Lowtown Irregulars, and Drooping Anduin

[connorrk800]

WHO: Anduin Wrynn, Connor 60
WHAT: Snooping around, and enduring the sleet.
WHEN: Wintermarch
WHERE: Gallows and Lowtown
NOTES: Prompts in the comments, late tags very welcome.

Comments

[Connor 60 ] Lowtown

[connorrk800]

It became apparent as Connor watched the Inquisition that he would need to adapt to his new circumstances by branching out more. It was absurd to fall back on programming now, to assume that his place would always be to wait for instructions from a superior. Even the lowest ranking officer of the Inquisition was expected to function autonomously to some degree. After considering his options, Connor settled on a plan that seemed simple enough. He would recruit allies, those who could go where he could not, hear and see afar. Considering the threats he now faced, aiming for the bottom seemed like the best place to start.

Connor has spent most of Wintermarch casually settling in at various waterholes in Lowtown. He manages to walk the line between being completely inconspicuous and just visible enough to allow the kind of attention he desires. So far, only a few small-time criminals have approached him. Connor expected less. It will be a long process, and he is determined to be patient.

[ Anduin Wrynn ] Gallows

[lil_lion]

Anduin usually found it easy to see the beauty even in the most desolate of places, but it was difficult to do the same in Kirkwall. The grim city somehow became even worse once the winter truly set in. He felt it drag down his spirits as the nights grew ever longer, the winds more biting. The weather had washed out all of the colour there had been. He roamed the Gallows trying to find a source of cheer, or at least some occupation to distract him from the gloom that was gathering. He had little success in this; the other members of the Inquisition were going about their business with the same stubborn endurance despite the miserable sleet.

He finds himself back at that funny chapel. It echoes in a way of home, however distantly. Anduin sits and waits, willing the shadows to recede and the light to warm him as it always did before...

[misdirection_hex]

The chapel is familiar to Vandelin only abstractly, in that a chapel looks generally the same no matter where in the Marches it is. The moment attendance stopped being mandated and enforced by glowering templars, he had pointedly refused to set foot in a place of worship ever again--but the further distanced he becomes from his tenure in the Circle, the less necessary such a statement feels. And for the first time since he was a child, he's begun to wonder if there isn't something divine watching him and keeping track after all.

He had hoped, at least, that there wouldn't be anyone mortal around to witness his shamefaced and tentative reentry into the realm of the faithful. It's been long enough since he prayed that the autopilot-memory of the words has faded, and he stumbles ever so slightly.

"O Maker, hear my cry,
Guide me through the darkest nights,
Steel my heart against, uh..."

He glances furtively at Anduin, on the defensive already and certain he's being judged, until his memory coughs up some dim recognition.

"You a convert?" He smiles, glad for an excuse to give up the forgotten prayer. "There are a lot of people who'll be thrilled to see a rifter taking to the local religion."