faderift | I couldn't hide from the thunder in a sky full of song.

WHO: Ilse Althaus + You
WHAT: Ilse arriving in Kirkwall and settling herself in, as much as she ever settles.
WHEN: The last week of Justinian
WHERE: Around the Gallows, mostly.
NOTES: Mentions/references to starvation, nudity due to the baths, hating the rich, etc. If I've forgotten any, please let me know!

I. The Gallows - Training Grounds

After making her way to Kirkwall and pledging herself to the Inquisition’s cause, Ilse’s first stop is to hunt for the armory and the training grounds. She spends several minutes inspecting the available weapons, plucking several arrows for practice for herself along the way.

Then she makes her way to the open areas obviously set aside for training. Covered in dirt, hungry, and not yet changed from her long journey here, before anything else, Ilse takes care to sate her hunger for keeping her instincts and mind sharp.

She lets the arrows fly, picturing each target as the Darkspawn that have taken so much from her. That, or the useless nobility with all of their pretty lies and posturing while people die around them. Her expression is one of concentration, but if one looks closely, one might just catch a glimpse of the vulnerability Ilse tries so hard to keep concealed.

II. The Gallows – Communal Baths

Ilse loses herself to her archery practice. Hours pass her by before she notices; by the time she pulls herself out of the trance she’s fallen into, the sun has begun to set; the air has tempered with incoming evening.

Her stomach grumbles, but she ignores it for now. She’s gotten rather good at ignoring its demands over the years, after all.

She makes her way to the baths, shedding her clothes, sticky and hot with sweat, dust, and muck, as she makes her way to the water. She might be a devout Andrastian, but the excessive modesty preached by the Chantry has never been a luxury she could indulge, not in her life, and the events she’s lived through, at any rate.

The water is cold, which makes her smile, a rare sight to behold when she isn’t around cats or indulging in her habit of less than reputable novels. She much prefers the cold water; too much of her life is defined by hot.

She hears the telltale sounds of someone else joining her. Before she settles completely into one of the few luxuries she does allow herself, Ilse arches an eyebrow and twists to catch a glance at who might be joining her.

III. The Gallows – One of the smaller chapels

Ilse finally washes up and grabs herself a quick but hearty meal, the best she’s eaten since…well, she can’t remember when. But the point is, it was delicious and sustaining.

Truthfully, she should have made her way to the chapel first, to offer prayers of thanks for making it to Kirkwall safely. Given the overall world state of Thedas, and all of the dangers she’s encountered on her journey to this Inquisition outpost, she knows she owes a good deal of gratitude to Andraste for guiding her here.

The chapel is simply decorated, which also helps to put Ilse at ease. She prefers these simple affairs as opposed to the grander chapels with all their ornate decorations; so much indulgence that could have, instead, gone to help the poor, as the Chantry is supposed to do.

But that is a thought better put aside for the moment.

Ilse falls to her knees and begins to pray, murmuring quietly her favorite of the prayers her father taught her. Out of the corners of her eyes, even cast as they are humbly at the floor, she can catch the silver sparkle of the stars in the night sky. The stars she likes to think her father sent to guide her.

IV. Wildcard. Have a specific prompt you'd like for Ilse and your character? Let me know through plurk or PM and I'll be happy to write a specific starter!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's something...childlike about this rifter, Myira, as she seems to be called, Ilse notes. She's boisterous and enthusiastic; bright. Something in Ilse's heart aches at the realization. This girl, and she seems like such a girl to Ilse, will likely lose some of that childlike enthusiasm at some point, she assumes. Everything innocent eventually decays, this she knows from experience. Or falls to Darkspawn.

She doesn't let any of that show on her face, however.

"You're...a bird," she repeats, both curious and even more distrustful of her new companion. Magic. Of course it would be magic, on top of everything else.

"I'm from the Anderfels," she says with a wry smile. "There are holes everywhere, and not just in the sky." The ground. Peoples bellies. To name a few.

There's definitely an innocence to her. An energetic desire to see the world and learn about it that might not be there if she were older and wiser.

"Yep. S'hard to keep my feathers on here, though. If I try for too long I have to put my human skin back on and I dunno why. Magic here ain't the same as I'm used to." Myira tilts her head back a little, resting against the side of the tub.

"Where's the Anderfels?" Myira's grasp of geography in this new place is tenuous at best.

"I've not had much of a chance to do much but fly 'round the Gallows and over the city."

Ilse stares, because how else is she supposed to respond? Not only is she currently sharing the bath with a stranger, she's sharing it with a rifter mage who seems to be a shapeshifter, on top of that.

"Perhaps it's nature's way of trying to send you a message," she says bluntly. She's never been one for dressing up her words with false sentiments.

"To the north," she explains. "Northwest, to be precise. Although, from what I understand, a good amount of our forces are currently occupying Orlais."

Normally, the thought of her humble homeland invading Orlais would make her smile. But given how tense and uneasy the Anderfels have become lately, the move doesn't bring her the happiness she thought it would.

"A message? Maybe. Might be saying I need to learn more. About what though, I couldn't tell ya." Myira seems to take the idea in stride easily enough and doesn't seem to take offense at the bluntness.

"Why would they want t'occupy Orlaze?" Myira garbles the pronunciation of the word the first time she tries it.

Once, before she'd learned to hold her tongue, Ilse would have immediately snapped back with 'to stay human of course.' In fact, it takes nearly all of her remaining energy to do so now.

As it is, she has learned some restraint from her time with the Green Men. After all, it often turned out to be a matter of life and death, in the various situations she got herself into.

She manages a smirk at the mispronunciation of 'Orlais.' She also doesn't bother to correct.

"Damn me if I know," she replies with a shrug. "I'm not invited to those meetings."

"Oh. Well I guess that's true, ain't it. Not like people tell everyone their plans or anything." Myira accepts the answer at face value without so much as a blink and slumps a little lower in the water to let it rise up to her chin. Ahhh. So much better.

"I'm still figurin' this place out. There's a lot to know. Kinda overwhelming..."

I couldn't hide from the thunder in a sky full of song.

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