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.

Threaded | Flat

"It is called a vhenadahl. It serves as a symbol of Arlathan, the first elven homeland."

The soft-spoken voice comes from a slight, pale elven woman not even five feet tall. Clad in armor and carrying a staff, she couldn't stand out more from the alienage inhabitants if she tried. The large hound at her side certainly doesn't negate that impression, though he seems calm and friendly enough, wagging his tail at the newcomer. His mistress eyes their company with wary curiosity, a bit protective over people that are no longer truly hers but also keeping in mind that the rifter is new and out of his element. She's not unsympathetic in light of such circumstances.

Haldir isn't the only one running along rooftops. Ellana is up here too, practicing her parkour. She's still a beginner, but at least she's able to scale walls without her wrists wanting to detach from her body and run away before she can torture them any more. Strength has built up in her hands and arms these last few months, and she proudly sits atop a roof, legs hanging over as she observes the city below her. It's only the brief movement of someone up there with her that has her snapping her attention towards him, ready to use magic to go invisible at a moment's notice, should he be a threat. But then she recognizes him -- vaguely, of course, since they haven't been introduced -- and her posture relaxes.

"Oh, hello. You came into Thedas with Lady Galadriel, didn't you? I'm Ellana. I knew her the first time she was here."

"The sea calls to you too, I see!"

Elros hails him from where he's got a fishing line set up, although he looks more like he's dozing than actually fishing.

Last time Yngvi had been to the Wounded Coast there had been more Tal-Vashoth, the angry kind, the freshly free of the Qun kind still with their vitaar in angry stripes ready to spring out and attack if you thought about taking the scenic route back to Kirkwall. Strange for it to be quiet, downright disturbing for there to be nothing leaping out at him but he makes his way down to the shoreline quite easily.

Easily being a relative term, leaving his room or leaving the Vauquelin estate both being things requiring more effort than he likes to put too much thought into but eventually questions are going to get asked if he's not pulling his weight with the scouting so here he is. Out. About.

Four nugs scurrying along ahead and the slap-slap-slap of a goose. It rears, honking and hissing violently when it catches sight of Haldir, the nugs roll in the sand to leave the dwarf to make a grab for the goose.

"It's water! There's plenty of it will you stop making that noise?"

Saoirse, more or less, lives in the alienage when she is not working within the Gallows. She helps the people ready for the winter: repairing home, knitting warmer clothes and helping to store the food gathered from the small garden spaces allotted to them. Her trip to the vhenadahl is also a daily tradition, sitting in silence and simply enjoying the safety she felt near it.

She had noted the unfamiliar face day after day, leaving him to his own silence but after a few days of this she cannot help finally speaking out to him one day:

"Oh! You're back again today, hello." It is said with a warm smile, wildflowers in her lap and more in her hands as she slowly weaves them into a crown.

It's winter, and this is fucking mad, but nevertheless:

a slip of a thing flies past him, a blur of long braids flying behind her and the pounding of bare feet in the sand and the way pale undergarments become slightly confusing at speeds where it's hard to tell where fabric starts and bum begins - whooping like a little spring-loaded demon when she puts her hands out and launches herself bodily into the surf.

So that's happening.

It is winter, so while she swims out she doesn't go far, spinning upside down in the water and righting herself, surfacing with her hands smoothing back the hair that's come loose of her braids and plastered itself to her tattooed face. What a fucking rush. It's a moment to find her footing again, toe at the bottom and then plant her foot and march out, delighted with herself.

Threaded | Flat

I

I

II duh XD

ii;

i

ii.