Salem Lavellan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fortheloveoffalondin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2015-11-20 12:04 am
fortheloveoffalondin) wrote in faderift2015-11-20 12:04 am
Entry tags:
A Challenger Arrives!
WHO: Salem of clan Ghilan, and whoever finds him there at the gates
WHAT: The arrival of one small, cold elf that is not part of clan Ashara
WHEN: After most people have returned from the Mire
WHERE: Skyhold's front gates, then possibly the healers' tents
Keeper
I've made it to the mountains. It's so cold in the South.
I will find our missing brothers. They deserve to be home, or if they've not survived, they deserve to be buried as the knights are.
Updates will be sent as events escalate.
You have my thanks for allowing me on this journey. Now you must endure until I return.
The scroll was kept in a skin tube at his side, to be delivered when he arrived at Haven. When he'd arrived in the valley where it had been tucked, though, all he'd found was a mound of snow, rattled off the mountain, and droves of corpses. He'd lingered only long enough to offer prayers, ask that the souls be guided from the place to what afterlifes they would seek, then started off into the mountains. It was fortunate that one of his few great skills was tracking, as he'd been able to pick up a trail, first wide and hectic, trampling the snow as people had fled, but as he'd followed, stopping where the ground was swept clean and there were still traces of campfires, humps of snow and crude markers over the graves of villagers that had fallen, he'd started to slow. He was persistent, stubborn, and had a good capacity for endurance in conditions that really should have killed him within days.
The snow had all but completely erased the tracks he'd been following in some areas, but people always left markers behind that were easy enough to find, for one with keen eyes and determination that bordered on obsession.
When the hold had come into view, Salem was draped in furs, wrapped up tight to stave off the cold as his armor hadn't been able to. There were still parts of him that were frostbitten, and by the time he'd started the trek up the last leg of the path, his vision was swimming, legs shaking. His food had all but completely run out, hard tack and dried herbs the last scraps in his bag. He'd been chewing on strong mint to keep himself conscious, but even that was failing, and as soon as he'd rounded the top of the last slope and found where the land had mostly leveled off on the path up to the gates, he'd finally fallen.
An alert was put out to some of the healers: an unknown Dalish had been found in front of the hold, freezing, dehydrated, delirious upon being shaken to consciousness, but alive.
Two days later, after regaining the ability to walk without wobbling
Where was he now? The question went out among the healers, unanswered as the elf had disappeared from his cot while their backs had been turned. His armor was gone, his blades were gone, but it had apparently been too hard to drag his axe away unnoticed, so it was still dug into the dirt where it had been.
Now one elf a little too thin and dressed a little too sparsely was tucked away into a shadowy corner with a good view of the courtyard, a book in his hand and charcoal pencil scribbling away as he took notes on everything that he could see, from the Orlesian humans wandering the hold, to the elves here and there both from the city and from some other Dalish clan. He'd caught sight of an armored human man that looked like he'd had better days, a sword sheathed at his hip and an empty harness across his back similar to the one that he wore when he carried his greataxe, and had leaned out of his corner to track his movement until he'd disappeared into the tavern. Then he'd caught sight of another human, blonde and older and tired but with the bearing of a leader and a scar on his mouth that he wanted to see close-up and no his face was not turning pink over these stupid gods-forsaken shems you see nothing.
WHAT: The arrival of one small, cold elf that is not part of clan Ashara
WHEN: After most people have returned from the Mire
WHERE: Skyhold's front gates, then possibly the healers' tents
Keeper
I've made it to the mountains. It's so cold in the South.
I will find our missing brothers. They deserve to be home, or if they've not survived, they deserve to be buried as the knights are.
Updates will be sent as events escalate.
You have my thanks for allowing me on this journey. Now you must endure until I return.
The scroll was kept in a skin tube at his side, to be delivered when he arrived at Haven. When he'd arrived in the valley where it had been tucked, though, all he'd found was a mound of snow, rattled off the mountain, and droves of corpses. He'd lingered only long enough to offer prayers, ask that the souls be guided from the place to what afterlifes they would seek, then started off into the mountains. It was fortunate that one of his few great skills was tracking, as he'd been able to pick up a trail, first wide and hectic, trampling the snow as people had fled, but as he'd followed, stopping where the ground was swept clean and there were still traces of campfires, humps of snow and crude markers over the graves of villagers that had fallen, he'd started to slow. He was persistent, stubborn, and had a good capacity for endurance in conditions that really should have killed him within days.
The snow had all but completely erased the tracks he'd been following in some areas, but people always left markers behind that were easy enough to find, for one with keen eyes and determination that bordered on obsession.
