§ they rip your claws out and call it a mercy | OTA

[not_a_slave]

WHO: Fenris
WHERE: Fountain and Inn
WHEN: May 8 - 10
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: ... nothing yet
STATUS: ONGOING

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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.

Comments

[wittyskepticism]

To say that Evelyn's arrival has stirred some sort of hope inside Hawke would be dangerous. It would also be an understatement. To have someone else who knows about Thedas without her having to explain it, who knows Hawke more than as the Champion of Kirkwall, has touched her deeply. She didn't realize how much she has missed her friends until Evelyn turned up.

Now as Hawke nears the fountain to see a familiar head of bright white hair, hope stirs even more painfully within her.

"Fenris!" she calls, almost too late for his attempt to draw up on his power. She doesn't know if it will work here, though given the look on his face, she's assuming it isn't. Breaking into a run, she hurries over, knowing better than to reach out to him like she would to Bethany. The Champion likely looks strange, out of her armor. Instead she's wearing the red and gold cloak and jacket of too-many-pockets-to-find that she had found not long ago with the denim overalls underneath. It isn't an outfit she normally would wear and hardly even constitutes as decent armor, but it is what she has to work with.

She does, however, take off the cloak and offer it to Fenris. It won't keep off the worst of the chill, that she can deal with when they get to her house, but it might help dry him off a bit anyway.

Words don't come at first as she watches him. She finds it difficult to put into words how glad she is to see him. But she knows she has to say something else -- something that isn't how happy she is to see him -- so she finally settles on, "You're a different color than I was." Scrubs, she means, but with Hawke, she might not even be serious.

[andrastianherald]

It is a tavern, and Evie is pleased to be there. It's not at all like The Herald's Rest (a name which always made her feel awkward), but there is familiarity in the function it serves. People gather here to ease their burdens and to find others, like any other tavern she's been to. Not that there have been many. The one in Haven, one in Skyhold, once the tavern in Redcliffe too. That's the extent of her experience with them, so not much at all to base a comparison on. There was no need to patronize one while at the Circle, nor would her mother have permitted their youngest to go somewhere so common on her rare visits home. Being here now feels naughty and bold all at once. The controlling thumprint of Evelyn's upbringing is still strong.

She turns to the sound of Fenris' voice and offers a bashful smile by way of greeting. Evie knows little of him, not truly. Not beyond having grilled Hawke months ago about her companions. Further ago still since she likewise grilled Varric about his fascinating book, which had been eagerly devoured in the course of three days. It had been impossible to put down. It does strike her as rather rude to pounce him with an overabundance of questions, so she refrains, but with great difficulty.

The one on her lips begging to be asked is but shouldn't you be an elf? Not that Evie holds any prejudices against the elves as one would find elsewhere in Thedas. Within the Circle, one is taken on their own merits and abilities, not the shape of their ears.

"It is. How do you like it?"

And there we have it. This tiny slip of a woman with big eyes and long braids, unable to lift her gaze out of shyness, and attempting small talk with a celebrity, is the leader of the most powerful organization in Thedas. How exactly? A question for the ages, perhaps a debating point for historians long after her ashes have been spread.

[tooktheblack]

Jon had just walked into the Inn in hopes of finding something warm to drink when he heard the other man behind him; he had never referred to the Inn as a tavern but that, he supposed, was only because it had nothing to drink. If they served ale or cider in the Inn, he guessed it would be a tavern.

"A tavern with rooms to be had for free," Jon said, mouth quirking in a shadow of a smile. He didn't know the man's face - was he new? It was a good possibility. New men and women arrived almost daily.

"And naught to drink. How's that for troublesome?"

[lastofthekellys]

"It has occasional ambitions to be one, anyway!" Kate says cheerfully from her position on the floor. She would get up and greet the man properly, but she's trying to untangle her cat from some wool.

Miss Hoppity is looking disgruntled, but is purring as Kate lifts her up with one hand, trying to loop the wool over and around her. Perhaps fortunately for both their sakes, Miss Hoppity lacks a tail to get in the way. Any more in the way: she is, after all, a cat.

Kate huffs, blowing a loose curl from her face, then gets to her feet. Her eyes move from the newcomer's face down, to his chin, then further down his neck, glancing at his arms, hands. They are the strangest tattoos she's ever seen. Similar in design to some Pacific Islander sailors she saw a couple years ago, but the colour is shimmering. Metallic.

That takes a moment. The rest of her assessment is along the width of his shoulders, looking at the strength in his arms and how he stands.

"We don't exactly have a regular supply of liquor," she goes onto explain. "But there's herbal tea, and we've been experimentin' with some things that can act like coffee. Or water, if you're thirsty and none of the above takes your fancy."