Fenris (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
not_a_slave) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-05-08 07:34 pm
not_a_slave) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-05-08 07:34 pm
§ they rip your claws out and call it a mercy | OTA
WHO: Fenris
WHERE: Fountain and Inn
WHEN: May 8 - 10
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: ... nothing yet
STATUS: ONGOING
i. avanna, soporati | fountain park
It is cold in Ferelden. Cold, with the clamminess of skin-piercing damp, in a way Minrathous never was, a cold that seems to seep into the bones over the course of a night in camp. Not like this. This is cold and splash and the feeling of disorienting movement, as though he'd been thrown into the lake as he slept. Fenris' mouth opens involuntarily, and he swallows a mouthful of water as he forces himself upwards, the only thing he can focus on. He's not a strong swimmer, for what reason would a slave have to need the skill? He'd learned of necessity as he ran from the slavers, but he'd mostly learned to force his way through the water, rather than to swim, and he forces his way now, until one of his reaching arms breaks the surface into free air.
He coughs as he grabs onto the stone wall of what seems to be a fountain, grabs it and pulls, hauling his body out of the water. His feet are heavier than they should be, and when he glances down he sees boots instead of the stirrup heels of his armor leggings. That's not all that's wrong; his clothes are too light, fabric, not metal, and when he reaches around his back for the Blade of Mercy, he finds a backpack instead.
He should run.
That life was years ago, but it's never left him. Something is wrong. Something has broken into his camp, taken his blade and his armor, and an anger swells in him, stirs deep in his veins and under his skin.
"You will not take me!"
He reaches into the anger, reaches down under his skin for the power resting here, and finds ... nothing.
The sensation jolts, like a foot breaking through a rotten plank, and suddenly defiance seems dangerous in a way it hasn't in as long as he can remember.
ii. benefaris | Inn
It is some time later, after Hawke has explained to him, that Fenris reluctantly leaves the house to explore some of their surroundings. There is a mill, a river, a path that leads into a forest which would be easy to lose pursuers in.
He'd never lost the ability to read a location and see what he can use if he needs to flee. A coward's way of viewing the world, perhaps, but a practical one, for a fugitive slave. He follows the path away from the woods, past the mill and across the bridge, and finds himself in the midst of a small village, the houses built in a style completely unlike any he's seen in Tevinter or the Free Marches. The basic shape, yes, shares something with the buildings in Ferelden, but little enough that it all seems strange and unfamiliar.
It's perhaps incautious to follow the person ahead of him into the large, two-storey building, but it's the one place other than the mill which he can wager the purpose of. As he steps inside, it's with a certain sense of smugness that he looks around.
"Ah. This would be a tavern."
Very unlike the Hanged Man, but that is hardly a criticism.
WHERE: Fountain and Inn
WHEN: May 8 - 10
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: ... nothing yet
STATUS: ONGOING
i. avanna, soporati | fountain park
It is cold in Ferelden. Cold, with the clamminess of skin-piercing damp, in a way Minrathous never was, a cold that seems to seep into the bones over the course of a night in camp. Not like this. This is cold and splash and the feeling of disorienting movement, as though he'd been thrown into the lake as he slept. Fenris' mouth opens involuntarily, and he swallows a mouthful of water as he forces himself upwards, the only thing he can focus on. He's not a strong swimmer, for what reason would a slave have to need the skill? He'd learned of necessity as he ran from the slavers, but he'd mostly learned to force his way through the water, rather than to swim, and he forces his way now, until one of his reaching arms breaks the surface into free air.
He coughs as he grabs onto the stone wall of what seems to be a fountain, grabs it and pulls, hauling his body out of the water. His feet are heavier than they should be, and when he glances down he sees boots instead of the stirrup heels of his armor leggings. That's not all that's wrong; his clothes are too light, fabric, not metal, and when he reaches around his back for the Blade of Mercy, he finds a backpack instead.
He should run.
That life was years ago, but it's never left him. Something is wrong. Something has broken into his camp, taken his blade and his armor, and an anger swells in him, stirs deep in his veins and under his skin.
"You will not take me!"
He reaches into the anger, reaches down under his skin for the power resting here, and finds ... nothing.
