faderift | OPEN | so much to learn, so little time

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OPEN | so much to learn, so little time

WHO: Finel and YOU
WHAT: February catch-all
WHEN: Beginning a few days after Kirkwail
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Finel has lots of people still to meet - starters available on request or hit me with anything and I'll roll with it

I. The Library

The library has quickly become his favorite place in the Gallows, and as such he finds a reason to be there nearly every day for several hours. Some times, he's bent over a large volume at a table, a small leather bound notebook open to the side with pen and ink as he takes notes on different magical techniques - mostly healing magics, but also digging into the histories of Thedas, and on occasion some more esoteric volumes on the Fade.

Other times he just wanders through the rows, marveling at titles and enjoying the relative quiet. Even though the room is densely filled and surrounded by stone, he feels settled and safe, here.

On one occasion, he happens to have overstayed himself. Head pillowed on one arm, arm resting against the open book, Finel appears fast asleep at the table.

II. The Wounded Coast

The stone of the Gallows and the bustle of Kirkwall at times feel like all too much. Unused to the constant closeness of a city, he seeks a more open place when he feels overwhelmed and has the time to get away. He's only been on a ship a handful of times, but there's something about the rhythm of the waves, the endless expanse of the horizon that can erase his thoughts and worries, if only briefly.

He's settled on a piece of driftwood washed up on the beach, staff leaning by his side as he takes up a smaller branch, drawing idle words and shapes in the sand. Before long he sets that aside too, and begins practicing some small spells, pulling and shaping the Fade with his hands, forming ice and fire, calling a stone on the ground towards his hand and dropping it again. The anchor shard is dull and numb just below his thumb on his left hand, and he frowns a little as he looks at it.

III. Wildcard!

Request a starter or start your own - feel free to go with any other time you might have run into him in the Library.

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The books on the Fade, it would seem, are a hot commodity; though it's not immediately obvious when the lean young man in sumptuous, northern-looking robes strolls over to the shelf that that's what he wants, his searching glance that lands on the book in front of Finel says at all.

"Oh, you have it," comes the observation, in a voice that's low and bored and a little annoyed.

Krem had never been one for libraries before, but it is a decent place to spread out and read through the mountain of Inquisition reports that are passed along to him so he can figure out what the Chargers can do for them. It's quiet in here, the light is always good, and most importantly, it is within the Gallows. Unlike in Skyhold, where everyone on the mountain was associated with them in some way, it just doesn't seem like a great idea to wander through Kirkwall proper to get to any of his more preferred haunts with sensitive intel in hand.

He is just leaning back in his chair to stretch out the kinks in his spine with a series of pops when he realizes the guy across from him is out like a light.

He briefly considers minding his own business, but he knows the poor sod is going to wake up with just an unholy crick in his neck if he stays in that position for too long, so Krem reaches across the table to nudge his shoulder. "Hey," he sounds amused, "you're going to start drooling on that page."

Finel doesn't notice him at first, beyond noting the presence of someone walking by. He has a few scraps of paper strewn about with some notes, a few stuck in different parts of the book to mark different spots he means to come back to, and every now and then writes something in a small journal to the side.

The voice over him causes him to look up, taking in the young man's appearance for just a moment before an apologetic smile comes to his face.

"Ah, are you looking for this one? I'm just about done with this section here, if you don't mind waiting a little while."

There isn't strictly any reason that he needs to be burning such late hours here, but still being rather new and having not yet made many friends, he has a lack of much else to do otherwise. Sometimes, he simply gets carried away, which had been the case this evening.

Finel rouses at the touch, blinking blearily a moment before rubbing at his eyes - and then quickly checking the page to ensure he hadn't actually somehow inadvertently damaged the manuscript with his thoughtlessness. It's only then that the words register correctly, and he looks up at the stranger a little sheepishly.

"Ah...thank you for preventing me from embarrassing myself further."

Solas spends as much time in the library as anyone else does and there's no point pretending otherwise; he enjoys the openness of it, the books, the ability to do his research. He comes prepared with his parchments and his ink, settling down and putting his things in his usual place; once he had suffered having others (Adalia) daring to take him spot, but most people have begun to recognise that this is Solas' place now.

