faderift | [Open] the one who survives by making the lives of others worthwhile

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[Open] the one who survives by making the lives of others worthwhile

WHO: The Medicine Seller and Open!
WHAT: The Medicine Seller wants to get his bearings. Or sell medicine. Since he’s a medicine seller.
WHEN: Feb 2017/Guardian, 9:43 Dragon
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Open starters below - message me on this journal or at

GreenRivers if you want a private starter.

A. Got A Remedy For That
The thing the Medicine Seller noticed about people was that they generally saw what they wanted to see so long as it fit their personal narrative of the world. Despite his numerous tells, he'd passed easily as human in his own world. He was the right general shape, and what words couldn’t explain away, a pretty face could certainly distract from.

Here, it was even easier to go unnoticed. Most had but a passing familiarity with the Dalish and their lore, so when they saw his pointy ears and facial markings, and assumed he was just some elf who'd nicked an Orlesian noble's bathrobe and was going for A Look, it made things quite convenient. And he wasn't one to deny people their assumptions when they benefited him.

Dalish may have had a stigma, but between that or being considered the very thing he existed to fight, the former misconception was infinitely less trying.

He didn’t have a stall set up, so much as a few planks of wood balanced together to make a crude, make-shift table. Which he had then covered with a cloth. There were bottles, flasks, vials, powder packets, small, colourful silk pouches and ornate lacquered boxes, bright and vibrant against the gray winter backdrop of the fortress. He’d set a few other planks down to sit on, sparing his knees the cold, winter mud.

He was out of the way of the main hubbub of the merchant stalls and there were no signs or boards with a list of prices, but the vibrancy of his attire and stock made him and his wares impossible to miss. If one was in need of a remedy, they could do far worse.

B. The Price of Knowledge
Being a stranger in a strange land was new to the Medicine Seller, but once the novelty of it wore off, it really wasn’t so different from home. People were people wherever you went - however different their appearances, customs, and cultures, they were still driven by the same emotions.

Still, customs were important, and moreover, he hated not knowing things. Especially things that could make him seem ignorant. It didn’t do to be ignorant if you could help it.

The library had proven beneficial. At the very least he had become acquainted with the Chantry’s version of Thedosian history. He doubted it was in any way accurate or removed from bias (which the historian Genitivi had at least admitted to in his writings), but it was still useful. The more he read, the more he understood the attitudes and inclinations of this society.

The books on medicine were also quite informative - elfroot seemed to go in just about every cure for any ailment which certainly made his job easy. Deep mushrooms also seemed to be a fairly common component.

He was not particularly neat with his research - books were scattered about his work space, some half open, others in haphazard stacks. His notes on Thedas’s medicinal herbs were just as erratically spaced, though his calligraphy and brushwork copying the illustrations was meticulous and quite skillful, if completely illegible to almost anyone in Skyhold.

Still, history and medical books could become a bit tiresome after a while, even for someone with the Medicine Seller’s boundless patience. He deemed a break necessary and went in search of some fiction, leaving his mess for now.

Hard in Hightown 3: The Re-Punchening sounded like some particularly delightful literary schlock. He returned to his spot, lit the tobacco in the bowl of his kiseru, and sat back, prepared to be thoroughly entertained.

C. Curiosity Killed The Cat
Skyhold was a curiosity in and of itself, and the Medicine Seller could hardly refrain from exploring the grounds. It wasn’t often one got the opportunity to poke around a fortress, and while there was work ahead of him here, he was rather nosy.

The ramparts offered quite a view of the chilly Frostbacks. The great hall was aptly named, altogether rather grand with its high ceilings and the imposing throne. The stables held a wide variety of peculiar animals. The gardens had all manner of botanical goodies. The place was absolutely huge and, if rumour was to be believed, quite a windfall for the Inquisition in its budding stages.

Such things were very interesting to the Medicine Seller. He’d move on once he was able to play by this world’s rules and pass through society without too much in ways of questions, but this was certainly ideal for the time being.

D. Wildcard!
Is the Medicine Man eavesdropping on your business? Did you spot him petting a good cat or talking to his weird sword? Did he sell you some faulty medicine? Anything goes!

