faderift | [Open] Say Hi To Haelan

Entry tags:

[Open] Say Hi To Haelan

WHO: Haelan and YOU!
WHAT: Haelan getting into trouble in Kirkwall- come and say "hello!" Or "Hey you stop thief!" as you perfer.
WHEN: Up to the end of this month
WHERE: Kirkwall! Specifically The Gallows, The Hanged Man and Lowtown in general
NOTES: Come and meet Haelan! Please let me know if you want a specific starter for your character

The Gallows

This is technically only his second-week doing dirty work for the Inquisition. He's not had to do anything very dirty yet, apart from help clear out some old dusty storerooms, but from what he's heard they do far worse than that on a regular basis.

Luckily right no one has given him anything worse to do. Yet. Today, they've actually given him breakfast, which is a surprise, and although he's not sure what to do with the bowl and the spoon, he might just... keep them. No one told him specifically to bring them back, so they must belong to him now. That makes sense. So he wipes up the last dregs of soup with a bit of bread, shoves that in his mouth and shoves the bowl in his bag and the spoon in his pocket, as quick as he can so no one sees.

And then he has to go and be helpful. There's always work to be done, or so it seems, and anyone standing around idle for too long will get roped into doing something. Doing something is alright, but he'd much rather explore a little more. The Gallows overshadowed Kirkwall for so long, and it was the one place he'd never really explored much of. Now, under the guise of working, he can poke around where-ever he wants. If someone questions him, he can just say he was looking for something to do, or for someone. It's almost foolproof.

The corridors are big and wide and there's boxes and barrels piled against the walls. Doors led off on both sides and he's not entirely sure where to, but he's going to try one. There might be something interesting inside. Or at least, something worth borrowing.

Kirkwall's Lowtown

He likes Market Day. Market Day means crowds and crowds mean easy targets. Lowtown's purses are normally lighter than those of Hightown's residents, but there are more of them. And there tend to be less Guards- after all, who wants to Guard poor people? Anyway- there are a few rich merchants struggling up towards Hightown, servants and slaves burdened with goods, their overseers not paying enough attention. If he's lucky, he might bag a few extra pennies.

The trouble is, he's a known figure. As soon as one of the regular stall-holders spots him, they'll let out the alarm. It becomes a bit like a game then- stay away from the stalls, or hidden in the crowd, and swipe what you can. Slice the bottom of a coin-purse here, dip your hand in that basket there.

Of course, you don't expect for someone to grab you by the scruff of your neck, dragging you backwards. At least, not without some sort of shout. The sudden movement is soundless, apart from Haelan's undignified squeak.

Who would pounce on him without calling out thief? Slavers? Must be slavers!

"Get off me!"

The Hanged Man

"And then- and then I had to fight him off!" Haelan says, slurring just a little. "He'd got me into an alley and there were six of them! Ten! Ten Tevinter slavers! You could, you could tell, you know, because they were all Blood Mages- worse than normal mages, all covered in gore! And gold!"

Haelan shudders, reaching for his tankard and taking another swallow. This is the third he's had, and he should know better. But this is what happens, every time he gets a decent haul, instead of finding some safe place to hide his coins, he spends them on beer and little cakes and on stupid little trinkets. Every. Single. Time.

"But I got away, I had to fight them all off, all these mages and they were good mages too! One of them almost got me but I dodged and ran and climbed up onto a roof and they couldn't follow me, because... because they were weighed down by all the gold they were carrying! But I ran and I ran and got away."

He grins, brightly, at the other people at the bar. Anyone sober probably had the good sense not to listen, and frankly, anyone drunk had probably heard better tales told in the Hanged Man.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

One the third floor of the main tower, Inessa sits in her office organizing and going over reports. It's slow going, but she's nothing if not thorough. The slight elven woman sips the last of her tea, vaguely resolving to get a refill at some point. An adult mabari is curled up on the floor, snoozing away...or rather, he was until the sound of the door moving causes his ears to perk up and that head to lift. The slight elven woman doesn't look up just yet, absorbed in finishing this last section and assuming it's one of her project people.

"...yes? What is it?"

You'd have thought his parents would have taught him not to stare.

But Haelan doesn't have parents, and the Chantry really didn't impart him with any actual manners. So here he is, in a stranger's doorway, staring in at her room. It's full of books and... stuff. Weird stuff.

