CISLUNAR DHASANT: THE CITY OF GARGOYLES

The wind blew cold through the streets of Southgate. My cloak swirled around my lean form and that of my then-current companion, Marilee, who clung to me for warmth. We were making our way to the Blackbriar for an evening of drink, dance, and possible romance. At least, the lusty things Marilee was whispering in my ear lead me to believe that. Being that I had just made, in my humble opinion, the most brilliant performance of my career, my spirits were soaring. Even my father had praised me, and that was a rare thing, indeed.
As we rounded the corner of the street that leads to the inn, we were greeted by the sounds of fighting from one of the upper floors. We watched in silent fascination as the players swirled and danced in combat. Steel flashed in the moonlight and suddenly one of the combatants took flight, over the edge of the balcony, to meet his fate on the cobbles below. Marilee screamed, staring at the broken figure of the once-handsome youth. On the balcony stood the victor, his cloak billowing around him, blond hair surrounding his head like a halo, illuminated by moon- and torchlight. My first thought was, "By all the gods, this man would be perfect for the role of Dante." His features were well-defined, with the dress and stance of an aristocrat. As he withdrew, Marilee's screams brought not only me back to the scene before us, but a templar, as well.
"What happened here?" the leader queried.
I said that simply the man had fallen from the third-floor balcony (though it had actually been the second). Apparently the youth had had a bit too much liquid pleasure (the smell of liquor from the body bore the proof of that statement) and met with an unfortunate accident. Marilee, when asked for her statement, merely shook in my arms, shock having drawn the color from her lovely face. I asked if I could take the young lady into the inn to recover from the trauma of what we had just witnessed and gave the guard my name and address if needed for further questioning.
Once in the inn, I settled Marilee at a table and ordered a good, stiff drink for her and a cab to take her home. I knew she would be better off in the care of her family, and it wouldn't be good for her to be associated with my name in this case (she being of a noble house and seeing me on the sly÷some traits run in families). After seeing that she was well-taken-care-of, I returned to my table to write down the events of the evening. It was then that the man from the balcony approached my table.
He asked about the information that the templar had wanted, and I told him what I had said. He stared at me with his piercing blue eyes, nodded, and walked away. I watched him the rest of the night. Women and men alike flocked to be in his company. What amazed me was that his arrogance didn't seem to put anyone off.
What I didn't know was that as I was watching him, he was watching me, asking questions of people I knew and associates of mine in the House. It was possibly a week later when, once again, I was seated at the Blackbriar. This time I was there first.
The notes for my latest play were scattered across the tabletop. A flask of wine sat half-finished, and my dinner was pushed aside as I wrote at a furious pace. He slid into the seat across from me, signalling Krista, the barmaid. He whispered something in her ear and, with a gentle pat on her rump, sent her on her way. We didn't talk in the time it took for her to leave and return with a bottle of the finest vintage of wine I had ever seen, and never tasted. He poured the wine with grace and elegance, then held the glass out before him, tilting it in silent salute. I raised mine and returned the gesture.
"I am Valere de Poquelin and you are Vair Wintercourt."
"Yes," I said simply, not wanting to expand on the obvious.
"I want to back your next project."
"I want you to play the lead."
He smiled and sipped his wine.
It has been a year since that night. Valere is without a doubt the most arrogant, self-righteous, and infuriating man I have ever had the misfortune to know. However, he is also the most loyal friend I have ever had. We have pulled each others' butt out of the fire on more than one occasion, and I suspect that we will continue to do so. Living in his household and trying to keep up with his lifestyle is a challenge, but one that I will not soon give up.
By the way, the play that I wrote and he performed in was a monumental flop. However, in the time since then, he has become an adequate performer, while I have become a great playwright!