faderift | all hail the new kids

Entry tags:

all hail the new kids

WHO: Legolas & whoever wants to meet him o/
WHAT: Legolas's first week in Skyhold.
WHEN: Starting the arrival of new Rifters at Skyhold and spanning about a week. All these elves, man.
WHERE: All over.
NOTES: No warnings! If you'd rather a specific prompt, you can hit me up in a PM or a pplurk @

perfectassassin

( arrival. )
Legolas arrived to Skyhold not only with the other "Rifters," but also with a pony tagging along in his wake and not particularly willing to be parted from him, not even, it seemed, for the stables. They made quite the sight, a tall elf and a short pony, so, so clearly not of this world, neither pleased nor impressed to be where he was.

( exploring. )
There were things to do first, when no other task occupied him in this new place, of course he had to explore and familiarise himself with this fortress that was, whether willingly or not, to become his home from now on. He was wandering the halls and courtyard, perhaps needing to be guided away from certain parts that are not freely available, and especially not to the Rifters. It did not help that he did not part with his weapons, the long white knife still strapped to his waist, the quiver full of arrows and bow still at his back.

( archery range. )
The white war bow felt as much a part of him as his hair and fingernails, as his arms and legs, and so it felt as natural as breathing to bend it, nock an arrow to the string and send it flying at the mark. Unmoving, unchallenging, boring, but much like breathing was always, this was not always about being challenging. It cleared his mind, it soothed some nerves.

He held a handful of arrows in his hand, a couple lodged in the mark already, and in a quick succession, barely noticeable to the naked eye, he shoot the remaining arrows. Thud, thud, thud, they all hit exactly where he intended. There was enough space for two fingers between each, all in a straight line in the very middle of the mark post. There were more arrows in his quiver, but Legolas still jogged up to grab those he shoot: those were good for practise, the shafts made of wood he found in the surrounding forests, the arrowheads made of bone, and fletching with whatever feathers he could find, very mismatched.

After he was satisfied - the post he was using all but shredded to splinters -, he spent a fair amount of time cleaning his gear. The bow, the string, the arrows, and his knife as well even though he had not used it. This was a foreign place, that he was but beginning to learn all about, his weapons had to be in top shape at all times. Just in case.

Though exhaustion was quick to catch on, now that he was capable of feeling it quite this way. Calmed nerves opened the doors to drowsiness, when he was already tired, and he might have fallen asleep where he sat whetting his knife. Head bowed, long hair framing his face.

( ooc: three options here: while he's shooting, while his cleaning, while he's dozing off! Also the shooting is what Lars Andersen uses, so think this. It's super fast, plus it's basically one gesture of nocking the arrow and releasing it, instead of three. )

( library. )
The library, unfortunately, quickly turned out to be rather useless, at least in this moment in time. While he knew the commonly used language of the folk of this world, their letters were still for the most part foreign. Legolas sought out maps, he sought out anything that he could understand with his currently limited knowledge. Curiously, some books he had found had notes written in them, things scratched out or added, but all of them were in a similarly incomprehensible alphabet.

It was one of such that he was trying to decipher, taken by the curiosity to find out just what those notes said, when another bout of exhaustion took him. He fell asleep, sitting with his back resting against one bookshelf, long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankle.

At the very least, he did not disturb the dead silence of the place with snoring.

( for: thranduil. )
There was a measly couch in the room they shared, and this couch was exactly what they were currently occupying. Thranduil seated properly, while Legolas himself stretched across the length of it and used his father's lap as a pillow. Their exhaustion was clear at a first glance, sluggish motions, droopy eyes and slow conversation interspersed with yawns.

Still, neither of them gave in.

Legolas bit back a yawn, swallowed it whole stubbornly and he caught himself reaching to rub at his eyes. The hand in his hair, petting, playing with the strands, was not making staying awake much easier, apparently. It wasn't the first time, but it still wasn't a particularly easy thing to do at all: simply allowing himself to fall into the darkness of sleep. Not even when he felt as safe and as content as he only could be in this place.

Instead of giving in, Legolas hummed a song under his breath. It helped a little to stay awake, at least to him, having to focus on the words and the melody.

