the_scandal_of_italy: ([Lucrezia] Melancholy)
[personal profile] the_scandal_of_italy
WHO: Lucrezia Borgia
WHERE: Outside #27, Night
WHEN: 10/19
WARNINGS: None I can think of.

Amy's absence was sharply felt the evening after she had gone. The quiet of the night had never sounded so ominious or sinister, even after her arrival to the village. Bringing Amy to stay with her had been more for her benefit, but it had combated the loneliness that Lucrezia felt every night. Now, she was more accuately aware of how isolated she was and how unprepared for the world.

Somehow, being inside was worse than stepping out into the night air. There was at least space and the sight of numerous homes, reminding her that she wasn't completely alone. Wrapping herself in her cloak, Lucrezia sat on the stairs of her porch, staring up at the stars miserably.

There were so many of them and the were so bright. Perhaps Amy was on one of them now in her strange box and with her husband. It was all she could hope for for her friend.

There was someone else in the night, which set Lucrezia on edge. The sun had long ago set and this was normally the time for spirits and demons. It wasnt much of a comfort to remember this was another world. For all the strange things that happened, there had to be demons. She pulled her cloak tighter and rose to her feet, facing towards the dark figure.

"Who's there?"
tooktheblack: (119)
[personal profile] tooktheblack
WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: woods; House 25; weirwood (locked to Starks only)
WHEN: 18 August (plague prompt); early September
OPEN TO: all; weirwood prompt locked to Starks only
WARNINGS: usual sad bastard warnings.

a. bring out your dead

It had only taken a few days after visiting his lord father for Jon to fall ill and he tried to ignore it and push past it as much as he could. He did what he could to keep going, to maintain his routine, but after three days he fell to the fever and the rash and took to his bed.

Jon couldn't ever remember being ill like this. Once, during the False Spring, he'd fallen ill with a flu that all the rest of the Starks had fallen ill with one after another in succession. While Sansa and Robb had the touch of Catelyn Stark to soothe them when they thrashed in the sheets, Jon only had broth from Old Nan and the fevered dreams of a boy who wanted his mother more than anything. He wanted his mother to put cool cloths against his forehead and to brush his hair back from his brow.

His mother never came.

Now, as a man grown, he wouldn't do anything so weak as beg for his mother but he did, in passing, wish to be put out of his misery a handful of times. He hoped that none of his other siblings had fallen ill with this and that only he and Father had gotten it. Perhaps the girls and Robb had been spared and Jon would be better in a few days. Didn't it pass? All things passed in time.

So, for the first time since that illness as a boy, Jon Snow took to his bed and didn't rise for a week.

b. but i'm feeling better!

After laying in bed for a week and a half, Jon finally felt well enough to venture out into the woods. His traps were all a loss, considering they hadn't been checked while he was ill and he spent a few hours redoing the lot of them. It was tedious work, yes, but he was just glad to be out of his bed and moving around again. He hadn't been the best patient while he'd been ill and he'd been really glad to be out of the house; he had the idea that he'd spend the whole day out of doors if the women in his life would let him.

Once he'd reset all of his traps, he took one of the bows to actually hunt, feet silent against the leaves. It was times like these that he missed Ygritte. For all that he was good with a bow, she was better, and she could shoot further and cleaner than he ever would. Still, he had a duty to feed those in the village and he wouldn't manage that if he was lost in a dream of days past. Seeing a rustle out of the corner of his eye, he nocked an arrow and let it loose, pleased when it struck a grouse. It'd make a fine dinner for someone, whether it was his family or up at the Inn.

c. you have found...the shrubbery!

The weirwood was still a tiny thing but even as a sapling, Jon knew what it meant. He occasionally said prayers in front of a heart tree for his family who hadn't come here to this village - for Bran, for Rickon whom he knew was dead and gone. He said them for Catelyn Stark, that his siblings might have their mother again. He said them for Ygritte, for the brothers he'd lost at the Wall and the brothers who had betrayed them. It was a time to think and reflect, to remember the Old Gods and the First Men and how they'd given rise to the man he was today.

