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"Yes yes yes, fine," Dorian said, waving away the third messenger in as many hours with an air of practiced can't you see I'm much too busy to be bothered by the likes of you? He was canny enough to take note of their livery, of course--it wouldn't do to insult the wrong house and invite yet another assassination attempt.
He was rather fond of living, all things told.
But so far there had been nothing that was more important than finishing his notes on this time before the hours ticked down to his next exam. His neck ached and his muscles screamed every time he so much as twitched, but he could drink himself stupid and find out whatever Lord Whathaveyou wanted later.
Unfortunately, not everyone appeared to be on the same page. The messenger paused and shifted from foot to foot, refusing to be waved away. Dorian looked up with a sigh. "Let me guess," he said, setting aside his calligraphy pen. "Your message is of the utmost importance; you were commanded to deliver it directly into my hands; I really must give you all my attention straightaway?"
"Ah, something of that nature, my lord," the messenger murmured. He held out the delicately rolled scroll.
Dorian lifted both hands in a warding gesture. "Yes, well, I would take that if I were a complete idiot, but seeing as I am nothing of the sort...Bull?"
Nothing. Dorian twisted around with a frown.
"Common sense would suggest that one of the key attributes of a bodyguard is the ability to stay in one place and guard," he muttered, lips quirking a little as he rose and started poking through the stacks looking for the big qunari. It was maybe time for a break anyway, and he did so love getting one over his guard.
"My lord!" the messenger chirped, following quickly at his heels. "Your message!"
"Leave it with the others if you're so blasted intent on it," Dorian said. "I don't take things that are handed to me." There were far, far too many ways to kill a man for that to ever be a reasonable course of action. Poison in the ink, on the parchment, clockwork nanites just waiting to crawl from the seal and burrow their way into his bloodstream.
Messengers, too, were likely assassins, so when the boy reached for him, Dorian whirled immediately, a shield flaring to life between them. It went unexpectedly sun-bright as he felt a spike of mana--and then suddenly he felt a wind battering the long ends of his coat. Dorian took a step to steady himself, cursing as he immediately lost his footing and went tumbling down a steep roof toward a cobbled courtyard very, very far below.
He caught the stone lip of the roof at the last possible moment, body jerking hard as his momentum was slowed. Dangling there, too far away from the parapet to swing to safety, far too far above the courtyard not to die horribly in the fall, Dorian looked around in startled dismay. A castle. A storming sky. An obvious hellscape.
Dear Maker. What had his master gotten up to now?
He was rather fond of living, all things told.
But so far there had been nothing that was more important than finishing his notes on this time before the hours ticked down to his next exam. His neck ached and his muscles screamed every time he so much as twitched, but he could drink himself stupid and find out whatever Lord Whathaveyou wanted later.
Unfortunately, not everyone appeared to be on the same page. The messenger paused and shifted from foot to foot, refusing to be waved away. Dorian looked up with a sigh. "Let me guess," he said, setting aside his calligraphy pen. "Your message is of the utmost importance; you were commanded to deliver it directly into my hands; I really must give you all my attention straightaway?"
"Ah, something of that nature, my lord," the messenger murmured. He held out the delicately rolled scroll.
Dorian lifted both hands in a warding gesture. "Yes, well, I would take that if I were a complete idiot, but seeing as I am nothing of the sort...Bull?"
Nothing. Dorian twisted around with a frown.
"Common sense would suggest that one of the key attributes of a bodyguard is the ability to stay in one place and guard," he muttered, lips quirking a little as he rose and started poking through the stacks looking for the big qunari. It was maybe time for a break anyway, and he did so love getting one over his guard.
"My lord!" the messenger chirped, following quickly at his heels. "Your message!"
"Leave it with the others if you're so blasted intent on it," Dorian said. "I don't take things that are handed to me." There were far, far too many ways to kill a man for that to ever be a reasonable course of action. Poison in the ink, on the parchment, clockwork nanites just waiting to crawl from the seal and burrow their way into his bloodstream.
Messengers, too, were likely assassins, so when the boy reached for him, Dorian whirled immediately, a shield flaring to life between them. It went unexpectedly sun-bright as he felt a spike of mana--and then suddenly he felt a wind battering the long ends of his coat. Dorian took a step to steady himself, cursing as he immediately lost his footing and went tumbling down a steep roof toward a cobbled courtyard very, very far below.
He caught the stone lip of the roof at the last possible moment, body jerking hard as his momentum was slowed. Dangling there, too far away from the parapet to swing to safety, far too far above the courtyard not to die horribly in the fall, Dorian looked around in startled dismay. A castle. A storming sky. An obvious hellscape.
Dear Maker. What had his master gotten up to now?
