faderift | Player Plot: The Arlathvhen

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Player Plot: The Arlathvhen

WHO: A big pack of elfs
WHAT: The Arlathvhen
WHEN: Vaguely Solace
WHERE: A Secret Elven Location
NOTES: OOC Plotting post here, and a special thanks to Ema for the header image

In the ordinary course of life, Dalish clans rarely encounter each other. This isolation is a protection; their diaspora is as much of a blessing as is a curse. Only once every decade or so do the Dalish clans all meet together, and their Keepers, the elders and leaders of the People, who are responsible in keeping elven lore and magic alive, will meet together and exchange knowledge in a meeting called the Arlathvhen. During such a time, the clans will recall and record any lore they have relearned since the past meeting, they will exchange goods, people, knowledge, news, and culture, along with reiterating what lore they know already to keep their traditions as accurate and alive as possible.

Today is the day.

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Adasse for one is sure that Solas is some sort of dream-walking hahren, like the stories of old. You know, the ones that the Dalish tell and then go about and treat anyone who doesn't have ink tattoo'd all over their faces like they're idiot children.

So when Solas answers some questions for another Dalish, Adasse comes over and listens. What Solas says is not the crazy rhetoric of the Dalish, and seems clearer and more ... he's not sure, real? Than anything else he's heard.

When the Dalish has wandered off, he lingers, arms folded over his chest. "So ... you've really gone to all those old places?"

There's an edge of something sharp and angry about Solas as he sits, watching the Dalish walk around spreading lies and falsehoods, wearing the marks of slavers upon their faces as though it should be done for worship. It pains him, more than he can express, to see all that he had done to free them rejected and lost, all that had been done to free them of chains continued over time.

Being approached is not uncommon, now; he's an older elf with no visible tattoos that tells tales and stories, even if most of them have been ignored and dismissed. He reacts with frustration, but he is not surprised. He has no reason to imagine that the Dalish would suddenly learn respect.

Head tilting up, Solas pauses for a moment before he speaks.

"I have. They are not so far when you travel or visit them in dreams."

Adasse knows enough about the Dalish now to be dangerous, and frankly, he's still pretty sure they could all do with some decent boots and common sense. However, he's here to learn, so he comes around where Solas can see him properly. Still leaning against a tree, casual as you please.

"I knew a lad who could do that - they called him a ... somela-something. He was a half-elf." He tips his head, curious, "Didn't think there were any more of you about."

"Somniari. That is the Tevene word for the ability." At least someone is listening, though a half-elf with the ability is surprising to hear. His parents must have been powerful, or perhaps one had Tevene blood. To hear of someone with the ability - Solas would seek them out, if he knew more. He doesn't think many of the Dalish would be willing to share such information with him, however.

"It is a rare trait, once more common in the time of the People." He considers, for a moment, almost cautious, but offering the truth of the Elvhen has always been Solas' priority. "Those that practiced Dreaming could enter uthenera without fear or protection."

"Somniari .... sorry, my Tevinter is rough but I'm working on it." He mouths it a few more times, before he tips his head to the side. Brown eyes curious. He's never heard a Dalish talk of the Fade this way, but then, this bloke isn't a Dalish, is he?

"Could they? Man, that must have been wonderful. Going in, not having to worry about something trying to tempt you this way or that." He sighed, "Guessing only mages could do that, though."

Solas is likely one of the most unDalish looking elven at this gathering and he does not do anything to try and hide that truth. He has no tattoos, stands taller than most, his head held high and his eyes dark, dismissive. He clearly does not enjoy the company of the other elves here, but has come all the same. He is doing what he can for the People, even now.

"When Arlathan was at its peak there was no Veil separating this world from the Fade," Solas continues, offering the lessons freely, without pause, glad to have a willing ear. "Memories and knowledge were shared in grand libraries accessible to all, where spirits and the People roamed free together."

Well, Adasse doesn't look like a Dalish, but Solas ... doesn't even look like a city elf. Not even a country elf. He's like a mythical wandering hahran, giving knowledge and possibly smack-downs along the way.

Adasse takes a seat now, soaking in Solas's words. "So we could just ... walk back and forth? Wasn't that dangerous? Weren't spirits more easily corrupted then?" He sighed at the thought, "Actual libraries?"

