Like some soft minister of dreams the snowfall hoods me round

[mythalenaste]

WHO: Pel and YOU
WHAT: Open log
WHEN: Wintermarch
WHERE: Skyhold and surrounding areas
NOTES: Description of winter in a positive manner may be triggering to people who are really really cold right now.

Outside Skyhold

Pel loves the winter, especially here. So high up in the mountains, winter is especially wintery, and lasts longer than in the Marches. It smells of ice and pine and woodsmoke, sharp and fresh and properly cold. The snow is dry, not the kind of thing that seeps into the seams of your boots and soaks your stockings. Not the crunchy kind that leaves things slippery after it melts halfway then freezes overnight. This is proper, powdery snow that scatters evenly when kicked, like white fairy-dust. You could leap headfirst into it and come out sparkling from head to toe, but you can dust yourself off before it melts. It's snow that's lovely without being dangerous like a wet snow is. During her times of prayer to Mythal, she wades into the snow and takes deep breaths, feeling it permeate, watching both dawn and sunset cast a play of light and shadows over the surface. There are animal tracks, a little unclear as to which animal because the snow is so powdery, but they definitely point in a specific direction. Pel is not on the hunt, but someone else might be, tracking prey that is most active in the waxing or waning light.

Skyhold

Another thing about winter here in Skyhold is that when you've had enough of it, you can go inside where there are stone walls and huge fireplaces. When you're an elven savage, you can't just hang out in the main hall where the posh guests can see you, but there are other places with big fires and fewer nobles. Most of the time when she is in one of these places, Pel is writing her book. Then again, sometimes she has her (growing, bare) feet propped up in front of the fire while she takes an impromptu nap in a chair. Her hair is disheveled and she snores like a dragon.

Barracks

She can't stay in the barracks forever. Once the baby comes, she will need more space and fewer roommates. But for now, she is doing well in the room nearest one of the privies, living with three other people who were kind enough to make room for her during a time in her life when she is peeing for two. Perhaps you pass her in the middle of the night when she is on her way back to her room, looking very cross and sleepy.

Training Grounds

It has been about two months since she encountered the spirit which taught her the dirth'ena enasalin, and two months since she began intensive sword training with Iskandar. His is not the only training she has relied on; the memories given to her by the spirit have been well-preserved. One evening, she finishes doing her stretching, picks up a sword, and settles into a relaxed stance.

"Fight me," she tells you as you also finish your warm-ups.

Stables

She hasn't had time to do much of this, but she sits close to the large brazier in the stable and holds a big stick between her knees and ankles. Those who look closely might see that this is not a branch, but a young tree stripped of its bark. She has sanded it smooth and is now carving a design into it, something that appears to change as she fancies. She will never accept some famous staff as being better suited for her than one she made with her own hands, which carves a picture of what and who she is in the moment she is using it. The loss of her old staff to Clan Grymusseth has given her the opportunity to make one that represents who she is now that she has left Clan Ashara, now that she is a scholar and mother-to-be. The young tree was one she found in the Brecilian Forest, a place where ancient magic lingers and where Pel felt oddly at home.

The current design on the staff is of a dragon, fashioned with minimal detail but a deft enough hand. She likes to keep things simple.

Wildcard

Comments

CLOSED to Samson

[mythalenaste]

Today, the morning sickness has been stubborn. More than usual, that is, as it has followed her into her second trimester and affects her all hours if she does not exercise. Today it is taking quite a bit of exercise to work itself out, so she has chosen a more active form of work than the usual library paperwork.

There is a spell on Skyhold much like the one on Dirthamen's Wisdom, keeping the structure relatively intact compared to other buildings of similar or even lesser age. Pel searched for an artifact like Dirthamen's Wisdom that held up Skyhold, and found only the spell, a faint vibration in the background that gets more pronounced the lower she goes.

Which leads her, today, to the dungeons.