( for: aragorn. )
Even with all the people in Skyhold, it was thankfully not too terribly difficult to find a private spot or another. There were parts of the ramparts that did not have any guard posts, out of the earshot of all and with a nice view of the surrounding areas to boot. The air was crisp still, but thankfully Legolas managed to procure a cloak warmer than his clothing was originally. It kept him warm well enough, which was a strange consideration after a lifetime of never having had to worry about it.

"As you suspect, my friend, I do wish to hear all of it," if Aragorn had been here for a time already, surely he had learned a lot. Legolas wanted to hear all of it. "I have but thin threads, too little and tangled too greatly to comprehend this world." Things overheard on their journey from the Dales to the Skyhold, things witnessed, things he was told and things he figured out himself.

( for: martel. )
It was one thing to just hear about it, but it was something entirely else to actually experience it first hand: the discrimination, disrespect and general poor treatment of the elves in Thedas. Even with how vastly he differed from the native elves, it did not spare him the mistreatment, all the more so as he did not hide who and what he were. The elegant point of his ear was in full sight of all, with his hair drawn back by braids, and he admitted to it freely.

There was no shame at all in being an elf, but there was plenty of pride — pride and joy, Legolas had not once in his life wished to be something or someone else — in it instead. So he made himself deaf to the snide and rude comments occasionally thrown in his direction, when he dared to foray into spaces primarily occupied by the Men, who, truth be told, all too often acted more akin to orcs than Men. Yet while words were nothing but hot air puffed out of foul mouths, actions were something else entirely and those were harder to ignore—

Especially when he got cornered and, worse yet, touched on the elbow or hip, or anywhere at all really, along with those leery remarks. Legolas stood his ground, deadly calm at first and staring coolly, no matter how revolting the stench of ale mixed with sweat was to his nose. He had his bow and arrows, which there was not enough space to use, but he also had his knife.

But first things first: he grabbed the man's hand in his own, grip firm, painfully so, and he twisted it away from himself, much to the man's surprise, alarm and in seconds also despair. "First, you will be parted with your hands, so no elf ever again will suffer their touch," Legolas spoke slowly, clearly, and he squeezed harder the palm he held, verging now on breaking the fragile bones, while his other hand reached for the knife at his side, "Then, you will be parted with your tongue, so you will no longer be able to spew such filth."

( for: solas. )
It was something Legolas noticed quickly, the more tired he would grow, the longer these halls seemed as he walked them now and again to just explore and learn. His steps would barely carry him closer to his goals, feet heavy as if laden with iron and stone. Still, he carried himself with the usual grace of his folk, only slow, as if was the land of dreams he was walking and not reality, with half-lidded eyes and distracted gaze.

It was a miracle, sometimes, that he would reach the places that he wanted to go to, or return to his father's side after the night fell, when he got like this.

Legolas caught a yawn, quelled it almost violently with a involuntary nose wrinkle and a little frown to the set of his lips. But the sigh that followed he allowed himself. Chilly gust of breeze brushed past him, making him shiver but not quite drawing him out of this sleepy stupor. He was far too gone, though he was still attentive enough to catch some motion with the corner of his eye — outside, he stopped to look out of the window — but he never saw what it was, a bird more than likely, because darkness took him then: his eyes fell closed, his body went lax.

( for: galadriel. )
Legolas knew better than to ask openly, not more than was proper for concerned kin that is, but he kept his ears open and he guided conversations in just the right directions. And it wasn't all that difficult to find out the part of the building, and after that: the exact room where Galadriel was held. No longer a cell, oddly so. After all there were very few, or really, none other, rooms with guards stationed at the door, or with the sole window looking out also watched by another pair of eyes.

Two ways in, both watched, and as far as he knew, Galadriel was not allowed visitors. No doubt, they'd dig their heels in if an elf of her world, that knew her, that had care for her, tried to see her. And, more than that, it'd likely put him under a much greater scrutiny and that was something Legolas would rather avoid at all cost.

