faderift | ( open ) which will refresh my broken mind

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( open ) which will refresh my broken mind

WHO: Hanzo Shimada and open
WHAT: New specialization and Angst
WHEN: End of the month
WHERE: All over Kirkwall
NOTES: N/A

I. GALLOWS TRAINING

Training with his spirits has become second nature to him now and he feels it as he steps forward into the Gallows; they've been growing stronger, especially since the intense dangers of the Deep Roads. His desperation to protect them, to not let Storm Bow out of his hands, had resulted in a level of fear he had never allowed himself to consider before; he had not wanted to run the risk of them suffering any more pollution because of his uncertainties and his pains. He had come so close to losing them already -

he grits his teeth. He cannot let them be harmed.

As he works with his bow, standing with his eye on the target before him, critical, his arm moves a touch faster. Three arrows are shot in quick succession, the shape of Hanzo's arm almost a light blue blur as he aims. He doesn't seem to notice, particularly, that anything is different with his arrows, his eyes sharp as some of the tension bleeds out of him, some of the tightness of his shoulders relaxing just so. He doesn't look happy, necessarily, but... Better, perhaps, for the shooting.

GARDENS

When he's not training, Hanzo spends a great deal of his time sitting in the gardens in the Gallows, legs tucked under him in something that seems like it must be uncomfortable for extended periods of times. He seems to be quite happy with it, however, more comfortable like this than he might be otherwise - with something familiar, something almost like 'home' - than he is in any other way. Being back from Tevinter for a few weeks now has him tense, a little on edge, not sure how best to handle the culture shift of 'home to 'Kirkwall'.

Can he even call Tevinter home now, when he has given up so much?

Other hours of the day are spent with him sitting with bits of paper and ink at his side, writing letters that will never be sent. He writes and he writes, almost as if he is dictating his life in a diary entry, pieces of parchment building a pile at his side. When he's done, or it seems as though he's done, he puts the paper to one side and bows his head, overcome by something, his hands shaking a little before he begins to fold them all, meticulous and careful. When he is done folding them he turns, creating a small circle of rocks before he starts a small fire.

Then, one by one, he burns all the parchments until nothing remains.

The fire burns out as Hanzo sits, watching it. He lifts a feather and places it on the burning pile, watching the shape of it curl into embers and ashes, watching as it falls apart, as it becomes nothing, just like all the words he had written down. He bares his heart where no one can see it then burns it away to hide the shame.

III. ROOMS / LIBRARY

When he isn't training or meditating Hanzo can normally be found in his room, settling down, tidying, folding and stitching his clothes. He sits with his formal gear on his lap, a needle in hand, repairing what was damaged during his expedition into the Deep Roads. He'd had to wash them first, deeply and with as much soap as he could muster, just in case the taint had been carried in the dirt and the blood, but he doesn't have coin enough to waste clothes.

When the door is more shut than open there is, at times, a faint, blue glow, just enough that it might attract attention.

Otherwise, Hanzo can easily be discovered in the library, books about Tevinter and the language open in front of him. He's an assistant project leader now and with it comes certain expectations, a certain level of understanding that means that he should at least be making some kind of an effort. He wants Corypheus to be defeated, he wants the Venatori to fall to pieces, for his family - well. The less said about them the better, he thinks, scowling at the parchments in front of him.

IV. WILDCARD

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"It is a practice I have seen before," he admits. It's something he did himself, but for different reasons. Hanzo had given up his magic because of regret and self-hatred, not because he felt as though the bow was a better option. He had been trained in it at home, true enough, and Storm Bow with its spirits had been a gift from his father, but... It did not change the reality of his situation, of who he was.

He nods his head, sharply.

"It is something to consider." At least he is doing something to be of aid, he thinks, and it soothes some of the ruffled feathers that remained from his trip to Minrathous. "I am Hanzo. I have not been here quite so long, I think."

He's definitely brought up a point that she hasn't considered in depth before. During the escape from Orlais, the rebel mages were pursued by the rogue Templars, and it was always a terrifying thought in the forefront of Christine's mind that she would be stripped of her magic; of her ability to defend herself. She's been lucky so far, but how long does luck hold?

"Then you arrived after the base in Kirkwall was opened, I presume? I started out with everyone at Skyhold. It feels like ages ago now." So much has happened in that time. So many friends here and then gone, either through leaving the Inquisition, being stationed far away, or presumably returning home through a rift.