It seemed so far away from him now, the snows of the North and the battle that they had yet to fight. There was a war to wage against the dead and yet he was here in a place that was summer-green, a place that winter lasted only a few turns of the moon before it became spring and then autumn. It seemed like madness that seasons would last only a few moons' turn but he guessed for those not from Westeros, the opposite must seem true.

He knelt for what felt like an eternity, his lips moving without sound escaping as he gave his prayers to this fledgling tree in hopes that House Stark would take root here in this village and be strong once again.
catchallthecats: (But I miss things that I have done witho)
[personal profile] catchallthecats
WHO: Arya Stark
WHERE: Village outskirts/Forest, Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: During the plague event, backdated
OPEN TO: Village section OTA, Cabin section open to Stark CR
WARNINGS: blanket warning for violence/death chat because it’s murderchild with no filter.

Village outskirts and the forest, OTA
It was no new thing, how Arya all but seemed to vanish when she really wanted to, the only sign of her existence anywhere the fact that her chores were still being done. But she’d seen the illness that seemed to be flying around, and with how off she was starting to feel, she knew it was better to avoid others in order to minimize the risk of spreading it to others. So instead of seeking out one of the rare people she considered a friend, or any of her family, or lurking near the fountain, she spent her day exploring the forest, a satchel slung over a shoulder for anything interesting she found, though her attention was more on finding the kind of trees she remembered as being good wood for things like bows. She’d not made one herself, but she’d seen plenty in the process of being made, and felt that if she was careful, she could possibly manage to teach herself to make one with minimal waste. Given how few bows there were, it would certainly help to have more, and even if they weren’t strong enough for proper hunting at first, they could be used for teaching others how to shoot.

Others might spy her picking her way through the woods, or near the outskirts of the village on her way back. Still alert though she was still paler than usual aside from the red flush of her cheeks.

Stark Family Cabin, Closed to Starks and pre-existing Stark CR
Arya might not have gotten this bad if she’d rested herself when she first became aware she wasn’t well. But then she’d never been one to fuss, had counted on youthful health to help her through, at least until now. She hadn’t even managed to get out of bed before the way the world seemed to spin had her on her back again, kicking away blankets in a vicious if uncoordinated manner as if they were responsible for the boil of heat that had seemed to settle over her like a pall. The only sign beyond her bedroom door that anything was wrong today would be that none of her chores were finished.

As the morning drew on, she hadn’t left her bed, only tossing and turning in some attempt to find relief from the fever, or the itch of the rash that had crept up along the side of her neck over her collar. Sometimes she managed to catch scraps of sleep, the only real relief to be found at this point, but even that didn’t help. Not when she started to wake disoriented, too delirious to realize where she was, or what was going on. In the state she was in, it was probably for the best that the illness had sapped her strength enough that she wasn’t about to go wandering today. The vehemence she sometimes called out with, the way her hand reached blindly for weapons that weren’t there was hint enough that had she the energy for it, violence would be had.

((ooc: If your character wants HORRIBLE MURDERCHILD TRUTHS in the cabin threads, let me know! Otherwise they’ll luck out and find her in the midst of a childhood memory or something instead.))
learned_to_die: <lj user="buckybear"> ([look] ill/wounded)
[personal profile] learned_to_die
WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: The Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: August 15 and onward
OPEN TO: OTA; feel free to jump in at any point during his halluciations.
WARNINGS: None; will updated as needed

It had started with redness of the skin, first on Ned's hands. It spread like blood-red ink across the paper of his skin, up his arm towards his shoulder, down his back, around his torso. It made decades'-old battles scars scarlet and renewed, the pain of touch excruciating, as though the wounds had only just been made. And then, the heat. At first, he thought it a continued byproduct of the summer temperatures, but it was the absence of perspiration that had drawn his brows together in confusion and realization: he had gotten ill.

Half a fortnight later, having spent the majority of the time bed-ridden and unable to leave the confines of his room, the visions had started.

He’d first seen his siblings’ faces: Brandon, Benjen, Lyanna. He imagined Brandon’s death, simultaneously feeling the constriction of his airways as Brandon tried to rescue their father, and wakes to a coughing fit while gasping for air. Benjen he imagined in black, half-human and half-crow, taking to the skies and soaring back to The Wall. Lyanna, he had seen bloodied and ghostly pale, her trembling hands leaving crimson paintings against his skin with every touch, while the rage and pain and impending loss stormed within him.

