[I: OTA, II: Semi-Closed] Finding Forever

[nadasharillen]

WHO: Part I: Anyboooody!
Part II: Nahariel, Cade, and whoever's with Cade when he found
WHAT: I: Come get a free drink and tell Nari where you were when the Chantry blew up.
II: She has a cunning plan.
WHEN: A couple of days after the forest springs up
WHERE: I: Hanged Man
II: That good good new forest
NOTES: probable discussion of PTSD

Part I:

Nahariel spends a good day just... looking. Watching the general consternation of the populace that comes and goes, some of whom she'd seen come to leave items or worship at the crater before. They look unsure now. Something had happened here, something big and terrible. So she spends that night at the Hanged Man buying drinks--she hadn't much use for fine things, and her carvings had sold relatively well here--and asking for stories.

Word passes through the tavern pretty quickly that there's an elf at one of the corner tables doing this, and she greets anyone who sits down with a crooked smile, a drink of their choice, and a question:

"Where were you when the Chantry bombing happened?"


Part II:

The last person she spoke to that night was an off-duty Templar. The center of their faith, gone in an instant, their Knight-Commander in the grip of Red Lyrium fueled insanity, Abominations everywhere. The Templar looked harrowed, like they hadn't slept since--or not well, at least.

And Nari had seen that look before.

And she remembered what just a bit of her whistling a Chantry song had done.

And she got an idea.

The next day not too long after sunrise she put on her working leathers, divested herself of anything that could be considered a weapon--aside from her tools, of course--and set off to find Cade Harimann.

Comments

Re: I

[nadasharillen]

Nahariel recognizes the sudden flash of distrust in the woman's eyes. Before they'd come to Kirkwall, it had been a good long while since she'd gotten that look, long enough that the first time it'd happened here Nari was actually surprised and even a little hurt. The common purpose of the Inquisiton had made her soft.

"Not so wrong that I haven't gotten a few," the elf replies non-comittally, projecting a leisurely calm that hardens to alertness beneath her skin.

[aforethought]

"Figure offering free drinks'll do that." Even if she doubts how many of those stories ended up half-factual. (That says something too, doesn't it? The ways that stories change?) "But ain't what I meant."

She's running her mouth off here more than's any kind of sensible, ought to just take the tankard and leave. But that's what drink does, you know, loosens her lips easy as a common cause does other poor dumb sots. The Inquisition and its promise of a higher purpose, of the gentle hazy unity it's supposed to lay over their wounds. Like it's not just licking out the blood for its own.

At least drinking kills you slow.

"Look around." Got a few dwarves in here, an ox or two; place is crawling diverse — but that's not how real folks live. It's been a long time now since she felt any kind of real, but Melys remembers. Knows enough to know that this, this ain't it. "Who hauls ass across town just to drown in this shitheap?"

"You ain't buying every round. Gotta have coin to be here," She yanks a thumb. "Gotta be breathing. Don't matter what no one in here says, we all came out alright. You want stories,"

It's not quite a scoff, not the way it catches on something in her breath, something just a touch too much like honest feeling.

"Oughta go find those what didn't."