The sensation jolts, like a foot breaking through a rotten plank, and suddenly defiance seems dangerous in a way it hasn't in as long as he can remember.
ii. benefaris | Inn
It is some time later, after Hawke has explained to him, that Fenris reluctantly leaves the house to explore some of their surroundings. There is a mill, a river, a path that leads into a forest which would be easy to lose pursuers in.
He'd never lost the ability to read a location and see what he can use if he needs to flee. A coward's way of viewing the world, perhaps, but a practical one, for a fugitive slave. He follows the path away from the woods, past the mill and across the bridge, and finds himself in the midst of a small village, the houses built in a style completely unlike any he's seen in Tevinter or the Free Marches. The basic shape, yes, shares something with the buildings in Ferelden, but little enough that it all seems strange and unfamiliar.
It's perhaps incautious to follow the person ahead of him into the large, two-storey building, but it's the one place other than the mill which he can wager the purpose of. As he steps inside, it's with a certain sense of smugness that he looks around.
"Ah. This would be a tavern."
Very unlike the Hanged Man, but that is hardly a criticism.
no subject
Kate cants her head, thinking of a term for it. Of a way of explaining that might make sense to a newcomer.
"It was all too easy for someone not to get fed at all," is what she decides upon. "Not even out of malice, but just bein' overlooked or not in a loop. So I ran around and bossed people to turn up and help out. I've run me own house, although it was just me and my younger siblings, and know how to make do. The two things just wound up comin' together, so here I am."
It's not all of it, not by half. Which is suggested when she adds, "It's like that old saying. If you want somethin' done, and done right, do it yourself."
no subject
He's been the one who can't afford food, and he's been the one living entirely on what he can steal. As a fugitive slave from the Tevinter Imperim's powerful magisters, sometimes it had been all he could do to find a few mouthfuls of food. There weren't many opportunities to earn coin.
"That is ... an admirable position to take. It is easy for some to go unnoticed in their need." Unnoticed and unprotected. He does not yet know if there are those here who would seek to take advantage of that oversight, but that makes the statement no less true.
no subject
"But here so many of us are without any kith or kin, and so many without any knowledge of how to start a fire or skin a rabbit. I thought if we worked together to make sure all had at least somethin' to eat, somewhere to stay, it'd be... Better, you know?"
He doesn't look like the kind of man where she'd have to spell out how bad this situation could get, or delicately hint. Well, she'll find out soon enough.
"Besides, this is somethin' I can do. There's some here, new prisoners, who grumble at all this domesticity as they call it. But if it keeps me busy and keeps the inn as somewhere to go and chat to everyone else, what's the harm?"
no subject
"There are many people who lack the skill to survive on their own," he agrees, though it is a general statement rather than one based on the observation of the people here. He has seen it too often, elves who would flee to the Dalish but would have no idea how to survive until they were found, if they ever were, refugees who know how to do nothing but sit in camp and wait for food and shelter. It is foolish, and it is dangerous, but if she has the patience to see that their needs are met, it is more than most he has known would do.
"Seeing to survival is hardly domesticity," he says, distaste in his expression at the foolishness to say so. They should not turn down a good meal and shelter when it is on offer.
no subject
"But I figure if people want to make that kind of moral stand, they're perfectly welcome to it. I'll just keep on makin' sure that we all get fed enough not to keel over from somethin' preventable."
It's not as though Kate is above (or below, depending on one's point of view) moral stands herself, just that she doesn't mess around with food and access to it.
"Besides, breakin' bread together helps foster a sense of community and brotherhood. We need to look out for each other, and work together. Else no one is gettin' out of this in one piece."
no subject
Fenris lets out a dismissive sound, clearly unimpressed with the argument Kate's recounting, though it's clear from her sarcasm that she doesn't agree with it herself. Fools. How many of them, he wonders, have been in a situation where they would have to steal their next meal, or have none? How many of them know the desperation of surviving on the edge of the limits of endurance, like Fenris had when he'd had to disappear into sparsely populated areas because the hunters had drawn too close.
"One can take food and lodging and be ready to run before trouble comes. That is simply an excuse to make themselves feel less helpless. If they truly knew what it is to survive, they would not turn down a good meal so easily."
He has little patience for such self-deception.