faderift | Definitely not a Dalish...

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Definitely not a Dalish...

WHO: Fenris and whomever
WHAT: An elf that is so far from Dalish as it's possible to be arrives in Skyhold
WHEN: Late Harvestmere
WHERE: Around Skyhold, heading to the Herald's Rest
NOTES: Open to all - he's just arrived, feel free to grab him - he'll be heading for the booze as fast as possible

He'd taken a circuitous route to get here, chasing down a particularly nasty slaver troupe that he'd run across previously, but had been too heavily guarded before. This time, only two armed guards had made it easy.

A lot of people were heading back to their homes once more. He didn't care about that, not really. All he cared was that Tevinter wasn't getting it's latest shipment of slaves. But it was something one of the slavers said as he tried to beg for his life that had caught Fenris' attention - that Tevinter Magisters were seen at the Inquistion. It was what had sent him scurrying there as fast as he could. Magisters trying to infiltrate something that had set itself up for good could only go one way, and frankly, it would be easy pickings.

Of course, he knew he would be recognizable to them. Danarius had paraded him about too often for him not to be known, Still, it was a calculated risk. Besides, he'd heard Isabela and Varric were there. People he could trust.

It was vast, he realized as he joined the crowds of refugees pouring into Skyhold. A vast fortress up in the mountains. What better place to launch an invasion of either Orlais or Ferelden from. At least he could see why the Magisters were drawn here.

[ooc I'm heading to bed with a migraine, but I'll get these in the morning.]

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You saw tattoos like that sometimes in Minrathous. Not often. The slaves who wore those sorts of brandings were few and far between, and you tended to want to stay well clear of them. They were true dogs of their masters - that was the common wisdom amongst the rebellion that Kitty had run with. It had always struck her as a cruel way to phrase it. Contemptuous. But, well...It was easier to fear and dislike them than it was to feel pity for them. Because those poor creatures had suffered more than anyone the cruelty of the Magisterium.

Why was one here, though? That was the real question. There were a few from Tevinter here - people that Kitty had steered well clear of, because the odds of being recognized were very low but they weren't zero. But slavery was not permitted here. The Inquisition did not and would not allow its people to keep slaves. And this elf...He held himself like a free man. Right? With that ridiculous sword, that armor that didn't have any markings of affiliation...

Kitty realized she'd stopped in the doorway of the Herald's Rest to study the elf, and was blocking his way into the tavern. Bad form. Very suspicious. She tried to pass it off with a laugh, and with a quick apology.

"Hello. Sorry about that. You're probably here for a drink, right? Come right in."

Eirlys has been on the lookout for the few other elves here, and while she'd been initially enchanted by the idea of the Dalish, she'd soon felt herself sticking out like a sore thumb as one of the only city elves. They were such a close-knit community in the alienage at Gwaren that it wasn't difficult for her to feel completely isolated here. When she first sees Fenris, she instantly notices his markings as completely different from those the Dalish she'd met here had, and that made her a little more hopeful.

"Here." She offers out some of the bread and meat she'd taken for her own supper, smiling shyly and a little apologetically for bothering him. "You must be hungry after such a long journey."

She'd no idea where he'd journeyed here from or how long he'd been travelling, but she reasoned that Skyhold was a pretty long journey from anywhere.

In the corner there might be a familiar face and voice, Zevran perched on a stool and picking away at a lute while he spun the tale of The Hero of Fereldan for the fifth or sixth time this week. With the arrival of Alistair and the wardens interest had been renewed. As fantastic as the adventure was he added a few flourishes here and there- and cut out other parts entirely. There were some things that did not need to be remarked upon in the current climate.

What happened to Connor and the Circle Tower didn't need to be brought up with so many mages and templars already present and tense. The Dalish were painted as heroic, the Dwarves industrious, the humans troubled but capable. He was winding down to the usual break just before the company reached Denerim when he spotted the familiar shock of pale hair and tanned skin. Zevran slipped from his perch and absconded with a bottle of wine and two glasses, sidling up shortly thereafter. "So you found your way here after all?"

