A Tevinter Ball. 1x1 w/ Voice of the Sea
 

Video: “Russian Waltz Music"
By: The Culture Society (Unofficially)

___________________________________

The one thing about the people of Tevinter: they never stopped caring about the architecture of their true home. The buildings down the main street of Minrathous still had to this day the original decorative carvings all intact of their ivory pillars. The window stained glass always kept its bright original colors and patterns. Every once in a while, the outside of some of the middle-class houses might have needed a fresh coat of paint or a rotten board to be replaced but nothing about the original design of each building was ever changed. Better even still, the cobblestone streets all still kept their original stones.

Despite his upbringing…and even despite his exile, Tempest had a great love for his original home. It was far more understanding than the Southern lands. Here in Tevinter, a mage was praised upon for his talent and allowed to live outside of a college to spend time with family or try their hand at politics. In the Southern lands, a mage was looked upon with caution and sometimes even fear. Good luck trying to escape a Circle; if one was ever put there, they would rot there. The only solution would be to run from the Circle life and be marked as an apostate. One could possibly live that life without too much worry. Some Templars or mage-hunters would give an apostate the benefit of the doubt and allow them to live in peace. But for someone like Tempest?—A bloodmage?—Not a chance in hell. In most cases, he would be killed on the spot if he did not have shackles around his wrists and/or his mouth sewn shut. Ironically, he would not be praised for his talent beyond Tevinter and Tevinter wants nothing to do with him.

It was a wonder that he even got inside Tevinter. He had to use a fake name with fake passports just to get over the boarder. It’s not like it was never done before, but Tempest was not ignorant to his situation. He knew he would be killed on the spot just as easily within his own home as he would have been outside of it. It all came down to a matter of who still remembered his face and who was actually involved with his exile.

He did have a reason for returning home, and it wasn’t just for a possible death wish. He had a big tip from the Charlatans in the Obsidian Isles that one of the cult members he sought after, had returned home from the war against the Qunari over in Seheron. That was a lot of sailing just to return home in a pine box. There was no way that Tempest was about to believe that the man returned home as a corpse and even if so, Tempest intended on making sure he would become an even ‘deader’ corpse.

Though, for now, he tried not to think on old memories that brought only discomfort and sadness to him. He wanted to enjoy at least some of his stay at home. It had been too long since he heard any true authentic Tevinter musicians. He missed the food, the drinks and especially the dances. Not those fancy, over the top ballroom dances; no. He missed the street dances where bodies would glide across the air as if they were flying and magic carried them across the walls. He remembered one time, a true player of the arts carried his dance across the ceiling as a child. He never had such happiness again after his sixth birthday.

He remembered it like being in a home similar to the one he was in now. The walls were painted white. The windows were tall enough to cover a front panel and marked with stained class and silver boarders. The floor was designed from cracked marble and every ivory pillar had the carvings of an apostle to the Maker of the True Divine. A lush red carpet marked the large dance hall that remained in the center of the room; surrounded by long tables. Each window here was draped with red velvet curtains that were left open and touched the floor. Everything was rich. Extravagant. Expensive.

Enigmatic.

Tempest just knew that there was a basement somewhere connected from here to a secret passage. Where beyond that, there would be a torture chamber of sorts or perhaps a drug operation that cooked up lyrium on the side ---or perhaps both! It was not always the case, but sometimes it was. He just had to find the owner to talk shop with them. If he could get an inside route from Tevinter to the Obsidian Isles, everything up until this point for him would have been finally at a head. It wasn’t really a money issue, though—it was about murder—and Tempest had plenty of targets here. He just had to remove their masks, see them for who they were and confirm if they had anything to do with his trauma as a child.

Needless to say, everything about home made him just as excited as he was nervous.

The music was playing a soothing melody. People were talking amongst themselves at the long tables across each side of the room. Some were dancing to the tune that was playing. Tempest needed to mingle. There was so much that might have changed since was last in Tevinter and it was high time that he found some informants for himself on the inside.

At least he was dressed for the part. Everyone was in their fancy gowns and robes. One could tell which were the City Guards and Personal Guards by the suit of armor that they were and the sigil across their breastplates. Tempest was actually in a black and white doublet with the ruffles at the cuffs and a silver peac*ck feather pin that was painted blue to stand out, pinned across his right side that actually pinpointed where his heart remained. (His was not placed at the center, like every other normal human.) He endured wearing tights, marking him more as an expensive business merchant from elsewhere. It also indicated in the sligh hint that he didn’t have magic –--which would be a lie; but he was actually trying to lay low in a city that would be quick to kill him. Yes; he couldn’t wait to be out of those tight clothes and back into clothing that made sense to him.

He still carried with him the necklace of the Tevinter Imperium Dragon, and with it concealed a hidden needle-prick dagger in case of emergencies. Beyond that, he didn’t carry any weapons on him---as a bloodmage, he didn’t really need to carry anything. It would have mostly been for the peace of mind and to throw off a person’s expectations of him. Tempest did enjoy it when he was underestimated…

An elven servant carrying a silver tray of wine passed by him and Tempest grabbed a crystal glass as he made his way across the room to mingle. He was a man who blended in easily usually. He had the rugged good looks of a poor man out for adventure but also the noticeable proud genetics of a fine bloodline. In his family, there had always been the strong nose –which he had broken and reset a few times—and the strong chin that marked good breeding. His eyebrows were thick and full and his deep blue eyes pulled back a few traces of crows feet when he smiled; thus showing more to his age and experience but his youth remained spry; for a bloodmage has a tendency to age much slower than a mage of any other talent. Despite his years, it did look as though he came to the point where he stopped aging completely; and such genetics proved to have been a closer bloodline to the High Archon, the current ruler of the entire Empire. Therefore, building families all boiled down to genes and his were desired when strengthening them. If his Mother had not been so angry with him to have him in exile, he would have proven to be an excellent bargaining chip for larger lands and bigger titles. Sadly, all of this would go to waste.

“I say! After last year’s inflation due to gold fraud, it’s nice to see that some familiar faces will be returning back to the Magistrate!” One Imperial noble remarked another royal guest next to him. “We should really be focusing more on our own trades than hunting down those barbaric qunari.”

“They’re the ones who brought the fight to us. We’re not about to just bow down to a bunch of foreigners from across the sea, are we?” The second man remarked and took a wine glass from one of the revolving trays that the servant elves were carrying. “No, sir! I will not stand for it. Neither should the Empire.”

“I’m not saying to hand ourselves over to them. I simply mean we have bigger problems on our own to worry about. Let them at least cross the raging sea before coming here.” The first man argued.

“Why not meet them halfway?” Tempest remarked and jumped right into the conversation. He curled his left arm under his right elbow and drank from his cup. He waited for both men to look at him oddly, of course before continuing. “The High Archon should create a naval force strong enough to withstand the Qunari’s might dreadnaughts. It shouldn’t be too impossible to create and it may provide more job opportunities for the citizens at home. This is a war, after all.”

He could see their little wheels in their heads turning to the idea. Just another suggestion from someone they met at a royal ball. They may even get a bonus in their paychecks if it was mentioned to the High Archon at some time, but that was not Tempest’s goal. He was looking for opportunities to plant more of his spies…