faderift | open | keep holding on

Entry tags:

open | keep holding on

WHO: Six and anyone else!
WHAT: Training, praying, studying, horsing
WHEN: Throughout the month
WHERE: Kirkwall (Gallows, training grounds, library)
NOTES: N/A

» TRAINING » GALLOWS

Training is a regular use of time for Six, unchanged since her dream, waking with some of the burdens removed from her shoulders. She still has Adrian's sword and she knows that, eventually, she'll have to get around to dealing with the weight of it. She knows that she'll have to bury it again here, that she'll have to find a suitable resting place, but it isn't something that is pressing on her currently. There are more important things to consider, more important things to do, especially with a sister to take care of and a dog to consider.

Two, the ever dutiful Mabari, settles near Six, head tilted to one side and tongue out as he dozes, content to let his mistress do as she will until it's his turn.

For the most part, Six spends her time with the familiar greatsword, swinging her weapon with ease, content to lift it and tear apart the training dummies as she has done almost every day since she had first woke here. Her strength is more than it had been before and it shows with the ease that she lifts her blade; it seems as though she's not carrying a two handed blade at all. It comes with a decade of practice and she's aware that it's something she has worked for - her pride is obvious as she takes a break to rest. Other times, she can be found with a longsword in her hand and a shield in another, practicing carrying the both - it's not her favoured weapon, but it's clear she has a decent amount of skill with it all the same.

Eventually, she abandons her own weapons training and takes her mabari to one side, summoning Two over. She can be found walking with him, moving with him, adjusting them both to the feeling of walking side by side, until she stops and breaks into a laugh, leaning down to scratch at his ears gently, whispering gentle words.

» STUDYING » LIBRARIES

The library isn't somewhere that Six has spent a great deal of time, but she knows her way around enough to know to avoid the seats of common regulars. She's not here to read too much that might get in the way of others, at least, and when she moves around the room she does it with proper respect to anyone who might be sitting and reading themselves, stepping around them quietly. She doesn't stand out as much as she usually might; her armour has been left in her room, the amulet of Sarenrae around her neck instead.

The books she chooses are those relating to Andraste, the Chantry and religion of the world, and she sits quietly with those for the better part of a few hours, an intense expression on her face as she does what she can to learn, taking notes on a piece of parchment at her side. Sometimes she will read about Tevinter, she will study what happened there, frowning at the paper.

When she's not reading, she's still making notes, but this is all in a very foreign looking language. Sometimes she whispers the words aloud to herself and they don't sound very natural, even coming from her mouth, her head tilting as she tests them. She's clearly fluent, but practice doesn't hurt and she wants to make sure she doesn't lose her third language, no matter what the risks. Elven is easy enough to remember, but Draconic? That's something else entirely.

» PRAYING » KIRKWALL GARDENS

When she's not training, Six has found a place in the garden that suits her for the praying she does every single day. She's well aware that there's no way for Sarenrae to respond to her here - she doesn't exist, she's not a real God here, there's only the Creators or Andraste or the Qun, all of which she knows too little to consider following - but she cannot give up her prayers. She kneels, usually facing a wall, her hands clasped around her holy symbol and her lips moving silently as she says words in a very quiet whispers.

Sometimes, she's there for hours, kneeling, Two at her side as a gentle guard dog, her hair tied up in the familiar bun. She doesn't move when people walk through the garden, focussed entirely on the familiar words, her fingers brushing over and over the metal around her neck. When she stops to pause she lifts herself up and walks around the garden, stretching her legs with Two trotting along beside her. Sometimes she tests his commands, asking him to sit, or lie, or heel, and always given him gentle warmth and encouragement when he does.

Eventually, she will always go back to her prayers, offering thanks and dutiful words to her Goddess, no matter what anyone else - whatever religion they might be - would think of her for it.

» WILDCARD

( Feel free to find Six around / in her room / etc or ping me on plurk for something personal! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Six has never been out and chosen her own horse before. She has never been given the option, never had a chance; she had already thought about how she and Adrian had to do the best with what they had, how as a mercenary how rarely she had been allowed in the first place. When she had grown from fifteen to twenty she had been too tall and gangly for most horses, so walking was better than anything else.

Now she wants her own horse. She has the resources, she has the place for one, and she has a friend who might be able to help her. Or, perhaps, a sort of friend, someone she can trust, someone she can put her faith in. Now that she had calmed from the last time she had seen Marcoulf she thinks she is more than prepared for the awkwardness of seeing him again after the last time.

Six knows she can trust him when it comes to horses. He had found her one at the tourney, after all, and while she knows how to ride and fight on horseback choosing a good beast is something entirely different. Once she had simply been able to magically summon one, but now...

She stands, waiting, arms crossed over her back. Her armour has been left behind, her greatsword abandoned for a short blade at her hip, hair tied up and expression set, stern.

Kirkwall isn't Ansburg - which would have had all manner of sturdy well bred farm horses and heavy set druffalo to be had -, but there are still horses to be found in it. Trade is trade is trade and all things, even horse flesh, come by way of the sea or eventually find their way to it as a river does. The prices will be sharper for it, but they don't have to ride all the way over the Marches or pay for food and lodging, so it all evens itself out in the end.

As Marcoulf is wont to do, he materializes out of the shadow of some building and cuts his way across the bustling courtyard to her. He looks much the same as he ever does - sword at his hip, laces neat, short cloak worn at some rakish angle -, though when he nears there's just the faintest whiff of something sour about him.

Six gets a nod and a slight bow, his hand touching his shoulder as some habitual emphasis to the gesture. Marcoulf tips his head after, leading with it. "This way."

