she was curious to see the reaction of the woman. She gave a shrug, moving to the door, "Does that sometimes. Going out for walks. Work. Etcetera," unlocking it she gave it a firm shove to open it. Stepping in she gave a glance back to the woman and then down to the small basket she left by the door for any letters. Empty. It was for the better really, "Guessing you're a client or something? Got an appointment or just a drop in?" an incline of the head, "Come on. I can at least make some notes or something."

With that she slowly moved around, hooking up the cloak by the door, and then around the room to the desk. A quick scratch of the head as she found some parchment and ink, the rest of her moving to the pair of arm chairs that sat before the desk. Fallon gestured for her to sit, "Close the door and sit." Her gloved hand moved to the quill and tapped it against the inkwell. She would have to write slowly or feel the rebelling of muscles within it strain, "So, what do you want? Case. Situation. I mean, you're here to give a job right?" She managed to scratch out the date upon the corner of the page, "For the Inspector."
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Salara Kel'Halavath on January 10th, 2017, 9:40 pm

Salara was disappointed. Now that she had finally found direction and a plan, sketchy or not, it was her nature to pursue what was in her sight. She knew it would be a wakeful night of ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs’, yet also the best time for subconscious thoughts to bubble up into fresh ideas. Although she had to wait till tomorrow to proceed she felt positive that she was on the right track. But wait. Someone was coming up the stairs. She turns for certain at hearing such a deep sigh.

“The inspector not in?” A young man with key approaches lifting her hopes that the inspector may yet return. “I had wondered if I had come too late,” she smiles in anticipation. Stepping aside to allow him access to the door she sizes him up with a circumspect glance through lowered lashes. Must be a scribe with all those implements on his belt, she thinks, or perhaps another secretary? Her lips quirk in a secret smile thinking this one looks much less intimidating than the last – there’s just something about stern old women…

“I don’t have an appointment as, well, today has been rather impulsive. Not a client either.” She shuts the door with a shove and solid click, removes her cloak to drape over a forearm, and takes a seat at the edge of the chair in an attitude of fervency. “I guess you could say I have a situation but I didn’t come to employ the Inspector.” Anticipating a comment about free services she continues hastily, “I’ve just returned from researching at City Hall where I came across a listing of this business and had the thought that perhaps he might provide me with a few local referrals.”

Looking around the room she wondered how long the Inspector might be and how much more she needed to divulge to his assistant. She wasn’t accustomed to asking for what might be construed as a favor, especially from strangers, so she wasn’t entirely comfortable mentioning it more than she had to. Shifting ever so slightly in her seat, “Do you think he’ll be back soon?”

As the fellow jots down bits and pieces, Salara continues more conversationally. “I didn’t know what to expect coming to this place, but something’s going on around here besides the wonky weather. People are worried and some are just plain scared. But I’m sure you’d know better than I, you working for the Inspector and all.” She looks at him critically for a moment. In a seeming change of subject she admits,“It’s been a long time since I’ve been on my own."

Standing in an obvious fidget she absent-mindedly steps over to hook her cloak next to his. With hands clasped behind her back she passes a glancing look over a shelf or two; once pausing to lean in with squint eyes to get a closer look at a book’s title. “Anyway, with whatever is going on around here getting back on my feet has been tougher than I expected and I’m finding I’m a little rusty in some areas,” she trails off vaguely as she returns to her seat. If she had to wait she would. It’s what she did when pursuing something – it was her nature.
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[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Fallon on January 14th, 2017, 4:16 pm

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"Late?" Fallon scoffed, "Hardly, the Inspector is simply one who goes out and investigates," She shot the woman a glance, "Can't really do that from in here."

It was clear from the way the woman spoke that she seemingly brought the facade the inspector put on. Her gloved right hand gave a twitch, a small almost twinge of discomfort as she prepared herself to write. She only managed to get a few small dots on the page before her brow begun to furrow. Drop ins were common enough of an occurrence, but to not be a client? There was both a sense of curiosity and something darker dwelling within. Her eyes remained upon the page though, a pause as she filtered through her thoughts. The embers of her previous rage were turned, and she could feel them once more begin to stir.

"Referrals? " Fallon exhaled, "Weather? Rusty?" She pinched her brow, "You claim to not be asking of a service, yet you are in fact asking for one." No, she would make the woman play by her game for a while. A poisonous thought that looked to manipulate and tug, "Name. What is your name?"

