faderift | i was left to my own devices

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i was left to my own devices

WHO: Merrill, open
WHAT: Keeping oneself busy with an aravel.
WHEN: During all this Tevinter nonsense.
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Decorating.

How Merrill had convinced the ferrymen to allow her aravel onto the boat and across to the Gallows was uncertain; if asked, Merrill would insist that she had just asked, while the ferryman would turn a bit red and mumble something about eyelashes. Either way, it was certainly there - drawn by a horse instead of halla and with a mutt of a dog inside of it instead of other elves, but an aravel nonetheless. Merrill had directed both her horse - a massive thing, clearly some sort of war horse that a tiny Dalish mage had no business riding but did anyway - and the aravel itself to the stables, parking it outside.

Travel had taken its toll on the aravel. Obvious repairs had been made, but they were travel repairs; patched sails and different pieces of wood. Now that she had a relatively safe place to settle and access to all sorts of supplies, Merrill could repair it a bit more properly. The elf could be seen at all hours of the day working on new knots, fetching bits of wood, or looking over cloth for new sails. She had things to trade, too; herbs and stone found in her travels, skins of deer and rabbits, and trinkets that had most likely been taken out of the pockets of bandits unlucky enough to target her. The back and forth was near constant, but Merrill treated each trip and trade with a smile. She even hummed as she did her work.

No aravel, in Merrill's mind, was complete without decoration. Pieces of wood were delicately cradled as she carved images of the wilds, of bears and halla and flowers. She was not as skilled with the sails, but that didn't stop her from trying to thread bits of color into them, green chief among them. Perhaps the most striking, however, were the feathers. Feathers of songbirds, bright red and yellow and blue; feathers of eagles, patterned and large; and feathers of the griffon, white and striking and Merrill's favorite. They were braided into the ropes, tied to the wood. Merrill would trade the feathers she didn't want or need, would go and groom the griffon that allowed her to ride him and bring back what fell.

She was busy, and it was good, and it didn't at all make her worry any less about those in Tevinter.

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Working with one's hands was not something that Alacruun had ever paid too much attention too. When he took humanoid shape, he was usually working as a scholar; as such, the ability of others to craft was oddly fascinating to watch - or at least a little distracting. Humans and other related creatures were always busy with them - while he had more important things to worry about.

He does have an eye for skill, though. He appreciates it. He leans down, looking past her for a moment to examine her carving. She's not bad - well, at least not as as he judges it. Of course, he's more used to hoarding metalwork or intricately bound books than wood-working.

"It's well-done," he comments off-hand and then straightens. His smile is a bit terse and short, but it's there. Sort of. He doesn't seem like the sort of man who smiles that often and when he does, it's probably not a nice smile. However, today he's just tense.

"I've been focused on the human countries mostly, so I'm afraid I don't know all of the elven meanings yet. May I ask what the owl represents? Or the ravens? I'm trying to learn everything I can about this place..."

The shard in his hand probably explains why.

She is no master craftsmen, but Merrill has learned - and it helps that she likes to do it. There won't be any new, striking ways of carving an owl into wood here, but that's okay; sometimes, traditional is just fine, even if those traditions have become lost and muddled along the way.

"Thank you!" The terseness of his smile doesn't seem to bother her. "And yes, of course- would you like a seat?"

Merrill doesn't wait for an answer. Springing up as lightly as a halla, she grabs a blanket from inside the aravel. It's opened and spread out quickly, folded to give a bit more cushion against the ground.

"To start with: these are Dalish symbols more than general elf symbols. Has anyone gone over the difference with you yet?"

"Oh, yes - please."

Alacruun is taken a touch off-guard by the offer, but he does appreciate politeness and hospitality, so he can't really decline. Instead, he settles his large frame onto the blanket that she spreads out for him. He might be trying to catch up a little. Questions help focus the mind, however.

"I know there's a difference between elves that live in alienages and among humans and those that live on their own terms and that they are called 'dalish'. That's about all, though."

Alacruun is, for once, happy enough to admit his ignorance.

"That's a start!"

Her knife was carefully sheathed and returned to her belt. More bits of wood were carefully blown away and then Merrill sat as well, cross-legged and bare-footed. Her dog came wiggling over after a moment, putting his head in her lap.