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Not one to frequently make the rounds of the stalls, there are always things Morrigan has to purchase here and there that she can't simply send for from somewhere else or find when she takes to the woods, at least not until the weather turns or she has the time to venture further afield. So she's familiar with what Skyhold usually has to offer; the faces may change, the wares fluctuate along with the prices but often it's very much the same.

This, however, is not.

One of the boxes catches her eye because when has she not been drawn to a shiny thing, and her hand hovers over it before she glances to whom she assumes is the stallholder. "May I?" She does not assume they are for touching, and some lessons cut deep.

The Medicine Seller's first thoughts were that this was a peculiar customer. Even if he hadn't glimpsed the gold of her eyes, she had a very different bearing than those who'd been by before.

The refugees and soldiers approached with curiosity, true, but it was tempered with a caution born of years of fear and prejudice. The visiting dignitaries, if they deigned to stop by for a look at his wares at all, came with in a flurry of pomp and pretense or condescending insult.

Morrigan's simple curiosity was refreshing. And her taste was impeccable - the box was in and of itself a treasure. It was two tiers and made of black lacquer with a pattern of golden fans and the insides were red with a delicate gold trim.

"By all means. My wares are free to browse."

The contents were as valuable as the box that held them - various incense, some in stick form, others conical. The scents were subtle, lacking the cloying sickly sweetness so common in amateur blends. The top drawer contained the pre-mixed blends. The bottom contained pieces of fragrant wood, either used in a blend or burned on their own.

Carefully, with the delicate touch of someone who has spent the last several years of their life handling relics and artefacts that threaten to crumble into dust at times, she lifts the box.

"You are new here." A statement, but Morrigan's voice often lilts up anyway in a habit she's never quite managed to get rid of no matter how many years it's been since she left Flemeth and the Wilds behind.

Her eyes dart to him again before she continues investigating the box, a smile lighting up her face when she finds it not to be empty at all - what a rarity here, to have something interesting, something that wouldn't be out of place at all in her quarters. Something that won't take up too much space when she inevitably has to move on again when all is said and done with the Inquisition, whenever that may be. "Do you craft all of this yourself? From incense to box?"

A statement of the obvious - there was no sense in confirming or denying such a thing. Morrigan seemed perfectly aware of what was what.

"Some," he said. His medicine pack and the case which he stored his sword for starters. But a few of the jars and boxes were of his own make.

"The box you are holding is from Kameyama. Some of the medicines are imports as well. The incense is of my own make."

He was very particular when it came to certain scents, after all.

"...Ah...."

He seemed to realize something.

"...It is Kameoka these days. My mistake."

"You are a healer too then?" Or one of the Dalish, perhaps. She had known another dressed so very differently from the rest after leaving to make their own life until what she hears next changes that.

Those names certainly aren't names from Thedas, a brow arching but no more. Certainly she's met many a rifter working with them as well as her smaller project that overlaps with the research on the eluvians and Crossroads, concerning them, their legends, how they overlap with what is native to Thedas.

"And where would that be? Other than the other side of a rift though...we do not know how far the Fade might stretch, least of all after this."

"Nothing so lofty," said the Medicine Seller.

"I am just a medicine seller."

The Medicine Seller had seen a map of Thedas - as far as he could tell, they didn't know how far their own world stretched, let alone the Fade.

"Wherever it is, it is far from here."

Perhaps even out of reach. While the Medicine Seller had never really settled in one place, he would be lying if he said he didn't feel some pang of loss in coming to a strange land.

"Are you familiar with the Fade?"

"Here that falls under the healers. Or the alchemists." Usually the mages too if it's not something about to explode in your face the way rogues are prone to do because that's how rogues do alchemy.

She smiles, thinks of the Crossroads, the eluvian secured tight behind a heavy door with a sturdy lock and as many wards as could be placed upon it. Mirrors upon mirrors that might lead to far more places than Thedas alone. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Until the first arrivals there was the world as it is, the Fade, and the Void."