A small part of her grated against the belief the inspector was male, though could she blame such a thought without a face placed to the name? What worried her however was that the more she listened to the voice the more she heard the subtle twang of a Sunberthian accent. It stroked against her paranoia, a small prickling as she wondered briefly on where the kukri was on her person. She noted the hilt in the corner of her eye, hanging from her waist with the rest of her dubbed 'survival kit'. The rest of the words came across as attempts to pull at her emotions, feel sympathy and concern for the poor creature that had rested upon her door step.

"Referrals?" the inspector had to ask twice, "So. You are asking for information? Want to know what is going on in this delightful city?" Her gaze turned to look out the window, "Everyone is scared of things. It is their nature as people. What specifically? Enough money to pay expenses. That their crops and fields won't fail. That their child won't go and be reckless. I could go on. Why not go and ask them directly?" Her quill continued to mark dots upon the page, "Weather? Who knows. Ask the seasons and their priests that are roaming about town. I am sure they can give you an answer to such."

"No, you want something but you don't want to say what," she could feel her own accent almost instinctively change. It rippled, the harsher tones of Sunberth's Red Wolf, Bitzer Redwulf, creeping in. She gave a narrow of eyes down the bridge of her nose, "What is it? Money? Trade? Are you here to simply just advertise and obtain benefits from an already established business? Charity?"

She inhaled deeply, cooling her temper in an attempt to stimulate some element of focus. Fallon pinched the end of the quill with her other hand, "I do not know when the inspector will be back. You may be waiting chimes, or for bells. In the meanwhile, I would suggest that you put together a case as to why the inspector should offer up information and these referrals."
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Salara Kel'Halavath on January 16th, 2017, 6:55 pm

In her mind it started out well. She conceded that the young man made a good point of an investigator’s need for variable hours. He stated simple truth that, yes, basically she was looking for a service from the inspector. Yet how minor a thing could it be to ask – the names of some likely personages whom might provide direction to a newcomer in this city? She leans forward, “Salara Kel’Halavath…” and was about to explain that she’d been many years traveling but originated in Sunberth; but he continued as if he hadn’t even heard her name.

She saw his eyes go shifty without really registering that something was about to go wrong. For him to twist such vehemence into words, her body flushes in waves of hot then cold, that he would make her feel such shame and guilt. It was one thing to get caught in an act; she’d take her punishment any day that she deserved it, but this? Trying to make an honest effort to do good? Be better? Turn her skills to a positive effort? On what was this presumptuous assistant making judgment on her - poor clothes, being a woman, alone? Growing up as Kelvic she surely knew ignorant unjust discrimination when she saw it. What type of public service business was this anyway?

At ‘Charity?’ she stopped listening and breathing. Round pupils grow hard swallowing the amber of her eyes in a pair of glittering black pits. Sharp air inhaled with a hiss through clenched teeth; she stands, stiff and indignant, her chair toppling back in a clatter. Hot flesh stretched taught across her jaw blooms molten spots of red on her cheeks. Her nails dig painful crescents into her palms in an effort to hold onto some portion of composure to not tear his throat out.

An immediate need for distance to avoid reaching across the desk she spins roughly grabs the chair and places it upright firmly on the floor - symbol of a barrier between them. In a hair rising squeal, sharp nails score deep scars into the wood finish; the chair’s back pressed with blood. “Charity?!” she growls deep and low then all but shouts, “I want purpose! How does one value their efforts without something to accomplish? How can anybody get by in this world without a little help?” It all became quite clear to her right at that moment, “I Want To Help!” Twisting round she turns her back to him, the wound in her shoulder screaming remembrances of turning her back on another danger, but she doesn’t care.

In fuming silence she gathers her cloak over her shoulders and turns to meet him eye to eye. “I’ll have you know I pay back as good as I get and then some.” Even she doesn’t know if she still talks business or promises something much darker. With obvious effort she reins herself back even more through a long slow exhalation slowly cooling the red to pale on her cheeks. “My business is with the Inspector. I would like to schedule an appointment if you please.”
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Salara Kel'Halavath
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[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Fallon on January 17th, 2017, 5:53 pm

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There it was. That sweet pitch and rise of adrenal, the charged voices as this woman wore her heart upon her sleeve. Fallon made no move, no flinch as the chair crashed against the floor. Feral, wild, a grumble of something much more primal beneath. She merely watched, the self fed storm of inferiority and desire turning internally within this Salara. She had been quick, too quick she reasoned, to hold her temper. Quick to shout instead of diverse and seek a calmer, more logical approach.