"Yes, I did not join until the Inquisition began to be based here. I was not sure of a place here until after the move." He had heard of the Inquisition when it had been based in Skyhold, of course, but he had not yet considered it worth his time. Attempting to earn his redemption through assassinations and jobs that he was offered was one thing, but this... This, Hanzo thinks, is something Genji would have been proud to see him do, if he had been given the chance.

His fingers stroke over his bow, gently, and there's a faint glow that he hopes isn't too obvious. The sign of a rune, perhaps, rather than the obvious.

"I have done what I can since I arrived."

When she heard they were moving to Kirkwall, Christine was totally against it and especially in knowing they would be stationed in the Gallows — the site of such pain and suffering to her fellow mages and Tranquil as well. After such a long time here, she has settled in, but the city will never feel like a comfortable home. It will always just be a place to work and do her duty. To her, home is the wild, bracing winds of the Frostback Mountains and the Avvar holds there. The Avvar have given her a greater education on spirits than she ever received in a Chantry-run Circle.

Her eyes skim over his bow, and the question forms in her mind on what is causing it. Runes is definitely a good excuse, but this is a person who went out into the field to collect wisps for her spirit blade. She has a close relationship with a spirit who is causing a buzz between Christine's ears because of the excitement. And yet she doesn't ask what's going on here. Not yet, at least. Not only is it rude, but she's assuming a lot. Even if she does want to know about the glow to his bow.

"Oh? Do you belong to any projects? I am in change of red lyrium research." And she will talk it up to anyone who shows even the slightest bit of interest, as she's always looking for more people to join her in the project.

Hanzo had never experienced the things that other mages had; the Circle had been a far, distant thing to him. He had been raised in Tevinter, where being a mage was celebrated and welcomed. He had never felt any pressure to do anything more than be himself and flourish under his father's hand and guidance. His uncles, his family, they had put pressure on him, they had demanded things of him, but... He had never been chained, imprisoned, threatened. Not the kind of threats a Templar might give, at least.

Lifting Storm Bow, he draws it up and lifts it to place it back around his shoulders, careful as he handles it. He doesn't want to have it damaged, even a little bit, and that's what has him taking special care with it. While his spirits might respond to his tattoo and his marksmanship, it's the bow that has them chained - he cannot let anything happen to them. Not again.

"I am a member of Hostile Powers and I was recently granted the position of assistant leader to Corypheus' History." Clearly, he thinks, anyone might imagine that he is doing no more than following his obvious Tevinter routes.

"Congratulations. I have an assistant leader on my project, and she has been vital to our work, as well as my sanity." Christine is the type of person who always wishes to prove she can do the best job possible herself, but after over a year in charge of the red lyrium project, she had found it refreshing to have that support and the chance to share some of the burden.

"Thank you. I hope to be the same to the Enchanter." It might have been some time since Hanzo had any position of power, but he hopes that he can do some good with the project. He knows how to work the libraries in Tevinter... Should they be able to find a means of returning there, one day. If not then he will simply have to learn to adjust. "I would like to do what I can for the Inquisition."

Christine nods along. It's why they're all here, except perhaps the Rifters who really have no choice in the matter.

"Especially since things have taken a turn so quickly. We need people to step up and volunteer more than ever." She knows because of some shuffling that several projects have members but no leader, and that's a shame.

"If only all our recruits could have your aim," she adds with a hint of a smile, doing her best to be friendly and put him at ease. There are times she wonders if her inherit Orlesian blood puts people off on principle. Or perhaps the fact that she's rather stubborn and set in her ways. Maybe that comes through as well.

Hanzo's reasons for being here are not quite as altruistic as she imagines, he's sure. If she knew the truth then things would be far more dangerous for the both of them, but as she doesn't... It is better that he makes something of a good impression for as long as he can, otherwise he will appear as no more than a fool.

He does not want to feel a fool. He does not want to be in an awkward position.

"I think there are some that do but are unwilling to speak of it." Especially those who are from Tevinter like he is, who are not as trusted as they could be. Hanzo breathes out gently, turning back to look at the archery target, closing his eyes to feel the familiar weight of his spirits around him. "They wish to do what they can, even if it means turning their back on what they know."

"Oh? Might you be speaking from personal experience?" Otherwise, she can't fathom why he's assuming that there are Inquisition soldiers hiding their talents in combat and pursuing new avenues.

