Salamandridae | Open To All

[writteninblood]

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!)

Comments

[writteninblood]

"Maybe that's how it works in your head," He reaches out to slap that exact head, though the cuff it too toothless to catch more than hair, "Besides, Sina's beautiful enough for anyone."

Lifty tones, those, and very loyal. Sorrel hasn't changed a bit; and even if he had, there's a joke in this that would be spoiled if he gave even an inch off the bit.

"What about it, then? How has the Inquisition life been treating you?"

[samahl]

"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."

[writteninblood]

"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.

[samahl]

"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.

[writteninblood]

"Stop, you," Sorrel groans, pushing at Cyril, though the grin belies his complaint. And yes, he's a little pink, if you look for it-- embarrassed, as much as anything else, "You don't have to rub it in, your reputation as a complete menace is secure, with me."

[samahl]

Cyril enjoys the blush on Sorrel's face, but he is kind enough to stop. "I'll have you know I've settled pretty much on three men and haven't strayed too far outside that. At least most of the time."

[writteninblood]

"Oh, only three, then? And pretty much? Most of the time? At least?" He says it with a little waggle of the eyebrows for each qualifier, tone rising with incredulity. You absolute degenerate Cyril Ashara, you're fooling no one here, "You must be living like a monk. You know, if you get too buttoned up, I've heard it will fall off, so don't be afraid to indulge every once in a while."

Sarcasm is an art.

"Seriously, now. Congratulations on all the sex. But at least drink your tea if you aren't going to actually tell me anything."

[samahl]

Cyril enjoys the sarcasm though. He sips his tea and then gets a little more serious.

"Rather than regaling you with tales of my sex life, let's talk about you. What are you plans now that you're here? I know you want to tend to your wife, but are you planning on going back to the Clan? Or are you set to be among us homeless elves for a bit?"

[writteninblood]

"I'm here until Sina is well again, or..." He hesitates, unwilling to actually think about it, unable to voice even the fear of it, not aloud, where it might become real. Why tempt Fen'Harel's jaws, when he may already by on your scent-trail?

"Until she's well again," he amends, abruptly, "Until the end of winter, at least, as far as the Keeper knows. Between the two of us, if I have to stay in Kirkwall until we find a way to pry that thing out of her body, then that's what I'll do. But I'm not leaving her, not like this. So I honestly don't know how long I'll be here."

[samahl]

Cyril is touched by the loyalty and the instance that Sina will be well. He's not sure of that himself, but he isn't about to say that.

"If we are able to find a way to remove the shard, and she wishes to stay here and still work with the Inquisition, would you be willing to stay with her?"

[writteninblood]

If Sorrel could be honest, he might admit that he wasn't as sure as he liked to think he should be, about Sina's health, about her recovery. But that would take more courage than he has, and Sorrel isn't about to let go of the hope that all will be well, in the end.

"If she asked me, I-- I don't know how the Keepers would feel about it, and the welfare of the Clans really should come first, but for Sina I'd... I don't know. I'd at least argue for it; two Keepers and a First is a lot, even for so many."

That, and the Keepers would be thinking of the other things that might come with a recovered Sina, should they be permitted time together. Nobody lives forever anymore, and there was the future of both clans to consider; a young married pair could hardly produce that future if kept separate from one another.

[samahl]

Cyril was quiet for a moment, to let them both consider that sentiment.

He had his own reasons for wanting Sorrel here, and most of them were terribly selfish. Instead of voicing them, he drank a bit of his tea and then said, "You know, eventually you have to choose what is best for you too, and for your future. You and Sina are supposed to build a life together, aren't you? I might not be the best source to ask, but isn't that the point of marriage?"

[writteninblood]

"The point this marriage is to join the clans, Cyril. To build a future for all of us, together," He replies, surprised and-- no, it's not fair to be offended. Cyril isn't his enemy, isn't some outsider questioning his motives. It's just that... he thought Cyril at least understood. Sorrel spreads his hands, helpless, "Cyril... Listen, it's-- you have to understand."

"My mother won't be Keeper of Ashara forever; she'll die, and if things continue the way they are, Dahlasanor may one day just be a name that part of the clan carries, more history for us to keep safe. I'm not going to be like her, I'm not going to crush everyone I love, just because I'm afraid to lose them. Both of us are..." He stops, huffing a breath, almost frustrated. How can he not see? Is it because he's never been asked to be more than just-- just a hunter, a scout, a fighter? Doesn't he understand, the duty a mage has to bear, among the People? "We have so much to lose, Cyril. Siuona and I, we're the ones who have to guard it, because someone has to. It's what we were born to do."

[samahl]

Cyril listens, and it's not just the type of listening someone does to pacify the person he's speaking to. He listens to understand. He wants to support Sorrel and Sina as much as he possibly can. His own personal issues can be left behind to focus on them.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I didn't mean to upset you. I do want to understand and I want to support whatever choice you make." A pause, before he adds. "I know I put on a show at being frivolous and vapid, but I do care about you, Sorrel. I want you to do what is best for you and your duty."

[writteninblood]

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-- to be--"

To be like this. Useless and bad-tempered and the bane of all that is free and fun and easy. He doesn't mean to be difficult. Sorrel flushes again, this time with shame rather than a more pleasant form of embarrassment.

"I made my choice already, I'm happy with it," He says it so sadly, but with conviction, despite that. Maybe it's true. It is true. Isn't it? "It's not that, really! You know I don't actually think that, just because I tease you, right? I... I just worry that, with everything that's happened, everyone thinks I'm a fool for still believing in any of it."

He gestures, with the hand not holding his cup, a vague, loose-fingered circle, toward himself. Or more accurately, toward his face, his vallaslin, and the promise it represents.

"...or that I'm the only one who still does believe."

[samahl]

"I think, that we've all become so bitter and angry as we look back as see layers of mistreatment. Being here, so separate from it all, we've created a place where those feelings thrive. Having someone with fresh eyes who still wants to believe will do us well. There's something to be said for turning away and making your own path, just as much as there is something to be said for trying to restore the old ways.

We were all raised to see that as our purpose, as the reason we were out in the woods instead of in a city. That belief isn't wholly a bad one. Having you here being a voice of reason will help us remember."

[writteninblood]

"Oh Creators no," Sorrel cries, half in real alarm, but the rest of him is trying not to laugh at the idea, "Don't say I'm the voice of reason. That's..."

Words fail him, they really do. Sorrel laughs, pushing one hand through his hair. Oh no. Sorrel is the voice of reason.

"...We're doomed!"

[samahl]

Cyril laughs with him. "We are, but it's all right. At least we're all doomed together."