In the end he opted for the halls, at night — after having rested well, earlier in the day himself — a fair amount of time before the guards changed their shifts. It was an hour when all that the Men needed was a gentle tug towards the darkness of sleep, when already drowsy after a duty filled, yet boring day. Yawn one, then another, one guard rubbed at his eyes, while the other was slowly sliding down to the floor, back on the wall. It scraped, grated for a couple of seconds, and then all was silent again. Neither could later attribute their failure to stay awake to the indistinct whispers that stole into their ears.

Legolas stepped silently over a pair of legs stretched across the hallway, the guard's chest rising slowly with each breath taken, chin drooped. The other guard was in a similar position, but head tipped back instead and... snoring. The door made a noise when opened, but thankfully not loudly enough to bring attention to itself or wake up anyone that should stay asleep. He was quick with it anyway, open the door, get in, close it behind him softly.

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After her usual training, Korrin heads to the archery range for a little practice. She's not a battle archer in any sense of the term, but she's always found archery to be relaxing in its own way. A little time at the range every now and then keeps what meager skills she has from falling into complete disuse, too.

However, the elf currently demonstrating his own considerable talent snares her attention. The Vashoth's eyebrows raise as she approaches, awed by the speed and accuracy of his arrows. She pauses nearby to observe, putting off any practice of her own for the time being.

Throughout his practise, Legolas remains fully aware of his surroundings. Of people coming and going, stopping by to watch him, or talking in the distance. It would do him no good to completely shut off the outside world, but it's all something he keeps in the back of his mind, attention split between the shooting and any potential threats incoming. There was none, and he finished without an interruption. Only then, when all arrows he held in his grip were lodged in the trunk ways away, did he turn towards his audience of one.

It was with a smile, of course, a smile that could not hide his surprise at the woman's appearance. Of course he had seen such folk around here, already, but it was still a shocking sight, something he was going to get used to for sure.

"Greetings," he offered politely, clearing the surprise from his features and simply keeping the smile, "I should hope there is enjoyment in watching me shoot! Or am I, perhaps, keeping you from your own practise?"

The reaction to her appearance isn't terribly surprising to Korrin, of course. Most natives of the South rarely see one of her kind, so she's still an oddity to them even in Skyhold. That this particular elf's height and bearing mark him as an outsider only makes further sense. She has yet to hear of her kind existing in any other world but this particular one.

Nodding politely in turn, the tall, horned woman flashes a smile. "Not really, no. I visit the range sometimes just for variety's sake, but I'm a mage. What I can manage with a bow could never hold up in actual combat. Your own, on the other hand, are truly impressive. I don't mind postponing idle practice when I can see someone with true skill at work."

Mage was something of a foreign word that Legolas had only truly learned about here. People akin to wizards, with the power to bend reality to their Will, to manipulate nature as they wished. How powerful were those mages of Thedas, he had yet to find out.

Another point of curiosity, along with the curiosity about what sort of people her kind were.

Legolas inclined his head in thanks for the compliment, smiling, “Would you mind bearing the brunt of my curiosity, in return for the show you witnessed?”

Korrin shakes her head and smiles, not seeing any reason to hold back. The more rifters understand of her kind, in both senses, the less likely they are to perpetuate the bigotry running rampant in Thedas. Or at least that's the hope.

"Not at all. Ask what you want and I'll do my best to answer. I can't say such answers will be impartial, though. When it comes to certain aspects of Thedas I have some...strong opinions, to put it mildly."

This kind of honesty was actually quite pleasant to hear, Legolas arched his brows and smiled. He wasn’t likely to simply take just any stranger’s word about anything, but it was always good to hear them out.

It was rare, too, that anyone was ever truly impartial.

“There are things to have strong opinions about, certainly,” he would have to be blind to not have already seen some of them. “Yet my first question will be easy, for I would like to learn your name. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil.”

Nodding to that observation, Korrin then smiles somewhat apologetically. It figures she'd forget basic introductions. "It's nice to meet you, Legolas. I'm Korrin Ataash, of the Valo-Kas company. Lineage isn't something often brought up with my kind, for good reason, so it's often just easier to go by company. Most Tal-Vashtoh and Vashoth are part of one, as it's the best way for us to find work."

She shrugs, thinking it obvious why. Tall, muscular horned people seem a natural fit for a mercenary life.

