Conlan Delaine, Soldier (conlandelaine) wrote in thedas, @ 2010-08-30 09:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! thread, & 9:45 (5) molioris, @ conlan delaine, @ ordhan wyland |
This was his home...
WHO: Conlan, Ordhan, anyone from Group 3 who cares about what Conlan is up to
WHEN: 9:45, 19 evening Molioris
WHERE: Conlan's shack.
SUMMARY: Having given his house away to unfortunate elves, Conlan packs his things so he can sell them.
RATING: Rated N for Nostalgic and kinda sad.
Things with the slavers had gone much better then Conlan had expected, and he was kind of shocked. However now, Davin and Darrian had joined them, along with that guy who said he was a Templar, which seemed odd, considering the woman they'd picked up that Ordhan kept giving side ways glances to. On the other hand, Cyril had joined the group, and while Con had heard him tell numerous stories of fighting darkspawn, the fact that there was someone who knew how to repair weapons and armor following them now was a relief. Never mind his knack for keeping things from getting too depressing, while not prying into a mans history.
The new additions did leave the group wondering what to do with the elves. Some of them were returning to their lives in the alienage. But there were a few who were dragged in from out of town, who had no where else to go. This had lead to Conlan's less then elegant solution. He had a house a small house, one that was dirty and barely used, a few blocks from the pier, and the whore houses, and the alleys where people would jump you just because you had shoes on, but it was a place to live. He was a Grey Warden, he wasn't going to be needing it anymore.
He'd explained that the elves would get harassed for living there. By merchants, and neighbors, and probably the city guard. They could sell the house and get some money, or they could stick it out, but it was their house now.
Now that what would happen to the place was decided, Con needed to clean it out. All the furniture that he had picked up over the years, the plates, cups, cushions, all the things that weren't nailed down, all the things he couldn't easily carry had to be sold. He'd made a deal with Brethor to take it, for 60 silver and about as many injury kits and health poultices as Conlan could carry. It was hardly a deal that could be passed up. So all that was left was to clean the place out. To take anything he didn't want to sell, and leave the rest for the elves and the merchants to take.
For almost ten years this had been his home. He walked through the door that he had carried Lucressia through after the wedding. He stepped past the mugs he and Viara had sat drinking when she told him he could be so much more. The spot on the floor where he and Ordhan had sat, and talked about when Conlan had turned on the slaver who hired him. The spots where had sat cleaning his weapons and armor, trying to unwind after the jobs had ended. Back when he was a mercenary, all the memories weren't bad. They were subtle reminders of who Conlan Delaine was. Now he was a Grey Warden. Whatever his fate might have once been, knight, or farmer, or mercenary, it didn't matter now. Now he was a Grey Warden, and that's what he needed to focus on. Con didn't like being sentimental, and it was all the more reason to get this over with and move on to the next thing.
This place had too much history for his liking.