Someone to Share With [Open]

[facemelterrp]

"Of course this is my same armor from Kirkwall. It fits me well, and it's how some people recognize me as the Champion of Kirkwall. Plus I like the spikiness of it. And I guess the more the merrier, but you can't just accept anyone my friend, remember the trouble we used to get into in Kirkwall? Experience should tell you that." Hawke was serious now. His hands were a little close to his daggers. Hawke grabbed the Staff of Parthalan upon her back with her left hand, unexposed to her armor, and was just about to approach the man, but Mariana let go of the three of them and got the head start. Mariana seemed to know the man somehow, yet she didn't recognize him completely. She walked to the man and studied him closely.

Careful Mariana, she held her right hand hand up, reinforced by her armor, ready to unleash a binding spell. But Mariana touched the man near the ears and seemed to recognize him almost immediately. "Indeed... aren't you a long way from home?"

She unsheathed her staff from her back and spun it around her left hand, the bladed staff twirling around her hand easily...

[Myles]

Myles chuckled dryly as Hawke spoke up, proving his initial assumptions. She was quite the fine figure of a woman, with quite the attitude to boot. Of course, if the rumors were true, she had enough skill to back any boast she made, and feel any kind of way she damn well pleased. Myles had to respect that, to a point. The grin on his cheeks never faltered though, never had cause to falter, he'd heard better death threats. He might not have tangled with Hawke in the expectation of winning, but he'd certainly expect to keep his skin, he was quite fond of it after all, changeable as it was. Myles had survived fiercer tempers, though none quite this... manic, "Hmmm, thank you for the offer, but these scars are old and dry, long past the skill of any healer, and besides, if we went about erasing all of our mistakes, how could we learn from them, eh? As for the rest, that depends.... Do you care for pretty words and seductions? Does the Champion require someone to remind her that she is beautiful, that the sky is blue, that things dropped tend to fall in only one direction, and other such basic laws of nature?"

The youth's focus turned momentarily to the elven lass, so full of mirth and bubbles she seemed fit to burst. A sort of warmth crept into Myle's pale eyes, as the girl babbled on. Not quite the warmth reserved for people, which Myles had little of to dispense, but instead, the warmth reserved for small, furry, cuddly creatures. Myles' chuckle grew more gracious, and so put aside a little trick just for this one, Merril you say? A lovely name. I must say, you're cute as buttons, like bottled adorable, free for all. Its a refreshing change of pace. I'd gladly join you on your little adventure, though I doubt the kitchen staff could handle an army of such force and renown as this. Hmmm... so Merril, Mariana, and Marion, eh? Ha, this meeting must be fated, let me therefore make a more memorable sort of introduction...

My dears, allow a mesmerizing mystic to manufacture for you a merry memory, that I might militate against your current mindset and thus mitigate monotony. On this morn, once mired in monochromatic musings, you meet a madman, a meritorious monster, a modern myth, a minister and master to miscreants, given a mandate to medicate your malevolent mental myopathy. Make no mistake, I'm no mirage, no mendacious made up model from your misguided marrow. No my magnificent mistresses, I am the maverick, given a mission to meliorate the mundane masses of the mechanized muck they masticate and macerate and meld into their muddied molds. I come to manumit all those who'd maintain the macabre, who'd mimic no magnate or mogul, who'd mock the marquis, who mascaraed as morons! And thus... I am the manic mage, the mutineer come to mutilate the monarchs and mend all mankind.... Hah... hah... hah... but alas my ladies, I'll muzzle this meandering montage. Allow me simply to say that it's my honor to meet you all, and you may call me... Myles."

The mouth mage took another small bow, and as he rose, found the dusky sailor, the one called Mariana, coming closer, a familiar swagger in her step, an utter self-confidence that Myles found quite appealing. She reached up and fondled the gold on his ear ever so briefly, her touch knowing, a growing awareness in her eyes matched by the words that left her lips. Myles grin retained its warmth, but the ivory of his eyes seemed to consume the young pirate whole, beckoning her forwards, deeper and deeper until she drowned. He reached up and took her questing hand gently, giving it a kiss that lingered for a moment, "Filha da Terra, sweet lady, this is not Rivain, they have no bruxo here, only mages, magisters and maleficar. A pity, but that's the truth of it, though it's always nice to meet a fellow native."

Myles saw the Hawke's weapon slither from its sheath, and sighed a bit, this one was vexing, and unfortunately necessary. Myles could appreciate a soul that was always a hairsbreadth from shedding blood, but that quality didn't leave one devoid of polite manners.

"I have many homes, I'm never very far away from at least one of them. Now please, put that away, there's no call for it while the lot of us are so very busy being civil. Besides, is that any way to treat someone who comes bearing gifts?" Myles waved away the staff disdainfully, less intimidated by it than he was mildly annoyed. He squatted down and let one hand hover an inch over the top of his crate. A rather complex crimson glyph appeared on the wood, a circle within a circle, twelve small symbols within the band both circles created. A lock, a very complicated lock, reactive to both the right combination and the presence of the blood in Myles' veins. The symbols spun as Myles' fingers danced across them with surprising deftness and surety. The glyph vanished back into the wood, and the top of the crate slid open, revealing a potent blue glow that bathed the immediate area in ethereal light. Myles removed one of the glass phials, holding it gingerly and letting the women see the blue within blue liquid, "Lyrium, refined and concentrated to the tenth measure. One crate contains one hundred phials, and a good apothecary can render no less than ten master quality potions from each. There are eleven more crates. Quite the valuable commodity to a fort full of mages, wouldn't you agree?"