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

Entry tags:

[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!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Waver had a schedule, and hitting the library late in the day was a key part of it. It allowed him time to relax before taking an evening meal, and then wandering back to where he was staying with Iskandar for the night. Besides, it was familiar - the same smells of musty books, the same creaky shelves, the same everything. It felt as if libraries were universal and yet--

--He sniffed the air, knowing the smell well. Curious about who else might be indulging a habit, albeit a little foolishly by doing so within the confines of a library, he followed the scent, which eventually lead him to the Medicine Seller's staked out territory.]

Ah, that's where the scent's coming from.

Inessa keeps regular hours at the library, the Grey Warden mage preferring to do so in the afternoons once her mabari companion has been worn down through exercise. After all those games of fetch or just running around, he's tired enough to curl on the floro and nap. The small, pale elven woman always has a large stack of books at her table, though her area is neatly organized, barely anything out of place for long.

It's when she's putting away most of her tomes and looking for something to bring Nathaniel, as promise, that the scent of tobacco reaches her nose. She arches an eyebrow, not used to such scents in the library, and it doesn't take long for her to find the source of it, beyond the next stack. The elf is unfamiliar, and that book.... "The Re-Punchening? That cannot be a real title. What has the Hard in Hightown series come to?"

[He exhaled a plume of smoke from behind the book, and peered up at the man who had approached. There was definitely the smell of tobacco from the other man which he recognized immediately. It had a habit of lingering. What he couldn't quite place was a strange undercurrent of... something else. But this world was full of oddities as of yet unknown to him.]

[He offered the long, thin pipe to the stranger.]

I am happy to share, if it pleases.

The Medicine Seller peered over the rim of the book. He would never claim his English was impeccable - he'd picked up bits of it a few centuries ago from the sporadic western tradeships before Japan closed its borders. And then, with the restoration, he'd learned in a period of decades what a keen student might have learned in four or five years.

Still, he was fairly certain the book was a mess of grammatical errors and the author only had a passing familiarity of how people's anatomy worked. Some of the more graphic scenes were proving quite surreal.

He hadn't enjoyed himself this immensely since that time he'd tricked some ghosts.

"It would appear to be genuine," he said, lowering the book into his lap.

"I take it the other two are a bit more..."

He sought the word he was looking for. 'Competent' was the first that came to mind, but he dismissed it. If the author's goal had been to engage and amuse, he was a master.

"...Polished...?"

That seemed about right.

[Waver responded by holding up a hand. This wasn't like him at all, but one bias did remain.]

As much as I'd indulge, I don't take risks of anything that can catch fire near books. It seems to beg for disaster.

[Although--]

That is a very beautiful device though. Where'd you get it?

There's a hesitant nod, but Inessa feels compelled to explain. "Honestly, I would just say the original is the only one worth reading. The writing styles from the first to the second are very different. Someone less competent has taken over, and it shows."

She catches herself, and a sheepish expression forms. "My apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt you. I have a kneejerk reaction to terrible writing, but I suppose that doesn't mean there can't be entertainment found in it." Just not for her, all the grammatical errors would drive her mad.

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 didn't seem bothered by the refusal. It was Waver's loss, not his own.]

It was... ah...

[It had been quite a long time ago that he'd taken up the habit. When and where...?]

[Ah. Yes.]

...It was borrowed for a prop in a little play. The original owner did not want it back.

"It's no interruption," he said, inclining his head to the scattered books, and piles of notes. The best that could be said about the small disaster area was that at least he cleaned his brushes.

"As you can see, I am taking a break."

He set aside the book amidst the pile to give Inessa his undivided attention.

"Are you familiar with this library?"

"Oh, yes." Inessa reaches up to brush back a stray strand of hair as she speaks. "I visit as often as I'm able, usually in the afternoons. It's something of a trek, since I dwell in the valley below, but I don't mind. Garahel always needs the exercise."

Garahel is busy lightly snoring away for now, though, all that exercise having worn him out. "If you're searching for something in particular, I might be able to help you find it. Maker knows I'm here often enough to count as a librarian."

[Waver gave a thin smile.]

Certainly unique, I can't say I've seen something like that used at home.

[It was actually one of the reasons Waver didn't want to risk it. There was nothing like breaking someone else's thing as a first impression.]

Let me know when you run out of tobacco though. I'd be happy to point you towards where I've been buying my own supply from.

Edited 2017-02-05 16:33 (UTC)

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.

"That is very diligent," he remarked. He could only assume from context that Garahel was some kind of pet. He hoped it wasn't one of those massive dogs that looked like someone had crossbred a bear with a wolf.

"I am not sure about particular," he continued, pausing thoughtfully. There was no specific book he had in mind as he was unfamiliar with this world and its prominent writers. He couldn't even claim much familiarity with writers in his own world (though he had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of which woodcut artists did his favourite kind of erotica. Priorities.)