Second, Robert’s face - glossy-eyed and slender, the way he’d been when they’d grown alongside each other under the care of Jon Arryn. He imagined them wandering the grounds of the Eyrie, practicing their fighting with one another, Robert daring him to draw closer and closer to the Moon Door. His half of these fabricated conversations are audible to anyone near enough - even through the closed door of his chambers. None of it makes any sense, especially out of context, though it’d be easy enough for someone familiar enough to surmise that Robert was on his mind.

Next, he’d seen visions of Catelyn at their wedding; the hatred and betrayal in her face when he’d revealed to her that he had returned from war with a dark-haired babe in tow, a newly born Robb still in her arms, which she clutched tighter to her breast; the way she’d peer up at him as they lay under their furs and in each other’s arms with only the soft glow of the fire as their audience; when he’d last seen her, outside of Littlefinger’s brothel in King’s Landing, the blue scarf wrapped over her fiery crown. He reaches for her, when he imagines her with him, hands and fingers fumbling in the air for a woman who no longer exists.

Then, he’d seen each of his children at varying stages of their lives, from birth to the last he’d seen of them: Robb at Winterfell, when Ned had left for King’s Landing; Sansa when he’d knelt at the steps of the Great Sept, silently praying for her rescue; Arya when he’d spotted her in the crowd, crouching by Baelor the Blessed, doing the only thing he could to keep her safe by signaling Yoren to take her into his custody; Bran, unconscious in his bed, unsure if he’d ever open his eyes again; Rickon in the yard at Winterfell, too young to understand the weight of the world and his father’s departure beyond a glaring absence; and, though not a child of his own creation, Jon at the crossroads to King’s Landing and The Wall, promising to tell him about his mother upon their next meeting. These memories are strong enough to make a weakened, unwell Ned weep, crying out for the family from which he’d been taken, his feverish mind no longer remembering he has four of them still with him, whether by fate or by the blessings of the Old Gods.

He floats in and out of consciousness, back and forth between the world of Westeros he’d left behind and the world of the village - his second chance - though he cannot seem to convince himself that the latter exists. He wonders if he’s returned to the Children of the Forest, to the Old Gods themselves, to the Weirwood back in the Godswood of Winterfell. All the while, the skin affected by the rash blisters and reddens, leaving smears of blood on the linens underneath - though, if there is one light in the darkness, the intensity of his hallucinations seems to negate the pain from the rash, and he seems blissfully unaware of the sores.
guessihavelostcount: (98. biting her lip uncertainly)
[personal profile] guessihavelostcount
WHO: Claire Bennet
WHERE: By the breach (small earthquake plot)
WHEN: August 3rd
OPEN TO: Jon Snow
WARNINGS: None at the moment

While they were nowhere near as strong as the original earthquake that rocked the village, Claire was still wary of the smaller ones happening but not enough to stick close to home. There were things that needed to be done and she knew it wouldn't matter where she was if another big earthquake happened again. It was just one of those things that you couldn't escape when it came.

So she decided to spend a day exploring the second village that had been found. She had left a message for Margaery and Erik at her place if either one of them decided to look for her and then off she went. Yes, she probably should have actually gotten someone to tag along with her but she didn't think too hard about it as she made her way through the tunnel.

Of course, she started kicking herself mentally when the first tremor rolled through the ground as she reached the other side. It was enough to make the world tremble around her, causing her to stumble and nearly lose her footing. Catching herself, she felt the trembling get worse and silently marveled for a moment at the noise it created. Not that she stayed still for long. She recognized the danger she was in if she stayed where she was and so she threw herself forward, running without hesitation out of the breach into the other village as the earthquake got worse.

