faderift | Player Plot: I will call you home

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Player Plot: I will call you home

WHO: Beleth, Cyril, Merrick, and Ellana Ashara, Thranduil, Sina Dahlasanor, Metaari, Sam Gareth, Kallian Endris, Alistair and Ruby i think??? whoever wants to go
WHAT: Keeping Up With The Asharas, the reality tv show
WHEN: Backdatedish, around mid-kingsway
WHERE: The Heartlands of Orlais
NOTES: OOC post

Tel'enfenim, da'len
Irassal ma ghilas
Ma garas mir renan
Ara ma'athlan vhenas
Ara ma'athlan vhenas

Never fear, little one,
Wherever you shall go.
Follow my voice--
I will call you home.
I will call you home.

Clan Ashara currently resides in a small valley nestled into the mountains, that seems idyllic for a Dalish clan. A stream runs through the valley, descending into a waterfall with the steep cliffs on one side, and sheer mountain walls going straight up on two other sides. The only way in and out is through a gap big enough to lead several aravels through. It's a defensible position, safe from any threats.

Except the fade rift that has opened up just a little ways from the gap.

The hunters can handle the demons spewing from it well enough, and there are always a couple stationed there to pick off whatever appears. But it's too dangerous to lead the aravels and noncombatants through, and thus, they are forced to wait.

To compound the issue, there's a village close to where they're currently staying, and while both sides have kept to themselves, neither are pleased with the current situation. They've helped get a message to the Inquisition in hopes that someone will come take care of the problem, and now both are tensely waiting for something to happen to change the situation, for better or worse.

And so the members of Clan Ashara, with their friends in tow, return back to their clan.

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Sam doesn't venture far from where they're being allowed to camp, but it doesn't stop him from going around and looking at some things - respectfully of course and keeping distance for most of it, especially on his own. When he comes upon the robed elf that had greeted them first though, he slowly makes his way over.

"Ah... Sorellean, right?" Beleth had introduced him as Sorrel, but that was probably too formal. "Or am I supposed to call you First Sorellean? Sorellean the First?" The mage inwardly sighs - smooth, he should've asked the others on etiquette more on the way here.

"You can call me Sorellean, if you want," He replies, not sure if he's amused at Sam's verbal flailing, or annoyed. But amusement is winning, and it's visible in the little quirk of a smile, beginning at the corner of his mouth, "I'm told your name is Sam."

Cyril's sex talk strikes again, as per the norm.

"What can I do for you, then?"

Well that's good because he's a little annoyed at himself for the verbal flailing. He's both excited and nervous for being here, meeting the Clan, trying to make a good impression - or just not being noticed if things don't seem well. Seeing the bit of a smile does help though, returning a small one of his own.

Hearing that Sorellean already knows his name does have him blinking a couple times, having expected that he would need to introduce himself, but it sounds like someone has already done that. "Ah? Who told? But yes, I'm Sam. It's nice to meet you Sorellean."

His smile widens just a bit at the question. "I just wanted to talk. I suppose get to know you a bit better?"

He thinks about saying Cyril of course, and then rolls his eyes at the question. Of course it was Cyril--he presumes Cyril isn't sleeping with the Grey Warden, but only because that would have been less of a disgrace. He does love Cyril, and he knows his clan-brother well enough to know, regardless of whatever else he does, he never goes by half-measures.

Bless him, and his wandering eye.

"Well, I'm here to talk. I'm supposed to be the paragon of good behavior, right now, so that's lucky," Why it's lucky, he does not say, but the way his cheshire smirk sneaks across his face is no encouragement,"What do you want to know?"

The rolling of the eye only has the mage lifting a brow, but not pressing it. Cyril is certainly at the top of the list, but it isn't so strange for him to ask who considering he has some sort of relationship with each of the Asharas that returned with the group. Least two of them he knows would give him a good review.

"Only 'right now'?" Was he to watch out when Sorellean wasn't on good behavior? He doesn't miss the slight change in the elf's smile. "Well I guess I need to ask what being a twin is like, and what sort of things do you do as First?"

"Well, not to put to fine a point on it, but I'm Dalish, and we're good at pointy things," It's a joke, you see. The punchline is a smile with teeth, and murder, "And so, of course you're not..."

There's polite, and then there's business as usual. Mage or otherwise, his species would make Sam an enemy under almost any other circumstances-- but he did ask. So much for manners.

"I don't know, it's like it is, I suppose. What's it like being all on your lonesome?" Sorrel's teasing him, but the answer is honest; what does a fish know about what it's like to breathe the sea? He breathes, "As the First, I'm apprenticed to the Keeper. She instructs me in the ways of magic and prayer, and anything else we need to remember. Together, our duties involve guiding the clan and maintaining our cultural history, as well as the protecting the clan physically, alongside the fighters. One day, if things stay as they are..."

He trails off for a moment, awkwardly aware of the irregularity in a way that Sam can't. Firsts are not usually the children of the Keeper. Children are not, in elven society, meant to directly succeed their parent's position. His is a rare privilege, and one he'd just as soon escape, more's the pity.

"...I'll be Keeper myself."

Ah... huh. "I'm actually rather aware of that." Considering he knows how good Cyril, Beleth, and Merrick are with their weapons - especially Merrick, having made a point rather early on.

"Mmm, lonely?" he teases back lightly in return. "I never had siblings so it's something I wonder about." That and he hasn't met any twins before so it was different, curious if it was any different then just having a sibling. Didn't seem like something to press on though.

The way Sorellean trails off in talking about one day becoming the Keeper has him raising a brow ever so slightly. He didn't sound all that excited, but saying that seemed like a bad way to go. "How do you get chosen to be the First? Besides having magic?"