Seeing someone familiar, Solas hesitates with his things, placing them down. It's not been too long since he saw Finel struggling with the spirit haunting him, but they've not spoken since - it might be worth making sure he's well enough.

"Finel."

There have been a few times Finel has noticed Solas there, in his usual place, but as he often appeared so deeply focused that he hadn't wanted to disturb him.

Finel looks up at the interruption of a familiar voice, a delighted smile brightening his face when he sees who it is.

"Solas, good evening," he greets warmly. "How are you?"

The smile is enough to allow Solas to know that he is welcome and he relaxes, some of the tension settling away from his shoulders. He had been a touch concerned, a little worried about what might have happened to his new acquaintance in the midst of the Veil weakning in Kirkwall - but with it repaired he can return to his studies and, it seems, checking in on his fellows.

His voice is soft, careful as he speaks, a smile settled on his face in return.

"Well enough, thank you. And yourself?"

Krem shrugs, casual, and he at least has the good graces to school any further amusement out of his expression: guy looks like he regrets things enough already.

"Everybody sleeps," he says, mild, before breaking out in a wry grin. "If you want to hear of worse places to knock out, I've been in plenty of those."

Listen, Bull's Chargers can drink. (Also, Bull's Chargers think it is the height of humor to leave each other to wake up in compromising positions so they have to explain themselves to locals, clients, or other mercenaries. Which, to be fair to them, it absolutely is.)

When a new Dalish appears in the Gallows, Beleth is usually made aware in a timely manner. She's usually aware of most new people in the Gallows—it's her job to know things—but her people are always quick to point out the arrival of her People. So, when she next has some free time, she decides to go out and meet this new Dalish.

It takes time to find him, but after some searching, Beleth finally locates him in the library—completely passed out, of all things. It takes a few moments for her to decide what to do.

"Lethallin," Accompanying the word is a gentle nudge. "This is not the best place to sleep." Nudge, nudge.

It's been heartening to meet so many other Dalish here - it feels a little less othering to be away from his clan, even if the excitement of new places and people of all kinds is more appealing to him than most others of the People. Still, it's less jarring when he's caught off guard to be found by a fellow Dalish, or elf, even, than someone else.

Finel shifts blearily at the nudge, eyes adjusting in the dim candlelight as he takes a moment to remember where he is. When he finally lifts his head to look at her, his brows knit together in drowsy confusion. The face...seems familiar, but the voice is different. He manages a small, somewhat sheepish smile.

"Oh...forgive me, I didn't even realize-. Thank you..."

He sits up a little more, stretching slightly as he does. Finel appreciates not being teased more than necessary - at least not by a complete stranger, but he can't quite keep the curiosity off his face.

"Oh? I'll admit now you've caught my interest."

Ah, but - first things first, lest they get too far into the conversation for it to be truly embarrassing: "I'm Finel, by the way. Thank you again...?" He trails off, waiting for a name.

Finel could hardly turn him away, given that the reason he made it through that night was entirely thanks to his help. Besides which, he had been hoping to speak with him again, particularly as his questions about the fade only seemed to grow the more he delved into the texts here.

"Much better than our first meeting, at least," he replies with a light smile, perhaps tired around the edges. He's fallen asleep in the library once or twice now, but even outside of it, his nights haven't been particularly restful.

"I wanted to thank you again for your help that night, although you've seemed rather busy lately, I didn't want to disturb you."

"Ma nuvenin, it's no trouble. I can assure you that you are not the first to take an impromptu nap here. Maybe we should set up some cots here?" She takes a few moments to glance around the library, as if actually assessing the possibility of placing cots around the area. Then her focus turns back to Finel, a polite smile on her lips.

"I hope that no one is working you too hard?" That's a joke, mostly. "They have to give you breaks, you know."

Now there's a novel thought. Benedict looks at Finel, and then the book, with a strange expression, before shaking his head and giving a shrug. (They can read?)
He walks to the window instead, hands behind his back. "Studying the Fade?" he asks idly.

Solas is quiet and determined; he is kind because he wants to be, not because he feels as though he might be forced to be otherwise, and he accepts the fact that people turn to him for anything to do with the Veil, with the Rifts, for support and aid. Looking at Finel now he is reminded of why he was content to do so, glad to be of aid, glad to be of support.