If Fenris wasn't quick then all of the booze would be gone, at least anything that was worth drinking, not that Dante wasn't particularly picky. The Ferelden beer was good and the wine was fine, most of this stuff he'd never heard of, but it was a way to pass the time, not that he'd been here long...but he was already growing restless. Apparently he was but a lowly refugee, albeit one with a strange mark on his hand which made him a point of interest among others...he wasn't unique in this. It wasn't enough to make him priority and for this Dante had to applause himself for not grabbing the nearest official looking authority figure, hanging him upside down, and shaking the answers loose from them.

He didn't, but at least he could be passive aggressive about it and drinking all of the good stuff...among all of the other mischief he could get into if left to his own devices for too long, seemed like the best way to kill time. Still, he wasn't above sharing the bounty with anyone who thought they could keep up with him, including rough, dour looking elves that had all the bearing of one who might kill you as soon as lay eyes on you. Apparently this prison in the mountains took all kinds and, "you look like you need this more than I do."

Doesn't stop him from drinking though, it's just an observation.

Fenris was used to drawing attention to himself wherever he was - lyrium brands, and a shock of white hair tended to do that, especially when you were an elf as well. But so far the Inquisition had appeared... normal. No slaves, no oppression, just people upset at what had happened at Haven, and doing their best to recover.

Huh.

But this one? This one was watching him.

"A drink. Yes. I though that perhaps a tavern might have one of those." Or a lot of them with any hope.

He would never be fond of strangers coming up to him, offering him food out of nowhere - he would always ask himself why - but the journey through the Frostbacks had been tiring, and he would be of no use to anyone if he collapsed with hunger.

At least, that was his excuse.

"So this is Skyhold, yes?" Not that there were many other fortresses in the Frostbacks, as far as he knew, but better to be sure.

Fenris had been drawn to the tavern, unsurprisingly. A remarkably familiar place, like many the world over. Though not all of them had Zevran in, that was for sure.

Why the assassin had made his way to Skyhold was anyone's guess, but the fact that he brought wine - and a decent looking one at that - over with him meant that Fenris wasn't running for the hills straight off. "I got... waylaid," he said, finishing off the drink he had. "A group of slavers at the foothills, looking for easy pickings amongst the pilgrims here."

"Mm. I ran into bandits in the same area. They are to be sending guards out within the next few days I suspect." If they wanted to continue to offer some manner of protection to those on the road at least. Zevran uncorked the bottle and poured them both a healthy glass, nudging the fuller of the two to Fenris. He had only just arrived, the walk was long, the nights chilly, and he was playing host after a fashion. It wouldn't hurt.

[ She's managed to give her brother the slip yet again, on their way into the castle proper. It's a vast place, full of old memories, but it's hard to hear with everyone pressing in so tight and loud, heads full and thoughts crashing together. Too noisy.

There's a slight bump against one of them, an elf, as she breaks away and moves towards the stone wall of the bailey. One hand presses against her temple, the other temple finding cold, rough stone, muttering quietly under breath as things slip in and out again like waves passing over her. ]

...can't save us all...Papa said he was right behind us, he swore...swore...swore not to let them go, not again, no more poison in the well. Too cold in the mountain for snakes...

She nods, unsure if that's a rhetorical question or if he actually does need confirmation that he hasn't mistakenly wandered into the fortress of some other Inquisition gathering in the mountains. "It sure is something, isn't it?"

Fenris knew how to find alcohol, never fear. At least he knew people here who were sources of booze. Isabela in particular would never be far from it, and he had a certain agreement with the pirate. She wouldn't let him down.

He'd seen certain people wandering around with marks on their hands, but given that he himself stood out with his branding he paid little attention to it. Though the comment about him needing a drink more than others drew a rare chuckle from him, with a grateful nod as he took the bottle. "My thanks to you."

"If it makes them more cautious, it's no bad thing," he pointed out. "Guards on the roads would make it easier for us simple travellers." Like there was anything simple about the pair of them.

He took the glass, and raised it in a salute to Zevran. "I am surprised to see you here, to be honest. But not surprised to find you in the bar."

[Fenris had been trying for fresh air, at least a little, before heading back into the writhing mess that was the Herald's Rest. It felt like the Hanged Man, a sense of familiarity that was both welcome, and jarred at the same time. most odd.

The muttering caught his attention, even though he was some way away, and he padded closer, trying not to alarm whoever it was caught in... whatever she was caught in. He would normally just let whoever it was be, but this close to the edge, he didn't want to run the risk of them falling.]