Which still isn't saying a great deal but it says enough; Thedas had some idea of what it was and now all has been ripped away from it same as the sky itself has been sundered.

"I am a mage, so yes, I am familiar with the Fade if you have questions. Tis where every living being in Thedas goes when the spirit leaves the body after death, or when we dream. Each mage draws their magic from it when casting spells. Our world and it are separated by the Veil." She pauses, reconsidering for a moment. "Not quite so completely of late."

"My goodness," he exclaimed with all the enthusiasm of a sinking stone. "How prestigious."

As far as he was concerned, he was, and always would be, a merchant. He didn't need his professional ruse to come with actual expectations.

"But you are right. There are many questions. Despite the library's abundance, the answers I found were..."

Biased was the first word that came to mind. But he wasn't sure how Morrigan felt about the Chantry's views on things, and there was no sense in causing undue offense.

"...Incomplete."

That seemed relatively neutral.

"I am sure they shall be bereft, though you have the sense to charge. One would imagine." Which does beg the question of what she holds in her hand. "How much for this?" Coin or barter, she's dealt with both but she really is rather taken with it as she is with most interesting or shiny things.

(Perhaps she might have been a magpie rather than a crow.)

Laughing without a care for who might happen past be they Chantry mother, Templar or good little Loyalist mage, she leans closer. "Much history has been written by the Chantry. What they do not wish the world to remember they seek to sweep beneath the carpet if they cannot crush or stamp it out entirely, all else must be seen through their narrow eyes and ever more narrow little minds. An entirely useless sort of creature."

"As I thought. There is more."

It was something between a mutter, a hiss and a whisper with an edge of satisfaction in the tone. Something had not sat right with him since he started looking into this world's spirits, and perhaps this one could provide clearer insight.

"If you would share what you know," he lowered his head. "...I would be grateful."

He didn't need to push the box towards her. The implications were clear - knowledge in exchange for the box and its contents.

He had been part of the merchant class for centuries, after all. He knew a good deal when he saw one.

It takes a moment of consideration. Only a moment. She has pushed for far worse bargains, she has been subject to them so she nods and smiles. "A fair trade," she agrees.

"Do you have a preference for where to begin? There are some who are told a great deal upon arriving though much of that may be utter nonsense depending on the mouth it comes from. Most mages were taught by the Circle and taught fear, taught only what was allowed so they know little, even those who wish to know more. And others?" Her smile is sharp edges as she thinks of the little Circle, no, excuse her, the Mage Council and their work.

"They are sheep who would not learn from history and what happens when you allow another to hold the leash. What we know of the Fade and magic in full? Perhaps that suffices as a starting point given the state of the sky."

It seemed Morrigan had her own set of biases which the Medicine Seller would be sure to take with a grain of salt.

"I admit I am curious as to what the Chantry would forbid."

After all, what didn't fit neatly into a narrative of keeping mages and templars under their thumb was probably going to be of some relevance to the Medicine Seller's work.

But he had one very specific question itching around at the back of his mind that would surely cause him problems if he went around asking the wrong people - Morrigan's blatant dislike of the Chantry, however, left him fairly certain it would be safe to ask, even if she couldn't provide an answer beyond uncertainty.

"The spirits here are a tad... simplistic in nature. Is that just mortal understanding of them or are they like that because of the Veil?"

"Much and more. There are forms of magic other than blood magic that the Chantry would see banished for instance. Some of mine own would paint me an unnatural creature." Far more than simply that would paint her in such a light but it is always worth making sure a person knows that it isn't just the blood magic. It's the old ways, the old practices, the wild untamed things they cannot neatly label.

Things that they fear, that they teach the mages to fear. And then what do they expect to happen when the demons come or when they hurl the mages to the demons in the towers?

"Spirits...much of what is written comes from the Chantry. They are the Maker's first children, so it goes, but when they could only shape the Fade to their liking rather than imagine and create as you or I might, he turned his back upon them. Tis said that this is when the Maker created the Veil to separate the Fade from the new realm he created, one that the spirits could not alter at their whim. So it goes that some watched curiously, yet others watched with rather more dark desires." Sometimes it's so easy to slip into the storyteller again though Chantry tales aren't quite what she's used to compared to elven lore and histories though they may need to come to that given that the world is far older than belief in the Maker. They're only starting. "Mankind gave them names and values, split the 'good' into spirits, the 'evil' into demons though the Dalish hold that there are no good or evil, there are only spirits, they trust them little.

