Open

[utulien_aure]

WHO: Fingon and OPEN
WHAT:  Open post; losing your best friend is hard
WHEN: Later half of August
WHERE: Kirkwall and it's outskirts
NOTES: Warnings for moping elf nonsense

The Wounded Coast

Fingon has never much enjoyed the Gallows, preferring to spend as much time outside it as necessary- but August makes his desire to get out more acute than it has ever been. For days he tests the bounds of curfew, out to the stables at the break of dawn and the last to return at night.

Instead he's found in the wilds about Kirkwall, his sole companions his bow, his harp, and the two mounts he trades off riding day by day. (He's not sure if that's sustainable, in the long run. Perhaps he should find an extra rider for one of them....)

When he's not riding aimlessly or hunting, he settles down by the river, harp in hand. As his companion drinks, the sound of music drifts toward the forest- and not always the most refined songs, either. One might hear through the forest a tale of the Great March of the Eldar, or the ribald lyrics of The Elf and the Fruit Vendor shouted as a challenge into the air.

The Forges

There's an Inquisition forge, claimed near a year ago when Fingon first arrived in Thedas. It's been productive, turning out armor and swords and jewelry as it's master pleased, and still looks as crowded as though he may walk back in at any moment.

That needs to change. The smith is gone, now, and Fingon- Fingon needs to return to the Inquisition what should be theirs.

It takes time to work through the half-finished projects, the notes on others. There are six swords and three dozen knives spotted just by looking about, and Fingon does not know yet how much Noldorin Art his cousin worked into their making. They and all the other works about will need to be tested- the safe ones given to the Inquisition, the papers and any dangerous works locked away for now.

Anyone who passes the forge will see him at work as he boxes away all the forge's contents, or hear the shuffle of boxes and the occasional muttering in a musical, foreign tongue. Or they might catch him on the way the training grounds, a few new blades with him. Either way, he looks distracted.