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
Hawke gives her head a slight shake. "No. He couldn't or else he would have little to no reason to want to end up in the Fade. Or he could do it himself. But he can't. No one can. Not without help." Lyrium or the Anchor in the Inquisitor's hand. Whatever it is, no one person can access the Fade without help. That's how it has always been.
His next question gets a shrug from her. She's about as clueless as he is. "I don't know and I wish I did. All I know is some people claim not to have heard of it. Whether they are from further away from Par Vollen or they've simply got selective amnesia, we may never know."
no subject
"I know no way of traveling so far save theoretically in the Fade."
It's the sort of thing the magisters talked about doing when they'd had too much of Danarius' wine, if they had the power, through lyrium or blood. Reaching beyond the boundaries of magic, to the depravity of their forebears.
He scowls.
"Or whether they're lying."
no subject
"I guess we'll just have to stay and find out," Hawke says wryly, as though they have much of a choice. "There's a tavern in the village. You could go have a drink and listen to a few conversations. They're always gathering points, even when your population is tiny like Lothering."
She probably won't go anywhere for a while. At this point she needs some time to let the hope and happiness fade. Time to stop hoping that Bethany might turn up. Or Aveline. Or even her family mabari.
Having Fenris here gives her more than a little happiness, though. While she doesn't mind the Inquisitor, Fenris is an actual friend, someone who has been at her side far longer than she can count. Someone who had plenty of opportunities to turn tail and leave her or turn against her when their ideals clashed. But he never did. He has always followed her and for that she will be eternally grateful.