Edited 2016-04-13 15:03 (UTC)

"Well met, then, Korrin," then, adding easily, the elven greeting but in the speech common to here, "A star shines upon this hour of our meeting."

And now it was time to take her up on her offer, because questions Legolas certainly had many and he would like answers to all of them, or at least as many as she could offer him comfortably. His curiosity was great, his time here brief, and to learn from another was his favourite way. He would not scoff at books, if he had to dip his nose in them, but this? This was vastly better.

"I confess these terms you use, they are most unknown to me, Tal-Vashtoh or simply Vashtoh? What do they mean?"

Well, that was rather poetic. Korrin smiles and files away that saying for later use. Araceli might like it, at the very least. As to those questions, she response easily, no awkwardness or hesitance on display. It's a nice change, with rifters; most natives tend to lump her in with the Qunari and avoid on principle. Few really want to learn more.

"Tal-Vashoth literally means 'True Grey Ones', it's the term for former Qunari who leave have been exiled from Qunari society. Vashoth, 'Grey Ones' , are born outside of the Qun to begin with. Everyone else forgets or ignores all that and just call us all Qunari, though that just means being part of that particular society; it's not a term for the entire race, whatever they think."

Curiosity was always par for the course when it came to the elves, and the younger the elf, the greater the curiosity. Though her height and horns gave her a menacing appearance, indeed, Korrin's mellow and pleasant attitude soothed any nervousness that might have been sparked. Legolas felt at ease and, more importantly, listened carefully, making a note to be mindful about matters such as this when it came to her people. It reminded him slightly of all the various elves, how while they were all Quendi, among them were the Sindar, the Silvan, the Noldor, and quite a few other groups.

There was a sadness in it all, however, that the cause of such differences was exile. Yet Korrin did not seem bothered, she did not sound bitter.

"If it is not too bold of me to ask, this exile, what are the reasons for it?"

"Honestly, I can only speculate. Not a lot of former Qunari are willing to talk about their time in the Qun. That and Qunari society hates to waste any resource, people included. If they fuck up, they're brainwashed into obedience or turned into mindless laborers or something like that. So anything where they would just let someone go is weird, to me. Qunari aren't big on free will, as you might have noticed." Now there's some bitterness in her tone, that Korrin doesn't try to hide.

"And that's just the normal folks. Mages have it even worse. Their word for my kind is saarebas; 'dangerous thing'. That tells you all you really need to know, doesn't it? They spend their lives as chained weapons to be killed if there's even the slightest chance of corruption. So yeah, I'm proud as hell to be Vashoth and not have anything to do with the Qun. Anyone sane would be."

What could one even say to that? It was so strange to him that an exile could be the better thing to happen to someone, in a way. Yet how hard must it be, for those exiled, to grow accustomed to a wholly way of living so starkly different? More so too, when their mere appearance could easily trigger anger, or worse yet: violence.

"It seems, from what you say, the life outside of the Qunari society is... better, perhaps could be preferred by many if they got the taste of it?" Then again, this was but one point of view, those who had been soaking the culture from their childhood and never left, they would see good reason behind every aspect of it. And the longer Legolas thought of it all, the more uncertain he was of anything. He shook his head, it was not his place to speak like that. "Forgive me, I know still so little... I should keep from passing any judgements. Yet, glad I am that it is wholly possible for your folk to lead a good, though harsh in its own ways, life even in exile, or born away from... ah, I think those who were only meant to be your people."

At mention of passing judgment, Korrin just snorts and shakes her head. "If hearing all that didn't disturb you at all, I'd have to wonder. Learn all you can, of course, but if something sounds rotten to begin with, it probably is. Don't get me wrong, life as a Vashoth isn't easy; people fear or distrust us and we're mostly mercenaries because that's often the only real work we can get. But for anyone who values freedom and free will, it's a damn sight better than living a life where you're not allowed even a name, because they don't see you as an individual, just your role. My parents were lucky enough to escape that toxic crap, and I'm grateful for that every day. The Qunari they left behind...they aren't my people, any more than a surfacer dwarf considers those below kin."

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all hail the new kids

Archery range

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