He's not entirely focusing on the woman, or the dog, or anything in particular, his attention moving from one thing to another to another, slightly awed and slightly terrified, but not enough to move.

Then he realises he's being spoken to, and his gaze shifts to the pale woman, bent over her work and not even looking up to see whose there.

"Nothing? I was just looking." Haelan says, and then he spots the dog. Despite knowing it's one of those Ferelden war dogs, a dog is a dog and unless it's actively trying to bite him, Haelan will try and pet them.

Which means edging a little deeper into the room, and reaching out to let the dog sniff him. "Hello dog. you're a nice dog, aren't you?"

The unfamiliar voice has Inessa glancing up from her paperwork, a raised eyebrow as she takes in the sight of the younger boy. Definitely not one of her project people, she can be certain of that. Lowering her quill, she leans back in her chair as her mabari takes notices of their new company. After some intent sniffing, the mabari licks Haelan and rolls over on his back, feet in the air with an exposed belly. He looks up oh-so-hopefully and Inessa smirks as she shakes her head.

"Now you've done it. Garahel will not rest until he's had his fill of belly rubs."

The boy glances up at the elven woman, before he gets to his knees and starts enthusiastically giving the dog the belly-rubs it so richly deserves. After all, who can resist such a friendly looking dog?

"Garahel, is that your name? Is it your name? Yes it is!" He says, and he'd be embarrassed about baby-talking to a dog, but he's known for doing it to a chocolate-coloured nug too. And nugs aren't even half as cute as dogs.

"Is he yours?" He asks the woman. Logic would say probably, but he should probably be sure before he starts trying to find scraps to feed the mabari.

"Indeed. He's been my companion since a pup, and remains relatively young." That could explain the happy wiggling, though Garahel is also an attention sponge and likey will be to the end of his days. For her part, his mistress seems amused at the affection bestowed her canine companion, relaxing. Anyone who's a dog person starts off on the right foot with her.

"It's not often he receives such attention from those unfamiliar, unless they're also Fereldan. Some are intimidated by his size but truly, only enemies of the Inquisition and the Grey Wardens have anything to fear."

"Fereldan? Nah not me, Kirkwall born and raised." Haelan replies, in between telling the dog he's a good boy, smiling almost as much as Garahel, although with far fewer teeth.

He'd loved to have had a dog. But the Chantry weren't about to try and feed him and a dog, because then every other waif would want a stray. And he hardly stole enough to feed himself now. But if this Inquisition stuff was going to be serious then maybe there would be serious money with it.

"You a Warden, serah?" He's heard of them. Of course he's heard of Grey Wardens, you'd have to live under a rock not to have. But he's never really seen them. He's never really thought they were... well, real. Real in the sense that they'd be here, in Kirkwall. In front of him. With a dog.

"There are mabari crunch treats on the desk. If you give him one, you'll have an adoring friend for life." Garahe's already thrilled to get belly rubs, but belly rubs and a treat? He perks up, all over this plan.

"Yes, I am. I'm Warden Serra, joined when I was...not much older than yourself, if I'm any hand at judging ages." Not that much time has passed; despite her claim to good posture and an 'old soul' air, it's not difficult to see that she's rather young herself. "The Grey Wardens have a common cause with the Inquisition, so we're here to assist. And you? I'd learn the name of the Kirkwaller with the Fereldan love of dogs."

Getting treats from the desk means getting up and moving away from the dog. And going closer to the lady at the desk, who doesn't seem to be the right sort of build to be a great warrior.

But he weighs up the pros and cons having nade his decision that the dog needs treats ans she's probably not going yo try ans grab him, he rises to his feet, and quickly moves to snatch two treats from the desk. He's got quite the turn of speed even for a young man, is back down patting the dog's great head quick as lightening.

He sits back on his heels, waiting for the dog to sit before he offers it the treats and looks up at the Warden while the dog crunches.

"Are there darkspawn again?"

He's too young to remember the last blight, but Kirkwall is full of people who left their homes in Feraldan to seek refuge. He's heard stories. But he's never ever met a Warden.

And maybe asking her will distract her from the fact he's not willing to give his name.

It doesn't, not really, but Inessa lets the question slide for now. Whoever this young man is, Garahel doesn't see in him a threat and neither does she. He's right in his assessment of her as well, of course. Her physique is definitely not that of a warrior, but not far from here, there's a staff leaning against a wall.

