[ OPEN ] when there's blood in the water

[aenseidhe]

WHO: Iorveth and YOU!
WHAT: Settling into the Gallows, exploring Kirkwall, insulting other peoples' archery, trying not to murder racists.
WHEN: End of Drakonis, beginning of Cloudreach
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: I'll match whatever format y'all give me, I'm good with prose or brackets. hit me up @ wuzzafuzzle if you have any questions!!

A] THE GALLOWS, BATHS, GARDEN;

[ The first order of business Iorveth sees to, when they enter the Gallows from the long journey through the Sunless Lands to Kirkwall, is to get a fucking bath in. He'd found a stream or two along the way, but nothing with soap to scrub dirt and demon guts and Templar guts and blood and nastiness off his person and his clothes. He reeks. However, there is a small problem - this outfit is the only set of gear he arrived with. He breaks off from the main group being given the tour after he hears where the running baths are, and the laundering complex. Passing by outside the complex first, he yanks a loose cotton shirt and pair of loose pants from a drying line, disregarding the fact they are absolutely not his. Trying to call out to him while he unabashedly steals clothes will have to also involve running if you're planning to catch him, because he isn't stopping.

Finding the baths in the Templar tower, he's loathe to share the space with not only so many strangers, but so many loud, obnoxious, human strangers, but he's more interested in just getting clean. The red bandanna usually covering his head and the right side of his face is tugged free and dropped onto the floor next to the hot bath, revealing a shaggy mess of dark hair pushed back from his forehead, a couple small braids here and there, but more strikingly, the empty eye socket where his right eye used to be, and the jagged, red scar snaking down the side of his face until it intersects his lips. The rest of his clothes follow soon after; cloth, weapons, pouches, chain mail vest, albeit the pile remains fairly close to where he steps into the bath, clearly not planning to let his belongings out of his sight.

At a glance, he's weirdly tall as hell for an elf from Thedas, something around 6'2", with a tattoo of a tree, with twisting branches and crowded leaves, covering his left shoulder, up to the side of his neck, and moving down part of his arm, his chest, and wrapped around his rips. Looking closer, there's scars and battle wounds littering the man who's mostly skin, bone and muscle. Not really the elegant picture that Middle Earth elves paint. He won't be in the baths for long, just getting clean, pulling on his newly pilfered clothes, and making his way out, but if one is intent on being social, or prodding at him, he is stuck here for as long as it takes him to soap up and rinse.

And only that long, getting dried off, dressed in the plain clothes he'd stolen from the drying line, and making his way out to the laundry complex. Once he's washed his own things (rather than letting staff tend to it), Iorveth takes them with him to dry, given he knows things could easily be stolen from the drying lines, oops. After, he'll be in the herb garden, lounging in one of the trees, with his gear hung over the branches to dry (bandanna included, eye wound and hair out in the open to dry), eating at a fruit while he people-watches.

Possibly dropping acorns on peoples heads while they pass under. Especially if there's a tin-bucket-looking helmet on said heads, prone to reacting with a satisfying, metallic ping. ]

B] TRAINING COMPLEX - ARCHERY;

[[ ooc; I'm reusing this from my TDM tlvl because it was fun playing with on there and why not ]]

[ Iorveth has always been a far cry from a socialite. Even within his own ranks, though he'd trusted every man and woman at his back in a fight, he kept his circle of true and close friends rather small. in this new, strange world he'd fallen into, the commander follows the same pattern, barely trusting the rooms provided from board in the gallows, instead choosing to sleep outside in the trees most nights until some gardener shoos him away. during the day, he explores the island, and the city further. tries to learn it like he would his forests - each winding road like a path through the trees, each alley like a cave system. and the people within it - the main focus in this. not just where he is, but who is he with now?

their history is paramount to uncover for him, and inside the gallows, iorveth digs through the library. he'll picks at the feasts serving up boar meat and deer, but today he's plucked fruit out of the herb garden, and settled himself with legs crossed under him, seated on a table top near the archery range, as he pages through an old tome, chronicling ancient wars. around him, other inquisition fighters practice their skills with the sounds of metal clashing, bow strings twanging and bolts thudding into targets. the one standing closest to him, while possibly being a very decent shot, is not an Aen Seidhe archer. meaning, hasn't perfected the art with a century worth of practice. thus, he speaks up, almost distractedly. ]

Your shoulder is tensing before release. [ The elf announces, voice sounding flat and droll - idle remarks, as if telling someone their shoe is untied. ] Pulls your shot to the left.

[ whether his commentary is appreciated, or even heard, doesn't seem to concern him much, the elf not so much as bothering to glance up from his book, or offer anything further. call it old habit of an officer who's taught many young freedom fighters how to work a long bow. Just had to say something. ]

C] PUNCH ALL THE RACISTS (CLOSED TO ADALIA);

[ going to the hightown markets wasn't a great idea. going to thedas at all wasn't a great idea, but he didn't have much of a choice in that one. perhaps lowtown might've been a slightly better choice, given the higher population of nonhumans and those used to being around them having their own agency, but all of this world seems to be about as bad as his in that regard. at least, back home, most people know his description well enough to know better.

this poor merchant clearly does not, as, when he picks up a dagger to examine, the man clad in fine silks and jewelry comes bustling over, snatching the piece from his hand, and sputtering something along the lines of 'get your filthy hands off that, knife-ears, where's your master'.

adalia had the misfortune of accompanying him to explore this part of town, and will now have the great displeasure of having to intervene to keep him from straight up gutting this human like a fish in the middle of the street, because his hand has definitely found another dagger, and his feet are moving towards him. ]

D] WILDCARD;

[[ idk idk, hit me!! iorveth will be all around kirkwall exploring it and getting to know it and learning about it, so feel free to put him literally anywhere that works for you. he'll check all places out at least once. ]]