"Talent plays a role, and seniority. Ellana's a good mage, for example, but she's younger, and her inclination would have made it harder for her to be a Keeper. So, it went to Pel, because she was both oldest and best suited of all of us; I was Second, back then."

Why exactly Ellana's skillset would have made her unsuitable went unsaid; Sorrel lets Sam draw his own conclusions. Some things, apparently, are not for rounded ears to hear. Or maybe, it's just too personal.

"Sometimes bloodlines have a say. It's a little different for every Keeper, every clan."

It doesn't even cross Sam's mind to ask why Ellana wouldn't be considered. A lot of it has to do with her being his friend and seeing that she is rather happy as she is now - that and how much she hadn't liked being on the Mage Council, but that could've been because of dealing with other races and cultures not just her own.

He does want to ask who the new Second would be, but seeing as he doesn't know anyone and it does seem personal - also not wanting to start issues - he just puts that to the side to ask perhaps Cyril later.

"What kind of magic do you like to use?" Might as well stay on a subject he's familiar with.

"Oh, that's right, you're a mage aren't you?" He says, as if suddenly reminded; and true enough, he'd been told, and mostly discounted the fact. Now he wonders what someone trained in a circle, or else by humans, thinks of the Dalish way of doing, superior as it seems, in his head, "I'm learning the Keeper's arts, but I'm alright with fire, and lightning. I heal."

This last qualifier is thrown in almost as an afterthought, almost. Sorrel shrugs, one-shouldered, and leans a little more heavily on his staff.

"What about you, then?"

Anyone just looking at him probably wouldn't guess him for a mage, but obviously someone has mentioned that he is one since they've arrived.

Fire and lightning are common enough, but hearing that the First is also a healer certainly perks his interest. "I'm a healer and I'm pretty good with fire. I'm alright with lightning and ice." He pauses for a moment, deciding something but then gives a shrug. "And shapeshifting."

"Shapeshifting?"

There passes a moment in which Sorrel has to work to contain his expression. Shapeshifting wasn't a common gift, not even among the Dalish, who delighted in magic in nearly all its forms. Shapeshifting was supposed to be a druidic thing, the realm of the southernmost Wilds, and the witches that lived there, not well known among the clans. You heard about it in myths, and in stories of Sylph-curses, wolf-hunts, and legends of the creators. Objectively, Sorrel knew that shapeshifting was known to the clans. He knew, that among the Dalish there had to be at least a few mages who practiced the skill, or knew it even if they couldn't perform the magic.

But he'd never met one.

Sam is affixed, whether he notices it or not, with a sudden interest behind Sorrel's green eyes. Healing, yes, and all the rest, is acknowledged, but put aside as unimportant. Sorrel doesn't see himself as anything worth speaking of, as a mage, but the idea of shapeshifting, of learning more about something he'd never expected to see, is fascinating.

"That's got to be an interesting specialty. Do you do well at it?"

He doesn't so much see the interest, but the change in tone certainly alerts him that bringing up shapeshifting had gotten Sorrel's attention. It wasn't exactly something he was going to make well known while they were here, but Sorrel seemed like someone he should impress perhaps a little bit. Or at least get on friendlier terms.

"There are things I'm still learning, but I would say that I do very well at it. I had a very good teacher after all. I can only turn into a couple things at the moment and I'm taking my time learning a couple others."

"A couple of things, he says, like it's so easy."

Hell, for all Sorrel knows, maybe it is. Staring is rude, of course, and Sorrel can no more ask for instruction from Sam than he can simply pick up and leave for the Inquisition. It's an impossible idea, to learn more than the slightest thing from this, but the sneaking thought of it does occur to him; to somehow glean, steal the knowledge, as if by osmosis. But regardless of his intent, Cyril is right: Sorrel has very green eyes.

"So they must have every kind of mage in the Inquisition, if it's so easy then," He's teasing, but only mostly, "Or are you just one of these genius prodigies we hear so much about in the stories?"

It isn't easy, but it is getting easier.

"A prodigy I am not," he chuckles lightly. "Just a hard worker, dedicated to my crafts." There's a pause as Sam looks away as he considers something, a small smile spreading on his lips before looking back to Sorrel. "And I thought turning into an animal might be fun. Course that isn't the reason I gave to be taught. It seemed like an important skill to learn so that I can survive in this world."

"Ah, see now there's where I'd go wrong. I definitely would have said it'd be fun to try being something else, and then I'd be out," His smile lost the edge, with that. Alright, so he was still just another andrastian shem mage, but Sorrel could see it, what Cyril liked about this one.

Fair enough. He has a good smile, at least.

"Lucky me, surviving isn't usually a skill I have a problem with. So, maybe I won't need it."

"Hm, I don't think you would've been out of the running. My answer mattered a bit more since my teacher isn't always that fond of those who came out of the Circle." He didn't fault Morrigan about that, even if going to Circle wasn't his idea he still had learned there.

"Perhaps you don't need it, but doesn't hurt to know it. Considering it is fun once you've gotten the hang of a form. Not everyone expects a mage to suddenly turn into a dog or visa versa."

He snorts a laugh at that, whether it's at the image of Sam-the-dog or at the idea of someone who'll be mage enough to know the skill, but not favor circle-mages. Sorrel wonders, in the back of his head, whether this teacher of his is an elf-- or even Dalish. It's not as if Sam seems to have anything against the Dalish. Indeed, he seems more fond than most of The People.

"Is that what you turn into, then? What is this, Ferelden?"

It's Orlais, if we're keeping track.

Considering most of his experience with the Dalish has been rather positive, there isn't much reason for him to have anything against them. And he'd rather like to keep it that way.

"I am Fereldan," he offers with a grin, amused by Sorrel's laughter and reactions. "It was the first form I took. I needed something that I could easily study, and they're pretty good at tracking."

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Player Plot: I will call you home

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