faderift | Salamandridae

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Salamandridae | Open To All

WHO: Sorrel, Beleth, and anyone at Kirkwall
WHAT: Sorrel power-slides into Kirkwall like a 3AM anxiety attack, with a couple of prompts to that effect
WHEN: Mid-to-late Kingsway
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: tba

Kirkwall, approached from land, sat in the delta of the bay like a fat, squalid salamander. It clung to the hills, mottled and shining, just barely dipping its tail into the sea. Closer on, the walls seemed taller, more daunting, Sorrel's first impression of the City of Chains was much less painful. The city seemed like a reluctant amphibian; something caught awkwardly between, and failing in both directions.

i. Neurergus
He'd written ahead, to let Beleth, to ask her to meet him, at the gates. If she couldn't, he knew that she, faster than anyone, would be able to find someone to meet him in her stead-- the sending crystals, those fantastical devices, might not be available for common use among the Dalish, but he knew the Inquisition handed them out to every member, and quite a few hangers-on. And, as he drew nearer down the road, as the city grew larger and more noxious in his senses, Sorrel could only hope that someone would be waiting. Or would see him.

It wasn't as if he'd never seen a city, nor been inside the bounds of a human settlement, but this was one elf alone; dangerous enough even on familiar ground. He had no idea who-- what to expect. He's actually probably making any perceived danger more real, come to think of it. Nothing says noticeable quite like someone who's trying to take a nervous glance in every direction at once.

ii. Cynops
Sorrel had been ingrained from his youth with the habit that when one is nervous, anxious, or worried, one should do something with one's hands. There's always something, in an active Dalish clan, mending, sewing, carving, cooking-- in Sorrel's case, his hands fall on tea. He's not entirely sure where he is. The Gallows, he knows that much, and it's an apt name for a building as sharp and stained as this one. Some apartment he had been led to, small and sparse but there was a kettle, and a box with tea, and a jar. He hadn't looked in the jar yet. He wouldn't be much of a mage if he couldn't make tea with just that much.

So, if you're around the gallows, perhaps you'll smell it, and come knocking. That'd be just nice and neighborly of you, wouldn't it? Of course it would.

iii. Ommatotriton
Perhaps you've met Beleth? Beleth Ashara? Well, she's certainly happy to have met you-- as evidenced by the way that she's stopped you on your path and shoved her twin in your face. Ah yes, Sorrel and Beleth, inseparable as always; and that means, you get to meet the other half of Clan Ashara's own personal Dynamic Duo. (Choose this if you want Beleth to join the thread!)

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"Well enough. Things can be... intense." He hesitates to describe it that way because it doesn't seem to really do it justice. "But I think coming here was the best possible choice I could have made."

It's a cold, damp morning in Kirkwall, and Adasse was up way, way too early to get himself breakfast. He had training, both to officially get and to unofficially give. Remarkable how many bloody new Scouts didn't know how to pick a basic lock on a trunk ...

Either way, he grabbed up something to eat but figured he would just drink water when he got back to his own quarters, feeding Coco on his shoulder from the loaf he had grabbed, when he smelled the warm and welcoming scent of tea. Dark eyes brightening, he went to knock on the door where the smells were emanating.

"G'morning? I'll trade you a sweet roll for some of your tea, if you have enough to spare?"

"Don't give me that face, I'm not leaving soon," This to Beleth, almost in a whine; old habits die hard. He's a grown elf, promise, "--Really, Warden, I'm not."

Not until Sina is well. And she will get better, of course. Right, Inessa? Of course that's right.

"Thank you. Maybe later, you could give me what you've learned, so far?"

"What, between the rifts and wars and looking at everyone's butt all the time?" Intense, he says, and Sorrel laughs, shaking his head. Really, Cyril? "I suppose that's fair enough. I'm glad that you're happy here, at least. Everyone seems to be... getting along."

It's weird. But then, maybe you get used to everyone being so much bigger than you all the time. Hell, maybe you get to liking it? It is Cyril we're considering, here.

"I would love to," He replies, returning her hug with only a moment's hesitation-- and then warmly. Touch, real touch, firm and warm and undeniable, and yet like this it was obvious how small Sina was, and how thin. Something tight and sharp clenched in Sorrel's chest, "What, a whole forest? I can't miss that."

Sina's garden! What's not to want about that? And besides, hadn't he wanted to work there with her before?

"Lead the way."

"Yes to both," He grins, sheepish despite the reasonableness of it. It's been a long week with plenty of walking, and little enough to show for it but distance. No reason to be shy about it, "But I'm not going to fall over if I have to wait. It's..."

He gestures vaguely at Kirkwall's imposing-- well, walls. Between the statuary and the general air of humanity, the place had a certain intimidation about it. It was enough to dampen an appetite.

"...It's my first time in a place this big, is all."

Beleth's suite is Sorrel's too, for the time being. Everyone needs somewhere to retreat to-- and being the head of a division meant a certain expectation of privacy. So maybe he's surprised with a random flat-ear comes knocking but then... what else? The place is nothing but nosy neighbors.

