your pose as the dust settled around us

[dashing]

WHO: HERIAN and some others.
WHAT: some open stuff, some closed stuff; basically a belated catch all.
WHEN: through September
WHERE: various, I think all Kirkwall
NOTES: some of the open stuff will have caps for how many tag-ins I'll be able to handle, just for variety's sake
WARNINGS: Nothing as yet, but I have an opt-out over here for particular topics with Herian (or just CR with her generally) as there is potential for themes of PTSD, torture, and generally terrible things.

OPEN: in the alienage
OPEN: in hightown

More to be added! If you'd like a specific set up then get in touch and we can plot up a storm.

Comments

OPEN — in the alienage. 3 max per option pls.

[dashing]

( She is not sure she has a place here. It is not a dissimilar feeling to her childhood, memories that that been stirred more than once since the fall of the Spire. With each visit to an alienage, even those she has been to before, she is foreign. Elf-blood, yes, but there is no obvious mark of it, and that absence only makes her more an outsider. She has earned no place here; to be a friend of Saoirise is not something universally recognised, and she would not have it so.

The problem is, truthfully, that she is not sure her mother would ever have had a place in the Starkhaven alienage were it not for her role as healer. A lucky blessing, perhaps—

She needs to visit Starkhaven, see her mother. She has not. She should, but she has not. That is but one of the reasons she kneels before the Vhenadahl. It is part of her history, even if she is not elvhen enough to call it hers, but she has some need of peace and of guidance, and she is not sure that standing in the forest that inhabits the space where the Chantry once was is enough. That is neither one thing nor the other, but she is aware that that in and of itself might make it better suited to her.

Neither one nor the other. Not a proper human, not an elf. Not a proper mage, it would seem, but tainted by the Fade. Not a real knight, and perhaps not properly of the Chantry, either. So many things begun but not completed, a strain of music composed that cannot be played. Herian Amsel is a forged to be a forgery, she suspects, although she also suspects that wordplay is not near so clever as it felt when the thought of it first occurred to her. )


OPTION A: AT THE VHENADAHL.
( She kneels, and she prays. Eventually she becomes aware of the presence of another, but continues her prayer. )

I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade
For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.

( And Herian looks over her shoulder towards the person nearby. ) Did you have need of me?


OPTION B: HELPING OUT.
( Check it out, it's Herian. She's doing things, being majestic. Right now it's taken the form of trying to fix someone's door. Now, she's no woodworker or builder, but most people in alienages aren't, or can't afford the help of those who are. What she is is strong, capable, and willing to think this through to get it right.

So she's got an improvised set of equipment, and is currently hammering nails into a roughly hewn wooden door to help repair it.

Maybe its going well, or maybe she just mashed the crap out of her finger. If it's the latter, she impressively didn't show the pain.... much. )

OPEN — in hightown. 3 max per option pls.

[dashing]

OPTION A: CALMING THEM NOBLES
It is no threat.

( And though she speaks as evenly and patiently as ever, she sounds Exceedingly Done in the same moment. ) The forest is a symbol is healing, not a declaration of war.

( One of the two men she is speaking with replies, their tone escalating in anger. Mentions of poison, of deception, of hiding. Herian's jaw flexes, muscles shifting under her skin, visibly tense. ) The forest holds plans that heal, ser. It is not the storehouse of toxic foliage you would warp it into.

( Perhaps, just maybe, her temper is starting to sound a tad frayed. A tad.

(And, if you want the extra spicy option: one of them is reaching for their sword.) )


OPTION B: OLAF'S ARMOURY

( Oh she cannot afford any of the things in here
BUT THIS RED STEEL CHESTPLATE IS SO PRETTY

She sighs. Arguably not so well suited to her means of fighting, and she turns instead to the small blades. )

What materials are these available— ( Oh, that sure isn't the shopkeep. ) My apologies.