And off they go, diving into Kirkwall's thronged markets.

It would be better, she supposes, if they had been able to go to Ansburg, but it's not that simple. With her shard, with Adalia, with Two and the griffon she is trying to bond with, alongside the kitten she wants to pick up and adopt for her own... She has a great deal on her plate, not even considering the missions and tasks she picks up and puts herself into. Six wants to keep herself busy so she can ignore the loss of her God, the loss of her magic, feeling weaker and... Less as the days go by.

She doesn't jump in shock when she sees him, but she does tilt her head a little, looking on edge and unsure. She's taller than him, by a scarce few inches, but in the wake of what happened between them last time she feels a little bit like a sheepish child, embarrassed and ashamed of what she made him witness. Her own fears about alcohol and the strength of men should not influence whatever their odd, strange relationship might be.

The bow, at least, makes her twitch a little and she gives her own in response - a proper one, nodding her head as she rises back up to her full height, straight backed and intense. At least he isn't making comment on it, which soothes her rattled nerves.

"What do you look for, in a horse?" A pause, then something like a smile. "Other than size enough to carry me."

She can bow if she cares to; she's permitted eccentrics.

"Good temper and bones. The rest can be managed, but there's no changing either of those," he says, leading by just the barest half step through the winding markets.

The size will be the problem of course, but not impossible. It just means bypassing strings of dish faced, delicate Antivan bred mares clearly meant for Hightown squares alongside silk and perfume and instead making their way to the temporary livestock pens higher along the wharfs where every manner of cow and pig and wooly sheep has come to be slaughtered and sheared, their trimmings packed into bales or brine barrels and delivered straight onto waiting cargo ships.

One of the large livestock pens is stuffed with horses, each with a slash of colored paint on their hips to mark which trader owns which. Some are Ferelden, sporting green or black marks. But there are cobby Marcher horses here too in red and and blue and yellow. They're all filthy either from the road or from a ship's hold and most of them have some scratch or missing patch of hair or rubbed out section of mane. But that's to be expected. Horses in bulk always look less appealing.

She would prefer the term politeness, if asked.

"I would prefer a horse not to buck me, it's true," Six admits, something like a smile twitching on her lips. She follows after Marcoulf without too much pause, not hesitating as she makes her way through behind him. She's not ventured much around the markets of Kirkwall, spending most of her time in the Gallows or the Inquisition library. She doesn't know where she's going, but at least she has a good guide to help her.

She trusts Marcoulf, as strange as that might be for anyone else to understand.

The livestock doesn't bother her; she grew up in a small village with farms surrounding her, animals underfoot and town guards the only people to keep her company. It feels a little bit like she's fourteen and dodging around sheep and pigs as she rushes to do errands to keep herself out of trouble.

As soon as they see the horses, though, her eyes flicking up and looking them over. She ignores any that look a little small, ignoring the dirt and trying to see what they might be under it with a little bit of care and tenderness. "What do you think?"

Hard to say from here and so grouped together, is the answer. Marcoulf addresses the first point by climbing directly up onto the fence and perching on its highest railing. To the second point--

There's a sullen faced girl leaning against the fence some paces away. Marcoulf whistles at her, snapping his fingers like calling a dog. She slouches over.

"Cut them out for us, would you?"

"Are you paying?"

It's a demand. Marcoulf glares back at her, but passes a coin down from where he's perched, saying, "Nothing under sixteen and a half."

The girl promptly slides under the fence and wades into the herd.

"That bay has a good head and shoulder." He points out a stocky animal toward the far side of the pen. Then tips his head to glance at Six. "What do you need a horse for?"

It's difficult for Six, when all the horses look strong and good under their paint and their dirt. She likes the look of them all, a little like a child being shown a range of toys to choose from, eyes wide and delighted and happy. Clearly, she has a large place in her heart for animals, for taking care of them, as if her previous adoptions didn't speak that for her.

Pushing herself up, Six leans over the fence to see the animals better, delighted and excited, letting Marcoulf take the lead. He knows what he is doing, she thinks, her faith settled in his hands.

Watching the girl slide in and move around, Six turns back to Marcoulf with a tilt of her head. He can take charge but, she thinks, it's still her horse. She should listen.

"It has a good face," Six admits, nodding along as he points, her head tilting. She gets lost in looking for a moment before she turns back, delight on her face. "Travel, mostly. I don't think I will be riding one into battle, but I would like to have my own steed for the longer distances. One that I can care for."

Something strong with an even temper then.

"Good. Battlefields are no place for most horses anyway." Waste of a perfectly good animal; he never fights on his if he can help it. The only men and women riding into the fray were ones who didn't need to concern thenselves about the cost of their horse's replacement.

Marcoulf threads his fingers about his knee, comfortably surveying the herd as the girl among them does the work of dredging the larger animals from it.

"Better to go with something more compact then. Strong, to be sure, and something that will fit the length of your leg, but the larger he is the more he will eat."

"No. It's a waste and they are more important than warfare would allow. They could be killed easily and are too often the first target."

There's a reason why the mercenaries didn't ride their steeds into battle. The only times she had done it was when she had summoned her own, a fae beast that would dissipate into magic when hit and wounded. She misses that telepathic connection, but she also misses the feeling of a real horse between her legs, the connection you can build with a beast, the bond between rider and horse.

Leaning against the fence, Six nods her head, listening along and watching all the horses move around. It's comfortable, she thinks, around him; she has less fears about her own awkwardness when they're focussed on a task.

"I can survive feeding him, if necessary. I would prefer a horse I can bond with, one that will be a good partner, than one who would eat less."

» marcoulf

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» merrill

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library;

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