Maybe there's something to like about that; it was familiar. Homey. It takes him a long, uncertain moment to open the door.

"...Cake for tea?" Who are you, mysterious stranger, "Alright. It's still steeping, though. You might as well come in."

That's polite, right? That's how politeness works.

As they make their way to Hightown, they get more than a few stares: Sina is familiar enough to the regulars, but now there's another Dalish with her, just as wild and painted as the stereotype. Though she's on decent enough terms with a lot of the Inquisition's humans, Sina still lowers her gaze and moves quickly through the crowd, never fully able to shed her distrust of both cities and shems. All the while she keeps her hand clasped to Sorrel's, so he won't get lost or overwhelmed. It's easy to do, at first.

He'll see the forest long before they're near it, as it towers as tall as the Chantry and presides over the lower buildings of Hightown. She wasn't exaggerating; it is well and truly a forest, with mature trees, abundant vegetation, and very little to suggest any touch of civilization. The only indication that anyone comes here is a path worn into the dirt and grass of the floor by the footsteps of those who come to harvest, meditate, or simply walk around.
As soon as they enter, the sounds of the city seem to grow distant, overpowered by the birdsong in the canopy overhead.

Well hello, it's a Dalish. A Dalish with incredible eyes. Adasse's smile kicks up a notch, and he beamed as he eased his way through the door. He had no idea these were Beleth's quarters -- but once he did know there might be a bucket of water balancing on the door waiting in her future or something. Beleth needs to have some fun.

This fellow looked like he needed it too, with those extraordinary eyes.

"You'd be surprised how hard it is to get a good cuppa when you've missed first breakfast call." He offered up the plate, flashing one of his best charming smiles, with Coco balanced curiously on his shoulder. "I'm Adasse, by the by. Who are you, handsome?"

"We'll do food first, then. You'll have to excuse the bustle on the way, but we've got a cozy little place near the harbor to put your feet up and... digest," Nari says, the word working for both food and place. "If you look out into the sea, it's just faraway land, water, and bright sails." She grins. "I'm growing to like the townsfolk enough, but sometimes the best shem'len are the ones you can look at from far away."

The artisan stretches, moving away from where she'd been leaning to wait, "Afterwards, if you like, we can go on a walking tour; or I can at least show you where not to go."

Sorrel is as wary as she is, and still too sure of the strangeness of everything around them to confuse Kirkwall for anything but what it is; enemy territory. Even if that were true, as cobbles give way to good earth and living root underfoot, the smell and sounds pull him forward like a song.

"This is beautiful," He breathes, looking up at the sunlight made green, inhaling deeply. It is beautiful, truly, but it can't have been here for long-- the Shemlen would have taken it for fuel before they'd allow this sanctuary to stand with no purpose, "Your forest, is it?"

Ah, now here's the real Sorrel, grin turned a little wry and with a gentle, teasing nudge to accompany the sentiment. All this, all Sina's-- she claimed it for her own, didn't she?

"You did all this?"

If so, he's impressed.

"I--"

Sorrel hesitated, absently cradling the teapot in his hands, and eying bot Adasse and the plate as if they might leap up and bite him at any moment.

Wait, had he called Sorrel handsome? That's just... Had they met before? No, no that didn't make any sense. How did we go from simple greeting to-- wait, no, nevermind, it didn't matter. You look like an idiot, I'm Sorrelean Ashara. Say it. Say it!

"A-andaran atish’an, I'm Sorrelean Ashara," He took a deep breath, coloring pink around the ears and cleared his throat, hoping it would help. Well, that had been embarrassing, "Sorrel-- everyone calls me Sorrel. I've only arrived in the city just this morning."

"Ha! Isn't that the truth!"

A lot of things were much better from a distance. Big cities. Big wolves. Well, not Nari, at least. Sorrel likes Nari.

"Good idea; between Sina and Beleth, I don't know if Kirkwall could survive it if I ended up getting cut up and fed to mabari, or whatever they do around here," He assumes cannibalism is probably a little too far, even for the shemlen, of course, "I'm eager to find Sina, though. I've heard that she's..."

He has no idea how to categorize it, honestly. The letter had been a little vague, if dire.

Adasse flashed him another warm grin, going to settle himself down on the floor as he waited for the tea to steep. He tipped his head to the side, his smile flashing over his lips. Coco went to settle in his lap, and he put the plate to one side.

"Well nice to meet you, Sorrel." Ashara - ah! "So you must be related to Senior Scout Ashara." Huh. "And ... Ellana, and Cyril, come to think of it." He sits up a bit more, looking interested, "And what brings you here, handsome Sorrel?"

"Ha. Well, she's my sister," He laughs, still blushing, "Twins. Those few and Pel are all lethallen, but we're not related by blood. Just clan, such as it is."

Was it getting hot in here? Was it-- oh. Oh, oops. Sorrel puts the Kettle down, hurriedly. It seems like he's doomed to embarrass himself, whether with words or errant magic. Well, at least it wouldn't go cold? Creators, he's a mess.

