Sword as Shield [Clementine Trevelyan]
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playersofthedasTitle: Sword as Shield
Prompt: Nostalgia
Player Character: Clementine Trevelyan
Universe: Precipice
Characters: Cullen, Josephine, Lysette, Harding
Summary: Trevelyan has not fully acclimated to her new life. (Exploratory sketch, 770 words)
The war room doors groaned as its occupants strode out. Lysette straightened where she stood waiting, letter in hand. The Ambassador noticed her at once and they exchanged formalities. Lysette handed over the letter. Ambassador Montilyet's eyes flicked across the parchment.
The Commander was not a particularly large man, but the Herald was dwarfed beside him. He met Lysette's eyes with a polite nod, never breaking conversation, but the Herald did not spare her a glance. She held a handkerchief to her mouth. Her eyes did not leave the Commander's face.
"I think you've made the right choice," Cullen was saying. "The templars will serve well. They can help us close the Breach and bolster our ranks for whatever comes."
"Your arguments on their behalf were quite persuasive," the Herald said. Her eyes were bright and she was smiling behind the handkerchief. "Perhaps you could walk me," she said. "We could discuss it further. I dislike walking alone."
The Commander cleared his throat. "Ah, I'm afraid I have duties to attend. If you'll excuse me, Herald."
"Of course, Commander," the Herald said. She dropped the handkerchief as he turned aside. Her eye wandered after his retreating figure until the door shut behind him.
The Ambassador glanced up from the letter, her brow softening as she watched the Herald loiter, casting a dubious glance toward the heavy wooden doors leading outside as she bunched her hands in her robes.
"Lysette," Lady Montilyet said. "Would you escort the Herald?"
The Herald turned to her eagerly, wiping her palms on her robes. "It's not far."
"Of course," Lysette said, keeping her tone level.
It seemed dishonorable, even blasphemous, to say so, but the Herald seemed an odd vessel for the Maker's work. On introduction, the little mage had peppered her with questions about her service to the point of prying. The Hearld was keen to know if Lysette was "still a templar." She'd never taken formal oaths or lyrium, being a recruit, but it was Lysette's duty to serve the Maker, and she told her so.
Their boots crunched in the slush as they walked down the muddy path. When Scout Harding crossed their path, the Herald pressed close to Lysette as she passed. The movement was unsubtle; the scout's eyes flicked to her.
"Your worship," the scout said, without a trace of irony.
The Herald bobbed her head.
"What's wrong?" Lysette asked, when Harding was out of hearing.
"Should she really be a scout?" the Herald asked, worrying her lip.
"I don't know much about the skill set, your worship. They say she's the best."
"Perhaps, but... Dwarves are heathens, they have no gods, their greed is well-known. Who can say where their allegiances truly lie?"
"She's pledged to the Inquisition," Lysette said, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. Perhaps it would do the mage good, to be spoken to frankly. Mages often needed moral guidance. "She's Andrastian, same as I."
"She's not like you," the Herald said, looking up. "She's just a little dwarf. You're a templar."
Lysette did not remind the Herald that she was not much taller than a dwarf herself. Instead, she lengthened her stride, knowing the Herald would struggle to keep up. "She believes as we do."
"So she says, but you're a templar," the Herald insisted. "You're bound to serve the Maker; it is your duty."
Lysette glanced down, but the Herald's wide-set eyes were guileless. "That is true," Lysette said. They were at the door to the Herald's quarters and Lysette welcomed the reprieve. "By your leave, your worship," she said.
"Why don't you wear the sword?" the Herald asked.
"In the field, signs of the Order made us targets," Lysette said. The Orlesian breastplate had been given to her by requisitions before the Inquisition had an official uniform. She had not chosen it and had no particular preference in such matters.
"Do you miss it?"
"No, your worship. It was simply training armor, it held no sentimental value. This serves just as well." She tapped the lion spanning her breastplate.
The Herald signed, a little puff of breath escaping her curled cleft lip. "That's not what I meant," she said. Her eyes strayed to the field beyond the gates and the soldiers training there. "Perhaps other templars will join our ranks after we treat with them." It was pitched as a question.
"I... couldn't say, your worship."
The Herald considered. "They will," she said. "I am the Herald of Andraste. They will honor their oaths." Abruptly, she turned to her, lifting her chin and straightening her back. "Knight-Recruit, you are dismissed."
