The Dragon (Sarkan) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fireandsmoke) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2017-08-16 08:40 pm
fireandsmoke) wrote in faderift2017-08-16 08:40 pm
Entry tags:
[Open] Weary/Hungry/Hunched Over Labwork or Irritable and Lost, Take Your Pick
WHO: The Dragon (Sarkan) & You
WHAT: In which the Dragon is splitting his time amongst the Gallows library, the alchemy labs/herb gardens, and the Darktown Clinic (first time venturing out there!).
WHEN: Throughout August
WHERE: Various locations around the Gallows and Kirkwall
NOTES: Includes references back to his agreement with Kit. Also seeking out the Darktown Clinic to personally introduce himself to Anders.
WHAT: In which the Dragon is splitting his time amongst the Gallows library, the alchemy labs/herb gardens, and the Darktown Clinic (first time venturing out there!).
WHEN: Throughout August
WHERE: Various locations around the Gallows and Kirkwall
NOTES: Includes references back to his agreement with Kit. Also seeking out the Darktown Clinic to personally introduce himself to Anders.
THE GALLOWS, ALCHEMY LABS
The herb garden and alchemy labs have been seeing a lot of activity lately.
Astute observers and wanderers may have noticed for, oh, the past week or so, plentiful flickering flames and brightly flashing lights emanating from a cracked door into the most isolated vacant lab. Lyrium blue, orange, gold, pale blue, back to gold… for a full day the blue-gold tone swells and ebbs but never extinguishes completely, a sustained and steady light show in a relatively quiet section of the Gallows. Then comes the noises: high-volume chants, eerie, lyrical whispers, an hour-long song in an unrecognizable language that could give even the least magic-sensitive pinpricks to their necks.
And just as suddenly as the preternatural activity began, it quits and silences, reduced to the flicker of unadulterated lamplight deep into the night.
It is after a few hours of relative quiet when a voice snaps curtly to an invisible presence, “I need you to come to the alchemy labs.”
A peer into the lab's cracked door would reveal a tall, youthful man bent over a lab table, turning something about the size of a small coin over and over again absently in his palm, testing its weight and other invisible attributes with the pensiveness of a fine jeweler. It is a highly weary Sarkan, the one called the Dragon, hovering over a tangle of alembics, flasks, flames, and vials, finally finished with his self-imposed quarantine. While he considers and carefully encircles the small object, he shovels a half-consumed hunk of bread slathered in thick, luscious, fatty cheese with a shocking lack of grace for such a refined and well-dressed individual (and even he would be disgusted with himself, if he were not beyond caring at this point in his efforts). He does not appear terribly aware that he is being observed -- if he's being observed -- and actually looks very much like he could use a bigger feast than he's got, followed by a nice glug of fine wine and a soft bed...
HERB GARDENS AND HALLS AROUND THE LABS, OUT AND ABOUT EARLY IN THE MORNING AFTER THE SCENARIO ABOVE
Out and about the Gallows, the Dragon walks around with a palm cupped close to his left ear, a look of concentration etched into his cold face. He doesn't appear to notice or care if he passes anyone; the most they will get is a pause and a quick glance over the shoulder, his cupped left ear tilted in their general direction. It's a strange sight, to be sure, and one probably couldn't help but wonder if he were going a trite deaf in that ear, or if some sort of pesky fly had bitten him in the lobe...
DARKTOWN
Imperiousness has a habit of sticking out like a sore thumb when it’s the slums you’re walking. It does not matter how thickly the Dragon buries his rich clothes under a heavy, drab cloak, he still manages to stand out, whether it is the nature of his strong and aristocratic gait, or his disdainful glances to the puddles of filth muddying his boots, or the gentle clinking of elixir-bottles and magical artifacts in his hip pouch, or just a combination of the entire package. Even the air smells thicker with decay and destitution to his senses. It is something Sarkan did not miss about his youth in the capital city; he much preferred to tuck himself away from prying, fearful, squealing eyes and surround himself with handsome effects, things that weren’t painful to look at.
Darktown definitely isn’t his taste, to say the least. Beleth’s warning to him about a trek to the Clinic absolutely holds true, and he heeded it wisely, keeping an eye and an ear out for any ruffians that dare to obstruct his path. Anders, skilled mage that Sarkan hears he is, is a strange one, choosing the grittiest reaches of the city to set up a respectable magic school. Was the real estate cheaper?
Though the Dragon was very careful and thorough in requesting directions from the Inquisition and a few guards on his way out, he has not yet had a chance to master his sense of direction in this accursed realm. And now he finds himself referencing his parchment of hastily-scrawled instructions with a deep, irritated frown. He made it this far. Did he miss the last turn-off for the Clinic? What a profound waste of time…
"You over there!" Yes, that is an edge of superiority and disdain in his voice. Mostly impatience, sure, but there is a definite dash of ungraciousness in that tone. "I'm looking for the Clinic. The directions I've got are absurdly useless. Which way is it?"
WILDCARD
For any scenario outside the two described above. He is most likely to frequent the libraries. You may also run into him fielding some of his ‘rifter’ magic in quiet, secluded areas or gardens (like creating little mist-sentinels which he can theoretically send out to spy and listen in on other people, like certain Tevinter in the dungeons, but obviously his range will be much poorer than he’s used to). Any other ideas, you’re welcome to just surprise me or hit me up at
no subject
He sets whatever bites of food he has on a silver charger, and slides it aside. He pinches the copper-toned circlet betwixt his index finger and thumb and carefully, almost lovingly brings it close to his lips as if to give it a kiss, or perhaps even to swallow it hole. Instead, softly, lyrically, he chants an impossible string of unrecognizable syllables, and as his voice reaches a swelling crescendo, the object glows a pale, cool blue. Something akin to passion dances in his cool, dark eyes, and there's a glimpse of someone who becomes almost soft and handsome whilst he practices his craft.
In another flicker, both the light and softness dissolve. The Dragon squints at his handiwork critically, holding it up and out to the candlelight with a dawning frown.
"I did something," he admits wearily. "And it works as I expected it would."
The Dragon drops the trinket--an earring, modestly-sized, nothing that will attract the attentions of greedy bandits--on the lab table and slides it toward Kit, turning his attentions instead to an inkwell, quill, and splayed-open journal. The journal is absolutely peppered with calculations, ingredients, precise proportions and specific instructions, as well as a table with several listed attempts scratched out harshly in fits of frustration. At the bottom he adds another note, and a few foreign syllables that Kit may be able to pick out as the incantation he just sang.
"Well? Take it."
no subject
It's less easy to maintain his chill in the face of obvious spell casting, especially knowing that he's going to have to stick that enchanted piece of metal in his ear now. Spooked, he takes an involuntary step back and waits until the glow of the spell fades before he forces himself to inch back into the workspace.
He picks up the earring and examines it; more subtle than something stuck right in his ear, he supposes. He looks back to the Dragon, who is already nose-deep back in his notes and research.
"Hey," he says again. A pause. Then, with grudging sincerity: "Thanks for this."
no subject
He does not look up from his writing as he grabs another hunk of peasant bread and helps himself. A smooth gesture once he's finished, and he wipes his mouth with a conjured handkerchief. He washes it down with a glug from a plain silver cup before resuming his instructions.
"Its use is straightforward enough that a simpleton could manage it. An earring is less apt to get lost no matter what you're doing, but fleshy contact with the ear lobe is technically all that's required to get it activated. Only wear it when you need it, or you will drain it too quickly. I'll guess a charge will last a week, at best, before I'll need to infuse it again." The Dragon completes his writing with a loud scritch, scritch and replaces the quill in the inkwell. He braces himself against the lab table to keep his posture aloft and regards Kit with critical, steely eyes.
"Don't lose it, because there won't be a second. No excuses--unless you manage to get your entire ear shorn off," he adds caustically. "Not that I'll make a second regardless."
no subject
Kit exhales shortly and gives his head the tiniest of 'why do I even bother' shakes, pocketing the ring. He'll need to find a way to jab it through his ear at some stage, but that won't be the worst discomfort he's ever experienced. Certainly it'll be less unpleasant than trying to have a conversation with this chump.
"Sakroka," he says, and one gets the impression he's using the word very sarcastically, "next time, just do us all a favour and say, 'you're welcome,' and leave the rest of your commentary on the inside."
He turns to leave, muttering, "prick," as he crosses the threshold to the corridor.
no subject
"Test it for a time first. You'll have to return to me within a week in case you would like improvements," he warns. "If you can help it, don't rely on it yet. Just because I'm familiar with its function doesn't mean I trust that you'll be a natural and take off soaring. I've seen how magic makes you shrink away, and you told me as much yourself. Know it intimately before you rush headlong on a journey across the map. Understood?"
no subject
"All right," he says, cutting his eyes uncomfortably to one side, then back again. "Thanks." A pause, before he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "...I'm gonna go now."
no subject
"Fine," he concedes, drawing his paltry meal towards him. He contemplates conjuring himself a decent stew, risking the weariness just so he can fill his stomach without needing to go talk with anyone else. Might be worth it to spare himself the tiresome social interaction. "Get out of my sight. I will see you again in a week."
Or not, if Kit does end up galavanting into the sunset and taking on a dangerous journey. Then he will have the added delight and dealing with a magnificently irritated Dragon upon his return.