Nearly falling, she whipped about just as she heard rocks falling behind her and watched in horror as the breach actually started to crumble in on itself.
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Watches (Tender))
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 7/21

It wasn't something many would accept or celebrate, given how this was seen as a curse to some or a prison to others. While there were difficulties and, quite often, chaos, this place was her home. She couldn't return to Westeros and, for all that she suffered here, she had come to love her life in the village. She and Robb had discussed the idea of happiness and whether or not it was possible. Near a month since then, she felt certain of the answer, reflecting it as she rose from bed to let her animals out to graze.

Maybe she had found happiness? She was alive and had something to herself, something pure and away from the politics of Westeros. It might be small and insignificant compared to a crown, but it was truly hers. Her animals, her crops, they were enough to keep her going during the days. But it was those she had come to know here and care for that brought her genuine joy.

After putting her animals away, she gathered her fresh harvest, creating a large fruit platter for everyone. Spread across were peaches, apples, blackberries, blueberries, strawberries, grapes and cherries, grown to that perfect point where there was a mix of tart and sweet. She set the fruit out at the inn, offering a bit to anyone that entered. Seated near the window with Gilbert at her feet and a bit of sewing in her lap, she turned to regard the person that came to join her.

"I have been here a year," she murmured. "I didn't think it right not to find some way to celebrate."
the_scandal_of_italy: ([Lucrezia] Pleads)
[personal profile] the_scandal_of_italy
WHO: Lucrezia and Jon
WHERE: Bungalow #27
WHEN: July 1
OPEN TO: Jon Snow
WARNINGS: Mentions of destruction and earthquake

It was a sweet thing to see Jon Snow striding up the front walk to her porch, intent on visiting her as he had on the day of her arrival. Lucrezia had come to look forward to this, often perching herself prettily outside, choosing a spot that would have a bit more sun to capture the gold of her hair. All of it to create an image to greet him with, one that best set off her beauty and better features. Coquetting with him was rather easy, as he didn't seem to have had a woman play these sorts of games with him before.

A flash of a smile and a few sweet words, the same that she had once given to Paolo, his face as grim and serious as Jon's. This was enough to help the days pass more pleasantly. While she couldn't help with hard labor (and hesitated to learn), there was something she could do, sewing new garments and other linens needed. It made a fair exchange, as she had coaxed Jon to help repair her door, which had been battered badly during one of the storms that had come before her arrival. During the night, she had realized it didn't close properly, causing a rough wind to blow it open.

While he worked to fix the door, she would make him a new tunic, a gift she would have given him even if he hadn't offered to help her. She chose a seat on the step, allowing the to talk as they both set to their tasks. It was only the embroidery left to do, white wolves to cover the black tunic. "You aren't to look at it until I finish. I want the rest to be a surprise." She grinned, turning slightly to shield the cloth from his view.

As she pressed the needle in the fabric, the ground jolted violently beneath her. The house clamored and shook, the roof and windows rattling threateningly. Lucrezia dropped her embroidery, letting out a cry of shock as she was knocked from the steps. Everything was quaking, leaving her unable to get to her feet. She clutched to the ground, praying it wouldn't open and swallow her down.

"What's happening?"
the_scandal_of_italy: ([Lucrezia] Melancholy)
[personal profile] the_scandal_of_italy
WHO: Lucrezia Borgia
WHERE: Bunglaow 27
WHEN: 6/07

The shock of arrival had worn off as the day was nearing its end. To go from the Roman style celebrations to a vast wilderness had been a shock for her. The smell of Rome was familiar to her, the waste, food and people were almost comforting, even behind the walls of her mother's palazzo. To leave that and surround herself with...nothing, it was as much of a shock as the cold water she emerged from.

Villagers greeted her, others brought in through similar means. They apparently were confronted with new arrivals often, as their explanations seemed well rehearsed. They weren't disingenuous, just...memorized. She wasn't the first and she got the impression she wouldn't be the last.

Without Cesare or her father to guide her, Lucrezia followed the advice of those that found her. Once she was cleaned, she found a house to her liking and waited for the last of her daze to depart. Was this how her precious Djem felt when he arrived in Rome? So out of sorts and confused? The thoughts of her family weren't far from her mind, quickly chased by an overwhelming sorrow that threatened to suffocate her, as though she were drowning again.