"I am glad to hear it." Genuine and honest. Solas watches him, looking him up and down for a moment, but he doesn't push nor demand anything - it would be pointless, he thinks. There's no point pushing him to admit anything when he's clearly still a little tired.

"It was no trouble. I was happy to have been able to help you."

Benedict's expression makes Finel quirk an eyebrow of his own, wondering if perhaps the young man is so put off at him having the book in question. His own face remains patient and pleasant, however, as his gaze follows the young man to the window.

"After what happened, I thought it might be good to try to understand it better."

He pauses, smiling amiably. "It seems we must have the same idea."

The comment about the cots brings out a soft laugh. "I'm sure some would not object, but others might."

He smiles back at her, put more at ease with her lightheartedness despite having embarrassed himself earlier. "No, nothing like that. Honestly it's self-inflicted more than anything, although..."

Finel hesitates, fairly certain that she hardly needs to hear about his troubles when they've only just met. He shakes his head, waving it away.

"I am Finel, from clan Ravennan in the Free Marches. What may I call you?"

"More or less." There's doubt in the answer; what could he possibly have in common with a Dalish? At the same time, Benedict doesn't see a need to be suspicious or call attention to the fact: it's not his problem. After all, there's Beleth, and she's behaved herself decently enough.

"It seems willing to let its power be manipulated," he observes to the window, "as much as 'it' is an entity." Can the Fade think, or will anyone to do anything? That's the big question.

"I'm grateful," he responds warmly.

Finel gestures to the book and his notes, expression becoming somewhat bashful when he looks back up at the other man again.

"I must admit, you've inspired me. I realized there must be so much knowledge beyond what I was taught by my Keeper, I wanted to find out what others have written about the Veil and spirits. I'm not a Dreamer, but I wanted to see what I could learn on my own."

It's an intriguing thought. Finel perks up a bit, curious to hear another's thoughts.
He takes up his pen and turns to a fresh sheet from amidst the small pile already there.

"You think the Fade has a will of its own? Rather than just being manipulated by mages or spirits?"

"I don't know." It's an honest answer. "Would that be so surprising? It giveth and it taketh away, and who can say what is or isn't the Maker's will?"

It's a somewhat strange idea to him, that the Veil - the Beyond - could be a construction of the Maker. But he's familiarized himself with the Chantry teachings a little if only to understand better the majority of the other texts. Very few have alluded to any other possibilities for its creation, with fewer of those still outright commenting on Dalish beliefs.

Even so, Finel doesn't particularly feel the need to fight about that point, but he's curious to explore the idea Benedict has suggested.

"So then do you think it's possible the Veil opens on its own with the rifts? Perhaps that it consciously brings people here from other realms?"

This is not at all the direction Benedict saw this conversation going, but he can't say he hates it. It's certainly a topic he's thought about, perhaps more than he's been aware.

"Well," he says measuredly, turning back from the window and furrowing his brow, "not conscious in the way people are, maybe. But spirits aren't people, or... living, even, they're magic manifested, and they still make choices and act freely." He chews his lower lip, wheels turning behind his dark eyes.
"Maybe it doesn't think the way think, or maybe it's... the Maker's will, but I think maybe it has other reasons for acting like it does. ...like weather. Or the sea."

Finel smiles, thinking a bit wistfully for a moment of the sea itself.

"So like a force of nature, that can change when we least expect it. Perhaps it should follow that there are things we could observe about the Fade that might make some part of it more predictable, some signs that could indicate a change is coming."

"You've briefly described how everything in the Gallows works." The words are given with an airy tone, though there's a brief look of annoyance on her face--not at Finel, but from an over familiarity with just that topic.

Then, Beleth realizes she should probably attempt to explain just why she is so well acquainted with that. She nods as he introduces himself, placing a hand on her chest. "Aneth ara, Finel. I am Beleth, of Clan Ashara, also in the Free Marches. I am the Scoutmaster for the Inquisition, and thus I lead the Scouting Division." You know, Scouting. Scoutmaster. Kind of goes together.

"So please, let me know if anyone gives you a...hard time, or anything like that. Most in the Gallows are fairly welcoming to the People, but--" She gives a little handwave. "--You know how it can be." With humans, that is.

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