"There are always darkspawn, in or outside a Blight. The way the dwarves tell it, the Blights; are something of a reprieve for them, because the darkspawn all swarm to the surface. At any other time, they plague the dwarves below, chipping away at their holdings. Defeating the Blights prevents the widescale corruption of Thedas, but so far darkspawn remain."

Garahel is of course intently watching the boy's actions, and as soon as there's a treat in range, he'll happily snag it, chomping down and nuzzling the boy in thanks. "Manners, Garahel. Offer your paw before taking another treat, it's only fair." Obediently, the mabari sits down and raises one of is paws? Shake?

"Always?"

That's not something he knew. He thought that somehow, they were all gone now. He guess it makes sense that there are some about, that there are in the deepest caves some lurking about. He just thought Wardens got rid of them all. Using... whatever Warden powers they magically had.

"Why don't... why don't the Dwarves and the Wardens just... blow all of them up?"

He hasn't spotted the staff. Mostly because his attention had been on her and the dog and the piles of paper and books. If he had spotted the staff, he'd be on the other side of the Gallows by now.

The offer to shake is brilliant, and it clearly pleases Haelan- smile stretching over his face as he takes the paw, gently shaking for a moment before offering the treat and then rubbing his fingers through the short dense fur behind the dog's ears. "You're a really smart boy, huh? I know people that can't shake hands. But you can! Yes you can!"

"Always, yes."

"Why don't... why don't the Dwarves and the Wardens just... blow all of them up?"

That question provokes a soft, rueful chuckle as Inessa shakes her head. "A question for the ages. Attempts have been made, in fact, and yet the results have ended in failure. Whatever means there is to destroy them all, at once, we've not yet found it." There's so much more she could say, about the cost of fanaticism and how that has nearly destroyed her order, but she won't shove that burden not the uninitiated. Instead, she takes comfort in Garahel's evident enjoyment, the mabari letting out a smug huff.

"He is why I don't mind being called a 'dog lord'. If anything, it's a point of pride to be associated with such intelligent creatures. More intelligent than many who walk on two legs, in fact."

"Oh." Haelan replies, his hand still in the dog's fur, but he does pause his petting to consider her answer. "I guess... that there are lots of them down there? No, don't answer that." He doesn't know exactly what Darkspawn look like, but like most teenage boys, he's got a good imagination. And growing up in Kirkwall he's got a very good idea of what bodies look like in various states of decay.

"Maybe The Inquisition will help you find a way to do it. They have some really smart people working with them. Some of them are Mages but they don't seem dangerous."

Dog Lord sounds like a really awesome thing to be called, if Haelan tells the truth. But he knows it's used to insult Feraldan's, like knife-ear is used on elves. Knife-ear isn't such a good thing to be called though.

"My friend has a nug that's trained. I think it's smarter than a lot of people too. No one gives animals enough credit."

Inessa nods to his question about darkspawn numbers, silently answering it, but content to shift the topic away from their never-negligible numbers. A small wry smile forms at mention of mages. "I hope you're right. Magic is always to be treated with respect and caution, even as it can create wonders. Those of us who were formerly part of the Circle were raised to always keep this in mind."

Such is said matter-of-factly; there's nothing to be gained in her view from denying what she is. Then she perks up, that smile growing as Garahel seems to recognize who the boy means as well, barking and wagging his tail. "This wouldn't happen to be a brown nug named Coco, would he? We've met him and his larger companion."

This time when he stops petting the mabari it's not because he's thinking about how to answer or phrase a question. This time it's because, finally, things have clicked. Okay, fine she actually had to admit to being a mage, but the point is now he notices the staff, the books all seem to be about spells, she's far too slight to be a Grey Warden warrior...

He very slowly, very cautiously gets to his feet.

He shouldn't have mentioned Coco. It makes it all too easy for people to identify them, and you don't ever give your name if you can help it. People can track you down far too easily.

"I should be going-" He says, stepping backwards, hoping to find the door just behind him.

But the door isn't just behind him, and he backs into a bookcase with enough force to send some of the books on the top shelf falling onto the floor. Most of them via his head first.