"...Ah, my wife, Siuona Dahlasanor," See, Adasse, he has a wife. A wife. He can't be handsome, he's married, stands to reason, "She's been helping with the Inquisition for some time now. I'm joining her, here."

Sina meets his smile with a grin, just a touch of humor behind it. "It was dead," she explains, "the ground was poisoned by all that happened here. So I fixed it." She turns a little circle as she steps further in, a dance-like, girlish motion one wouldn't normally expect from her. "Pel and Velanna helped me. It wouldn't have been possible without them."

"Oh really?" Well now he would take a moment to process that - this gorgeous fellow was related to the stern sometimes looking Beleth of all people. "Aaaah... yeah we have family like that down in the alienage. Well the others do, at least."

One corner of his mouth tweaked up at that display of magic as Sorrel flushed, and when he flushed his eyes grew brighter.

And. He's married. To. Ah. Huh. He tipped his head to the side, as did Coco.

"... why does your wife have another name?"

A family like what, he wants to ask, but then Adasse continues and distracts him wit the question of names.

"Because that's her name?" Now it's Sorrel's turn to be confused. Why would Sina's name need to be the same? This is an Andrastian thing, has to be, "Clan Dahlasanor and Clan Ashara are nearly one and the same, these days, but they still deserve their own names, their own histories. You don't lose who you are just because you join together."

There's an awkward moment where it seems like he'll go on, but Sorrel seems to think better of it and turns away. Some things don't bear repeating to outsiders-- or maybe he's just trying not to start a sentence with a comment on the relative flatness of anyone's ears. Or, maybe just the tea's ready! Certainly, he is pouring it.

"Honey?" He offers a nice hot cup, along with the pot. It's nothing unusual, just the ordinary black tea common to Kirkwall. Sorrel stirs a liberal spoonful into his own, on the logic that you only need to taste bitterness when it's medicine, "You haven't introduced me to your friend."

And Sina just comes alive, if only for a moment. Sorrel laughs, enchanted, and makes a helpless explanatory gesture at the towering life around them.

"Modest and talented?" He's teasing, even if the compliment is sincere, "But you were the one who started it, and now you take herbs here, to those who need it. I've never fought corruption like that, before."

He can't quite seem to stop smiling; how strange, to feel somehow safe, even here, so far from all that is fest and free and home-like. A little secret place, healed by Dalish hands. Amazing.

"Sina, you're amazing. Do you think you could teach me too?"

Families made up of people who are not related to one another except for being elves -- but as far as he's been told? The Dalish do it better.

"...Huh. Well that is a lot nicer than how the Chantry does it, so that puts the Dalish ahead." He gives Sorrel a knowing eyebrow, before a smirk touches his lips, "Don't lose who you are versus where you live either, handsome. An elf is an elf is an elf. Although some of us are prettier eyes than others."

Oooh, honey. "Yes please, I always like something sweet." He brightened, as he stroked Coco's ears. "Well where are my manners? Coco, this is Sorrel. Sorrel, this is Coco."

The nug's ears went up, and he snuffled at Sorrel with interest.

"I look at more than just butts, I'll have you know. There's plenty beautiful bits all around us. Strong arms, slender chests, fantastic faces... Not to mention everything else." He is probably trying to either get Sorrel to blush or get a rise out of him now, but the teasing stays in a conversational tone.

"Ah, the Chantry."

There's a world of meaning in those few words, and not a lot of it complimentary. Sorrel is just taking his first swallow when the comment about his eyes lands, and sends him coughing. Ugh! Is he doing it on purpose? He has to be doing it on purpose.

"Aneth ara, Coco," He tells the nug, when Sorrel has remembered how to breathe air, and smiles for the snuffling of a soft, pink little nose, "Have you heard, about the nug that's eaten all the candles?"

Not that Coco would ever, of course. Never ever.

"Yeah. Those guys."

It's as clear a dismissal as Adasse can give it. He's not really one for religion - either the Ancestors or the Maker. He believed in people.

He also believed that Sorrel was married but not intimate with his bride at all. Only virgins blushed this much.

Coco chittered and bumped his muzzled into Sorrel's palm, looking for more love and affection. He sniffs at the idea of eating candles.

Adasse has to laugh, "Coco's too smart for that - especially when he knows I'll feed him all the pastries he ever wants. Especially the weird deep mushroom ones."

Deliberately, Sorrel shifts his gaze from Coco to Adasse. He makes eye contact, rases both eyebrows, and holds.

And holds.

"Well, they were only looking for light refreshment."

And he doesn't even smile. He's been doing this to Beleth all this life, do you think this is a game, Adasse? This is no game. This is life or death or nug jokes. But then he lets it go with a smirk.

Adasse's own eyebrows raise as Sorrel meets his gaze - and holds it. Holds it for a long time.

...and then he bloody well puns him.

Adasse ... clears his throat, putting his hand to his mouth for a moment. Then with as straight a face as he can manage it. "Yes, but I doubt it is a meal anyone would wax poetic about."

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Salamandridae | Open To All

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