[ 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. ]]

Comments

[thunderproof]

❰ this is actually adalia's first time in hightown, and she'd been trying to keep a low profile — as low a profile as someone with a slowly healing black eye and split lip could, anyway. she's fluffed out her hair to hide the tips of her ears a bit better, kept her head down when passing anyone too official-looking, and kept her hands to herself as she peruses the markets. there's a somewhat ashamed twist to her gut as she does all this — is she really going to let this place get to her, just because she wants to see hightown? — but one does what one must, right? something like that.

adalia's kept an eye on iorveth as he wanders around, just to make sure they don't get separated, so of course her back is turned at the precise moment shit starts to go down. she hears knife-ears and her stomach turns and her spine immediately straightens, and she looks around for the man who said it, about to give him a piece of her mind —

when she sees iorveth with a knife in hand and the same stance he sported when he was killing venatori in the sunless lands. adalia moves quickly, rushing to his side and grabbing the arm with the knife, holding it tightly and angling her body to hide the knife.. ❱

Go fuck yourself, messere! ❰ she says to the man, and then under her breath to iorveth — ❱ Do not fuck this up for every other elf in Kirkwall. Knife away, please.

A { baths }

[serannas]

Though her room lies within the Mage Tower, Ellana appreciates a hot bath, and the bath is only heated in the Templar Tower. So she heads over there in the pursuit of steam to soothe her muscles after a long day of parkouring around, still at a rather amateur level. Spotting the rifter as she circles around to the bath, she waves, setting down her towel and fresh set of clothes near a privacy screen before stepping behind it to undress. Really, it's for the other bathers' comfort, not hers. She's not one to talk to people if she can't see them, but it's not long after that she reappears wearing the towel and carrying her clothes to the water's edge. As usual, the humans tend to group up on one side of the bath in case any other races dare to use the bath, so there's a spot next to Iorveth that's free.

"Now, are you the type to look or the type to look away?" she asks, setting down her clothes and getting ready to drop her towel. Bathing publicly has never been an issue for her. She grew up in a clan with no walls, no roof over her head but the canopy of trees or the sky itself. And though she loves having the privacy of her own room now, she's never been concerned if someone sees her without clothes. As long as they keep their hands to themselves, of course.

[aenseidhe]

[ His voice comes to her in a sharp hiss, not as quiet as she'd probably like it to be, but it's been around a century since he's had something like that said to him and not taken his pound of literal flesh in retribution for it. ]

Every other elf sleeping in fucking horse shit, kissing the boots that kick them? That's not living.

[ They're more human than the swine in this market, accepting that with groveling and bowed heads. They fuck up their chances themselves each day they perpetuate it, damn their children for it, tighten the chains around all their necks, and if they don't have the guts to fight for their young, at least, Iorveth says they deserve whatever comes from it.

His teeth are bared and the merchant looks about to piss himself, with this scarred up, sword wielding, psycho eye staring giant elf looking like he's already half way to carving him open like a turkey. thankfully, adalia has a solid hold on his arm, and he has the awareness to realize her shouted curse nabbed the attention of a few guards peering curiously at them now. So, to the merchant: ] You're lucky I'm leaving you with legs to walk away from this.

[ and as for the dagger that's hidden in the folds of adalia's dress and cape, it's getting tucked into her belt, because like hell he's leaving this situation without at least some kind of compensation for what he considers abandoning his integrity. ]

[aenseidhe]

Iorveth isn't looking around him much, singularly focused on getting all the grime and battle residue cleaned off him and getting out of this place, away from human huddle off to the side that glances to him now and again. As such, he doesn't notice Ellana approaching or changing until she speaks up, catching him unaware and getting the closest thing that Iorveth manages to deer in the headlights (he doesn't usually surprise easy, congrats). The question, as well, is not one he's gotten in a while, but it puts a small, lopsided half-smile on his lips, with a short chuckle, before a shrug.

"That depends on if I'm invited." Just being honest. There were women as well as men in his Scoia'tael unit, and like the Dalish, none of them really cared who they got naked in front of. They weren't picky on where in the stream they wanted to wash up in. Some of the men did eye the women, sure, but the women would usually punch them if they stared too long, so Iorveth really didn't have to do too much policing of it. He isn't a hormonal little boy, naked bodied are just bodies. So, the more straight-forward answer;

"Mostly I mind my own business." Which basically means, hop in, he won't bug you.

[serannas]

The answer makes her laugh, but since she's not here to flirt, she shrugs her shoulders as well. "I grew up without any privacy, so I don't mind either way." With that said, she drops the towel, grabs her soap, and steps in.