"The Dalish are nomads; we seek to try and preserve what knowledge we have of the old ways, of the People when they had kingdoms and weren't- well, second-class citizens, if that. A lot of the knowledge has been lost or changed in the telling, but it's our heritage; we try to remember, even if we don't like what we remember."

One hand settled in the fur of her dog. The other reached up, slender fingers tapping at the tattooed lines on her face.

"We remember the Creators, the gods who gave us the gifts of the world. When we come of age, we receive the vallaslin. It's for the gods, and sets us apart from other elves. And each god has symbols." Moving her hands, the wood carvings are tapped.

"The owl is for Falon'Din, Friend of the Dead, the Guide; it is his messenger, and sometimes Falon'Din himself. The ravens are for Dirthamen, his brother, Keeper of Secrets. When Falon'Din walked where Dirthamen could not follow, the ravens named Fear and Deceit came to him, but he became their master."

Alacruun listens with a quiet sort of fascination. He's much more used to books and lost knowledge, but hearing from a first-hand source isn't something he's going to turn down. In this case, it also keeps his mind occupied. Even if his thoughts would much rather be a few hundred miles away. Inactivity gnaws at him.

So he listens instead.

Honestly, he wishes he'd brought a notebook for this.

"Friend of the Dead" earns a thin smile, for some reason. Maybe he feels an affinity for that sort of thing. He leans forward slightly, brow furrowing as he tries to commit the names to memory.

"That sounds like the gods I know; they have realms that they rule over and they often have familiars or are affiliated with certain animals. There's a Raven Queen where I come from, but it isn't really the same..." He rolls his shoulders in a shrug, "Do they say how he became their master? Trickery? Force? Or is it enough that he simply... is?"

He waits for half a moment and then seems to realize something, "Ah, where are my manners? I am Alacruun. I'm far too distracted to day - I forgot to introduce myself."

Edited 2018-08-24 18:33 (UTC)

"Oh, goodness- no, I'm sorry, so did I!" There was a quick wave of her hands, as if trying to erase the accidental rudeness, the impropriety of forgetting - again - to introduce herself. "My name is Merrill."

Once upon a time, there would be more to the introduction. Now there is only a smile, and Merrill settles back against her own blanket, fingers stroking over her dog's head in an apology for earlier frantic waving.

"It's only really agreed that he subdued them. So much of our culture has been lost, the details with them, so... it is enough that he is, because that is all we have." For an elf who seemed so otherwise bright, the sudden dip in her tone, the way the energy seems to sap out of her, might be surprising. But it's true; they have only scraps of culture to cling to, only a few relics and a few words out of what was once a kingdom.

Alacruun also knows a little something about 'lost gods'. Although from a very unique perspective. He offers her a little wave of his hand, as if to say 'I don't mind' and then he settles in again to get comfortable. An impromptu lesson, with a very strange woman as his "professor". Certainly not like the elven academies where he was from.

"Time has a tendency to erase things, unfortunately," he replies after a moment of consideration, "Even knowledge we would rather keep. I've seen it happen before - people forget, no matter how they try. Even writing it down in books only gets a part of the story."

It's not exactly reassuring. It's more... matter-of-fact.

He certainly isn't wrong. Merrill nods, but there's a slight frown with it.

"It's not just time. Humans deliberately did not want us to have our culture, to worship who we wished, to speak our language. They destroyed what they could, banned what they could. Time would have changed things regardless, but- it had help."

Pointed, directed destruction of her people and their ways. It was hard to swallow sometimes, when she looked at one of her human friends, when humans claimed to be experts on the elvhen.

"Humans... are foolish creatures, even at the best of times," Alacruun replies after a moment of thought. He doesn't particularly care one way or the other about the elves themselves, but the thought of knowledge lost forever because someone had to try and destroy it in a fit of pique is rather depressing (and a little enraging). What's the point of knowledge if you don't learn it? What's the point of destroying it?

"I suppose it was out of some misguided and wrong-headed desire for... what? Control? Or just because they don't like the Dalish?"

He's being a bit of a hypocrite, considering what he was planning back home, but he's always had a critical lack of self-perspective.