Samson hears the door open and close well before he sees a petite but markedly pregnant elf, freckled and silver-haired, meander across the room. She holds a charcoal pencil and a slim book, but seems not to heed them for the moment. She is observing, using all her resources to lean into the vibrations of the spell and feel it. She doesn't notice the prisoner, or at least, she does not heed him.

[redinside]

The wandering elf may not have taken note of it, but she is certainly being watched—if not by every pair of eyes in the dungeon, then at least by this one, which follows her whenever she moves into view. The owner of these eyes is sitting on the bare floor of his cell without any shoes on, right up at the front where the bars meet the wall. He's got the side of his forehead pressed to the stone; occasionally he rolls his head to a new position to renew its cooling touch.

From here he asks, "What's it like carrying that weight for so long? Ever wish you could set it down for a minute?" The dry rasping of his voice is, for the moment, soft. "I've always wondered."

[mythalenaste]

Samson is not the first who has spoken to her here. However, he is the first who has not heckled, made lewd comments to gain the attention of the elven lady with the unexplained presence in the dungeon. She looks thoughtful for a moment before looking his way.

"Do you wonder that about the rest of your body?" she asks him.

[redinside]

Samson doesn't smile or nod when she turns to him, only continues to watch her calmly. His blinks are slow, his eyelids heavy.

"Can't say I do. Last I checked, I wasn't pregnant all over." Except with regrets, if you want to get metaphorical about it—and he prefers not to think overmuch about the red death slumbering in his belly, let alone classify its presence. "You looking for something in particular, or just enjoying the sights?" Ah yes, the scenic dungeon.

[mythalenaste]

Pregnant all over? She supposes it's not an inaccurate statement. Big feet, big boobs, that glowing Alistair mentioned that's really just sweat from throwing up. And the belly. Perfect skin and nails, though. It's good that there are some perks left to enjoy about this.

"Research," she answers, assuming that's all he has to hear in order to be bored. That's true of just about everyone ever. "Not on you," she adds to clarify. "On the building."

Outside Skyhold

[judgemewhole]

Hunting is an apt way to put what James is doing - or rather - training with a mix of hunting. There are fennecs out here, running too and fro, making a nuisance of themselves. James is using them to teach Interceptor fighting commands ... and to give the eight month old puppy a good long stretch of the legs.

She would see him standing in a snowy field, cloak wrapped around his shoulders and one gloved hand raised, fingers clenched inward, as he looked down at Interceptor. The puppy looked like he wanted to go ahead and leap forward, quivering at the very effort of keeping still.

Yet, he waited, until James opened his fingers wide and said, "Go."

Then the mabari was off like a bullet, chasing after the fennec that James had pointed to, growling and barking at the same time. James huffed out a white puff, green eyes pleased.

[mythalenaste]

Marvelously, and perhaps because animals have a sense about such things, the mabari veers away just enough to avoid hitting Pel when the fennec abruptly changes course. Pel finishes her prayers and turns around to hike up the slope to James, smiling as she does.

"Good day for hunting."

[judgemewhole]

Interceptor slipped sideways and off after the fennec. James nearly made a sharp noise of surprise, but the mabari did slide past her without even tossing snow on her cloak. He chuckled, lowering his fist.

"Training, mostly. Although I will be happy to donate the fennec fur to the cause. What are you doing out here?"

[mythalenaste]

"Breathing." And she keeps at it for a few breaths while the mabari scatters snow on his way. "I love winter. Don't you?"

[judgemewhole]

James smiled as he walked closer to her, breathing in himself. "I do. I enjoy the way it cleanses everything, for spring. Not to say that I enjoy freezing my toes off, but still."

Skyhold

[samahl]

Cyril sees her writing and comes closer to her before slipping into the space near her. He doesn't speak right away, not wanting to break into her thoughts if she's in the middle of something important. Instead, he waits for her to look up and see him.

[mythalenaste]

Pel glances up mid-sentence and smiles, turning back to finish the thought quickly before setting the book aside and folding her hands in her lap to give him her full attention.