"How are you settling in?" The soap is rubbed between her hands to make a lather, and though she mainly focuses on that, her eyes do stray to his tattoos and missing eye just briefly. The former seems like something she could ask about easily enough; the latter probably not so much. She can't imagine how painful it must be to lose an eye, and she's a person who's been through several rather painful attacks in her life. Her scars aren't as numerous, but there's an obvious splotch of scarred skin across her stomach and across one shoulder blade are clearly defined scars made by sharp animal nails.

[thunderproof]

Of course it's fucking not, but that doesn't mean you need to make it worse!

❰ adalia's hiss is pitched lower, and she stubbornly tugs on iorveth's arm to drag him away from the scene. the guards have heard his threat and are walking toward them now, hands on their swords, and this is looking pretty fucking dicey — if necessary adalia could probably get haste on herself and iorveth before the guards got too close and then drag him away at double speed, but she'd really rather not do magic in front of these people and give them even more people to hate —

iorveth relents, and adalia pulls him bodily away from the market, toward the nearest set of stairs leading down to lowtown. the guards follow them, having said nothing but not having taken their hands off their swords either. ❱

If you actually give a shit about the elves here, you can't just kill people in the middle of the day for calling you names. Be smart about it. No witnesses.

❰ not that adalia is really willing to advocate murder, but — some things can't be compromised on, and how will the humans learn if they don't make them learn? if there's a way of doing that that doesn't end in murder, great, she's all for it. otherwise... ❱

Otherwise all you're doing is making it worse, and no elf will thank you for that.

[aenseidhe]

You’re helping them with their game, you know that, right? [ iorveth’s conceded to letting it go, but he’s far, far from agreeing with her that it was the right thing to do. Brace yourself for a rant, Adalia. ]

It’s how civilization are enslaved. They threaten each individual with the fate of the whole, so all are too shamed to act out and rebel. The cowering slaves do all the work for them, just like this. [ it’s hysterically, sickeningly brilliant, really. All they have to do is make a few examples, lay the blame on the victims like a violent husband to a beaten wife, and the cowards enforce their own slavery. Disgusting, but the fools taken by it are nearly as bad. Not to mentioned, damned for life. ] Turn any that do stand up for themselves into the enemy.

[ like the Scoia’tael are sometimes called terrorists even by the nonhumans in a city, despite them never touching them. They always had an open welcome to come join them in the forests, or trek up to the Blue Mountains and join the Free Elves there. They’re just too damn afraid to leave their abusive overlords, still, after 1,500 years, thinking diplomacy alone will work. Waiting like things will just get better on their own. They’ll be waiting til their bones turn to dust. ]

There will never be a right time for these people to get off their fucking knees. No one’s forcing them to stay in this city and suffer, they do that themselves. If they volunteer themselves to be whipping boys for human anger when I stand up for myself, that’s no fault of mine. It’s theirs, and the dh’oine that exact it.

[ and before anyone starts telling him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about - ]

I should know, I was born to a place just like this. Never again.

A (herb garden)

[circleprodigy]

At some point, a slight pale elf woman enters alongside a large, muscular dog. She strokes his head fondly as she glances down. "Remember, no digging. Be a good boy, and we'll play fetch after this." The dog wags his tail pads around to sniff at things as his mistress takes a cut of some herbs, placing them in her satchel.

It's not long before he pauses by a certain tree and stares upward, cocking his head at the elf in the branches. Perking up, he lets out a friendly bark. The noise doesn't faze the elven woman, but as he persists, she straightens and glances over. "What are you harassing now, Garahel? If it's another--oh. Hello." She pauses, eyebrows raised upon realizing they have company beyond a random bird or someone's nug.

[aenseidhe]

"Squirrel?" Iorveth finished for her, because it's a hilarious joke that only he will get, hardy har har.

He'd watched the woman and the dog since they approached, not feeling the need to announce his presence, nor interact, and hadn't planned to until the dog found him instead. After having a bath, some food, and clean clothes, he's in a rather better mood than he was a few hours before, so the mabari gets a lopsided smile back, and the weirdo tree elf actually, uh, barks back at him. Then, tosses the dog a piece of the fruit he'd been eating at, sliced off with the dagger in his hand.

"Ceádmil." Which is his version of 'hello', too used to a world that understands it whether they're fluent in Elder Speech or not. "I don't think I have anything for him to fetch."

[aenseidhe]

Just because Iorveth isn't looking, it doesn't mean the others in the baths aren't, and he watches the human men on the far side of the room eyeing her up. Sure, they'll call all elves filthy savages, but that doesn't stop them from raping their women, or paying for them at a discount price in brothels. He snorts, making a short, subtle air-kissing gesture to one that stares too long, before turning his attention back to Ellana.

Who is so freaking short in comparison he takes to dunking down in the bath, so the water comes up to his shoulders, knees folded under as he tips his hair back into the water. He'd noticed the scars and tattoos on her as she entered, as he's the kind of person who takes note of details immediately, so his eyes move to the ceiling now as he washes his hair, to avoid seeming like he's watching anything else of hers too closely. "Not terribly welcome by most, it seems, but a hot bath is never a thing to waste."

Not only is he a Rifter, but he's a Elf as well, and many people here seem to take offense to both. Not that it's anything new for him either, he's just used to having the freedom to gut the offended parties and disappear into the forests. Sadly, he still needs these people, so his dignity must take the hit for it. "How long have you been working with these people?

[serannas]

Ellana doesn't mind the stares, since she tends to find human men or those with their build more appealing in general. Bad experience with an elven ex-boyfriend. It doesn't help that she's as tall as most native elven men too. Of course, she draws the line at men she doesn't know grabbing at her, which is when being a shapeshifter comes in handy. It's definitely helped her move about with less fear than she once had at the world.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she replies, soaping up her arms, chest, neck, and up behind her ears. "There have been a couple incidents with people with shards in their hand, and a recent illness that only affected two groups of people: Rifters and Templars. For some, it's enough to make them want to stay away and just yell insults in the hopes you'll stay away from them."

Bending her knees, she dunks herself under to wet all her hair, surfacing to rub the soap all over it.

"Ah, I think it's been... over two years now, though I started out stationed at Skyhold. I've been in Kirkwall a year."

[circleprodigy]

The bark provokes a happy bout of tail-wagging. Yay, barking buddy! The fruit has his immediate attention, and he bends his head down to inhale it promptly. Watching this, his mistress grins a little. Garahel is always quick to make friends, especially with newcomers. "Now you've done it. He'll never leave you be if he thinks food or attention will come of it."

The greeting -and she can tell it's a greeting, even if she can't translate it- receives a nod in turn. "If there's a stray twig up there, it could do, but if not I've a ball that will serve him well enough.

...you joined us in the Sunless Lands, I believe?" She's fairly certain, having tried to keep faces in mind even as she didn't have the chance to speak with everyone.

b;

[earthbones]

[Most of Brónach's day is swallowed by escaping Kirkwall if it's a day she's set aside for it, being out of the Gallows where there are too many eyes she doesn't quite trust, or keeping busy until her body can't keep up with it.

Which is when she drops down to sit, quiet as a shadow, a book of her own in hand and smelling more than a little of the smithy she left not even an hour ago with a braid she'll be wringing ash from when she washes it later.]

They'd starve at home. [Subtle emphasis on home, a bitter longing that goes with it; not where she'd left behind, older than that. Valenwood might fade in her memory given the time if she doesn't carry enough of it with her the way that she does with her plates of meat and dairy, clothes made from her kills.] Fourteen and you had to be good enough to come on the hunt with the rest of us, it's a strange life here.

[b]

[nadasharillen]

[Nari is a decent shot. Well, decent for a human. It had made her the butt of good-natured jokes ("what good is being able to find an animal in any weather if you can't hit it?") for as long as she'd been able to hold a bow. She gave as good as she got, of course ("what use is hitting it if you can't find it?"), but it had been a sore enough point that she'd near given up practicing at it after joining the Inquisition.

The fight in the Sunless Lands had been enough to convince her that the skill could one day be the difference between life and death for someone she cared for.

And (comes a quiet and wholly uninvited thought) she might someday need to be able to track and take down something on her own to prove, as the Dalish did, that she could provide--which is when her shoulders tense even further, her shot goes wide enough to clatter off the wall behind the targets, and Iorveth offers his advice.

With a brief considering look to see who'd spoken, Nari blows out a breath, sets her teeth, tenses and then relaxes both shoulders (in case that helped), and looses another arrow. To her surprise, it finds better purchase than the last five.]

I... this is embarrassing. Very embarrassing. But... you don't have any other advice, do you?

A! herb garden

[purered]

Klaus didn't look the gardening sort. Given that his Thedosian attire made him look a better class of mercenary, and his size, build, and face made him appear more at home in battles or tavern brawls, the fact that he was kneeling over a patch of dirt, watering the sprouts and humming the melody to Vivaldi's Spring cheerfully just seemed ... rather out of place. But there he was, knelt over the spring greens, humming away, or occasionally talking encouragingly to them in German.

He hadn't yet noticed the elf up the tree, but when he did, he didn't seem alarmed or embarrassed. In fact, his good cheer persisted.

"Good afternoon," he greeted. "Are you taking advantage of the warming weather as well?"

[aenseidhe]

[ the comment had been tossed out without really thinking or completely looking over the person practicing, more something seen out of the corner of his vision. now, though, that he looks up, he realizes he knows this girl. or, at least, met her in the Sunless Lands, as they discussed traps.

And he does, maybe, a tiny bit, feel an itty bitty bit bad for making her look so deflated. Were she human, of course, he wouldn't give half a flying fuck, better they quit things they aren't meant to be doing. But Nari's just a young child trying to live up to a tradition of heritage that sets a rather high bar.

Sighing, Iorveth puts a leaf into the book to mark his page, and sets it aside, looking down at the target with bolts stuck in all over, none really centered perfectly, and considers it, before looking back to her. ]

I've been practicing archery for a hundred years, and still there are things I could improve. I wouldn't take one error as an embarrassment.

[ that said, yes, he has a century worth of advice he could give. Pushing to stand, he paces over, arms crossing over his chest, as he comes to stand next to her and slightly behind. ]

Shoot a few more. I'll see if I notice anything else.

[aenseidhe]

[ Iorveth spots the movement of shadows and ever so quiet rustle of fabric as Brónach takes her seat next to him, her profile out of the corner of his sight (thanks for choosing to come up by his good/only eye) and the set of her hair tells him who it is, the voice that pipes up in disapproval of the training archers confirming it.

Also, making him let out a sharp, humored snort. ] Some stupid dh'oine always feels the need to ensure the woodland scavengers don't go hungry.

[ at least, he's pretty sure the soldier fucking up their shots is a human. wait, glancing up from the book - yep, it's a human. putting the book down over his knee to keep his place, Iorveth looks to Brónach instead, listening as she speaks of her home fondly. All she's told him of it, it seems like a place that hasn't lost near so much of its identity as his home has, as well as this place. ]

Would you believe I was living in a city like this at fourteen? Thankfully, it didn't last long.

[nadasharillen]

[She looks wryly amused at "one error"]

Oh, I've always been like this. Not for lack of practice, either.

[All right, so she might have mostly given up after a few frustrating years to hone her other hunting skills in an attempt to make up for the deficit. She could track and trap with the best of them, just... not this. But the tall elven rifter had stirred himself from his rest for her, so she sighs, tries to loosen up, and determinedly raises the bow again to nock an arrow and shoot, repeating the process a few more times as requested, her lips thinning a bit more every time they land off target.

Of course, it gets worse as she gets frustrated.]




--just gonna... lazily let iorveth determine what's wrong with her. :D maybe she's a left handed shot! who knows!--

[aenseidhe]

Natural born talent makes for a lazy archer. [ Iorveth tells her as he watches her put in her several shots, making no comment or indication of approval or disapproval until she's finished at least four of five. ] It's more frustrating to have to learn without it, but it makes for better technique, and eventually, better shots. If you've the commitment and proper guidance.

[ The last couple arrows are loosed, and he's quiet for a moment after that, looking from her to the targets pensively, a hand on his chin. Hmmm. A judgment should be made both on how she'd fired the shot and where it landed to get to the actual truth of what issues she's having. Most are things archers never truly realize until they'd watched themselves shoot, or had someone else observe it.

Coming to a conclusion, he steps up next to her again, hands moving to adjust her into her draw position, indicating different parts of it while he talks. ]

You're overthinking your aim. When you pull your focus from your draw and concentrate on the aim, you unconsciously weaken the strength of the draw. [ tugging at the wrist holding the bowstring - when you don't keep the tension in mind there, it fizzles out. ] Then the shot falls short, so you think your aim is off and correct it higher instead, but you're over-correcting the wrong thing. Consistency is key to accuracy, not your sight and judgement alone.

[ there is one other thing he wants to check before going on, because, yeah, she might be using the wrong hands on the wrong thing, though it's less about if she's right-handed or left-handed, more about which eye is dominant, so his hands come up to her eyes, a little awkward given he has to get pretty close for it, but he's tall as fuck with long arms, so not that close. ] Keep your sight on the center of the target, with the arrow point hovered over it. I'm going to cover one eye and then the other. With one, the arrow point will seem to jump some inches, and with the other, it'll remain mostly the same. Tell me with stays mostly the same.

[ and so he does. Whichever eye is mostly the same is the eye she's dominant in, thus, the hand she should be using to draw, rather than hold the bow. ]

[earthbones]

Poor scavengers, eating that. I knew a few alchemists who'd argue that kind of stupid is contagious. [Or not, but someone she can joke with when the joke doesn't catch in her throat or have them looking at her as if she's spouted a few extra heads all speaking feral tongues? It's a change she doesn't mind too much.] Dh'oine is human then? Didn't have anything fancy for it outside where they came from. Or milkdrinker, never did get to the bottom of that. [Typical Nord nonsense making no sense for someone who had to, y'know, survive on it.]

Must've been...two years? Maybe a bit more than that for me. Human city, Valenwood's cities walk. [Falinesti behind her, rooted now, the Altmer prowling through even now but if she could see a forest so thick again from the heavy rains, a city that moved as it pleased to once bow in homage to the greatest crowned in green and gold? She would rest easy and happy.

She considers Iorveth a moment; their first meeting, his disapproval, his questions. Wonders at his age and if it's all like elves of Thedas, her own, or her ancestors before Lorkhan meddled with all things.] How'd that come about, fulfilling a dream young being such a great fan?

A - Baths

[coiledscales]

[ Alacruun recognizes Iorveth, although at this point they're probably both a bit cleaner and warmer and well-rested than they were while they were stuck on that miserable ice. Alacruun, who really is a fan of his creature comforts when he can get them, has opted for a bath for himself. Unlike Iorveth, he's soaking it in for as long as he can, carefully shutting out the rest of the world and trying to ignore most everyone. At least until he spots Iorveth. He hasn't had a chance to speak to him again in a little while. The trip back was hectic enough on its own. He raises his head slightly, eyebrow cocked as he takes him in. ]

You look like you've stories to tell.

[ Don't they all? ]

[aenseidhe]

A sharp laugh tugs from him, Iorveth raising up to drag soap over his arms and chest, looking back to the far group of humans. He probably shouldn't stare so much, it's probably more a provocation than anything else, but it's a point to be made - if they're allowed to look wherever they please, whenever they please, he'll do the same.

"Like small dogs barking at passing bears." Thinking that yelling at them will make bears that weren't interested in them in the first place run away in fear. Iorveth snorts at the thought. There's a lot of humans in his world he could attribute the same metaphor to. "Were it the shard alone, I'd care much less about it."

It isn't the shard, or the Rifter part. It's whispered slurs, the stares as he passed, the guards watching him like he'll start trouble any second, but paying far less keen attention to the human Rifter at his side. It's been a long, long time since he tolerated these sort of every day occurrences without retribution.

"'Knife-ear' is a new one, but I've fed men to wolves for calling me similar things." Said casually, deadpan, and an idle annoyance. His dignity doesn't typically permit it, and it felt like betraying his integrity and all the men who'd died fighting for him due to that same conviction. But it'd be stupid to exile himself from this place so quickly. "Luckily for them, this city seems to have a shortage of hungry wolf packs."

Is he joking? We just don't know.

[aenseidhe]

"I suppose I'll need to keep both well in stock at all times, then." Because animals are fun, more fun than most people, and Iorveth's happy to be a pupper's best buddy.

Searching around, he looks for a decently sized chunk of branch to snap off, one that won't shatter under the mabari's impressive jaws immediately. Finding one, he tugs it down, break it into a decent size, before letting out a sharp whistle, waving the stick a couples before it's flung to the other side of the garden. Go go, doggo.

"Aye. I'm one of those that came through the portal in that winter hell." He tells her, conversationally, as he shifts around to face her, legs dangling down from the branch he's balances on. "Full glad am I to be in a place that understands the concept of 'spring', now."

[aenseidhe]

"I just like trees."

Iorveth deadpans from his branch, side-eyeing this weirdly huge human looking a bizarre spectacle to be doing something so innocuous as gardening down below. He'd been watching him since he wandered in, straining to hear the foreign words he murmured to the plants, something he hadn't heard in this world or his own as of yet.

It's stranger still that the man seems so bloody cheerful. Perhaps the oaf is just simple in the head. After a moment of suspicious eyeballing, Iorveth adds on, more relaxed.

"It does help this place is much less the frigid hell I'd been dropped into this realm at."

[circleprodigy]

Garahel's eyes are intent on the branch the moment his new elf buddy snaps it off, and the moment it's thrown, he bolts off. Inessa keeps an eye on him just long enough to ensure he's sticking to what she told him about not missing up the planters, then glances back over. She nods with a wry smile, hands clasped before her.

"Arriving at all must have been a shock, but to do so in such a hostile place...I don't envy you that experience. Such has happened before, but usually agents of the Inquisition reach newcomers before much time has passed. That aid was so long in coming is not at all typical." She shakes her head, a bit disturbed but lacking in details as to what exactly happened. "I am Warden Serra, current project leader for the Rifts and the Veil. It encompasses the anchors as well, in hopes that we may learn more about them."