Player Plot: The Arlathvhen

[writteninblood]

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.

Comments

[arlathvhen]

Beleth doesn't respond to Sorrel at first. She lets him talk, lets him try to convince himself that he could do what she's done. But he trails off, because they both know that he can't. And that's fine. It's Beleth who does the unpleasant things, after all. The one who does the killing, who hides the bodies, who does the things that must be done.

This isn't killing someone. Except, if she felt like being dramatic, maybe herself.

She gives him a quiet nudge with her head, a small sign of affection, comfort for comfort.

But at the mention of Tobrevas, the quiet distress is traded for pleased smugness. She shoots a grin at Sorrel, nudging him with an elbow. "Tobrevas deserved it. Did you see his outfit? He looked like a peacock, trying to strut around. What an insufferable idiot."

[writteninblood]

"No such peacock, anymore: he's a mudhen now," He grins, elbowing her right back, "It was so satisfying, the way he went down. With his feet splayed out like that."

He doesn't mind Tobrevas, really. But there's something precious about the vision of a pile of fancy clothes being humiliated mid-strut, particularly if it at any point had designs on your sister.

"It's the little things. You know?"