"Dealings with either are often fraught." To put it mildly, if the way her mouth quirks up at the corner is any sort of guide, remembering far too many instances during the time of the Fifth Blight alone that were so very rarely to do with the actual Blight itself.

"If your magic were unnatural, then it would be something that was outside the realm of possibility," he said, the slightest hint of teasing in his tone.

He'd gone with that bit of circular logic partially out of mischief, and partially to see if Morrigan would read between the lines. He and the Chantry had very different concepts of what constituted 'unnatural', after all.

"...The ones called the Dalish may have a..."

He contemplated his choice of words here. 'Better' didn't seem to fit, not when so much was unknown about them. But the Dalish could, at least, understand the nuance of 'Pride' and 'Desire' not being fundamentally evil while 'Justice' or 'Mercy' were fundamentally good.

"...more thorough understanding."

"So very certain, are you?" As if she's not curious, as if it isn't a handy deflection. One does not grow up with whatever she had for a mother without picking up a few tricks here and there, honed over the years but it's worth noting. "'Twould depend on what one believes is and is not possible."

A definition stretched thin these days.

Given her research on elven matters as well as the other topic she has undertaken as it pertains to rifters, what she hears is something she will be sure to make a note of as soon as she is able. This isn't a thing she can afford to lose track of when it could very well be a true connection, something less fleeting than what she's managed thus far in all her many months (near a year) of working on the matter.

"The Dalish were the ones from whom humans learned much from long ago, before the Tevinter Imperium sank Arlathan and placed so many in shackles. A long and bloody history follows." Her eyes are shadowed for a moment, a short sharp sigh escaping. "As you can imagine, what is remembered and known is very little."

He smiled, just a little.

"Fairly certain."

If something could be, then it was, and therefore 'natural'. He made no claim about knowing all things that were and were not.

"I have read about why the elves hate the humans. It is a shame so much is gone. But..."

He gave Morrigan a pointed look, perhaps the closest thing to a genuine expression he'd had in their entire conversation.

"...not everything, it would seem."

"What do you call natural and unnatural? Some might say that changing shape from woman to wolf or raven as it might please would be enough to be enough to call her maleficar."

Which is the problem with trying to neatly label magic when you can at most say 'this is fire, or ice, or lightning' before you remember once again that it's artifical, that all of it has been carried through so many hands and minds and years as to render it near unfit for purpose in the end.

"I am the arcane advisor to the Inquisition." That's never been a secret, far less so as the months have carried on with certain objects arriving in Skyhold with her involvement in some fashion. "I have studied such things, delved deep into ruins, ventured to many a strange destination. Tis why I am here, after all."

"Change is the state of both the heart and mind," he said simply.

"There is little reason for it not to be the state of one's exterior as well."

After all, there was a long tradition of beasts turning into humans and humans turning into beasts in folklore where he was from. He saw no reason for it to be otherwise in another land.

"That is a considerable position," he remarked, lowering his head in deference. He wasn't sure what was or was not considered polite or what the social pecking order was, but he was fairly certain merchants fell under arcane advisors. It didn't hurt to err on the side of caution and keep up the facade.

"Such places must have been of great interest."

"Here tis something feared, fought, resisted by many. They cling so tightly to what they knew simply because it is what they knew. The mages that clamour to return to the Circle who do not look to the elves and what became of them, who do not think that the very same thing will not become of them when there are a great many things that might be done to them." Tranquility, death for so many reasons, learning to fear their magic leaving them without any strength should the demons come. "The notion that elves might deserve to be treated as equals boggles the mind, anything more and heads might well explode."

She exaggerates but should that be the case, it might not be such a bad thing. Maybe they could get something done without those voices howling so loud and so long against everything.

