[OPEN] You've got your reasons / And me, I've got mine

[ragweed]

WHO: Kit + OPEN
WHAT: Back from the Korcari Wilds, Kit kicks about town finding trouble.
WHEN: Towards the end of August.
WHERE: The Gallows, Lowtown, Darktown.
NOTES: Will update as they become relevant.

The Korcari Wilds were strange, and the experiences had within them even stranger. Kit still can't completely shake the feeling of persistent dread that has hounded him since that night spent around the Chasind campfire listening to the words spun for him and the rest of his companions by the shaman. Since his return to Kirkwall, it has been easier for him to eschew the company of the friends he's made since arriving, though he knows it's beyond unreasonable to avoid them forever.



I. THE GALLOWS - TRAINING GROUNDS

About a week after his return from the Wilds, Kit rouses himself early enough to get to the training grounds before the sun has decided whether it's ready to drag itself above the horizon or not. There are a handful of dutiful Templars and other Inquisition soldiers at work there already, either engaging in sparring or in warm up exercises. Kit stands out like the sorest of thumbs among all the humans, but he's used to that.

He heads over to a rack of training war axes and examines them, picking them up to test the heft, then hanging them back up again. Truthfully, he's not even sure what he's doing here without an Inquisition scout trainee in need of remedial lessons to attend to; sleep just wouldn't stay with him.

It's a pity he isn't human; he can't even blame nightmares for keeping him awake.



II. KIRKWALL - THE HANGED MAN

It's easier to lose his money than it is for him to keep it, and he's doing a great job of proving that to himself again tonight. Card shark or not, there's always bound to be a night where even your best poker face isn't good enough, and this is one of those nights.

He's seated at a table near the back of the taproom floor surrounded by a number of other dwarves who, judging by the clean cut of their clothes and their absurdly coiffed beards, are likely representatives of the Merchants' Guild. It's not exactly clear when the stakes of this game got quite so high as to include Kit betting his tiny, exquisite carving of Paragon Hrildan, but that's where he's at now.

He sits very still in his chair, examining the hand of cards he holds in one hand while the other keeps a lit cigarette within easy reach of his lips.



III. DARKTOWN

He ends up in Darktown like it's ten years ago and he's in need of a spell of quiet. The darkness, the stink, the distance people give each other in lieu of making trouble, reminds him with a pang of bitter homesickness of Dust Town, and he almost can't conscience how much he misses it for one shitty moment.

There's a single rickety railing that exists to prevent the idle wanderer from tripping over their own feet and careening down into the depths of the channel leading into the city, and that is where Kit stands, smoking a cigarette and watching the small, distant shapes of the barges as they move through the gates.

Comments

[ragweed]

It might be good to give his hands something to do for the next hour or so; physical activity has always helped him to take his mind of his inner demons. Norrington receives a small smile in return for his offer.

"All right," he says, "sign me up." He reaches back to collect two of the one-handed war axes; a dual wielder, through and through.