faderift | Oh the highway is my great wall

Entry tags:

Oh the highway is my great wall

WHO: The Medicine Seller, Open
WHAT: Monthly Catch-All
WHEN: All month
WHERE: Various
NOTES: None for now - will update if necessary

The Gallows: Rainy Days

The Medicine Seller was never a hard man to find if he was in an amenable mood for being found. When heavy rains kept him from his usual haunts in the markets (or wherever he wandered off to), so he had taken to exploring the Gallows.

His pace was erratic, sometimes swift and purposeful, and other times languid and ambling. Often he would stop dead in the middle of a corridor, and stare at what seemed to be nothing, heedless of any around him. And then, just as suddenly, he’d continue on.

Other times he could be found in his quarters, a paper sign pinned up by the entrance that read;

薬
Medicine
Prices Negotiable

The doors were open, the inviting smell of incense wafting into the stone corridor that remained chilly despite the summer heat. There was a pleasant pink and purple glow emanating from the room, the source a number of coloured paper lanterns he’d strung from the ceiling.

He was there at a narrow work station in the corner, carefully going over his notes as something bubbled in a glass beaker over a flame.

The Gallows: Curiosity Killed the Cat

The Medicine Seller had considered the library in Skyhold to be on the biased side of things in terms of content. That was, he found, absolutely nothing when compared to the one in the Gallows. Sizable as it was, as he picked through the shelves of the books that had survived whatever disaster had befallen the place and the creeping dust and mold of neglect, he found very little in what anyone would consider adequate recreational reading.

He’d often found himself wondering about the prior inhabitants of the Gallows and their circumstances. The fact that even a small respite such as an enjoyable book was kept from them during Meredith’s reign evoked a bit of genuine sympathy for him. He didn’t dwell on it, however. Such things had passed, and he’d been worlds away when they had. It was nothing to do with him.

Locating a book that at least seemed promising, he plucked it from the shelf, and headed out for the gardens where he could recline on a bench, smoking that long, thin pipe of his.

Sundermount: Sleeping in a Silk Shell

He’d needed to replenish his stocks, and the foot of Sundermount was a good place to do so. The wooded area was thick with vegetation, and he was developing a keen eye for the medicinal plants of Thedas. He would pause occasionally to take small cuttings, scrape bark from a tree, or carefully dig up roots and bulbs.

As he carefully cut the stem of a royal elfroot, he noticed something among the purple-tinted leaves. A chrysalis - and one he didn’t recognize. He’d already cut the plant it was on, so, very delicately, he plucked the stem it had made its home and placed it in one of the drawers of his Medicine Pack. It could go through its cycle safely in his quarters, and he’d get to observe one of nature’s many fascinating processes. Besides, he was curious what might come out.

Hightown: What Looks Like an Elf But Isn’t an Elf
It was a handsome alembic - crystal clear blown glass set on an ornate copper stand. He’d been looking for equipment to start applying his studies into Thedosian medicine and he certainly wasn’t one to settle for subpar equipment.

He’d been aware of the shopkeeper watching him like a hawk as he’d wandered between the shelves. There was no actual rule against elves being in the upscale, Hightown store - after all, servants were sent to pick up equipment and ingredients all the time - but the Medicine Seller didn’t look like a servant. The shop owner wasn’t sure what he looked like besides an elf, and an elf which carried himself clearly with airs above his station. The voluminous sleeves and the hefty wooden pack the Medicine Seller carried were also a cause for concern - they were the sorts of things where small, expensive pieces of merchandise could vanish into very quickly.

When he picked up the alembic to check the price, it was the last straw from the shop owner, he rose from his seat, nostrils flared.

”I hope you’ve got the coin to pay for that!” he said abruptly, nostrils flared and an accusatory finger pointed at the Medicine Seller.

“Of course,” came the Medicine Seller’s silky reply. He didn’t even turn to spare the shopkeeper a glance. “I am merely checking the price.”

The elderly man looked utterly incensed at the casual dismissal, and his face turned a peculiar shade of puce as his temper flared. This was probably not going to end well.