He's well aware of what his appearance does to the Dalish. He doesn't look as though he fits among them; he doesn't fit with their stories, their tales, with what they think their histories are. He tells the truth and they can't take it - they can't fathom that they might be wrong about something.

"There was no Veil, so there was no risk to the Spirits." Solas shakes his head. "Actual libraries, great and varied, with spirits and people who would have the knowledge to share and teach." He looks wistful, now. "The Fade and the world were as one. There was nothing to cross, nothing to walk back and forward between. It was beautiful."

Well see this is why he ought to just go talk to the city elves. Sure, they're all repressed and what-not, but they're desperate for the knowledge and the history. Adasse could have told Solas that.

Right now, he's drinking this in like you would a good wine, brown eyes bright with the thought of having access to that kind of knowledge. "I can't believe we lost all that... I mean, we talk about losing our cities and our lands, but libraries? Entire rooms filled with the history of our people?"

He paused, tipping his head, "So ... if you've seen these places in dreams, the libraries and such, have you ever visited there? Found old tomes and the like?"

If only the city elves were in a position where they, too, might listen. Solas drifts between them all, sullen and angry, offering knowledge and being rejected time and time again. He has no love for any of the elves of Thedas, now, his affection for them slipping into darkness as surely as he tries to grasp at it.

At least there are some. He comforts himself with Adasse's keen interest, with being listened to for the first time in a very long time. Solas is glad to share what he knows - he always has been - and to be questioned in return earns approval that he cannot vocalise.

"The creation of the Veil destroyed that world," Solas' voice is cooler, now. He knows where the blame lies, after all. "I have seen them in dreams, in memories. It is impossible to go there in person."

Adasse sighs at that, rubbing his hand across his face. "Yeah of course ... because why would it be simple? Stupid Veil." He pulls his knees up to his chest, shaking his head. "Honestly, most of my interest in the old ways is just so we can shake up all this nonsense around here - "

And yes he is gesturing to this entire Dalish thing.

" - and get properly into starting an elvish nation again." He is quiet for a moment, looking down at his fingers, "So you've seen them, these ghosts of our older selves. Were we like the Dalish say? Or were we something more ... real?"

Stupid Veil indeed. Solas' lips twitch, just a little, but he manages to settle his face into something straight and almost professional before his grimace could show. He's well aware of what the Veil has done to Thedas, well aware of the problems it has caused, and he wants to make sure it does not continue to be a problem. It's not quite that easy, however, because it never is, and he shakes his head, shifting to make himself more comfortable.

"I have seen the memories, yes. I have walked endless battlefields where memories echo like ripples on rivers. I have seen the wonders of the world that have been lost to time itself. I have seen what the Dalish could only hope to achieve."

His face settles into a frown, then, deep and tired.

"They forget much and misremember more. Many of their stories are wrong, fabrications that they refuse to hear the truth of."

Adasse wiggles a little, almost like a puppy before a treat, and his brown eyes widened as he grinned brightly. This - THIS is what he came here for. Something that was more than just the claptrap.

"So what is the truth - or - like - can you tell me something they got wrong?" He asked, hugging his knees a little.

"Elvhanan was the empire and Arlathan its greatest city. A place of magic and beauty, lost to time. The Dalish imagine them to live in trees, with wooden ramps of Dalish aravels."

Solas frowns, sitting up a little straighter. Talking of Arlathvan is always difficult; talking of the People is harder still. There is so much that the Dalish have forgotten or chosen to ignore, and Solas cannot bear to think on it. At least here, for one moment, he will have an influence. Here, someone will listen.

"Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branhces, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing."

That? That is what was lost.

Adasse looks at Solas, then lets his gaze fix on the horizon. The one thing that Adasse has never had a lack of, is imagination, and he can see all these thing in his mind.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and sighs softly. "...So where do we go from here? We can't get back all of that - as much as we want to. There's got to be another way forward. For all of us."

It's good that there is someone, Solas thinks, willing to listen, to learn. Perhaps he will find a place among the Dalish and spread the truth - being accepted from within is easier, he imagines, than being told by an outsider.

"Learning the true history of the People is a start," Solas admits, quietly. "There may be no true way to return to what once was, but to learn the truth and ignore the fiction? That would be a prize indeed."

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Player Plot: The Arlathvhen

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