faderift | OPEN: Kirkwail

OPEN: Kirkwail

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Ghosts
WHEN: Wintermarch 20
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: OOC post. More content warnings than you can shake a stick at, probably, including allusions to slavery and violence in the body of the log post. Please use appropriate warnings in the subject lines for your own threads.

The storm sweeps in like an assassin: unexpected, in the dark, and throwing sharp pricks of sleet at exposed eyes and noses with expert aim and enough force to almost draw blood if the angle is right. Half an hour after the clouds crest the cliffs is all it takes for the city to retract indoors and huddle around fireplaces, settling in for a long night that will, unforeseen, turn into a long two days.

The Gallows, too, is pelted with ice; the walls of the cliffs and the fortress protect much of it from the worst of the wind, but when it can find a path over or through the walls, it slams through windows or doors to scatter papers and snuff out fires.

In the dark, in the rain, hurrying between towers or already accustomed to jumping firelight casting strange shadows and the wind howling like a wounded animal, people might be forgiven if they don't notice at first. But there's a hanging in the courtyard, a dozen translucent wisps of bodies dangling from the idea of nooses, and there's a girl's voice in the basement of the templar tower screaming for her mother, and there's a ghostly man in the library holding the blade of a knife to his palm and whispering this is it, this is it—or maybe there isn't, actually, when you lift your head to pay closer attention.

But as the night wears on they multiply, and they brighten, and even if you haven't noticed them, they begin to notice you.

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Finel clasps the offered hand gently but firmly, an equally tired smile on his face before he withdraws again.

"Finel," he responds, a soft laugh managing to escape for a short breath or two. The action feels good, as though he'd temporarily forgotten such a thing was possible. "If I had, I might have been deceived by a false sense of security, if they happen so infrequently."

It takes some effort to resist casting a glance around the library again, to look for Talen, or let his eyes wander to Karl, still moving in a steady, almost rhythmic rotation.

"You're a healer? Were you trained in the Circle?"

Any humorous comments about how Thedas seems a lot more disaster-laden than any of the worlds the Rifters come from are lost at the questions. Anders nods a little stiffly before he breathes out and tries to relax.

"Yes. I was taken as a child, and held and trained there." His gaze goes back to Karl for a moment. "As was he. I got free. He did not."

A beat, and then his voice softens. "I'm hoping the next generation will never be asked that question, and it won't be counted against them." It's a revolutionary train of thought, and for the first time in several hours he has good reason to watch someone living's face - he wants to know what the Dalish before him thinks on the topic. If he has an opinion on it, that is.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs lowly in sympathy after his eyes follow Karl again. It is sad, watching the spirit try to make a mimicry of the man, seeing the way Anders watches him with hungry longing. The feeling resonates almost too strongly for a moment, Despair strengthening its own false form as it drifts closer, and then back again when the moment passes.

Finel's expression is gently sympathetic, a soft smile on his lips as he returns Anders' gaze.

"It does not count against anyone as far as I'm concerned. Actually, since I arrived, I've had the thought that I'd like to learn more healing magic to help make myself more useful. If you have anyone you can recommend, I would be grateful for the help."

Everything he's getting from his Dalish company is friendly. It's welcome, especially after sitting alone with far too many recriminating thoughts for so long. And it makes the semi-question welcome too.

Anders' face brightens a little. "I like teaching, actually. I've basically taught all I can to the young man I'd been apprenticing, and while I'm teaching a little in Darktown it's not specifically on healing. It would be, if you don't mind a human teaching you, it could be nice."

A mage teaching a mage without Templars looming and threatening - that's the way it should be.

"He, Karl taught me some, actually. Not the healing, that wasn't his skill set, but he taught in the Circle we were held."

Likewise Finel's smile is pleasantly surprised and appreciative. Thankfully he hasn't run into too many humans that have been especially terrible towards him for being a Dalish elf thus far, and most in the Inquisition seem almost rather accustomed to it.

"Yes- I don't mind at all. Actually, I'm particularly curious to learn from someone who wasn't trained in Dalish magic."

Surely there are things that the Dalish don't know or teach, and the reverse must be true as well.