Garahel whines a little as the attention given him abruptly ceases, not wanting his new friend to leave. Inessa's smile subsides as she resumes her usual stoic demeanor; she's witnessed that reaction countless times, so it's not exactly a shock when it happens yet again. Whatever she feels about it, she keeps to herself. If someone no longer wishes to remain in her company, she's certainly not going to insist it.

On the other hand, that sudden and catastrophic backing up has her wincing as the books strike his head. She pushes her chair back and stands up, maneuvering around the desk. "Maker, that sounded painful. Garahel--" She gestures to the mabari, who rushes over to help prop up the boy if he needs it. "Speak to me, please. Are you coherent?"

Edited 2017-09-26 00:04 (UTC)

Haelan groans, rubbing his head. It doesn't feel like it's bleeding, but it doesn't feel great either. Actually, it bloody well hurts.

He doesn't move, not for a moment, blinking at the dog and then at the woman. He should go. He should leave. Mages are bad news, even if they have well-behaved dogs and seem like nice and ordinary people aside from the fact they're Wardens and therefore as unordinary as it's possible to be.

That thought rushes through his brain in a jumble and he reaches out to steady himself.

"What do you keep in those books?" He asks, looking at her again. They were heavy, really heavy. How can words weigh that much?

Garahel looks up with a soft whine of concern, readily assisting Haelan in remaining upright. Inessa echoes that concern, though she remains where she is to give him space, unless he takes a turn for the worse. That question wasn't the expected sort, but she answers as long as he's upright and coherent.

"Knowledge of the Veil, mostly. I'm hoping it can help me understand the rifts, and the shards that some bear. I'm the leader for the project, thus it's my responsibility.

...do you need to sit down?"

Garahel really is smart, because although Haelan feels like he's standing up straight, he really isn't. He's far too wobbly, but in true teenage boy fashion, he's not about to admit that.

Or that his vision isn't... right.

Or maybe the room really is swimming in and out of focus.

"Sounds..." He begins, about to try and step forward, and in part falling, in part tripping over the dog. He lands on the floor, and groans again.

Wincing all over again, Inessa crouches by him to offer assistance as Garahel does the same from his end.

"Will you let me heal you?" She hates to see him in pain, but if there's a chance of him learning not to fear magic, it has to be his choice. Garahel whines again, his big eyes pleading for his new friend to not be injured anymore.

Haelan doesn't try to get up straight-away. The floor isn't all that uncomfortable. At least it's not cold flagstones.

He turns his head to look at her, reaching out a little unsteadily towards the dog. It sounds so distressed, it makes his heart hurt as much as his head.

"You can do that?" He asks, a little dazed before he starts trying to get up. "'M okay."

"Yes, I can. Please remain still for a moment."

Garahel responds with some nuzzling as Inessa focuses, and a soothing blue energy settles over Haelan. She's done this countless times, mostly during or after battle. More severe injuries require an actual Spirit Healer, but she's hoping that won't actually be necessary this time.

Still isn't difficult, not when the blue light fills the air around him and he freezes in silent terror. Even hurt he clearly expects to be turned inside out or flung into the Fade.

But that doesn't happen. In fact the strange fog in his mind clears and he's left feeling... well, alright.

He's still a little unsteady as he gets up, slowly, with the dog nuzzling under his arm to help him. Despite what a good boy the dog is being, Haelan can't tear his eyes away from the Warden.

"Wh- why did you do that?"

Edited 2017-09-27 19:37 (UTC)

Inessa moves to stand, her tone calm as she meets his gaze unflinchingly. "All my life, I have been taught that magic is meant to serve man, and that is a truth I still believe. Magic is a gift from the Maker, and must serve the greater good or it means nothing. More to the point, you were hurt and needed assistance. Is that not enough reason?"

Honestly, that's a little bit too much for him to process, even after she's healed the bump on his head. He's not hurting, but he's not exactly feeling his best either right now.

"Yes?" He replies, sure that she's expecting an answer, but not really understanding what she's said enough to give her any more detail than that.

But something compels him to say something else, some lesson learnt long ago, drummed into him by a long-suffering Chantry sister.

"I... er... Thank you?"

While Inessa's uncertain he truly understands, she's not going to press the matter. Patience can do more for understanding and acceptance than force, and that she has in spades. Her eyes grow warmer at the thanks and she nods, as Garahel happily licks his young friend.

"You're quite welcome. If you need such assistance in the future, we are here."

Or maybe it's just a large, tattooed 'barbarian' woman instead, her eyes narrowed as she looms over the thief. There's a large, two-handed sword seemingly made of pure ice strapped to her back and while she hasn't reached for it, her muscled body indicates she can heft and swing it with absolutely no trouble. Her accent is think, akin enough to Starkhaven's for those not from the Frostbacks.

"Then give it back. You've no right to what you took, lad."

Haelan struggles, but it's no good. Besides, that sword is almost as big as he is, and he's not keen to anger the woman who looks like she has no trouble wielding it. And cutting off his hands, feet, ears and any other bits she feels like.

"I... er..." He begins, holding his hands up in a sort of shrug. Obviously, they're empty. There's enough little folds and pockets for him to stuff a few coins in his tattered clothing, and any money he's pinched gets squirrelled away as soon as it's in his hands. That way he's far more likely to keep said coins.

"Forgive me, Messere. Just trying to feed all my little brothers and sisters, left as starving orphans, all of us, with no-one to look after us in all the world." He tries, with a practised, mournful voice that plainly indicates he's said the same sort of thing before. Mostly to people who have caught him thieving. "Please Messere, I'll give you back your coin, but I don't know how little Reabeka is going to make it through the night..."

Haelan's practiced response earns him a deeply unimpressed look from the woman, who doesn't move to let him up yet. She narrows her eyes, having been here just long enough to see some of those tactics already, used by others. "Don't insult me. I may be new, but I'm not stupid. You've the coin elsewhere on you, and your sob story is shite. Now how about you cut the crap and own up to it, hm?"

Okay okay so maybe that wasn't the most believable story he could have told, but it was worth a shot, and he shrugs.

"Welcome to the city, serah. We don't have bears, but we have lots of sticky fingers."

Why she thinks she's going to get her money back, he doesn't know. As soon as she lets go, he's going to run. And she's going to have to let go if she wants to search him properly, or wants him to hand over the coin.

Besides, it's his now. She was stupid enough to have a coin purse a thief could dip into.

She scowls, though it's more for effect than anything else. He may be a thief, but he's also a tiny, scrawny kid (to her) and she doesn't want to hurt him that badly. That doesn't mean she isn't willing to scare him a little, though.

"If that's the way of it, I'll call for the guard. Keep your sticky fingers, for all the good it'll do you." She's not going to give him much time to stop her on that; that voice and distinct accent of hers tend to carry, and visually, she stands out enough as it is. Finding her -and him, unless he squirms away- won't be an issue.

Haelan might not be good at much, but he is good at looking pathetic (hey! it's only okay when he says it) and making himself look small. It's a useful, when you're not the best pickpocket Kirkwall has ever seen.

He winces when she suggests she'll call over the guard, and he gestures for her to stop being so damn loud. "Andraste's Knickers, you want me to get my hands cut off?" He asks, and then slowly, carefully, dips his hand into a recess in the folds of his rather dirty clothes. And brings out some coins. Maybe the ones he took from her, maybe not. He doesn't remember how much he collected from her, he was just collecting.

"There, happy?"

Skadi snatches the coins, feeling that their weight seems about apt then eases off. She regards him warily, ready to move if he's foolhardy enough to try and steal from her again. "Aye, that'll do. Get gone, before I change my mind, lad."

And she'll be keeping a careful eye on his retreat.

As soon as she releases him, he's running. Away, it doesn't matter where to. The point is that woman is terrifying, he's sure he gave her more coin than he should have, but when someone has a big-ass magical sword, you don't shortchange them.

As soon as he thinks he's out of her sight, he ducks into a narrow dark alley- more of a gap between buildings than an alley, and tries to catch his breath.

"Crazy foreigners."

Haelan, unfortunately, happens to have the worst luck possible in his choice of random room checks, because the door swings open to reveal none other than his brand new Dalish boss, who is now staring quizzically at him.

With her cat-sized dragon lounging around her neck like a very scaley, toothy, fire-breathing scarf.

Beleth had been trying to catch up on reports, and now she's had to stop to contemplate why this child is barging into her office without even bothering to knock. She stares at him for a few moments, his face not quite registering with her. Maybe he was one of the children frequently employed by various people to courier messages around Kirkwall?

"Can I help you...?"

Haelan can lie. Not as well as Adasse, but he can, and will at the drop of a hat. The door opens easily and without so much as a creak, which should have been the first clue that the room beyond was well used and therefore likely to be occupied. Still, he can look, right? Very quickly, just in case anyone is-

Can I help you...?

Typically, there is someone inside.

He shuffles in, trying to look a) innocent and b) like he's not snooping.

That lasts as long as it takes to spot the dragon. It's a dragon. There's no way it can be anything else. It's not a lizard or a demented cat or some sort of weird fake fur wrap. It's a dragon. He can see the smoke or steam or whatever it is as it breathes out through its nose.

His eyes go wide, his mouth opens and for a second, he's completely at a loss for words.

Then he recovers, just about. Although the woman inside probably doesn't need his bad language. Or the statement of the obvious.

"Andraste's Knickers, that's a dragon."

Edited 2017-10-02 20:31 (UTC)

Kolgrim favors Haelan with a long, dragony stare, before deciding that Haelan is too big to be food and that Beleth would probably get mad at him if he tried to nibble. With nothing more to interest him, he closes his eyes and resumes his nap.

Beleth, however, remains awake and alert, staring expectantly at Haelan. Not that she's surprised by his surprise, of course. It is, after all, a dragon, a miniaturized baby though it might be.

"It's cold," She retorts defensively, reaching up to pet the dragon's side, before remembering that she doesn't have to defend herself to some random urchin that just wandered into her room. Squinting, she turns back to him. "...I am trying to run a division, here." The reminder is given with a raised eyebrow, and a gesture to her paperwork, spread out across her desk. "Did you have something you needed to report to scouting?"

The fact that it is a bit chilly up here really doesn't explain the dragon around her neck. Most people put on more clothes, or light a fire. But everyone in the Inquisition does seem to be a little weird, so maybe that's enough. It's cold, therefore this lady needs a dragon. Why not?

He files that away, in time for her to drop the hint that actually, she's very busy.

But that's not all she's saying, is it? Haelan vaguely recalls someone telling him about an elven woman with weird eyes and dark hair being the Scout boss. Which... in effect makes her his boss. Which means barging into her office without good reason is probably a way to end up in the dank dungeon downstairs. Especially if she suspects he was looking for any interesting curios to swipe.

Think, Haelan!

"Are... are you Beleth Ashara, Messere?" He asks, hoping that she's not but certain that she is. "I'm Haelan. Just got conscr- signed up. I was sent up here to... to find out if there's anything you need me to do?"

Smooth. Really smooth.

"Yes, that's me," Says the elven woman with weird eyes and dark hair, who happens to be the scout boss. And his boss. Surprise, Haelan. "You signed up as a scout?" There's an incredulous look in her eyes, and she stands up (the dragon is shuffled off her shoulders and onto a spot on the desk), and moves around the desk to get a better look at him.

"...How old are you, exactly?" Are they recruiting children, now? He's the age most Dalish just consider starting to leave their apprenticeships. But then, she supposes there have been other teenagers among their numbers. She'll just have to make a note not to let him get into any particularly dangerous work.

Across the room from her is a bookshelf with files, and she crosses to it, looking over it and plucking one of the files and opening it. Leafing through the papers, she occasionally glances up at him, then back down again, trying to match him to descriptions of new recruits. "...And you're Haelan, then?"

"Sort of signed up, yeah."

Haelan's eyes dart the way she's heading, to a shelf full of files and he supposes he's got a little entry in there somewhere- one with all everything laid bare. So yes he's a little young, so yes he didn't join up willingly. If she has all that information to hand, there's no point denying anything.

"Old enough to know Thedas is in big trouble, Messere." He answers the next question. So he shouldn't be cheeky, but the fact is he can't tell her how old he is, exactly. "About seventeen, Messere." He adds, just in case she doesn't think he should be cheeky either.

"That's right. Wouldn't want anyone else to be me. Wouldn't wish that on anyone at all."

She's going to give him a job to do, isn't she. She's going to give him work. He should have just run away.

Why do they stick all the 'sort of signed up's with her? Well, no, that's not true, there are those Tevinters that are with research. Still. And, of course, young, underfed ragamuffins make surprisingly good agents. They can go into places Beleth can't, go unnoticed where she'd stick out.

Still.

"Haelan. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm glad that I have the chance to speak with you, now." She shuts the file, tucks it away, and moves back to her desk, leaning against it as she turns to him. "It's my job to make sure that you are able to perform your job to the best of your abilities. As such, please let me know if you want training in any skills that you may be called upon to use. If I can't personally help you, I'll find you a tutor who can."

And then she clasps her hands together, and gives him a polite smile. "So, what kind of experience do you have, and what are you hoping to accomplish while you're here?" Beleth Ashara, resident scout guidance counselor, at your service.

Because they're the ones most suited to scouting? He'd make a terrible researcher. And he's no mage. And he's not big enough to be any sort of warrior. Still wouldn't she rather have some nice local scamps like Haelan and Adasse rather than Tevinter blood mages?

"Er," He says, really not expecting to be offered anything apart from some unpleasant work to do. Training? For him? Have they not heard about how badly that always goes?

"I... er..." Haelan stops, and thinks. He might as well try to sound half sensible if this lady really is going to be his boss. He probably won't impress her, but she might not think he's stupid. "That really depends on what you want me to do, Messere?"

He relaxes a little, although still tries to keep from his habitual slouch. "I've lived in Kirkwall's Darktown and Lowtown for two years and no one's killed me yet? I can sneak into places. And... most of the time I don't get caught. And I'm really fast."

It's true that Beleth would take the endearing ragamuffin brigade over Tevinters any day. They're far more trustworthy.

Beleth, for her part, neatly interlaces her fingers and rests her hands on her lap, patiently waiting for Haelan to finish fumbling for words. She listens carefully to what he has to say, and nods along a little. Thoughtful silence fills the room once Haelan finishes speaking, and it's only after Beleth has mulled it over a little that she begins speaking.

"Most importantly: How are you at combat? Both fighting, and defending yourself. I'll try to avoid sending you to places where there will be a great risk, but I'm afraid that it's all but impossible to avoid risk in Thedas these days. I'd rather you be prepared for it than not." He must have some kind of ability to defend himself, if he's survived this long, but will it do any good in open combat? Beleth wasn't going to wait until there was an Incident to find out.

"I think for now, you'll mostly be dealing with small things--sending along classified messages, delivering important items. I'll also be asking you to keep your ear to the ground--gossip and rumors are the lifeblood of a city. To know the former is to know the pulse of the latter." She drums her fingers on her lap thoughtfully. Instinct says to coddle him, he's still so young, and life is so harsh. But common sense says that anyone who's lived in Darktown already knows that lesson.

"As I get a feel for your abilities and you begin to train them, you may be called upon for more. But I won't throw you into the deep water and hope for the best."

Trustworthy in so far as you know not to trust them? You could probably trust Haelan and Adasse with your life, but not with any coin. That's just how they are.

She's looking at him. Looking st him like she can read him like a book and that's intensely worrying for a young man. He fidgets a little, but tries to keep looking back at her, at least until she breaks the silence.

"Mostly I avoid it, Messere. But I can handle a knife if I have to, and as long as you got someone watching out for you when you're watching out for them, it's normally okay."

He shifts his weight a little. He knows Adasse is better at fighting than he is. He probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for the sly, skinny elf. "I appreciate not being thrown in the deep water. I could... probably do with some more training with blades."

Especially as if she is thinking of spending him on anything more dangerous that courier work, against mages or men with sowrds, he's going to need all the help he can get.

Rest assured, none of the packages that Haelan will be delivering will be anything easily sold.

She nods again, glad that he's had at least some experience. "Handling a knife is a start. But I agree, you should have more training, especially as our goals progress, and hopefuly, you progress as well. However, I'm an archer, and not particularly skilled in close combat weapons, either. I'm actually taking lessons for it, as well." There's another moment of thoughtful silence, but this time, it's directed at the shelves of files off to the side, rather than Haelan. After staring at the files a bit, she seems to come to a conclusion.

"Kithan Gandir would best serve as your trainer, I think. He's a dwarf, a member of the Legion of the Dead, if you know much about that. What is particularly important is that he's volunteered to train anyone who needs it, and he has more experience than either of us put together."

She turns to Haelan, a polite smile on her face. "He's not a hard man either, if you're worried I'm sending you to someone who'll work you to the bone. He can be found in the training area most days, but you can also use your sending crystal to contact him--you have received that, yes? Did someone explain how it works, and everything?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Open] Say Hi To Haelan

Gallows

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Lowtown

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Gallows

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject