have a @dorksndisasters side thing to introduce one of my npcs who definitely isn't attempting to meddle on many levels
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Setareh looked around the empty theatre as he adjusted the cravat at his neck. He would miss this place – miss the actors, the audience, the applause – when his work was done.
“Oh, Setareh! I… didn’t know you were here.” Elen stepped out onto the stage from the wings.
“I simply can’t stay away,” Setareh replied. “But I’m afraid I must, and so…” His gaze drifted up to the gods, high up and deep in the shadows.
Beyond even the gods, the ceiling was inscribed with looping wheels and gears, hidden from everyone’s sight beneath years of smoke.
They glowed under Setareh’s gaze, seeming to burn through it all.
“You’re leaving?”
“Things are afoot, my dear madam Elen, and needs must I pace with them.” Setareh twisted his hair up into a bun and pinned it there. “Now; how do I look?” He turned for her.
“Show ready,” she said. “May we expect you back?”
“I shall definitely try,” he replied, bowing to kiss her hand.
She smiled as she lifted him back up. “Good. Make the world your stage, and bring an audience back with you.” She squeezed his hand and let go.
Setareh stepped across the edge of the orchestra pit and into the stalls, walking towards the main doors without a look back.
The city beyond was busy in the daylight, and ordinarily Setareh would take his time. Talk to everyone he knew, pick up any news, peruse through the market as if he needed more trinkets to gather.
Today, however, he had a job to do. Plans to nudge along. Acquaintances to make and remake.
He made his way at a bouncing pace that carefully wasn’t a stride – poise in his purpose – thorough the streets towards the command post of Orchard Borough.
It was largely empty of guards to show him where to go, but Setareh made his way through the building to knock at the Captain’s door without hesitating.
“Enter.” Only Aewyth was in the room, and the human looked tired in her seat behind the desk, as if she’d already been up for too long.
“Not getting enough sleep, Captain?” he asked, closing the door behind him and walking forward.
“You must be Bituin’s friend, I presume.” She got to her feet, stepping around her desk to meet him.
“Setareh.” He smiled, aiming for disarming. “At your service.” He bowed to press a kiss to her outstretched hand, let a little boon slip through the contact.
Aewyth let out an involuntary sigh, almost inaudible. Setareh smiled to himself as he straightened up in time to see her look away and refocus.
“You know what you have to do?” She stepped around him to get the door.
“I do,” he replied, following her up to the first floor, which was partitioned into holding cells that lined the walls.
There were two guards, more tired than Aewyth looked, and a handful of prisoners that Setareh paid no mind to.
“Keep an eye on this one,” Aewyth said, gesturing Setareh into a cell. “And I’ll see about getting relief soon. We… we’re strapped at the moment.”
Setareh heard the cell door click shut behind her and didn’t spare her a backwards glance.
Instead, he set about arranging himself as befitted his character; he had a roll to play, and he was quite looking forward to it.
- Setareh’s father was a craftsman, and before she left the clan, he made her wooden halla. She always has it with her no matter where she goes, and it reminds her to always remember where she came from.
FontanaArte's Setareh comes from the idea of giving form to light. A sphere in hand-blown white satin glass, magically suspended within a thin metal structure, diffuses the light into the space and illuminates the frame. The result is of extraordinary poetic grace: http://bit.ly/2sfDnOl
