open | keep holding on

[swordproof]

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! )

Comments

[esquive]

He's certainly sturdy in any case. And a gelding - less prone to silliness or snottiness, for calling or being a bitch over other horses in his company. Marcoulf sets his shoulder against the fenceline and watches as Six takes the horse about the narrow space of the pe, a hand absently pushing off the mare as she reaches to inspect his pockets.

They make a pretty pair, he thinks. The horse is unremarkable - big in the face, forward going and no kind of elegance to him - but their coloring suits each other and there's charm enough to that. The gelding looks like he must be hard in the mouth, a little sluggish to obey her hand thanks to whatever basic work he'd done before, but that kind of thing can be fixed more than a temper can.

"That one's my bet," he tells the mare in Orlesian. Scratches her broad forehead. "You'll see."

[swordproof]

Six leads him around the pen as surely as she had lead the others, comfortable in her seat. She might not be as practiced as Marcoulf clearly is - there's no denying that she could have better form - but for a rider who had not owned a horse of her own to practice with she imagines herself passible. Her back is straight, at least, and since the horses matches her size she doesn't look as ridiculous as she has before.

When she leads him back to Marcoulf she slips off easily, moving forward and reaching up to touch his face. It's big and handsome enough and Six thinks that when she strokes over his nose that he turns to her, which is more than enough. She's not experienced enough to know exactly what he might need, but -

"Marcoulf," Six turns to look at him. "Your opinion?"

[esquive]

"That one seems keen enough," he says, nodding to the gelding under saddle. "You'll want a different bit for his bridle to gentle his mouth, but he's fine. Suits you."

Simple enough. And with a shrug, Marcoulf looses the rope about the mare's nose and ears and shoves her off from the fence. Go on, get back to where you came from.

[swordproof]

"Suits me?" Six turns back to look at the horse, thoughful and considering. She'd not imagined how it might be to suit a horse, but she supposes it's not a terrible thing to say. The horse is certainly as big and bulky as she is, but there's a gentleness to his features that she thinks her own lacks. Her face is a touch more stern than she might like for it to be, but it has worked in her favour in the past.

Still holding on to the reigns, she glances back to Marcoulf. "Do they have names?" He brought her here; he should know.

[esquive]

"If they did, I guarantee the man trading them now didn't take them down. I'm sure you're fine to call him whatever you like," he says, moving to the first horse still tied to the rail. He sets his hand on its nose, fingers at the cordage about the animal's head.

He doesn't like this one's stride through the trot anyway, he decides, and then undoes the loop of the rope and shoves him off too.

"If you don't care for him, there's more horses to be found in the Hightown markets. They'll be more coin and less sturdy, though."

[swordproof]

"I like him well enough. He is strong enough to carry me and does not seem like he will nip my fingers." Which is almost all you can ask for in a horse as far as she's concerned. Her experiences with them are not entirely varied, but she knows enough to recognise a bad temperament and how it can lead to wounds.

Shaking her head, she turns back.

"There does not seem to be any reason why we would not be suited."

[esquive]

Good. He may not be the fanciest horse of the three, but his stride is sure and he has a kind eye. If what she's looking for is a partner, that one seems the most likely candidate.

With a curt nod, Marcoulf moves to strip the saddle from the gelding. "Would you like me to barter for him, or do you prefer to?" Regarding the horse-- "You'll need a saddle fit to him. His back is quite wide here, you see?" He sets his hand to the gelding's back right behind his withers. "This one has pressed him here. His shoulder will move better in tack that fits him properly."

[swordproof]

Six is easily pleased, she thinks, and her fingers do not stray too far from the horse's face, content to pet and give him some attention, to try and begin a bond even if they have yet to decide a price. She is, again, glad that she brought Marcoulf here with her.

"I - Perhaps I should try, since he will be mine." She has usually given people a stern look and they'e lowered their prices, but she is unsure of protocol here. She will learn. "And I will purchase the proper saddle for him. It seems foolish to buy a horse and then fit him improperly."

[esquive]

He nods, something like approval in it as he piles the saddle onto the fence rail. The bridle is traded for the rope halter, the gelding shaking his head in some mild form of protest at the prospect of being kept on a line.

"If he goes above what you care to pay," Marcoulf says, "Mention how he won't be able to sell him for a good price inside Kirkwall. And that selling him now will keep the cost down than if he were to be transported inland for sale to farms and better markets inland."