Lysette was happy to obey.
Prompt: Nostalgia
Player Character: Clementine Trevelyan
Universe: Precipice
Characters: Cullen, Josephine, Lysette, Harding
Summary: Trevelyan has not fully acclimated to her new life. (Exploratory sketch, 770 words)
The war room doors groaned as its occupants strode out. Lysette straightened where she stood waiting, letter in hand. The Ambassador noticed her at once and they exchanged formalities. Lysette handed over the letter. Ambassador Montilyet's eyes flicked across the parchment.
The Commander was not a particularly large man, but the Herald was dwarfed beside him. He met Lysette's eyes with a polite nod, never breaking conversation, but the Herald did not spare her a glance. She held a handkerchief to her mouth. Her eyes did not leave the Commander's face.
"I think you've made the right choice," Cullen was saying. "The templars will serve well. They can help us close the Breach and bolster our ranks for whatever comes."
"Your arguments on their behalf were quite persuasive," the Herald said. Her eyes were bright and she was smiling behind the handkerchief. "Perhaps you could walk me," she said. "We could discuss it further. I dislike walking alone."
The Commander cleared his throat. "Ah, I'm afraid I have duties to attend. If you'll excuse me, Herald."
"Of course, Commander," the Herald said. She dropped the handkerchief as he turned aside. Her eye wandered after his retreating figure until the door shut behind him.
The Ambassador glanced up from the letter, her brow softening as she watched the Herald loiter, casting a dubious glance toward the heavy wooden doors leading outside as she bunched her hands in her robes.
"Lysette," Lady Montilyet said. "Would you escort the Herald?"
The Herald turned to her eagerly, wiping her palms on her robes. "It's not far."
"Of course," Lysette said, keeping her tone level.
It seemed dishonorable, even blasphemous, to say so, but the Herald seemed an odd vessel for the Maker's work. On introduction, the little mage had peppered her with questions about her service to the point of prying. The Hearld was keen to know if Lysette was "still a templar." She'd never taken formal oaths or lyrium, being a recruit, but it was Lysette's duty to serve the Maker, and she told her so.
Their boots crunched in the slush as they walked down the muddy path. When Scout Harding crossed their path, the Herald pressed close to Lysette as she passed. The movement was unsubtle; the scout's eyes flicked to her.
"Your worship," the scout said, without a trace of irony.
The Herald bobbed her head.
"What's wrong?" Lysette asked, when Harding was out of hearing.
"Should she really be a scout?" the Herald asked, worrying her lip.
"I don't know much about the skill set, your worship. They say she's the best."
"Perhaps, but... Dwarves are heathens, they have no gods, their greed is well-known. Who can say where their allegiances truly lie?"
"She's pledged to the Inquisition," Lysette said, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. Perhaps it would do the mage good, to be spoken to frankly. Mages often needed moral guidance. "She's Andrastian, same as I."
"She's not like you," the Herald said, looking up. "She's just a little dwarf. You're a templar."
Lysette did not remind the Herald that she was not much taller than a dwarf herself. Instead, she lengthened her stride, knowing the Herald would struggle to keep up. "She believes as we do."
"So she says, but you're a templar," the Herald insisted. "You're bound to serve the Maker; it is your duty."
Lysette glanced down, but the Herald's wide-set eyes were guileless. "That is true," Lysette said. They were at the door to the Herald's quarters and Lysette welcomed the reprieve. "By your leave, your worship," she said.
"Why don't you wear the sword?" the Herald asked.
"In the field, signs of the Order made us targets," Lysette said. The Orlesian breastplate had been given to her by requisitions before the Inquisition had an official uniform. She had not chosen it and had no particular preference in such matters.
"Do you miss it?"
"No, your worship. It was simply training armor, it held no sentimental value. This serves just as well." She tapped the lion spanning her breastplate.
The Herald signed, a little puff of breath escaping her curled cleft lip. "That's not what I meant," she said. Her eyes strayed to the field beyond the gates and the soldiers training there. "Perhaps other templars will join our ranks after we treat with them." It was pitched as a question.
"I... couldn't say, your worship."
The Herald considered. "They will," she said. "I am the Herald of Andraste. They will honor their oaths." Abruptly, she turned to her, lifting her chin and straightening her back. "Knight-Recruit, you are dismissed."
Lysette was happy to obey.