Finel glances briefly over at Karl again, his expression sobering just a little before he asks carefully.

"...did you care for him?"

The brightening fades, small smile goes a little crooked. There's no point in denying it but that doesn't make the matter the easiest thing to talk about.

"Yes." His voice is quiet again, not loud enough to echo despite how empty the library is. He nods to the shadow that had seemingly followed along with Finel. "And him? A friend? More?"

Some are instead haunted by enemies, but the enemy ones don't seem watchful and quiet the way former friends and partners are.

Perhaps he shouldn't have asked - the way Anders' expression dims nearly makes him regret it, but the clear ache in it mirrors the heavy feeling in his own chest.

His gaze trails briefly back over to Despair, its attention now fully focused on him once more, and it makes Talen's face smile, warm and encouraging.

Finel turns back, and he tries to force a smile of his own as he nods. "More. We were together for six years, until he went missing."

The demon's smile seems needlessly cruel. Oh, certainly there's cause for it. It wants to feed off of whatever Finel is feeling. But Anders has to hate whatever demon it is that stands there more than he hates most demons, just for that.

"We were together for a couple of years, before our relationship was discovered. Circle mages aren't allowed relationships, though. No family, no partners, no children. So he was taken from me, and here in Kirkwall they ended his life despite how he'd followed their rules. They could hurt a mage, so they did." His voice is bitter, colored with his feelings for Finel's demon and the Templars and the Chantry and everyone that had ever hurt Karl. He won't ask about the elf going missing, it sounds like a wound that's best left only half-torn, but he can sympathize and also hate.

"That's what the Gallows were, a place for cruelty and slaughter, first your people, and then mine. That's what the Chantry was and still is and wants to remain."

A chill twists in his chest, one hand coming to curl around the pendant hanging from his neck, pressing it to his heart as his brows knit together in a pained sympathy. He understands the loss, feels it so keenly that Despair strengthens behind him, daring to drift a little closer before backing off again, seemingly wary of Anders himself.

"I-...I'm so sorry. I've heard some stories about the way the Chantry treats mages, but I didn't realize you were denied even love or a family..."

He can't imagine being able to live in such a way, without the support of his clan, discouraged from making any meaningful connections with anyone. Finel thinks of the stories of the young Dalish mages who are either deliberately given to the Circle or abandoned near human cities with such an intention. Would they not have perhaps fared better staying with their own family after all? Even the trauma of being separated from his parents and given to another clan as a child still echoes quietly within him at times.

He looks over at Karl's figure again, the ache in his chest clear in his expression.

"You must have loved him very much."

It's so simple and yet it cuts to the heart of the matter so precisely.

"I did." It says everything about the situation. He'd come to this awful city the first time, stayed in it, lived in Darktown of all places for the chance at freeing the man he'd loved. And he'd failed. This city is the site of great failures, for him, and great losses. Anders hates Kirkwall.

But he does not have the luxury of choosing where he lives, not yet if ever, and so he is here and dealing with it even as he knows he's feeding the demon sitting across from him.

"He was my first love. And I'll never forgive them for taking him from me." He's not alone anymore, he's married and loved again, but the loss will always be there. He takes a breath to gather his thoughts and, really, himself.

"So that's my ghost, and my battle. What's brought you here?" That might be easier. It might not be.

It's the most terrible pain in the world, he thinks, to lose someone you love so much. Finel keenly feels that pain in his own heart, still somewhat at the surface, the marking of a wound that runs deep and all the way through, in many ways still fresh. Although it has already been quite some time since then, it feels like it will never be nearly enough.

"I'm sorry," he says again softly. "If I've overstepped..."

He shakes his head in apology, and assumes his turn of telling his story.

"I was ordered to come by my Keeper." Finel glances back at the Despair-Talen, solidifying a little more as his thoughts turn to him. It raises a hand, reaching out for him.

"Shortly after he disappeared, the rift mark appeared. I was too distressed to be of any use to my clan, and now I had some strange magic that caused me pain near rifts."

He hesitates before continuing, expression troubling. "...she believed I was attracting them, that the clan would be safer without me, and that I would be better off here."

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OPEN: Kirkwail

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