open!

[ancarrow]

WHO: Eirlys and OPEN
WHAT: A day in the life of a city elf who is way out of her depth
WHEN: A couple of days before leaving for the Mire
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES: Discrimination in prompt b). Prose or brackets are both fine. If you'd like a different starter, hit me up at viridianwings and I'll write something up for your character!

a) Courtyard
Technically weapons were forbidden in the alienage, but Eirlys had slept with a knife hidden under her pillow for as long as she could remember. She'd been unarmed on the road though, knowing that Wellow would surely have found it travelling in such close quarters -- though she knew that it wouldn't have made any difference when faced with the demons, that she would have panicked in exactly the same way.

She'd been a little surprised that she'd been allowed weapons here, still feeling very much an elvish outsider in a human run organisation, but the only odd looks she'd got when she'd taken them from the stores were the sheer amount and variety that she carried. Now she's got them laid out on the ground in front of her - a couple of swords and axes of various sizes and weights, a bow and arrows, a dagger only slightly bigger than the one she'd got back home, a spiked mace that scares her a little looking at it - picking them up in turn and swinging them around, trying to get used to the feel of them and see which one worked best for her. If she was going to help the Inquisition, after all, first she'd better know how to defend herself.


b) Medical tents
Things were relatively quiet, the influx of wounded having slowed to a steady trickle. Eirlys spends most of the afternoon as more of a first aider than healer, inspecting days old wounds for signs of infection, changing bandages and poultices, giving advice to far less severe cases - a man with a bad rash; a couple of cases of food poisoning; checking up on a pregnant woman. It's the sort of work she likes, providing a definite solution and feeling like she's making a difference, but without the same weight of the world that she'd felt with the pressure of the seriously wounded from Haven or the epidemics she'd helped treat in the alienage.

She's about to leave and find some dinner when a group of young men, barely more than teenagers, saunter up to the tents. One of them is limping badly, his arms around the shoulders of the other two, who are holding him up. A sparring injury, most likely. Eirlys stands as they approach, offering a smile that's far more confident than any she's given here so far-- then jumps back, startled, as one of the men spits at the ground in front of her, barely missing her feet. "Forget it," the wounded man says. "Don't want any knife-ear looking at it. Take me inside and get me an ale, I'll wait for one of the human healers."

The newfound spring in her step has disappeared as she makes her way back to the kitchens, and she walks with her shoulders hunched over, gaze fixed on the floor, her confidence having fled entirely.


c) Kitchen
She'd taken her supplies back with her, intending to distract herself by grinding up the necessary herbs for poultices, hoping that the mind-numbing work would help her forget and make the bitterness brewing in her disappear. Placing the vials of ingredients in the corner she's claimed, she turns her back for just a moment to see if there's any food left over when a cat comes bounding through, a huge chicken leg in its mouth, being chased by one of the cooks. As it evades the broom she's wielding it comes clattering through Eirlys' corner, the vials spilling over and the herbs scattering over the floor.

With a resigned sigh, she bends down and begins to clean up, sweeping up the elfroot leaves into one vial, embrium petals into another, and so on. However a keen eyed observer would notice that the neatly written labels on the vials don't match the ingredients she's pouring into them whatsoever. The spindleweed is tidied into a bottle reading blood lotus, the blood lotus in the elfroot jar, and so on.

She can't read. She's managed to conceal it so far -- although only to her detriment, as so much of the goings on at Skyhold have been communicated through the bulletin board, which she's entirely unable to make head nor tail of. But anyone walking through would be able to get the picture fast enough, even though Eirlys is oblivious that she's doing anything wrong.

Comments

Medical Tents

[samahl]

Cyril had arrived at the tents to get some basic supplies. He overhears that comment and stops, glaring at the man. He has a desire to pay him back right there, but instead he memorizes his face. He'll bring it up with his brother later and they'll think of something worthy to do to him.

For now, he's much more concerned about her. She might not have vallaslin but she's still an elf. So he follows her, carefully. He doesn't want to spook her.

"I'm thinking of what to do to repay that stupid shem for his words," he says when they are beyond earshot of humans. "Spiders in his bedroll? Spit in his stew? What do you think?"

Courtyard

[equanimiti]

After spending hours upon the battlements gazing out into the bleak wilderness, Alayre finds him slowly marching back to his quarters. Everything that could've gone wrong has and the Knight-Commander is at a loss what to do. As much as he wants to pretend he can shoulder all of his burdens alone, Alayre knows he cannot. The disappearance of his brother-in-arms has left him vexed. It's truly difficult to walk this path of redemption without the other and Alayre isn't too certain if he can. His heart is heavy with worries and doubts. Skyhold is still a mess and everything else is just as worse off. Abandoned in his fate and utterly alone within it, Alayre almost didn't noticed the little elven woman if it hadn't been for her wide array of weaponry spread out before her.

A look of surprise linger in his grey eyes once he spots the mace. That's a particularly nasty looking weapon that looks as if has seen it's fair share of battle. He peers at the weapon curiously as he takes a few steps forward. Still dressed very much like a Templar but with the finery of a Knight-Commander and a long red cloak, Alayre must've looked a tad imposing to the elf maid.

"If I may ask--" His tone is gentle despite his frightening armor. The Templar have a terrible history amongst their Order, a history that cannot be ignored. "Where did you...find that one?" The man's Orlesian, so he might sound a tad odd to her. The accent gives away his foreign origins easily.

Kitchen

[gatheringstorm]

Having a sudden craving for hearth cakes after spending past few hours training and then patrolling outside Skyhold, Korrin feels she's earned a break and a reward. She's at least changed out of her armor and made herself somewhat presentable, after complaints from kitchen staff who weren't pleased at what her boots dragged in last time. Never upset those who prepare the food is a lesson Korrin learned early and has taken to heart.

She enters as Eirlys is cleaning up, temporarily putting aside her own reason for coming to the area. Bending down, she scoops up some elfroot before it can be trampled and heads over to offer it. "Here, this almost--" She pauses upon noting the jars, and their contents. That said contents don't match is evident after a moment to check and though normally she would spare someone's pride, healing ingredients are too vital to be incorrectly placed.

"...ah, the elfroot is in the wrong vial. As are the others. Unless you were simply trying to get them off the floor first." Which might be the case? She doesn't know Eirlys that well, yet.

Medical Tents -> Kitchens

[amygdalae]

[In the end, Bruce had been the one to treat the wounds of the injured man. Though if anybody noticed that he wasn't as nice as he usually would be, well, its not as if those particular patients knew anyway.

Plus he made sure they got the terrible-smelling poultice.

Once that was all done Bruce made his way towards the kitchens where he had seen her go to. The door is strangely left open when he arrives there, and he worries for a moment before he sees that she is inside there - most likely somebody forgot to close the door or something.

He goes inside and closes the door behind him, making sure she knows of his presence before he speaks.] Didn't think I would be seeing you here.