Wildcard: The Luck of the Draw

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GreenRivers.

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Sundermount. Old and full of memory still somehow almost forgotten by most but for the shadow it casts of Morrigan, longer and darker than are truly possible, she knows she must be here. Kirkwall cannot hold her, not a city and a Circle for so long as it stands it will ever be a Circle.

Her eyes look up more often than they should. Here more than in the last few years does she expect something great and terrible to blot out the sun, to laugh, to set a hand upon her shoulder and hiss did you think it would be so easy, Morrigan but it hasn't come yet.

Shades, giant spiders, a medicine seller.

"What comes," she calls out softly lest she disturb what still walks without rest though neither of them are high enough for the worst of the nightmares to come down upon them. "How do you find Kirkwall?" (As if she wasn't almost the last one out of Skyhold.)

He had been squaring away a nice spot to store his unusual treasure that it not get crushed (or lost in the unplumbed depths of his mysterious pack) when he'd heard the rustle of distant footfalls - so quiet he'd almost mistook it for a deer at first, though the rhythm was all wrong. Two feet, not four. Quiet, but not creeping or stalking. Someone who knew how to walk the forests without making an abundance of noise - one of the Dalish, perhaps? Or-

He looked up at the greeting. As far as chance encounters went, there were none better he could ask for. Six months in Thedas and he deeply appreciated a person who didn't recoil at the mere mention of peculiar things.

He stood, still holding the chrysalis, and bowed.

"Only some deer earlier," he said, head turning in the direction they had gone. He took that greeting a bit too literally.

"Kirkwall is..." well, agreeable wasn't the word he'd used, though he vastly preferred it to Skyhold, "...busy. Though I would ask the same of yourself."

After what befell the last clan to dwell here, Morrigan has a wonder as to how many of the Dalish will spend time this far from Kirkwall. Will they dare? Will they take the risk? But then how many of them now truly count themselves as Dalish proper? A distraction and nothing more but a small part of her is glad Merrill didn't have to return here to the sight of where all who loved her once ended up dead.

Still, good to see that he hasn't disappeared into the ether, better still that the same project occupies their time.

"None of the waking horrors has come to greet you yet? How rude of them." Said as if a revanant might not come strolling down the slopes at any moment or corpses burst from the ground since those things have happened but she'd rather those than the locals most days.

Laughing quietly, she steps closer to inspect the-- and yes, that is a chrysalis, she's familiar from Kieran's fascinations with insects and looks about. "There are times I almost miss the Wilds I left more than ten years ago now, living in such a city. Living in the confines of a former Circle for the moment. Kieran and I took the longest route that we might delay yet still I find it barely liveable."

"I have been fortunate, it would seem."

And clever in his placement of the paper wards he was so skilled with. He wasn't a native to Thedas, but Sundermount had a certain reputation that hadn't escaped his keen ears. He wasn't here on that kind of business today. Just herbs.

"The Gallows have been... educational," he said in a way that almost sounded like he was agreeing with her sentiment. The atmosphere there was tangible - so much so that a stroll through demon infested trees was infinitely preferable when the walls of the Gallows and the walls of the city grew unbearable.

"I cannot imagine such a prison keeping you."

Though doubtless there were a number of templars who would give a great deal to see a mage like Morrigan locked up.

"Do you find the city peculiar?"

Edited (html is my enemy) 2017-07-14 15:02 (UTC)

"Perhaps there are those they wish to watch and take their measure of. Or more likely, you are not the sort to draw their ire."

Humans first, no doubt, enemies of the People though with how things have changed if they'd even recognise their own? Alas, attempting to study that is the sort of thing that gets the foolhardy killed.

Morrigan tips her head one of those gestures that becomes habit when you spend so long in a skin that isn't yours; what do the rifters learn of these places, to see Thedas with such new eyes without the weight of history. "In time I believe the Inquisition hopes that shall be the greater part of their legacy with these divisions and projects we find ourselves with now rather more officially. Yet even as they strip away the obvious parts of the history, it remains for those who know where to look, to listen." If you aren't wholly blind to the nature of the world but given how many of them are, sadly, then it remains to be seen what they'll ever bother to remember and she sighs as she says it, because this is what she has tried to teach people since arriving but how often does anyone listen and retain information?