"...I am looking for more information on what you call the Fade. And the Blight."

There had been a considerable quantity of information. Types of demons, histories of various circles, dates and locations of various Blights, famous battles - all were readily available. But the quality of information was lacking. To the Medicine Seller, it seemed like a great deal was simplified, glossed over or outright omitted - often, it seemed, for lack of concrete information. It left him with many more questions than answers.

What made the Grey Wardens so special that only they could halt the Blight? What was the Veil and why did it exist in this world? The Blight seemed to be born from the Fade - how did those Magisters spread it? Why were Darkspawn compelled to awaken gods? What was the Rite of Tranquility?

His mind was abuzz with questions. Perhaps the answers could be found among the dry, crackling pages of these books? He doubted it, but it was worth a try.

They seem to be falling out of fashion.

[Or had fallen out of fashion a good decade years ago. Not that he bothered to keep tabs. Cigarettes seemed en vogue these days.]

I am surprised that any would grow in another world. But I appreciate it.

Is it difficult to come by?

I can't say I've seen them in fashion back in London, period. I'd consider it a shame, actually.

[But Waver can see why. It was always easier to pull out a cigar or cigarette just light it up.]

Initially I had a bit of an issue, given that it isn't the most popular thing to smoke, but at this point it isn't a problem.

"Ah, then you'll want Fade and Spirits Mysterious and The History of Grey Wardens in Ferelden, by Genitivi. It's one of his best works. I'm a mage, as well. I don't have as much expertise as some, but it's part of my background, so I might be able to answer some questions." Then she pauses, choosing her next words more carefully.

"I am a Grey Warden, as well, so the Blight is a known topic to me. That said, I'm also of low rank so I'm not privy to all their knowledge, and some of what I do know is not for me to pass on to others. I will share what I can, however."

Kirk believed, quite rightly, in the notion of preparedness. The most recent mission he had been on only enhanced that belief, and thanks to the events of that mission his pack was in need of some resupplying. Not to mention his own body could do with a few tinctures. Even with healing magic, which he disliked, bruised lungs and bones were not quick to heal - even for him.

Waling through the market, his attention is easily caught by the bright display of the Medicine Seller's make-shift stall. He couldn't recall having seen it before, and he ran courier errands for just about every stall in the market. So he was new then, or he had been a long time away from Skyhold. A small diversion wouldn't hurt, he thought, and made his way over.

"Wouldn't happen to sell healing herbs, would you?" Kirk inquired.

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?"

...London...

[He knew where that was. At least in that vague sense that he'd seen it on a map before. But the Medicine Seller was becoming vastly aware of just how big the universe was. In the grand scheme of things, this made him and this stranger practically neighbors.]

Then you are also not of this world.

"I will certainly seek out those books," he said, glancing over to the pile. Genitivi's works seemed to be required reading and it was no surprise. He seemed to be the most thorough in documenting these things.

"Still, it is odd..."

The Medicine Seller turned his rapt attention back to Inessa.

"...That only a small group of people have the capacity to halt a terror that has swallowed countries. May I ask you... is it something inborn?"

There was a vast array of raw ingredients on display, interspersed between the many bottles, boxes and pots. They included siler root, oleander bark, piles of schisandra berry, mugwort leaf and all manner of other things.

Kirk's question was not unusual, if a tad exasperating. So many seemed to think that if you chopped up some herbs, you got yourself a cure-all.

"That would depend entirely on the ailment you are trying to treat," he said in hopes that would encourage this customer to be a bit more specific. He was no sense in selling a man choyoto for a toothache.

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."

Ah, that. Inessa shakes her head, able to share that much at least. "No, indeed. No one is born with such capacity. I can't divulge specifics, but fair to say that what happens binds one to the order of the Grey Wardens, and we pay a high price to become what we are. Joining the Wardens is not a decision to undergo lightly."

It's said with all the gravity of one who's lived a lifetime in the order, and yet despite the white hair, she doesn't seem that old. The contented snoring in the background continues, for now.

"Something the Chantry would... vehemently oppose, then?"

He wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but there was little other explanation than a political institution with extensive power that could not grasp the concept of necessity.

"In death, sacrifice," he quoted. The mantra of the Grey Wardens was one of the first things he read about.

"But that too seems to be the nature of your lives."

Inessa raises an eyebrow as part of the Grey Warden motto is quoted back to her, a small smile reaching her lips.

"You've done your research.

And to answer your question most likely, yes. Suffice it to say those leading the order do not see fit to entrust it with our secrets. It's quite true that our lives are those dedicated to a single goal. Even outside a Blight, it's our sworn duty to fight the darkspawn."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 7

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

B

B

Re: B

Re: B

no subject

no subject

a;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

A

no subject

no subject

no subject

Re: A

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject