( open ) and it's harder than you think

[sulena]

WHO: Saoirse Ceallach + open
WHAT: a catch-all for Justinian
WHEN: throughout the month
WHERE: Kirkwall, various
NOTES: none to mention, will update as needed

a — gallows' gardens

Saoirse has never thought herself as much of a green thumb. In Starkhaven there was no need to care for the wildflowers that grew in the valley that nestled the city nor what few managed to find root in the muddy alienage roads. They were there with or without help, and as it turned out, there was little need for botany lessons here in Kirkwall when these walls still housed a Circle. Yet as the weather has grown warmer, she has struck out, spreading her own roots as it were and attempting to learn some skills that might further helps those in the alienage. It always allows her, a mage mostly skilled in magic that attacked the life force of living things, to attempt new spells she hopes might be beneficial— not simply destructive.

Wearing a distinctive straw hat decorated in various, colorful wildflowers, Saoirse sits with a scrunched nose and concentrated expression. In her lap is a small potted but notably withered flower, hands cupped gently around it and a familiar buzz of magic in the air as she calls upon what little Creation magic she houses inside her. Mending wounds is much different than healing the earth and breathing life into withered leaves, yet she presses on with furrowed brows.

b — harrowing chamber

Although late the more traditional cleaning done in the spring, Saoirse has taken the lateness in stride and advantage of the warmer weather that summer brought. Perhaps the only true oddity is the location of her venture. The former Harrowing chamber is as she remembers it from her last visit in the later half of last year, a dusty and forgotten space. A part of her thinks that, perhaps, it is for the best that this place remain forgotten like there is a piece of her that might laugh if this place were to ever fall into the ocean.

Yet in her own attempt at healing from the venture in the Anderfels (not only physically but mentally and emotionally) that she takes another route. That is why, whomever might find themselves wandering near the forgotten chamber, might find the small elf in the midst of cleaning the room. Tearing down tattered pieces of cloth that were used to cover the windows, moving aside random assortments of junks or balanced atop a ladder and busily washing the dirtied windows.

c — alienage

It is a somber day in Kirkwall's alienage. Despite the clear day, splashes of black cloth can be seen either worn or on display on the small homes. One of the oldest residents, a woman who had survived long enough to see her great-grandchildren, has passed and thus the people mourn in their own way. Although they are all elves, traditions differ between alienages and Saoirse can only offer support as she can but mostly stands back as they prepare the body for burial. She keeps close to the Vhenadahl and gazes over the offerings on that have been placed throughout the day and the small candles burning in the dusk light around the tree roots.

In her hands is her own offering: a wind chime made of colored glass pulled from the nearby harbor. She remains at a distance for now, clutching the wind chime with eyes closed as she speaks out a soft prayer.

d — chantry relations' office

Although strange to be working in her with Herian's presence there was still work to be done despite her friend's deserved promotion. Currently Saoirse is working through the stack of letters that have come in either answering perviously sent letters, requesting assistance or letting them know of their thoughts toward the Inquisition. Most of lukewarm at best, some warmer but there a few that are quite chilly in making their thoughts or cases known about Inquisition presence in their midst. It is tiring in a way, after her last mission she had hoped more might be welcoming of aid to tend to the Chantry sites that might have fallen into disrepair since this fighting had begun.

"Perhaps there is a better way to go about this," she says in a half-sigh as the letter is laid to rest atop her small side table.

e — wildcard

For anything not mentioned above! Feel free to hit me up through plurk at kaldwin or through PM if you'd like to set up something specific.

Comments

[eruit]

"All teachers criticise, no matter how adept their pupil. It makes them feel better."

It's not as if Hanzo's own teachers had been particularly kind. His studies in Tevinter hadn't been designed to encourage kindness or sweetness; he had been raised knowing he wold become the master of something akin to an empire, raised knowing that he was the best of any blood in the country, that his family were bigger and better and worth more than anything and anyone else. In hindsight, he can see that for the faux confidence it was, but at the time... He had drowned in the praise, in the pride, in the feeling of being worth something.

"That is true of anyone. No one can understand the whole world." Hanzo frowns and reaches out, hesitating for a moment before he glances back to look at the woman beside him. He doesn't want to interrupt her experiments, but... "May I?"

[sulena]

"And it can sometimes make you feel better too. As no matter how adept, how impressive your feats-- there is always much to learn."

She offers another small smile before her gaze shifts to the hands in her lap and curls her fingertips against the fabric of her robes. Despite the work this would obviously take it was at least a step in the right direction, she would just need to work harder and then perhaps there would one day be progress.

The question gets her attention upwards once more before she glances downward at how he has reaches out before nodding, pushing the potted plant closer. "Yes, of course."

[eruit]

"Sometimes," Hanzo agrees quietly. It's not necessarily true for his experiences - Tevinter teaching left affection to be desired, rarely given - but he's sure that other teachers were kinder. Fairer. The Shimada family had no time for babying their heirs and their sons, even if they were still young, closer to being children than anything else.

Perhaps in the future things will be different. Hanzo will never be a teacher of magic, not with the vows he had made, but he could teach other things. He had already offered archery. Perhaps scouting, knife play, other things that might prove useful. When he is older, maybe, when he has earned his redemption.

Shaking his head from his thoughts, he reaches out and places a hand on the pot. One lifts, touching the edge of the flower, resting back and waiting for the familiar feeling of his spirits to settle around him. He doesn't do much - and it's not his own magic, to say the least, the spirits of Honour feeling warm against him - but he wonders if it will do anything to help.

"... I am sure that you will find a way to save it," he says in the end, drawing his hands back. "There must be a way."