I wouldn't go there if I were you.

A rhetorical question, yes, but one which can give him a clue of the intention of those surrounding him. "Though it begs the question of how it remained hidden for so long." Because seriously? Who hides a fortress like this?

"There must be some very old magic concealing it." She looked around in wonder, as though the magic was thrumming in the stone and was protecting them all with the castle too now.

Dante had his moments, besides drinking all alone, but himself, well now that's something that only sad, lame people did and he liked to think of himself as neither one of those things. Besides Fenris was an elf and aside from having an avid interest in the beings of this world that didn't exist in this world, he was cute. Well not in that way, but in a way that elves were cute, and cute had a different standard.

Granted he looked a bit different from the other elves he'd come across, the marks on his flesh didn't resemble the tattoos he'd seen on some of the others. It looked more like a brand, too fleshy colored, like some of the color had been burned from his skin. Before it started to look as though he were staring just a bit too hard he cleared his throat, "wouldn't thank me just yet, tastes like shit, but if you drink enough of it...you develop an immunity. I can barely feel my tongue anymore."

"It would indeed." Oh so innocent travelers, they, no danger at all to anyone that might try to prey upon them. "Well- I thought perhaps they might need the skills and experience of someone that's been through this sort of madness before."

"Hmmm." Fenris was unamused at that thought. How much magic had to be used to conceal this, and why was it only found now? He didn't like it. Not at all. If he were paranoid, he would say that somehow magisters were involved with the concealing of it.

If he were paranoid. "Have many made there way here?"

If he had even dare suggest that Fenris was 'cute', he would have found his heart separated from the rest of him. Especially if he thought elves were cute. The interest in his marking didn't phase him anymore. They were something he dealt with every day. Either people had heard of him and knew what they were, or they looked different, especially paired with that shock of white hair he had.

He gave a bark of laughter. "Sounds just like in Kirkwall then. The Hanged Man was a... unique tavern." It would have been even before Varric and Isabela took up residence.

No, no danger what so ever. Fenris carried that huge sword of his just for show. He glanced over at Zevran. "That's very noble of you."

Fenris wasn't entirely sure why he was here, other than to investigate the rumors of Tevinter magisters actually being here. There was no reason for him to stay, other than it was nice to be in one place for a while, somewhere where he wasn't stared at for being an elf living in Hightown.

"And what of you, mm? What summoned you up from slaughtering slavers?" He had not seemed overly interested when they met on the road- for all their similarities their motivations tended to vary greatly- at least from what little Zevran knew of Fenris.

Different lives, different motivations. "I'd heard there were Magisters seen amongst the ranks of the Inquisition. I came to check out just who, and why." Because he couldn't believe that a magister would willingly help the Inquisition. It was contrary to everything he knew about them.

It wasn't entirely kind- but Zevran could not help crackling a laugh. "Desperate as the Inquisition may be, I do not think a Magister would wish to waltz in and offer their help, nor would they accept. Now I have seen a rather dashing mage from Tevinter wandering about the library on occasion but I do not think he is a Magister. He lacks the slaves and scars of a bloodmage- unless he is hiding them under his clothing. For you I am willing to investigate this in depth."

As far as Dante knew cute was a compliment, probably not as good a compliment as sexy or gorgeous, but he wasn't quite there yet. Every elf he'd come across so far just seemed to have that aura about them, it was his sense of aesthetics, though he'd certainly mind his heart in any case....especially now that he was certain he had one.

"Not sure where that is, but if the booze is just as bad then I'll remember to steer clear. They're probably hoarding the good stuff somewhere else," Dante would put money on it if he had any...well anything that wasn't stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, he was certain quarters and dimes counted for shit around here, "this is just to keep us nice and compliant...and they think we won't complain."

[ Her head cocked slightly, eyes fixing on Fenris as he drew nearer. Snakes had bitten him and left their venom there, too, markings clear as day. But something about him has her jerking back, just a touch. ]

Never going back.

[ Was that him? Her? It resonates strangely in her throat, at least to her, and she's not sure who the words belong to, but they need to be said. ]

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Definitely not a Dalish...

Heading into the tavern!

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Tavern!

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Re: Heading into the tavern!

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Bailey

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Sorry for the delay! Real life has been... interesting

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