The Spirit of Faith is brushing against her mind and she begins to wonder if he's the one who's hiding something. A talent for interacting with spirits, perhaps? Not uncommon here in Andrastrian-ruled lands. She was shocked the first time she heard of Avvar mages allowing spirits to possess them and speak through them. Even now, for all she trusts Faith and trusts the Avvar, she doesn't think she could allow a spirit access to her that way. Faith belongs in the Fade.

"Not particularly," he lies, soft and low, nothing to betray his deceit. "I am aware that there are some people who may be judged for their heritage or their strength, but I have yet to see that turned in my direction. The Inquisition has been more than welcoming." It's one way, at least, to avoid the question, to dance around it a little, his head tilted as he watches her.

There's something that makes him uneasy, but there's nothing he can do to swallow it. All he can do is await to see what her judgement might be, to see if she is going to push him, to demand more answers. No one has done so thus far, accepting him for what he is, but...

Breathing out, he grasps his bow a little tighter.

"Because you are from Tevinter?" she asks. "I think it is your actions and personality that people should focus on, more than your country of origin. After all, I am Orlesian, and I have not been dunked in the harbor yet." She thinks back to the gentle ribbing she and Sam would give one another for being Orlesian and Fereldan, respectively, and smiles in memory. At least he is off helping with his family instead of stationed far away.

"But I understand. If people are used to being treated a certain way, then they are wary to reveal things about themselves. As a mage, I know this well."

"That might be the case, but I am sure there are many people that have reason to dislike my home." Hanzo might not have truly been home for almost a decade, but he's aware of Tevinter's faults. It's not as though he was ignorant of it; he simply accepted it. He had been a slave owner, a leader, a Magister; he had a place of power, even if he had abandoned it now. If he really wanted he could go back and reclaim it.

As a mage. He could laugh.

"I'm sure I do not know how that feels."

"Mmm." It's space to think on what to say to that. She's certainly never sung Tevinter's praises before. Being a mage there wouldn't have necessarily meant freedom for her.

"Did you know that we 'rebel' mages—" Said with an inflection to show what she thinks of that title, "—were going to be indentured to Magister Alexius? I had never looked on Tevinter as a paradise for mages. Indeed, I assume it contains much of the same backstabbing as Orlais. But being indentured holds certain connotations with it. To pay back a debt is only right, but seeing how the Magister was insane, there is no telling what he would have used us for."

She shakes her head. "I have never been there, but I will admit I have a hard time imagining the good when all I have heard is the bad."

"I knew very little of Magister Alexius. I knew my family and our business and little else, but I imagine indenture to any master would not have been a welcome experience." Hanzo would know, but from the other end. He had slaves and servants at his beck and call when he had been younger, when he had been a Magister, and he's not sure what to do with the knowledge of that now.

It's not worth letting anyone find out about, he thinks. Better to keep his secrets.

Fingers brushing over his bow, Hanzo tries not to think about it, even when the faint blue glow comes back and begins to crawl up his arm.

"There is some good to be found, but... There is much to hate, too. I know that and so do many of the Inquisition." There's a reason he hasn't gone back home, more than just his own self-given exile.

Christine is, of course, drawn to the blue glow, and Faith's response only makes her suspicions all the stronger. The fact that he made no mention of spirits when she told him she was a Spirit Healer leads her to the assumption that he doesn't wish for it to be known. Though if that's the case, he should tell his spirit friend to not be so noticeable.

"I am sure there is good too. Definitely a land that can produce skilled archers, for one." Her eyes take in the area around them before she lowers her voice slightly. Not because the place is busy, but just in case someone happens upon them from behind her.

"Forgive me for being forward, but I can tell you have a spirit with you, bound to your bow." Faith is buzzing between her ears again, and through her way of communicating, Christine amends that. "Two spirits. It's all right. The Spirit of Faith that works with me tells me they are not unwilling."

There's a moment where it seems as though Hanzo wants nothing more than to shift and adjust himself, to draw his bow and let the arrow fly, but he doesn't. He does not kill entirely needlessly - for money or for his own gain, they are two different things - but he has no reason to hurt or kill here. He is simply tense, on edge, something prickling at his senses, and he breathes in and out a few times before he lifts his head to look at her properly.

The faint blue fades and Hanzo draws the bow closer, tight, not risking the chance of anyone else seeing it and catching any kind of knowledge about what they might be. Not when one person has already learned, even if that person might be someone who has the same intimate connection with a spirit as he does.