When the hold had come into view, Salem was draped in furs, wrapped up tight to stave off the cold as his armor hadn't been able to. There were still parts of him that were frostbitten, and by the time he'd started the trek up the last leg of the path, his vision was swimming, legs shaking. His food had all but completely run out, hard tack and dried herbs the last scraps in his bag. He'd been chewing on strong mint to keep himself conscious, but even that was failing, and as soon as he'd rounded the top of the last slope and found where the land had mostly leveled off on the path up to the gates, he'd finally fallen.
An alert was put out to some of the healers: an unknown Dalish had been found in front of the hold, freezing, dehydrated, delirious upon being shaken to consciousness, but alive.
Two days later, after regaining the ability to walk without wobbling
Where was he now? The question went out among the healers, unanswered as the elf had disappeared from his cot while their backs had been turned. His armor was gone, his blades were gone, but it had apparently been too hard to drag his axe away unnoticed, so it was still dug into the dirt where it had been.
Now one elf a little too thin and dressed a little too sparsely was tucked away into a shadowy corner with a good view of the courtyard, a book in his hand and charcoal pencil scribbling away as he took notes on everything that he could see, from the Orlesian humans wandering the hold, to the elves here and there both from the city and from some other Dalish clan. He'd caught sight of an armored human man that looked like he'd had better days, a sword sheathed at his hip and an empty harness across his back similar to the one that he wore when he carried his greataxe, and had leaned out of his corner to track his movement until he'd disappeared into the tavern. Then he'd caught sight of another human, blonde and older and tired but with the bearing of a leader and a scar on his mouth that he wanted to see close-up and no his face was not turning pink over these stupid gods-forsaken shems you see nothing.
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"Ser Korrin!" He darts out of his corner and bounces up to her, albeit a tad clumsily, looking up at her with a bright smile. "Hullo!"
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And she looks him over, brow furrowing as she notes the thinness. That prompts her to extend her plate, readily sharing the hearth cakes. "Here, have some. You look as though you need them more than I do. What happened?"
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"You...walked here. Not with one of the caravans, I take it. I don't know whether that's amazing or foolish."
Both, perhaps? Salem doesn't need to worry about a lecture at the moment, since...well, what's the point. He's already been through enough.
"Now I wish I'd shown you the way personally. At least you'd have found this place without incident. The Frostbacks can be brutal when you don't know the exact route."
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"Perhaps this was for the best, though. If I hadn't ended up in the healers' tents, I might not have found Pel as quickly. She's taken excellent care of me since I came."
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"Oh, I know Pel. She was just what we needed at that recent mage meeting. Are you part of her clan? It seems like this place is drowning in Asharas." Not a bad thing at all, given her tone. "No, wait--you mentioned another one." It's on the tip of her tongue, but she can't quite recall it.
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"I've heard about the Circles, they sound like they could be a good thing, if they were handled like something other than a damned prison. Turned into a safe place, sort of thing." But that isn't the point here, is it? Just his opinion spilling out without much thought. "But if you turned out to be safer for not being with the Qunari, then more power to you."
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"You're not wrong about the Circles. I can see the potential they have for good, if they were schools rather than prisons and people who didn't want to attend weren't hunted down. If it'd been like that to begin with, maybe I even would have joined. As it is, I'm happily an apostate, like your Dalish mages."
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"Maybe then, your people won't have to worry about their being too many mages in a clan, either. If the Templars aren't hunting them, that takes a lot of the pressure off, doesn't it?" At least Korrin thinks so. She doesn't know enough about the Dalish to tell if they might have other reasons for the restriction, but it makes sense to her. She smiles, though. "I knew there was something I liked about you. It's still not that common to see non-mages care about what happens to us."
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But Korrin stops herself before she goes off on another passionate rant, as she's prone to do. She cracks a smile and shakes her head. "I won't inflict mage politics on you often, promise. Unless the council's having a bad day and then all bets are off."
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Salem shrugs some and reaches up to the tip of one of his ears, still reddened and numb in the nerves. Maybe he should find one of the other healers. Not that tall human. "Have you seen uh...um. Bruce. That healer, the older one."
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"No, not today. I barely know who he is, we don't exactly work in the same circles. But that should be looked at, and you probably need more rest, anyway. Take the opportunity; you'll see enough action once you're out there with us, trust me on that."
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She gestures to the main hall, indicating that she has a room in the upper part. Well, shares a room. Skyhold may have a lot of space, but livable quarters are still an issue, so she rotates out with people on assignment.
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"Whatever helps me get back out into the world," he huffs, letting Korrin lead the way.
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