She ran on emotions, in the moment.

"Charity," Fallon rumbled back, words cool. She watched the defensive positioning, the way that she almost seemed to shield herself from a threat. Behind her Fallon felt the rough surface of the desk, a mere lean against it while Salara continue. She watched the almost stamping of feet, the attempted act of aggression being something Fallon could mentally swat away with ease. All snarls and growls, though her hand did shift and give a firm, definite tap upon the pommel of the kukri - an action laced in meaning. Fallon's eyes flickered, locking onto the form. The cold chill swarmed around her stomach, an internal energy rising up and lacing along her throat, plucking at her mind like chords.

I can destroy you in an instance.

She held it there, unflinching and unmoving as the sensation curled up through her jaw and rested upon her tongue. Fallon's words came as a hiss, her will plucking in warning and enticing a reaction, "You speak as if you hold such a right, that such has been stolen from you. As if the world owes you," She felt the cold pluck upon her tongue - Retaliate, I DARE you - , a small familiar tweak in her mind to the ripple of Djed. The sensation continued, through her jaw and teeth now, " Here you enter, making demands. Raising your voice, yet even you yourself do not know that which you seek."

Do not think that I bow to attempts of shaming.

And in that instance the chill was gone. It fizzled out, a small wince of discomfort creeping into Fallon's features. Her hand moved to her brow, pinching the bridge of her nose. There was a small sting in the corner of her eyes, burning almost in sensation, the discomfort as she felt the weight of a headache begin to settle in.

"Do you know what they say about purpose?" her tone twisted, rippling and rolling, calming from the lower tones. It became a thick lilt - her true accent - as she simply stood and moved. It was around the desk now, fingers stroking across the hard wood of the surface. It was an almost intimate act, a stoking of familiarity that a mere assistant would not have. In her pocket she felt her signet ring, and taking it out she slipped it onto the index finger of her left hand. She gave a small glance down to the embossed wolf head upon the surface, her words continuing as she spoke, "That we should be careful of them, be wary about callings. They may not lead us where we intend to go or even where we want to go," Fallon's brow furrowed as she moved to her working chair positioned neatly behind the desk, she dragged it out without much effort, "If we choose to hunt and follow purpose, then one has to be willing to let go of the life already planned and accept whatever is waiting for us."

She remembered Sunberth then, the cries for her blood, the curse and damnation as all she worked for was merely torn up and ripped asunder without a second thought. The pain, the loss, the fight, the end of the Scars - it burned brightly in her mind, flaring, resting before petering out, "And if the calling is true, meant to be, though one may not have gone where wanted... one will surely end up where they need to be."

Fallon sat down within the chair then, fingers coming together as she peered upon Salara, "You want to make a difference? Then make a difference. Of course, you have no overall choice in picking if the result will either improve the world or worsen it - but whether you choose consciously or not, you will accomplish one or the other."

The inspector paused then, gesturing to the room with the small curl of the lips - one that could either result in further infuriation of the other, or be equally inviting, "Have you realised who I am yet?"
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Salara Kel'Halavath on January 19th, 2017, 6:23 pm

Composure reached, but for lingering elevation of breathe partnered with fingerling crimson-smudged cheeks, Salara waited for her appointment time. She had said her peace with this lackey and would await his words; watching his actions with wary eyes. Her blood begins to heat again as he continues to harp upon ‘charity and rights.’ She begins to wonder that his words were twisted… compelling, enticing even encouraging. Fear begins vibrating along her skin in goose flesh; the answer that fear - flight or fight. From him threat resonated, calling her, causing her lip to curl up one side in provoked challenge. Her fingers, clutching cloak lapels, curl inward followed by intent of her shoulders to do likewise in raised hackles; yet only her snarl and grasping fingers are obvious.

And then he says again what her logical mind had noted earlier - discrepancies. She had not come demanding; but asking only for a simple appointment for a simple question, which could be answered simply yea or nay. The words of him distorted, perverted, and commanding were the antagonist. Slightly, just ever so, her head shakes in negation through a slow blossom of revelation, that this individual was much more than a mere assistant, and a heightened awareness - surely better late than never. If he hadn’t used nearly the same words eliciting the previous emotional arousal, an attack on her pride, she might never have suspected. She watches him through distrustful slitted lids, tongue pressing accusations trapped against the back of her teeth.

Perhaps through her own self-awareness; or otherwise, a shift in his personification, results in a nearly palpable release of tension. With his pinched brow and changeling manner their conversation is redirected. She notes an alteration in the timber and tone of his voice. That and his easy grace of movement, keying her to suspect something else was not quite as it seemed yet she couldn’t put her finger on it. Resolute she steps forward a pace while watching him circle the desk and sit. His reach to place a signet upon a finger confirmed part of her suspicions. Not now but later, maybe often, she would remember the wolf’s head ring and the name of the business with feline irony.

‘Have you realized who I am yet?’ In answer she shifts one foot back and with slightly bent knee she bends a degree at the waist and chin in grudging respect and, yes, a touch of admiration. “Inspector,” her Sunberthian lilt declares dryly. It made a difference to her that he was not an assistant and she was yet undecided about the deception.

“You speak as if only you have suffered and learned from life lessons. I am not a kit in the woods so have my own perspective of the pitfalls of intent and desire through purpose.” Neither will she divulge her own bitter lessons. “Only know that at this point my true purpose and life’s plans ended long ago and now am I free to follow where my own actions lead. I have chosen to attempt a life more positive where my skills are a benefit to others as much as myself.”

She finds herself gravitating towards the scarred chair as he seems to grant her respect to speak without further effort to twist her words or emotions. She warily settles again on seat’s edge and continues her philosophical tract. “You speak truth in accepting consequences regardless of effort. Consider the Calling of the Hangman. Many think him an evil man performing an evil but necessary deed. Yet a good man performing an evil deed can ensure the deed is done in a good way for the good of his charges.”

Her hands fluidly mime motions as she speaks, “He ensures the length of rope is proper, the distance is adequate, the knot tied correctly. He positions it such that the drop will quickly snap the neck and not cause lingering suffocation. Does it matter to him that his charge is guilty or innocent, who will grieve or benefit?” She answers herself with a shrug, “Perhaps, but the end is the same and he can only affect the outcome under his control – suffering or mercy. He made a difference.”

"Whose perspective then is the perception of ‘good’? To me it is his and it begins here,” she taps her forehead, “and ends here,” her fingers drop to rest over her heart, “because he has to live with himself after. To make a difference with an outcome good, bad, or negligent is nothing without making an attempt to try. In my mind it is best to try and fail with good intention than never to try at all.”
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[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Fallon on January 23rd, 2017, 8:43 pm

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"Quite the opposite," Fallon steepled her fingers, watching the woman from across the desk. Her chin rose in challenge, a small narrow of eyes as she thought. She could say more, she could have divulged into the sins and tragedies that had befallen her. The inspector chose not to, "I have suffered, but the life lessons and the scars I carry are very different to what most would go through." Remain assertive, to the point and precise, her mind flickered to one of calculation and work, "Simply know that while paths may seem similar another can never walk a mile in other shoes."

Turning her attention down to the quill and paper she considered them. Hands moved while the woman spoke, gaze sweeping over the desk. She pulled upon one of the draws briefly, peering at the few unopened letters that rested there before promptly pulling them out. It was with the smaller knife upon the belt that she ran along the wax and began to open them. Hardly anything overly concerning, one was about a clothing order at the tailors and it being ready to collect, another that the store had more writing equipment come in - further orders for the stock she had requested.

It was more dryly that Fallon spoke, gaze flickering briefly over the top of the letter, "The plans of life and fate never end, ever are we tugged and brought along a path, one life weaving into another to form a great tapestry. Some weave in more closely, others not so. Either way we can look back at the imagery left behind and remember." She gave a flick of the hand then, dismissing the thought with a wave before she once more returned to the letter in question. A quick scan of it, regarding the information that was locked within - a request of her attention for work - a small hum of thought dripping through her thoughts before she placed it to one side. She would not doubt consider it more closely when this Salara was gone.

