[OPEN] IN LIVING MEMORY

[archademode]

WHO: Gabranth celebrates the coming year in his own brooding way, which is to say it isn't a celebration at all
WHAT: sad dog sits alone in the Gallows
WHEN: now
WHERE: various places within the Gallows
NOTES: I can't sleep so what's better than doing the thing I meant to do half a month ago, right

I: ON YOUR FEET

His body refuses him.

Or that is what Noah would attest if asked, unarmored aside from a high-collared thermal-knit shirt and pitch dark leathers, his half-trimmed blond hair tucked loose around the base of his neck and temples as he swings a pair of matching swords in indirect arcs, knocking the snow and frost from wooden targets. It alternates, his method, slipping back and forth between using the blunted edge of those blades and simply letting displaced air manage it for him, without flourish of any sort.

And still, he seems— beneath the stony set of his focused exterior— displeased (with his own efforts, perhaps) to exceptionally perceptive eyes.

The tightness in his brow wound down so thoroughly that it threatens to snap.

But he does not stop.

II: OUROBOROS

He is not a drinking man. That is to say, he is not a man given to drink, nor is he one to grieve. He does not grieve now, either, though he is mournful in a sense. For the friend he’d lost. For the one that he is certain still exists, yet here no longer.

Another face laid to rest amongst the ghosts of his past.

Another life outlived, in a strange, dissonant sense.

He sits along the edge of the gardens, face downturned into sullen shadow, a bottle of Orlesian liquor at his side, both open and untouched.

The place where he’d sat so very long ago and made the simple, single choice to drink beside a fellow fighter.

III: WILDCARD

[ooc: you know the drill, I'll match format without preference; make a combo of the two toplevels or roll with something different, just keep in mind he's still coming off the heels of a bad injury so he won't be leaving the Gallows just yet or wearing his full plate— whether or not your character would recognize him without his helmet is entirely up to you.

Also he's sad. And mean. What else is new.]

Comments

[archademode]

It feels familiar, seeing her approach.

For some time, he had wondered if she’d gone entirely, cutting ties without a word. It is not a disparaging thought (or a critical one), their allegiance to this place is tied to a cause, not Riftwatch itself— or so he believes it should be: to that end, forging a new path is, at times, a fair recourse.

But he stops when she nears, lifting a hand. Wiping it across his brow, forearm to knuckles in one steady slide.

“I would not trust myself to serve as ample challenge to you now. I have been too long away from these grounds, or from battle itself.”

He’s busted, is what he’s saying.

[justashotaway]

Her first instinct is to ask are you lying to me? Gabranth is a sturdy man, one whose dedication to his swords is self-evident. He's the last person in Riftwatch Laura would ever accuse of shirking in his training.

But accusing people of being untruthful is rarely a good way to encourage further conversation - a lesson all should be aware of.

"Why?" she asks instead.

[archademode]

"I was gravely injured during the battle for Val Chevin." He almost died, is what he means, and here, one year into his stay in Thedas, he has never felt so mortal. So deeply close to the precipice of his own persisting presence.

"Recovery took far longer than I had anticipated."

[justashotaway]

Her face is rarely expressive, and now is no exception - but there's a slight tug down in her mouth, brows drawing slightly more together.

"Then I will not fight you." Though she's started trying to speak as others speak, to hide her tendencies toward formality, it feels unnecessary around Gabranth. Nothing about him is informal; it makes his presence far more comfortable to her than one might expect. "But I could help you."

[archademode]

He is a proud creature at heart. Beyond reason, in so many ways. Yet close an ally as she’s proven herself to be, it cuts the bite from his demeanor— if only enough to flatten his tone when he asks, almost warily:

“…how?”

[justashotaway]

"I could help you practice." Laura had assumed it might be obvious. For the sake of it, though, she explains further. "You will need to fight people again. I am a person."

She hopes she is, at least.

[archademode]

“So you are.” Gabranth agrees without any particular inflection; it is neither praise nor idle promise, only the certainty of truth as he sees it, unembellished.

Whether she takes it as a comfort or not is entirely up to her.

He moves, then, setting aside both his swords (propping them against a nearby outcropping) before moving to sit for a few, tepid beats, watching her all the while.

“I accept, though such an endeavor can wait a small while longer. Tell me, where have you been?”

[justashotaway]

For the moment, she makes herself take the words only as a statement. Tonight, perhaps she'll silently go over the moment as she falls asleep. But while Gabranth is with her, she will speak with him.

"The Marches," she says, crouching beside him. It's not a full answer, she knows, so she adds, "I protected people while they rebuilt things. And I helped rebuild. And I looked for things for people."

She did six months of fetch quests.