27th of Cylus, 717
There was a lot of truth to what Tina said, and it was also very sad to hear. If her father was dead, and her mother had passed, who was taking care of her now? “Anyone with enough money can own a slave, but you're right, Tina,” he looked at her for a long moment, green eyes steady as he leaned back in his chair and gave a long sigh. He wanted to tell her very badly that nobles might not care, but he did. It was quite obvious she had a bias, and as much as he wanted to change her view on the world, he couldn't risk her denying him information just because of his bloodline. More lives were potentially on the line, and she was very smart. Amazingly so, and he tapped his fingers on the table in thought, pondering over both the murder and the care for the citizen before him, “People should care for other people, not...sear them. The day I helped fixed your door, the slave... I grew up with her master. To this day, I don't know why he allowed that.” he whispered, eyes trailing to where a candle burned on the wall. He had remembered the first night he had met Faith – how fresh her brands were – and how such vulgar markings could illicit such rage and disgust in others. It had been infuriating, he he flexed his hand, remembering the drunken fight.He had to focus. Back to the situation at hand. Was he asking the right questions? He had descriptions... he tried to find a motive, but it seemed very obvious that this was a set up the more information Tina revealed, “Gold cloak, sigil pinned proud? That is mighty bold, even for a snooty noble and a sloppy one at that.” He smiled slightly then, and thought back to the weapon. Stab wounds – likely a quick knife. But a monk? Monks preached the seven... Weren't the seven ancestors of noble lines? Was it... an anti-noble dressed as a noble? He reviewed his notes and tore off the bottom strip of it. Folded the rest of the parchment up to tuck it away for later, he began to write down two lines of neat script. An address in Mid-town and beneath it a small note.
'If your lord won't care for you, I will. My home is your home. Visit as often as you like, stay as long as you want. Siblings and friends are welcome too.' - Andráska Venora
He rolled it up and the young lord's head was starting to hurt, and rose to his feet, “You've been a wonderful help,” He watched her, his heart beginning to ache just as much. He wanted to help! Did she have any other family? Was she forced to provide for herself? Was it taking away from her education? “Take your time, eat as much as you want... If you have any more information, you can send someone to find me - Here, for your co-operation and honest company.” Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small bag of coins and set it on the surface between them, but when he looked at her, there was no pity in his eyes. His note followed soon after. A small voice in the back of his head told him she could be lying, but it didn't matter. She seemed resourceful to him, capable of seeing an opportunity, and if she needed help or just a way to forget her problems, she could have it. Life had been cruel to both of them in its own ways, and so often he had wished there had been someone to help him, but no one ever came. Perhaps he could find a way to change that for her. Financially, he had more than enough to offer. And so he did. If she were to open the bag, she find much more than expected. Andráska turned hesitantly towards the door and reached for the handle when he stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“Tina,” he caught a glimpse of her sitting beyond the table, “I said at least one person who helped fix your door was tied to House Venora,” He gave a sad smile then, a bit upset at the idea of earning her scorn when he truly wanted to help. His eyes lowered to the pink cloak that was still draped upon her, “Don't lose your hope just yet.”
Andraska Venora was always a bit more of a wild card, and while giving the girl his address in Andaris had been sincere, he realized the risk. She could send someone to kill him, inform the wrong people. But he hardly went there these days – usually sleeping in the barracks or inns... It still felt worth it to him, to chance it if it meant bettering the lives of those in need. He silently debated whether or not he should send a note to Celeste – inform her of what was happening, but then again, he was frustrated. He understood the benefit of political marriage, but what would that show the people? That lavish parties were more important than those starving? Dying? He had to shake away the thoughts; to not be mad at her for simply trying to what was best. Besides, she wouldn't be getting married till Saun.
He rubbed his temples and leaned against the wall. After always running away from his duties... sometimes it felt like he was the only one doing anything.