She heard the view of the hangman. Perhaps part of her yearned for a state of naivety once more, of simple innocent thought and looking upon the world with such wonder. Fallon's own however were succinctly crushed by the weight of Sunberth and those who wanted her dead. All that remained was a jaded outlook on life in a greyed world. There was a small snort, "I see why you left Sunberth. You wear your heart on your sleeve in a den of thieves and cutthroats.

Fallon cleared her throat.

"When there is a revolution, do you think the people truly care on the alignment of the hanged man?" Fallon asked coolly, "Do you think they care if he did or did not do a good job when they are baying for blood? Do you think that such ideals of logic and understanding come to mind when the masses swell with nothing but raw hate?"

The inspector let the question hang there, allowing the weight of it to sink in and be considered - truly considered, "You may find, that those who come for you will try to rip you limb from limb for simply doing your job. The ones you do the duty for will quickly fling such to the wayside to save their own skin." She leaned back in her chair then, the uncomfortable prickling resting within her head, "Such is the nature of people. There are few who try to do good in the world, and even fewer who succeed - ever living with the guilt of failure upon their conscious."

Fallon let her gaze roll away to the letters then, a long moment of silence as she began to drag her thoughts together into something much more calculated. With an exhale she dragged her thoughts away from the past and to the present. Her hand gave a gesture for Salara to sit once more, "But you are not here for exchanges of philosophy or logic. Sit. Tell me what it is you want, what service you require of I and I will see if I can accommodate accordingly. I make no such promises though, that is not my nature." With a shuffle of the papers she looked expectantly upon Salara, "Well? I do not have all day. References? To what exactly?"
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[World's End Grotto] Working to Learn or Learning to Work?

Postby Salara Kel'Halavath on January 26th, 2017, 4:37 pm

Watching the inspector completing as mundane a task as sorting mail was such a contrast from what she had already experienced it was surely a measure of extremes; yet he seemed as comfortable in one as the other. She had to admit, it was obvious he had received life lessons far different from hers. However listening to his words she found his wisdom, his thoughts, were in essence common sense; albeit well beyond a depth of thought she had ever considered.

Her curiosity was piqued - never a good sign - but she simply couldn’t help herself. Whatever had made this person have such a bleak outlook there was nothing to pity about him. It seemed that surviving had given him dues. Such a perspective, totally different than hers, was intriguing. She knew she would walk away with a lot to think about. Something he had said earlier flashed through her mind as not necessarily an indication of location as much as situation, ‘And if the calling is true, meant to be, though one may not have gone where wanted... one will surely end up where they need to be.’

Salara pushed the cloak’s lapels back over her shoulders and, centering the proffered chair more square to the desk, took a seat. “In my thoughts you prove my point more than dissuade it. You speak of the atrocities of revolution: fear, hatred, lack of honor or care for anyone but themselves. I know very little, but what I do hear of the persecution of Vanath and civil unrest with the Navy, I can only assume that at any time the winds may shift and one could become winnowed under the press of politics and deceit. Because of this alone one can only be true to one’s self regardless of external influence or consequence. I wonder what your solution is if one should not strive to do good for one’s own ease, expecting inevitable hatred and death regardless of effort? How do you rise above such threat if you don’t at least try to make things better - if only in your own mind?” Head tilted inquisitively her eyes briefly search his for evidence of guilt of trying and failing for which he spoke. “I still think the guilt of not trying would be more unconscionable.”

“You are correct,” she easily admits, “that my emotions are clear and not aligned with the ravages of Sunberthian culture. I was taken away at an early age and my life instead has been spent wanting for every gain.” She walks her index and center finger slowly along the desktop, “I only know ‘demand,’” fingers jab to a stop, “or more often taking what I want.” She pulls those fingers back in a quick effortless slide. “I sense that taking what I want would be the poorer choice with you. But I know myself, what I can offer, and even suspect my potential should someone choose to see.”

Getting down to business she continues, “I expect no progress and certainly no promises. As you’ve succinctly noted, I have not been successful in the machinations of thievery for my own gain that my birthright may have otherwise granted. Yet unsuccessful thief is the lot I find myself in most often. My decision to move down a more positive path – a plan to use and develop my skills for the good of others first - has lead me here to ask simply if you would know anyone who might direct positive benefit from my efforts? If the answer is ‘no,’” shoulders shrug, "then I will devise another plan because I can no longer just ‘be.’

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