"... Two. Spirits of Honour." His throat feels thick and heavy and he breathes out gently. "I have had them since I was very, very young."

"Faith has been with me around two years, and I feel as though we learn something new from each other all the time. You three must be extremely close."

Honor isn't a spirit form about which Christine knows much, but the basic concept explains enough. And it's easy enough to get a read on him to see he isn't comfortable speaking of this. Her expression is gentle.

"The glow was noticeable to me, so it may be to others as well. The very observant may connect it to the blue glow spirit healers have in our eyes while we heal. I only wished to make you aware; not put you in an awkward position."

"We are close." He nods his head, fingers stroking down over the wood of the bow, feeling the familiar feeling of their warmth wrapping around him and soothing the weight of his heartbeat rushing through him. He had been panicked, unsure, but he swallows, gripping his bow tighter.

He cannot risk anything happening to them. He has done so much to them already, put them through so much, that the idea of more risk coming to them is one that is completely intolerable to him. With one so close to becoming an abomination, so close to being lost to him forever... He is lucky they chose to forgive him in the first place.

Breathing out, he relaxes his guard, just a little.

"It is... New. We have not worked together like this since I - since I left home." Since I stopped using magic. "I am... Relearning."

"Ah, so it would not be insulting to say that they assist you with your archery, would it?" After all, she's been praising him on his skill, and there is nothing wrong with the aid spirits can provide. She simply hopes he doesn't take her to mean that it's all the spirits and not his own hard work. Perhaps they provide a push.

"They do not, usually. This," and by that he means the glow, the speed, the ability to use more than one arrow in a shot and have true aim, "is a newer development. They did not interfere with my archery until after Tevinter." Perhaps because they are realising the change in his heart, he thinks, and want to support it as best they can.

"It is the same with me. Faith does not need to assist me in all my healing, but is there when I need her." Mainly because some patients get twitchy when her eyes start glowing blue.

"You are very blessed they took such interest in you." But she doesn't pry any further. The reason Faith found her in the Fade was not because Christine was a faithful Andrastian. It was because she had doubts, and a spirit of Faith has nothing to teach someone who already embodies what they are. Therefore, it's possible — in Christine's mind, at least — that things aren't as cut and dry as Hanzo being a perfectly honorable man. She does wonder if he's a mage, but that also seems like prying. Either he's not, or he's not owning to it.

"They are not used to aiding me like this. It has been an experience for us both." That he can admit to, at least. Before, when he had been in Tevinter, when he had been younger, the spirits might have strengthened his magic. Now... Now they are learning how to aid his archery, too, and he's not sure how to handle it properly.

Christine continues, though, and Hanzo's frown deepens. It is not as simple as that and he's aware; his family's nature of binding spirits to items is not always as voluntary as might be the case for a spirit healer or warrior, but he declines to comment. There's no need to make an awkward situation worse.

"I am glad to have them," he agrees, easily enough. "I care for them, and they me." And, unsaid, they are his only friends.

"Well, there is always room to improve and learn new things." She's trying to keep the conversation light and share a bit of her own experiences, but from the way he grips his bow and frowns at her, it appears he has no wish to be too open. One can hardly blame a person with all the dangers in the world.

"That is something so few of us learn in the South. We are taught only fear and caution. It is why I am glad to have learned more of spirits from the Avvar. Their views are quite different. A little too extreme for me in some cases, but they have broadened my horizons."

"There is," he agrees. He had abandoned magic and learned how to use a bow and arrow - that had been difficult enough. Bring at range was one thing, but learning the upper body strength necessary to wield the Storm Bow had been a process in itself. The fact that there were spirits attached to it had made him want to do it more, not less.

"I have not spoken to the Avvar much. I am not inclined to share this knowledge with anyone." Why would he want to go around spouting about the fact that he has spirits bound to his bow, the fact that they were put there by his father? "I... Perhaps I will speak with them, in the future."

"As you see fit," Christine says with a slight incline of her head. "But if you choose to, know that their augur will surely know on your arrival, because the hold spirits will tell them." And the Avvar are a straightforward people, not inclined to hold back for politeness's sake like Christine. "There are several friendly holds in the Frostbacks. The one I am most familiar with is Falcon-Reach hold, but I know people at Honey-badger hold as well."

She thinks anyone should experience time in an Avvar hold if they're granted guest welcome. It's quite the experience when one is only used to the uniformity of Andrastian lands.

"For now, I should let you three get back to your archery."

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( open ) which will refresh my broken mind

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