"The stories say that we were once immortal and worked magic as easily as breathing. Then the shemlen - the humans - came south, and we lost the ability to do both. The Tevinter Imperium attacked and enslaved us and we lost our calendar, our language, our culture. When Andraste rose, elves supported her under the leadership of an elf called Shartan. She gave our people the Dales - and years later, Orlais attacked because we refused to follow their Maker and we lost our second home, the place where we had tried to revive our culture."

It was a history lesson - a history lesson that not everyone even knew, or cared to know. The Dalish remembered, though, and Merrill had been trained to become a Keeper. It was her job, her duty, to remember. It didn't mean that it didn't hurt, though.

"Those who resisted, who refused to live under the humans, who refused to forget, became the Dalish. Those who did not are treated as second-class citizens or worse in shem cities. The alienage can be locked away from the rest of the city here in Kirkwall. In some places, humans kidnap us to sell to Tevinter as slaves. Elves cannot hold many jobs, can barely defend themselves."

One hand brushes through her hair. "And worse yet, the Dalish and the elves of the city often don't get along. Members of each group look down on the other - one is chasing dreams, the other has given up. Flat-ears and savages. It's all nonsense."

Alacruun listens respectfully to Merrill's tale, making a few sympathetic noises at the appropriate places. He's a decent listener, when he wants to be. And for the moment, he's trying to get interesting tidbits of information from her. It's honestly interesting to hear all of this first-hand and he leans forward slightly, eyes sparking.

"You seem to have more in common than not, at least from an outsider's perspective. Working together would probably serve you better than being at one another's throat, but... easier said than done, of course."

He cocks his head to one side, making a clicking noise with his tongue.

"I wonder - did your ancestors lose their power because of the humans? Or was it just an unhappy coincidence? I've heard of knowledge being lost or forgotten, but... maybe it was a calamity and the stories are there to make sense of it. Human records probably wouldn't be helpful in the least..."

He listens, at least; doesn't interject, doesn't try to tell her the history of her own people from the side of the humans. It's a refreshing change, and Merrill appreciates it.

"We do, and it would," she agrees, sighing again. "It wouldn't surprise me if there had been some propaganda spread to split us apart on purpose. But after I left my clan, I lived in the alienage here in Kirkwall; my clan, even after I left, was willing to take in a half-elf - dangerous enough, since they don't come out very 'elf' at all - that needed mentoring. Not all are so biased... but too many are."

And... well. Her clan was biased in other ways, and look where that got them.

"The stories say it's because of the humans; that we quickened, as they do, aging and dying. Perhaps it's because Arlathan fell. Perhaps it's something else entirely. We used to sleep, not die. Not really. But... I think the only who would know for sure are the spirits, and they aren't very straightforward with things."

"Interesting," Alacruun says (and means it), "Where I am from, elves are very long-lived - longer lived than humans, certainly - but they still die, even if they do not truly age. Eventually time claims them, as with all mortals. But they were never as short-lived as humans. To find that here has been... interesting. To say the least."

The differences fascinate him, but he imagines it's merely because one universe is rather different from another. There are so many questions and very few straight answers. But isn't that typical?

"It might be interesting to try and ask them, though. Even if it takes time to get an answer. Knowledge is always worth pursuing..."

A potential project. After everything else.

"It's been... amazing, meeting Rifters who know or are elves," Merrill admits, smiling fondly. "I love hearing about the other worlds, and while I don't wish for any of you to be trapped here, I do hope we can at least... make it a good experience."

But that is Merrill: kind, always. The politics of Rifters and shards and Rifter mages are things she's aware of, but at the end of the day, the issue to her is that they are people. They are people displaced by something they have no control over, people shoved into a conflict that is only theirs because of circumstances out of their control, and they know nothing about the world when they arrive. Nothing, and so many had failed to teach them.

"It would be, though it'd have to be done carefully. Spirits are dangerous - all spirits, not just those they call demons. They have the power to be dangerous, and they do not think of things the way we do."

"It has not been... unpleasant," Alacruun admits. Especially because no one here knows what he's done back home and no one is trying to throw him back into a prison or trying to murder him (mostly). And he has entire fields of knowledge open for him to research. So it isn't all bad.

