faderift | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

"Not as much as I would like. A friend of mine was Avvar, but he passed a few years ago, now." The mention of Asher's death still hurts, but Merrill only takes a deep breath before she continues. "I know that they often consider spirits to be gods, and invite them to live among them. And I know that when they die, they're given to the Lady of the Skies in what's called a 'sky burial'."

Merrill wishes she knew more, honestly; she hadn't thought to ask Asher all of the questions that she'd had when he was alive, and now... well, now it's too late.

"They're not in the Free Marches, really; they're mostly found in the Frostback Mountains."

"Maybe I'll take a trip in that direction one of these days... if I'm allowed to by circumstance and opportunity," Alacruun muses. The idea of finding someone - anyone - who thinks differently than the locals do about magic has a certain sort of appeal to him.

"Although I am sorry to hear about your friend; I'm sure he knew a great deal and it's a pity to lose someone like that to an early grave."

Mostly because he didn't get a chance to talk to them.

i was left to my own devices

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