[samahl]

Cyril grins a bit and holds up some maple candies for her. "Interested?" he asks, clearly a little pleased that he's manged to get a hold of some of them even with the weather being what it is.

[mythalenaste]

Pel's eyes light up. Lately her cravings for greens and red meat have been transitioning into cravings for fruit and sweets. And nothing is better than maple candy, not even tiny cakes.

"You are the perfect person," she says, taking the candies and beginning right away to nibble at one.

[samahl]

Cyril preened a bit. "Well, yes," he agreed easily at her description of him as 'perfect.' He means it in a playful sort of way but there's also a real expression of his vanity mixed in as well. He hands over the candies, after taking one for himself of course.

"How are you feeling?"

Stables

[conqueredhearts]

He spent a lot of time in the stables due to his horse being here. Really he sort of wanted his own place to live that wasn't a tent so he could have a fine dwelling created for Bucephalus too. But for now the large horse did well here. He'd even taken quite well to his tiny feline companion that Iskandar had adopted and he laughed when he saw the kitten had somehow gotten onto the horse's back and fallen asleep. Going over, he picked up the tiny thing (smaller still in his giant hands) and went to go sit somewhere with him.

It was at this time he saw Pel. Grinning ear to ear, he wandered over to her and went to sit near her. "What is it you do there, my friend?"

[mythalenaste]

"Making a staff," she answers without looking up. The insistent familiarity from Iskandar is, as always, both indulgent and disarming. "Mine was lost in a...situation."

She hasn't told him much of what went down with Clan Grymusseth. He would know as much as most people know, and nothing more.

[conqueredhearts]

"I see. Does one infuse magic into the staff as it is made? Or it it but a post and it is only the mage with the magic?"

He really wasn't not so familiar with how these things worked but felt she wouldn't mind his curiosity on the subject. If nothing else he felt he'd prove to her that he wouldn't use it against her or the other mages. They were all under his protection until they proved they no longer deserved that from him, after all.

[mythalenaste]

"It's a focus. There isn't magic in it unless there's a rune attached or something. Normally. Different things make the focus greater, but I never felt more focused than with something in my hands that I made myself. It's...more an extension of me then."

[conqueredhearts]

"I see." He smiled in understanding then leaned a little closer so he could have a better look at what she was doing. Out from the fur collar of his cloak one could here a tiny mewl and he laughed as he reached up to bring out a tiny kitten. "You wish to see her work too, little one? Here. It's not quite as warm as in there but you can still come see."

training grounds

[ichaer]

Ciri is crouched, one leg stretched out to the side and her breathing rhythmed as she finished the up the last of her warm-ups when the Dalish woman approaches. She looks up at the voice, brow raised and slightly thoughtful. It wasn't everyday that someone approached her in a such a manner but she was not one to complain. After all, she usually had to go looking for the fight around her.

The young Warden pulls herself upright with one steady motion, cracking knuckles and humming slightly.

"Nice to meet you too," she says with a half chuckle. "Got any rules?"

[mythalenaste]

A gleam comes to Pel's eye.

"No."

A beat. The moment of satisfying bravado passes.

"Well. No involving the baby, but I thought that would be understood."

[ichaer]

And Ciri, in turn, raises her brow.

"Well, obviously." She says, tucking some ashen hair behind her ear.

"The soldiers have got some wooden swords around here somewhere unless you simply wish to go all out."

[mythalenaste]

A smile. "Give me your worst."

You know, as long as worst doesn't leave anyone horribly maimed or cut open. Also all the magic-turned-inward in the world won't fix the problematic grip Pel has on her sword, so Ciri can probably win this one without even picking up a blade, wooden or no.

[ichaer]

"You'll just wish this was my worst," she says grinning before kicking off.

Her style wasn't nearly as familiar as most styles of swordplay. Ciri's was a combination of different styles learned from whomever wanted to teach an annoying teenager who was a little too graceful on her feet. In turn, her movements are equally graceful and for someone that hates their noble heritage so much -- it could almost be seen as dance-like.

Her swings, on the other hand, are hard and aiming to disarm.