WHO: Coupe + Gervais, Yseult, Lakshmi, Teren WHAT: Back 2 Kirkwall WHEN: Now-ish, some prompts backdated WHERE: Kirkwall/Vaguely Orlais NOTES: HMU on plurk if you want something.
What else would you have them be? [ a look takes in the room, the rows of beds like their own ] It's a time for swords. We've too few properly forged as it is.
[ that fatal flaw, the crack of fade that lets in something — else. ]
We give all we have to this, because we must. But they play into blunt hands. It is how the world wishes to know them: Not a man, a child, but a spit for one’s enemies.
[ intolerable when turned inward. a gesture, ]
The Ambassador, you know. It was such an argument, her training.
[ she’s talking too much; that's half yseult's purpose. but she’s tired. but this is hardly a secret. but she can’t speak of it elsewhere without counting the seconds to talk of slavery ]
[ then temper it are the words on her lips throw it in the fire and beat it until the weakness is gone, until it can hold the shape you need, until it can take an edge. but that's not what she's said before, is it. not everyone can do what they've done. those that can't shouldn't have to just to survive, or else what's the good in being a sword at all?
and too late she realizes the commander's only talking about mages, anyway. ]
She was thought weak?
[ brittle, maybe. steel worked too long will crack before it bends. ]
[ she says after a moment, a thoughtful pause that will not seem unusual the more they speak like this ]
to know and care for right and wrong but also see the spectrum in between, the strange forms they can take. To admit to nothing but black and white is childish, but so is claiming all is equally grey. I don't know which does more harm.
The Ambassador has lasted this long. Luck, or has she learned?
[ which is more than she's generally wiling to credit herian where it might be repeated (stories their own reluctant endorsement). luck, that she'd a sword to learn by.
wren presses a crease into the page. a pause, eyes slipping shut. doesn't yet reach for the next. idly, ]
You must have few lessons left.
[ yseult's been lucky enough to — by the looks of it — get hit with every hammer on the field. ]
[ a huff of a laugh, dry. she is too old for this shit. ]
I was certain I'd learned this one already.
[ magic may smooth away any scars that might someday cause a mark to grow suspicious, but you don't last this long in her business without earning a handful, or without minding their teachings all the same. still, there are things they don't cover: ]
Though I can't say I've ever been in a pitched battle like that before.
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no subject
no subject
[ that fatal flaw, the crack of fade that lets in something — else. ]
We give all we have to this, because we must. But they play into blunt hands. It is how the world wishes to know them: Not a man, a child, but a spit for one’s enemies.
[ intolerable when turned inward. a gesture, ]
The Ambassador, you know. It was such an argument, her training.
[ she’s talking too much; that's half yseult's purpose. but she’s tired. but this is hardly a secret. but she can’t speak of it elsewhere without counting the seconds to talk of slavery ]
no subject
and too late she realizes the commander's only talking about mages, anyway. ]
She was thought weak?
[ brittle, maybe. steel worked too long will crack before it bends. ]
no subject
The honourable knight, given simple decisions. Good and wrong. Day and night. It is what many are told. But when it is taken --
[ crumples to a fist ]
The consequences, yes? To allow in anger, grief. Untested, but they wanted to give her a blade.
no subject
[ she says after a moment, a thoughtful pause that will not seem unusual the more they speak like this ]
to know and care for right and wrong but also see the spectrum in between, the strange forms they can take. To admit to nothing but black and white is childish, but so is claiming all is equally grey. I don't know which does more harm.
The Ambassador has lasted this long. Luck, or has she learned?
no subject
[ which is more than she's generally wiling to credit herian where it might be repeated (stories their own reluctant endorsement). luck, that she'd a sword to learn by.
wren presses a crease into the page. a pause, eyes slipping shut. doesn't yet reach for the next. idly, ]
You must have few lessons left.
[ yseult's been lucky enough to — by the looks of it — get hit with every hammer on the field. ]
no subject
I was certain I'd learned this one already.
[ magic may smooth away any scars that might someday cause a mark to grow suspicious, but you don't last this long in her business without earning a handful, or without minding their teachings all the same. still, there are things they don't cover: ]
Though I can't say I've ever been in a pitched battle like that before.