"Although it certainly isn't like home in many respects. The elves being one major difference..."

Which might not be that amusing to her, but he finds it an interesting contrast.

"As for spirits - my contact with them has been limited. Dangerous as you say they are, I would like to speak with one or two of them, if only to find out more about them."

Alacruun, no.

Not amusing, no, but he's not wrong. It's interesting, and Merrill nods.

"Funny how humans are in all sorts of worlds, isn't it? And elves in a decent amount, but not all."

She has yet to meet a qunari who is truly a qunari from a different world - but she isn't going to ask Alacruun if he's actually a qunari. That just seems rude.

"Oh, of course. Just keep in mind that they are dangerous when you do. Better to be cautious about it than not do it, in my opinion - at least when it comes to spirits. They know all sorts of things!"

Merrill, stop encouraging him.

"I'm used to dealing with dangerous creatures and spirits," Alacruun shrugs with a little smile, "It's something I tended to do back home. Research into magic and magical theories is rarely safe, at least if you want to get your hands dirty."

Or you want to elevate yourself into a god of death. Which is not something he's going to mention, because wow, that would be awkward.

"But I will look into it. Might I come to you for advice, if I run into any problems...?"

"Absolutely!"

Merrill sounds rather excited about being come to for advice, actually - it's certainly not the delighted tone most mages of Thedas would have when asked about spirits.

"Just don't mention it too much around the Circle mages. Their views on spirits are very different. Even the other Dalish..." She trails off and then shakes her head. "Well. Maybe just don't go about advertising what you're doing."

"So I've noticed in my reading," Alacruun admits, "Most treat them as worse than a plague, to be avoided at all costs and never to be dealt with in any capacity."

He sighs and shakes his head, "That seems so small-minded. If you know they're dangerous, you simply treat them with caution - don't cut yourself off entirely. There are many dangerous things in the world, after all, but we can still learn from them."

"Fire is dangerous, but we still use it to keep warm and cook food. It's not really different, save for the fact that spirits are intelligent."

More excited now, there are additional gestures accompanying Merrill's words; the flapping of hands when she says 'not different', the lilt of her shoulders at the end of her sentence.

"From what I've heard from mages who lived in the Circles, I'm glad that's not how I was trained."

"Precisely. Teaching people only to fear does nothing; it only ensures that when they do encounter spirits, they are woefully unprepared to actually deal with them rather than running astray and harming themselves and others," Alacruun shakes his head. At least they're on the same wavelength with this. It's nice to find someone who speaks sense.

As opposed to essentially every magic user he's encountered so far.

"It's horrifically restricting; I simply don't understand it, honestly."

"It's a religious thing, I think. And in comparison... Those who follow the Qun- the mages there have their mouths stitched shut, just in case. And they're happy about it." Her shudder is obvious. "Certainly not for me."

What societies were left, then, for a Dalish outcast? Not a lot.

"Abominations are terrifying, of course, but... I don't know. It seems like there are better ways."

"I have heard about the Qun as well - dreadful practice, it sounds like. Nothing I'd want anything to do with..."

This whole world seems to have a backwards view of magic, as far as he's concerned. Demons aren't that dangerous, everyone here are just cowards and fools. Or something.

"Education is a better way. Making sure people understand what they're dealing with. It's as you said - being burnt by fire does not mean you lock all fire away, forever, and hardly use it. No, you learn to master it. That's the solution. Not hiding it away..."

"Yes, well. No one asks mages for their opinions on how magic should be dealt with. Not like this, anyway."

She sighs again, letting one of her legs stretch out, bare foot kicking idly at the ground.

"Then again, they'd only listen to Andrastian humans anyway. The Avvar have a good relationship with spirits, even the non-mages, so most of Thedas would never listen to them. I don't know how many are in Kirkwall, but if you ever get the chance, I think you'd like their culture."

"Fools, then. Who better to explain magic than the people who must use it or who have the gift for it...?" Alacruun shakes his head once again. He keeps finding this world completely backwards. It's a wander they haven't all killed on another yet.

"The Avvar. I don't think I know much about them."

However, his eyes ahve lit up at the possibility of learning something new.

"How much do you know about them? Can you tell me anything?" He's certainly eager to ask questions.

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