"A means to an end, the scornful sorceress is another name or 'that dreaded maleficar'. Or Celene's pet apostate. Whatever they prefer depending on the fashions." Smiling, because the names amuse her far more than those that gave them to her, she does wonder what such a person as a medicine seller might be nicknamed in time. Everyone collects them after all.

"Many are nothing short of wonders though little remains; what the ancients were capable of...able to bend space and time to suit their whim, if you can imagine such a thing."

There was a hint of a smile as the Medicine Seller contemplated Morrigan's colourful use of imagery. Change was slow to come when the status quo benefited those in power, but it would come nonetheless.

"My, what a mess that would make."

As Morrigan rattled off the list of 'titles' she'd acquired, the Medicine Seller suspected that she was no one's 'pet' anything.

"So many names - I suspect by their volume, none are really able to stick."

Such was often the case when it came to a person who did not allow others to define them.

"I would be interested in hearing what you have seen and learned, however. Such places sound truly fascinating."

"To give a name is power. Simply my name suffices, or Witch of the Wilds." After all, she is still very much that. Not even Flemeth can wholly lay claim to it when the tales do make mention of her daughters.

(Daughters. Only one she ever tried to sink her claws into.)

"Much of the fighting in Orlais will have come to an end now so the Exalted Plains, Dirthavaren as the elves know it, will no longer be rife with fighting. I do not believe the Emerald Graves were ravaged so, they have far greater history within. Though any farflung corner will have an elven site if one knows what to look for; the Hinterlands, the Brecilian Forest, Sundermount in Kirkwall. Should you wish to visit any, there are many to choose from."

Maybe not Sundermount. On account of how the things raised there to fight Tevinter never passed with those who called them to such a purpose, so now they wander, ready to inflict violence upon any on those paths.

He didn't pass comment. The only indication that he'd even heard that was the slow curl of his lips into an unmistakable smirk. That was a truth that seemed almost universal.

Which is why the Medicine Seller never bothered getting a proper name. Or staying in a single place long enough where one might be required.

"I have heard the Brecilian Forest mentioned once before."

He pondered for a minute, resting his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"It is not often tree spirits grow wrathful."

"It played a role in the Fifth Blight though I believe there was a group who ventured there not long ago. For what I am not entirely sure." There's a hint of annoyance; a cat smoothing its fur after having it rubbed the wrong way by someone's hand before it passes.

That takes a moment though, she hates that something passed her by. (She can blame Cousland though. Another thing to add to the long list.)

"Do such things exist where you are from? They are sylvans here, unpleasant to fight if you are caught amongst the branches, spirits or demons - rage demons mostly - that possess trees and twist them." Magic, dragons, demons existing at all, she has asked after those things but trees do not have spirits of their own here, it is something new to consider.

Morrigan's agitation didn't pass him by. He wondered if there was something of greater interest to her in the forest.

"How unfortunate. Perhaps another opportunity will arise."

If it did, he'd certainly be interested in taking a look. The woods seemed to contain much more than angry trees.

"They are called Kodama in my homeland. Though on the island of Okinawa, they are known as Kiinushi."

The faint smirk had vanished as quickly as it appeared, his features mask-like as ever. He'd spent a great deal of time traveling through wild lands - forests, mountains, wetlands - when trees were enraged, something was very wrong.

"They do not possess the tree, however. So it is, perhaps, not the same."

No less concerning, though.

More a missed opportunity that another got to discover. She hates that. Hates not being the one to know something best about what she has dedicated so much of her life to now.

"Many old things are returning whether the world wishes to see it or not, a great many of us have been retracing the steps of our younger years." Morrigan too has found her attentions wandering in the direction of the Wilds for the first time in so long, thinking to return, to go looking, to actually follow up on any of the tales for the first time since she departed.

"Are they spirits of nature or wood themselves?" Her eyes light up at hearing something so very new that no one else here might have heard at all, another thing that might overlap in some way with Thedas. Rather hard to forget, after all, the lady of the wood.

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meds4sale - 2017-02-28 20:57 (UTC) - Expand

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[Open] the one who survives by making the lives of others worthwhile

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