faderift | [Open] Ready to Start the Conquest of Spaces

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[Open] Ready to Start the Conquest of Spaces

WHO: Haldir
WHAT: Haldir is having a hard time going from the Utopia that was Lorien, to the S*ithole that is Kirkwall
WHEN: This month and the next
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: None at the moment!

I. The Only Tree Kirkwall

Haldir wandered Kirkwall for several days, trying very hard to make sense of it all. In Lorien, everyone had a purpose, a place. In Kirkwall however, it seemed like no one did. There were a handful men grasping at threads of power, climbing and pushing over one another for a chance to climb the next rung of the social ladder, while majority of the population lived in squalor, fighting over table scraps dressed up and sold to them as a full meal.

Besides the political and social climates, the overall structure of city was dreary to say the least. The walls looked to be little more than mud, mortar, and iron spikes slapped upon walls haphazardly. There was no thought to the lines of houses, to their architecture. It was just box, after box, after box. The walls seemed to close in on him, so he mostly spent times on the rooftops. It was easier to for him to move from place to place, especially at night. It seemed like every night, one gang or another converged on anyone who ventured out. Dealing with these ruffians was becoming far too inconvenient as it added at least 10 minutes onto every journey he made. Rooftops were much faster by far.

There also was very little in the way of greenery. In Darktown, Lowtown, and a place lovingly referred to as the Gallows, there wasn’t a speck of anything green anywhere. Hightown had some shrubs, and a few “trees” hardly taller than he was. In his wanderings on the first day, he came upon a large tree. Well, large in terms of what could be compared to in Kirkwall. In Lorien it wouldn’t be considered much more than a seedling. But, it had been far to long since he had stood under the calming shadow of a tree, or heard leaves whisper on a breeze. The residents here, who also were called elves for a reason Haldir couldn’t explain given their differences, had painted the bottom of the tree red, with curling white filigree. It obviously held a great amount of significance to these people, so out of politeness, he did not climb it even though he wanted nothing more than to feel the cradle of it’s limbs under him. So, he came every day, just to stand under it. As he was doing right now.

II. The Wounded Coast

Haldir thought he’d never be able to hear the ocean again. He needed to get away from Kirkwall for a while, and so he just walked. He followed his feet, letting them take him where they would. He came upon a bluff, and his nose was hit with the smell of salt and seaweed. He took a deeper breath, and followed the bluff down to the coast.

He toed off his boots, letting feet shift into the sand as the waves lapped at them. He hissed at the cold, but couldn’t pull himself out of it. He let his eyes drink in the sweeping seascape, and he felt like he could finally breathe for the first time since coming to this forsaken place. With no purpose, and no home, he felt more wraith than elf. He swathed himself in the cover of his cloak, just wandering, watching, existing. A ship without a rudder or sail. He turned left to look at the towering rock pillars that had slowly been eroded by the churning sea. He scooped up his boots, and then climbed the rock, very carefully due to the slippery surface. Once up on the rock, he sat and watched, finally feeling like Haldir again.

III. Speak Friend and Enter!

Got a random scenario? Wanna go climb some shit? Get a drink? Let’s talk. Haldir needs some friends.

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He listens attentively, her exuberance is a bit infectious. "Most things of significance do not come easily," he mused in reply.

"Silvan elves have always had a longing for adventure, but with my duties being what they were, I rarely was able to give into that desire. Not that I felt like my life lacked anything by any means." He could picture her tinkering away at a puzzle in some dusty ruin fairly easily, now that it was in his mind.

"But, reclaiming one's history, while also exploring new places would be exciting. I admit to being a little envious of your endeavors. Do you go alone into these dangerous places? I hope you do not."

"I hope you get to have adventures here!" she exclaims with a bright smile. "It's a new place, full of tons to see. And I definitely go with a team, though once this war is won, I'm not sure if that'll be the case. I might not have anyone to go with then." Ellana is definitely still an optimist about them defeating Corypheus and bringing peace to Thedas. For her, it's not a matter of if, but when.

"I take notes on all my journeys. I don't know if you'd be interested in seeing any of it? I detail the ruins and artwork and puzzles. Just-- just everything I can, really. I hope to write a book someday. I have a friend -- he's a famous author here -- and he said he'd help me get it published because it's pretty hard for elves to get taken seriously with this sort of thing."

"I would enjoy that, yes." He replied with a nod. He wrestled about weather to say more of what was on his mind. He didn't want to come off as presumptuous.

"And... if you should have need of help, I would be happy to assist you. Although, I will admit I will be quite useless at opening puzzles and the like. I'm sure the team you have assembled is more up to task. But, I would like very much to see one of your adventures for myself eventually." He cleared his throat a little.

Ellana is quick to rummage through her bag to pull out a leather bound journal, eyes lighting up as she opens it up. Her gaze on him, she nods enthusiastically.

"I would love it if you would come! It would be the perfect way to see the world that was, long ago." But now she flips through her journal before scooting closer, setting one side of the journal on his leg while the other remains on hers.

"Now, in this ruin, there were mosaics on the walls portraying Elgar'nan's sun. He's one of our gods: the All-Father. As well as statues of Fen'harel, our trickster god. That was very unusual because he's usually not depicted among the other gods since he betrayed them. So I have some theories on that, like perhaps the ruin had been used after the fall of the empire during the elves' time in the Dales, since that's where this ruin was. It's possible they used the place to store a lot of statues because usually a temple was dedicated to one god, and here there were statues of Fen'harel, Ghilan'nain's halla, and Andruil's owl too." She pauses, glancing up at him and biting her lip. "Am I going too fast?"

Her closeness caused him to fluster a bit. He wasn't used to having anyone so near unless he was intending to do the harm them in some way. He felt a flutter of panic, but tried his best to continue to be respectful. He tried to keep smiling though, in an effort prevent awkwardness

The sketches were very well done, and he ran a long finger over the haphasard lines. He listened intently, teying to keep up.

At her question, he turned his head. "Perhaps a little, but I am usually a quick study. Please, continue."

It isn't easy for Ellana to determine if she's invading someone's personal space because she grew up in a clan where there was almost zero privacy. Now that she's left that life, she loves privacy -- especially having a door that locks -- but she's still a little slow to catch on when others want more space. Because of that lack of awareness, she stays next to him, flipping to the next page that are mostly notes, but with an image of an archer in the top left corner. These earlier sketches aren't very good, but Ellana's improved a little since then with practice.

"Well, next there were these floor tiles that would light up when you stepped on them. It was a puzzle, and you had to step on them in a certain order so they would all light up. It took a few tries, but we got there. That opened up an area with levers behind gates. That one needed all of us involved, because when you pulled the first lever, a gate opened with another lever inside the little room the gate was blocking off. But when you pulled the lever, the gate closed behind you and the next gate opened up with the next lever. So you pulled that one and on it went until the last lever opened all the gates and the door at the end of the room."

Ellana takes a second to breathe because that was a rather long-winded explanation.

"But elven ruins are like that. My theory is that they wanted to make sure whoever entered the temple or whatever was worthy of being there. So they would have to be smart enough to get through the puzzles."

He studied the notes and drawings about this puzzle with interest. He'd never seen anything like this before. Temples were an odd concept for him to wrap his head around. That there was a special place one must go to worship one god seemed very strange indeed. The songs of the Valar were easy to hear in Arda, their tunes weaving and winding together in everything. Perhaps it was not so in this place, and if that was so, it saddened him a little for these people.

"It would be quite insulting if any but the most cunning plunderer were to find whatever lay inside I'd expect. There must have been quite a bit of trial and error involved in it's unlocking."

He traced along the drawings again, and then let his hand fall away so she could turn the page. "How many of these types of puzzles have you come across?"

Even if the elves of Thedas had once been able to hear beautiful voices woven by their gods, they have long since been locked away, imprisoned where they're unable to reach out to the People.

Ellana watches his hand trace the drawings with a bit of pride. She's shown a few others her journal, but rarely have they seemed so interested in what she's seen as he does. She hopes other elves appreciate her work once she finally gets it published.

"Oh, a fair number by now. Sometimes it's lighting torches, sometimes it's pulling certain levers. They usually have a certain order, and if you get it wrong, everything resets." She turns the page to reveal a detailed drawing of a two handed sword with dark lines across certain points, and arrows pointing to these breaks, labeling what piece it was. She's obviously taken her time to get it just right. "In these ruins I explored, they contained clues to the location of this famous elven sword: the Sulevin Blade. It was in pieces and because of the magic within it, it couldn't be reforged. But the pieces hang up in the Great Hall at Skyhold now, and copies can be made for warriors to use."

He studied the drawing, and his posture started to relax a bit as he listened. After she described the blade, he couldn't help but see the similarities to a blade he was familiar with.

"We have a sword with a similar story in my homeland. Narsil, it was called. A dark lord called Sauron sought to cover all of Arda in shadow and despair. In his thirst for power, Sauron crafted several rings of power. He gifted them to the Kingdoms of Elves, Men, and Dwarves, and secretly crafted one ring with power over all the others."

"My kin and the Kingdom of Men brought together a last, desperate force to battle against Sauron. During that battle, Elendil, King of Gondor, and Gil-galad, the last High King of Noldor, fought Sauron themselves and were slain. Hope seemed lost, but Isildur, Elendil's son, took up the handle-shard of Narsil after his father's defeat. With a desperate swing, he cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand, defeating him. The shards are kept in Rivendell, as both a tribute and a reminder of those times, and for those we lost."

His posture slumped a little after telling the story. He didn't want to dive into the fact that Sauron had endured, and that Isildur had succome to the will of the ring. Such thoughts often left him panicked and worried about the state of his home at this moment. He could do nothing to help them, so such thoughts were useless. Better to just stop there for now.

"Elven smiths are the best in all of Arda. I regret that I am not trained in the craft, or I would aid you in reforging this blade. You might check with the other Eldar. They may possess the skills I lack."

As he begins his story, Ellana stares up at his face with interest, but soon she turns to stare out over the city, absorbing his words and glancing back with a nod every so often to show him she's still listening. She has a sneaking suspicion that one of those rings gifted to the elves was the one Galadriel had lost on her return to Thedas, but she doesn't interrupt to ask about it. It's gone now, and Galadriel had been so distraught over it. Best not to bring it up.

"Oh, I think it's best if it stays in pieces. It was a cursed blade, because it was used to do horrible things long ago. But I think as it is now, it can be a symbol of hope to the elves, that some of what we lost can be found, as well as a reminder that being too prideful leads to a great fall." She smiles faintly, in that way people do when they're satisfied with the way things are. It's best if people only use copies of the blade, instead of the real one.

"I was wondering, since you mentioned the Eldar... what do you think of the Fëanorians that are here? I already know what they did, because Galadriel told me, and I think Thranduil thinks little of them. What's your opinion?"

Her question is an interesting one, and he thinks a moment, considering his answer.

"The Feanorians have ever been the boogiemen of my childhood. I remember when my Ada told me of their terrible fate, and the fate of all our kin during that bloody time. They are a cautionary tale, and one my people take to heart every day. If you had asked my opinion a few months ago, I would have said they were the lowest of low."

"But, when we first came here I happened to talk with Maedhros, the eldest of Feanor's sons. He seemed very much the opposite of what the stories told. He seemed to be...kind, if not a little broken, and searching for a second chance out of life. Perhaps here, with the absence of the Silmarils, he can achieve that. I know history never sheds light on every angle of it's stories, but the deeds they did because of their father's oath were terrible. I would treat them with cation, but I wouldn't advise you to keep away from them. Fingon, one of the most honored Eldar to ever live, is among their number. I believe he will help them seek out redemption, if it can be had. Talk with them if you wish, and form your own opinions."

"It's so strange to me, that jewels could tear people apart like this. But I guess I was raised to value more practical things, and anything frivolous was still useful to me in some way, like a book or a decorative comb." Ellana shakes her head.

"I suppose it can only be good for him -- for Maedhros, I mean -- to be away from those jewels. I haven't heard much of Fingon. What is he known for?"

He tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, trying to recall the history.

"I didn't know him personally, rather in the stories told through the ages. He was known as Fingon the Valiant, a title only given to precious few. It was he that sought to heal the rift between the Sons of Feanor and his people. In the tales that were told to me, he posessed a strong noble character, and a bright mind. He saved Meadhros from cirtain peril and death, and he fought against the forces of Morgoth valiently. He was made High King of Noldor, and it is said he led his people well."

"Lady Galadriel would have better knowledge of who he realy is. They are kin, and knew each other well I believe."

Giving a thoughtful hum, she says, "I'll ask her, then. but it's also valuable to get information from someone who's only heard stories. It paints a picture of someone whose deeds made him famous. He sounds like a peacekeeper; brave and wise too. I hope I have reason to meet him." Despite the smaller force here in Kirkwall, it's easy to miss people if their paths have no reason to cross.

"Thank you for giving me your opinions. Or I guess I could say 'ma serannas.' That's the elven phrase for thank you here."

He smiled, fully this time, turning himself a little so he could look at her better.

"Ma serannas" he parroted back, tasting the new sounds as they rolled around his tongue. "In my lady's tongue, it would be 'Hantanyel', and in my own, less colorful tongue, 'Le hannon'."

He bowed his head to her slightly, looking up through his eyelashes. "Le hannon, Ellana. Our conversation has lifted my spirits more than you know."

"Le hannon," she repeats, to ensure she can say it right. Though she feels he hardly need thank her for anything. To her, she was just conversing with a new person and hadn't been striving to find enlightening topics of conversation. But despite that, it seems he's had a good time.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it! Maybe we can do this again sometime?" It's getting pretty late, and she should head back.

"I would like that. I am usually running around in this area. Or, if you have need of anything, Lady Galadriel will know how to find me. She has... unusual methods, but they are effective."

He stood, brushing away the dirt from his cloak and armor a little. He extended is hand to her, hoping to aid her as she stood herself. She had been kind to him, and Galadriel had expressed her approval of this elf. She seemed sure on her feet, but he would not like her to hurt herself if it could be prevented.

Taking his hand with a grateful smile, she stands and puts her journal away back in her bag, slinging the strap across her chest.

"I'll keep that in mind. And before I go, here's how we say goodbye: dareth shiral." She punctuates that with a little wave before heading to the edge of the roof to climb back down.

"Na lû e-govaned vîn", he said with a bow. He crossed his arm over his chest, and then extended it out to her. "Until next we meet." He watched as she climbed down.

"Savo 'lass a lalaith" he said softly, still staring at where she had been.

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