"Nothing," she says, resolute and firm, "is to be caged."

Better death than a cage, she's believed that a long time.

"Before Orlais, I had been only to Denerim; Orzammar is dwarven, too different." Orzammar was the weight of the whole world above your head, carved from the stone, the heat of the lava that illuminated what the lamps did not and knowing how very close you stood to so very many Darkspawn. Impossible to compare. "So many people living so close, so confined, how it has built upon itself level upon level. Magic had sunk deep into the stones of Skyhold but Kirkwall was home to much darker things."

Nothing is to be caged.

There was very little that people could say or do that would much endear them to the Medicine Seller, but the sort of conviction Morrigan had when she said that had certainly struck some kind of chord.

He didn't voice his agreement, but the small, satisfied smirk that crept into his lips, his fangs peeking just out the corners of his mouth, was confirmation he shared the sentiment.

"Darker things indeed." He'd read the history books in his down time, tried to sort through the hyperbole and propaganda. But even free of those constraints, it was a puzzling web that didn't add up to the winding routes he'd walked. "I find myself still getting lost."

He said this with the barest hint of agitation, as though it were some bad habit he should have grown out of by now. He knew cities. Old cities, with their bloody histories of war and conquest, and the buildings that grew taller with each successive decade as the world plunged itself into modernism. But nothing had ever felt like Kirkwall.

"It is... peculiar," he reiterated.

Most of the time a rifter could so easily be mistaken for those of Thedas who had been struck by the rifts, left with some piece of them that did much the same as the rifters themselves did until they revealed in some way, small or not, that they were different. This is one of those times that Morrigan is reminded that he is not of this world.

"What is it that they use in some tales? String? A trail of crumbs?" Imagine the nightmares that might follow if any were foolish enough to follow along after anything left behind that way but she did do reading (because she made Kieran do reading, no one sends a child out into the world unarmed and if his mind is sharp then that's one of the best advantages she can give him) and knows the bloody history. "There is...something unsettling about this place. So long a place of slavery, death, and blood for the Tevinter Imperium before it had the name Kirkwall after all. What is it about that you find so odd?"

After all, this is one who figured out so much of the eluvians far quicker than those who had clapped eyes on them and spent months in Skyhold with Morrigan. Someone who knows the hidden world that so few do. She would hear it. She would take the rare chance to learn from someone who possesses insight for whatever he might care to share even if it's nothing more than a feeling.

For his part, Prompto's just looking for decent flasks. Nothing too fancy or as elevated as most of the wares here, but he needed good quality, and when he asked around for suggestions, he was pointed to this shop. The Rifter's now dressed like the natives, and aside from his hair, there's nothing to really indicate that he's not from around here. So he's mostly passed by unnoticed, though he learns very shortly that that's in part due to the other patron in the store, and the owner's obsessive vigil in watching his every move.

He only glances up when he hears the owner shove off his seat and begin yelling. It's then that Prompto recognizes the other patron, the medicine seller he met awhile ago. He frowns as the scenes unfolds, and decides to intervene before this gets worse.

"Do you usually make a habit of yelling at customers," he asks, "or just certain ones?" He tenses, bracing himself to possibly have to run or duck. Honestly, he's not one to pick fights, but this isn't okay, and he's not going to stand idly by and watch it happen.

It became readily apparent to the shop owner that he was already outmatched. It was bad for business and he was, well, pushing seventy. He didn't recognize Prompto as a Rifter, despite the hair (kids these days), but he did recognize the way the young man had tensed and he didn't need things taking a turn for the worse in a shop full of delicate glass. He all but retreated back behind the safety of his counter.

"I was only making sure he could afford it," said the old man, sullen and defiant.

The Medicine Seller watched the whole thing play out, impassive. When the shopkeep had ducked behind the counter, he approached, setting the alembic down.

"I would like to buy it now, if it pleases."

The owner certainly didn't seem like it pleased at all, but he wasn't about to refuse good coin, which the Medicine Seller offered readily and without so much as an attempt to haggle.

When it was wrapped up and safely stowed in the top compartment of his medicine box, he approached Prompto.

"You have my deepest thanks," he said in his usual slow monotone. "That may have become inconvenient."

"Uh huh," Prompto mutters as the shop keeper went back to his counter with his tail between his legs, so to speak. Ugh. Prejudice against people is so stupid, and it's never okay, but it's doubly stupid when there's money to be gained by not being an asshole.

He smiles at the Medicine Seller when he approaches. "He was being a jerk for no reason. No one deserves that." And Prompto likes to think that people in the Inquisition, but especially the Rifters, should have each other's backs. "What was his problem anyway? A big assumption to make that someone won't have money. It still wouldn't be right, but I'd get it if you came in here with clothes falling off of you and empty pockets."

"A problem many seem to have, invited by the sharpness of one's ears it seems."

He shrugged. He was about as much of an elf as Prompto was, but that didn't stop people's own preconceptions. Whatever the case, it was finished now.

Still, it seemed an odd place to find Prompto. He hadn't seemed like someone with any inclinations of being any sort of apothecary.

Then he remembered the camera.

"Are you looking for chemicals to develop photos?"

That was how cameras worked, right?

"Oh, he thought you were an elf?" Now that Prompto thinks about it, he has seen other vendors give elves the stink-eye. "Ugh, let me guess: there's some stereotype about elves being thieves. I've noticed other shopkeepers looking at elves kind of funny." Guess who hasn't heard about that lovely (and by lovely meaning tragic) backstory about the elves and humans?

"I have them already, though I was sort of hoping to find natural replacements for once they run out." Not that he's sure what would be a viable alternative, especially since he doesn't really have the film to waste to test out different things. "Also was looking for some flasks. You looking for stuff for your medicinal wares?"

Iskandar had been purchasing some wine elsewhere when he heard the man confront the seller of medicine. Looking over, he frowned some then put a smile on his face as he went over to see what was going on, the box with bottles of wine in it balanced on his shoulder.

Sometimes just showing a sheer amount of size could put an end to confrontation in his experience.

"Well hello there! What seems to be the problem here?" Might as well start with that, right?

There were conflicts a frail, seventy-something merchant set in his ways didn't want to have, and then there were Conflicts He Really Didn't Want To Have.

He may have been old and with a rather traditional view of elves, but he wasn't stupid.

"Er... just making sure he's not... mishandling the merchandise, you know? You break it, you buy it, heheh-"

The Medicine Seller was holding the alembic with the kind of care one might have in handling a baby bird that had tumbled from its nest, and his expression could only be described as 'flat'.

Then again, that was kind of just how his face worked.

"Guilty until proven innocent, hm? A poor way of doing business, my friend. Especially when it seems there is great care taken here. I'd say it's best to let him do his shopping until he has questions rather than convict of a crime he hasn't done. Unless you have the time to devote to that when you could be continuing your business?"

Iskandar could already see that the tension was more directed his way, which really worked in his favor. It was what he'd been going for by stepping in like this. Let the old man look at him while this seller of medicine looked at what he wanted.

"Any other problems?"

"No, none at all," the old man said, trying to sink into the ground.

The Medicine Seller observed the proceedings out the corner of his eye. It must have been terribly humiliating for the shopkeep to be denied his bullying like that. He wondered vaguely if the man would take his bad temper out on an unfortunate apprentice or another customer once Iskander had gone.

He made up his mind about buying the alembic, and the exchange was quick, with much strained politeness from the owner.

When he'd finished, he approached Iskander. The giant man was yet a mystery to him. He had no doubts that the King was not without flaw, but so rarely had he encountered people who seemed so honest.

Emphasis being on seemed. He still didn't know quite what to make of the man.

"A kind gesture," he said slowly. "You have my gratitude, of course."

He waited until the seller had made his purchase then smiled as he approached him. Of course that turned to a laugh as he waved his hand.

"No need, no need. I am pleased that I could aid you. Though the bigotry is common that does not mean it has to be allowed. The least I can do is use what advantages I have to ensure my friends only have to deal with such things for a short time."

He'd prefer not at all but one battle at a time...

"What is it you purchased there?"

"Only an alembic," he said. A fine one indeed, but he'd always had an eye for quality.

"I cannot continue my profession if I do not learn the art of making medicine in this world. And some of my tools are... outdated."

Ancient, really. There are historians back in his world who would pay a fortune to have a rummage in that pack of his if they knew the historical treasures it contained.

He craned his neck so that he could actually look Iskander in the eye.

"For that, I needed new equipment."

"I see! Is there anything else you require? I could keep an eye out for it."

He was always one to encourage the sciences and that did include making medicine. So of course it only made sense to him to find ways to help this man out with his creations. Besides, it would certainly help the people of this world to have another who could create what would heal them.

"And if you feel I would not recognize it you could describe it to me."

Waver knew that thank yous were important. The Medicine Seller had done him a massive favor, and a good show of gratitude was never amiss. Admittedly there was a reason for the delay, mostly due to a birthday, and the desire to find the right expression of gratitude.

He found his way to the Medicine Seller's quarters, appreciative of the sign attached to the entrance. Walking in, he first looked up, noting all the lanterns. They provoked a small smile, and underneath Waver's arm were two wrapped packages.

"Got a second?"

Waver had caught him at a good time as he had just put a flask over the burner, and was flipping the hourglass.

"I have approximately sixty moments," he said, double checking to make sure the sand was going through evenly. Satisfied, he stood, greeting Waver with a bow.

"Please, come in. Do you require medicine?"

That was the only thing the Medicine Seller could think of. 'Expressions of gratitude' generally didn't come in his line of work.

Waver looked over at the flask, curious about the contents. But he wasn't here to think about magic and science, he was here for a very different reason.

"I"m fine on that front," he said, before offering both packages outwards towards the Medicine Seller. "These are for you, as a thank you for helping with finding the missing books."

When opened, the first of the two packages will reveal a text-based herbal. The second is a plant encyclopedia, heavily illustrated, and one that names locations for each and every plant. On the left side of each inside cover is a little bookplate, reading Ex Libris, coupled with a blank space. There is a border around each plate made of alternating blocks, the ink colored to a close approximation of the blues and purples the Medicine Seller usually has on.

"I know they're basic and mostly for reference, but you don't have to share them with anyone."

There was a rare look for the Medicine Seller.

Surprise.

It lasted all of a fraction of a second but it was there. Clearly he wasn't used to getting gifts, let alone gratitude.

He took the books slowly, as though they might explode on contact, and for the long moment he simply stared down at them in a sort of bewildered fashion. His automatic reply of asking when they needed to be returned was stopped before it even reached his tongue, but it still took him a while to process that the books were now his.

"Thank you," he said softly, and there was almost something akin to emotion in his tone. "I did not expect such a kind gesture."

Waver recognized novelty when he saw it. Sure enough he was a man whose emotions were rather easily read, he broadcasted them with very little hesitation, but he noticed it when those more reserved let things slip. It helped with students, and it helped deal with magi in general.

"I didn't know what the right kanji would be, and if I did I'd have the worst penmanship for it, but there's enough space for you to do it if you'd like."

Which was to say you're welcome.

He was so surprised by the gesture that he almost let it slip that he didn't have a name to mark the books as his own. That realization was enough to snap him out of his befuddlement.

"Ah, yes. Of course. May I offer you something to drink?"

As appreciated as the gesture was, he couldn't go around having people actually know things about him. Not only would it kill his air of mystique, he's also have to talk about things that didn't involve sticking his nose in other people's business. Heaven forbid.

"If you have any black tea, I'd take that."

Never mind the fact that it was the middle of summer. Tea is always to be had, no matter what. "I also have the address for the bookseller, if you end up wanting to build up your personal collection of texts."

Aboard Potato, Kain is enjoying a flight and the fresh air. He’s had a rough month or so, but since defeating that dragon, he feels worlds better, for a number of reasons. He’d taken the griffon off to the mountain where they’d taken down the dragon, exploring it further. He has some ideas emerging about the cave he’d found… but all in good time.

For now, they’re going to take a little break. The griffon comes circling down, stirring up the air with her mighty wings. Soon enough, they’ve landed, not too far from the Medicine Seller’s position.

“Well… this time we managed not to steal any bandanas. Good job, Potato.” He pats the griffon fondly then looks toward the Medicine Seller as he dismounts. “Hello again.”

The Medicine Seller was glad he got to keep his bandana this time around. And even more relieved that Potato hadn't taken a swipe for the little treasure he'd found. As Kain dismounted, the Medicine Seller stood to return his greeting.

"A pleasure to see you again," he said, and then gave a small, polite incline of his head towards the griffon. "and you, Potato."

His gaze wandered to the ominously looming Sundermount, shrouded in its air of mystery that was, as far as the Medicine Seller could tell, entirely deserved.

"A strange place for flying."

The fact that it's ominous and largely deserted in this area is exactly what appeals to Kain about it all. He's been spending a lot more time out here lately since they'd dealt with that dragon. He glances around thoughtfully for a moment, then turns toward the Medicine Seller.

"Some might consider it strange, but I consider it scenic. It's worth getting away from the city. Besides, I've been spending a lot of time out in the area, lately. Not just Sundermount specifically... but nearby. What brings you out this way?"

He held up the sprig of royal elfroot, still with the chrysalis attached.

"Medicine, of course. My stores are not infinite."

Technically true, though it was hard to say how deep the fathoms of his mysterious medicine box truly went. But the depths were unimportant - even dried herbs eventually became useless.

"I imagine it would be scenic from the sky, yes. The air is lighter than the city."

Not a terribly hard feat if a place such as Sundermount could accomplish it.

"I should have guessed, I suppose. Well, if you're looking for plants to replenish your stock, there should be plenty to find out here. Wandering the wilderness is good for this sort of thing. Is it all very different from what you have on your world?"

He has to wonder about that, never having traveled to other worlds. It's very different even just between regions here, with varying things growing mainly in Orlais or Ferelden.. and so on.

Kain glances upward toward the sky and takes a deep breath, savoring the feeling of being out in the open air. Yes, this is much more preferable to crammed city streets. He'll gladly take this any day. "Fortunately, there's a lot to see out here, and plenty of room for Potato to spread her wings."

Hightown is a regular area for Fenris, given the residence that he’s recently reclaimed. Although some people are used to seeing the elf with his strange markings, many still give him wary expressions too. There’s also the usual whispering, the remarks about his part in Hawke’s whole tale. He can’t help being noticed everywhere he goes, and that would be true even without the stories about the Champion.

He sighs when he overhears the exchange, eyes narrowing as he approaches. He normally avoids getting Involved, in most anything that's just not his business, but he can’t help it when it comes to something like this. The prejudices of Hightown have never sat well with him.

“Do you talk to all of your potential customers that way? It’s a wonder you have any if so.”

It would seem Fenris's reputation preceded him and now the shopkeep had the realization that he may have picked a fight with a very dangerous individual indeed.

The elderly man cleared his throat and attempted to regain some measure of propriety. It was one thing to yell at a weird elf dressed like an employee at the Blooming Rose - it was an entirely other can of worms to start something with one of the Champion's illustrious companions. Especially the one who was pointy all over, not just his ears.

The elderly man seemed to immediately recoil, muttering some half-hearted excuse as a few more eyes were drawn to what seemed to be some interesting drama. Unfortunately for the rubberneckers, the old man was very much aware of what happened to those who decided to persist with any conflict with Hawke or her companions.

"You have my gratitude," the Medicine Seller said, when things had settled down. "That could have become a very difficult situation."

The Medicine Seller was... less aware of the mystique that clung to those in the Champion's inner circle. All he knew was that Fenris was an elf, that elves were treated poorly, and that, as far as he was concerned, the man had stuck his intricately patterned neck out for him.

It was an unusual occurrence, and there was a note of sincerity in his usual slow, even tone.

It's always a bit of a mixed thing, being one of the Champion's friends. Sometimes, Fenris just longs for anonymity, though marked as he is... he's not likely to be easily forgettable by most. Still, he'd managed to keep a low profile for all that time on the run. Those days are long past by now, though.

"You're welcome. It was the least I could do. Certain individuals," he scowls, turning his grumpy expression toward the shop keeper for a moment, then turns back, "won't ever change. Especially those in Hightown. They're especially unfriendly toward elves." Not pleasant, but there's the reality of the situation. He himself would never, ever have chosen to live in this section of the city, were it now for the place he'd long ago claimed. He glances at the Medicine Seller... he is an elf, right? But there's something just different enough about him that makes Fenris vaguely think otherwise. "And rifters, for that matter."

There was a hint of a smile, the corners of his mouth curling up enough to reveal the tips of his fangs peeking out. Definitely not an elf. Or at the very least, not the Thedosian variety.

"Oh? You have keener eyes than most."

But then again, most were probably only vaguely aware of elven culture and how to spot it, and even less aware that Rifters being any kind of a Thing. Especially not a Thing they'd encounter in their lifetimes. Getting by day to day in a world that seemed to be rapidly heading for the ledge of the proverbial waterfall was a bit more important than deciding what hole some dodgy peddler crawled out of.

"I suspect they give you less trouble than most."

Grandma, what a big sword and spiky armour you have.

Fangs, huh? That’s… different. Fenris simply nods at first.

“You could say I’ve spent a lifetime making observations. It’s a speciality of mine.” Not because he wanted to, usually because he had to. Observe to stay alive, to stay out of Danarius’ clutches. And before that, he had to be keenly aware of his surroundings, to avoid punishments and worse. He’d picked up a thing or two during that time.

“Using this sword is a speciality of mine as well. Among other things. But now I have to ask, what sort of race do you belong to where you’re from, if not elven?”

The Medicine Seller was feeling indulgent, given that Fenris had done him a kindness, but not so indulgent as to offer any concrete explanations as to just what he was. Especially if the sword remark were a thinly veiled threat. Moreso, it would be a terribly long explanation, one he didn't want to give with that shopkeep craning his neck to eavesdrop on the elves he probably suspected were scheming to rob him blind. And even beyond that, people here would have very little context, and there were too many words that just didn't translate well without giving the very wrong impression.

"Nihonjin," he said, sounding just a bit more at home with the word than anything else he'd said. It wasn't technically a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth of things. "Though some variation of 'Japanese' would be said in the languages here."

He gave a thoughtful 'hm' as he considered for a moment.

"That probably means very little to you. I do apologize."

Not that there was much he could do about it. Context was important, after all, and he didn't exactly have a world map he could whip out and show Fenris.

Fenris frowns as the merchant is over there, trying to eavesdrop. He gestures for them to move along just a little bit, just far enough to get out of hearing range, but not entirely away just yet. Yes, he’s feeling mildly vindictive, wanting to frustrate that merchant a little.

The word sounds utterly foreign, and fascinating to Fenris. He’s not really spoken much to many rifters about their worlds yet. For the most part, he’s kept them at a bit of a distance, not entirely sure what to make of them. No, they’re not demons, but… they’re… still strange, hard to get used to.

“You’re right, it means nothing at all. Is that the name of a specific race of elves, then?” For all he knows the Japanese are something like the Dalish, after all. “I suppose it’s a similar feeling for all of you, having to get used to the names of our places and people here…”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh the highway is my great wall

sundermount;

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hightown

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Hightown

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Rainy days

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Sundermount

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Hightown

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