Forcing herself to think of other things, Lucrezia collected a number of linens from the house and brought them to the front porch. She didn't know very much about cleaning, but she knew how to soak and treat linens, having sat beside Francesca as she tended to Giovanni Sforza's home. It took a bit of effort to bring a bucket of water to the house, but eventually she was seated on the front porch, singing to herself as she scrubbed the linens in fresh water. There was no soap, but did that really matter?
iron_beneath_beauty: ([Lyanna] Walk)
[personal profile] iron_beneath_beauty
WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: Around the village, the Woods
WHEN: Early June
OPEN TO: OTA, Jon Snow


After a week's recuperation, Lyanna was back on her feet, energized and ready to explore. Her arrival had been during a hail storm, forcing her inside, along with the need to recover. Now that the weather had cleared and she could stand upright again, she wanted to see everything. There were a number of buildings that had been converted for different uses, like the police station. They received a passing glance. Instead, she headed towars the destroyed bungalows

There would be a number of things to take and claim, it just meant having to find her way inside. Carefully stepping over some of the debris, she peered into the broken windows. There was someone else passing by, someone that was out enjoying the day as well.

"Has anyone tried to go into these houses before?" She looked back. "What happened to them? They look like they collapsed."

The Woods

There were at least weapons available for use, including a bow. Gathering a handful of arrows, Lyanna headed into the woods. There was apparently good game, given what Jon brought back to the bungalow every day. It wouldn't be the same without a horse and hounds, but she would make do.

There were a few climbable trees, a place where she could sit and wait for the game to come out into the open. She hoisted herself up and perched herself on a large branch. Apparently others passed by often, as she would hear the brush being disturbed. Just as she took aim, she'd have to lower her bow at the sight of another person.

"You're scaring the rabbits."

The Woods - Closed to Jon

It was a strange thing to sit on a secret of this magnitude. Ned had told her the truth about Jon when she first arrived, but health and surroundings took her attention. There was so much else to process before she digested that her newly born son had grown into a man. She had lost so much time, surrendering him into the care of the man she trusted more than anyone. It didn't change the longing she had in her heart to know him better, to talk with him and learn about the man he had become.

But how to even approach it. Each time she tried to tell him she knew, she found the words wouldn't come. So instead, she fell back and retreated from the topic. She would ask other questions, but none of what she really wanted to know.

Having enough, she followed him out to the woods, making mention before that she wanted to hunt with him. She wasn't ever good with delicacy. So instead of easing into the topic, she simply blurted out, "I know you're my son."
iron_beneath_beauty: ([Lyanna] Terror)
[personal profile] iron_beneath_beauty
WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn
WHEN: May 13th
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, childbirth, war, blood

"Promise me, Ned." "I promise, Lya."

The Fountain - Closed to Jon

Read more... )

The Inn

Not the Seven Hells, some place that pulled people from different worlds. She had to keep repeating those words to herself as she rested in front of the fire. Jon had helped her home, letting her rest and recover what little strength she could. The ache and fever were still there, but it wasn't as great a concern as it had been in the Tower. She wasn't dead apparently and this place was real.

With a bit of assistance, she was taken to the inn, surrounded by more people than she had been in over a year. The noise around her was soothing and the fire was warm. In only a year, she had grown used to heat and felt repelled by the cold. So much of her life had been snow and ice, she missed the dragon's flame.

Others moved around her and spoke, but they seemed separate from her consciousness. She felt so tired and run down, emotionally and physically. The fire cast shadows around her, the crackling as soothing as any lullaby. Just as she started to doze, someone took the seat next to her, murmuring some words at her. She turned her head, bringing the person into focus. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
thekittenqueen: ([Margaery] Ah Well)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Inn, the Woods, the Police Station, Bugalow #4
WHEN: May 11th - 16th
OPEN TO: Jon, Robb, Claire and Open
WARNINGS: Red Wedding talk

Jon - May 11th:

Read more... )

Robb - May 14th:

Read more... )

Claire - May 16th:

Read more... )

OTA - The Inn (Hail Event)

With the hail showing no signs of letting up, Margaery found herself unable to venture into the woods for her daily walks. It was perilous to go between her house and the barn too often, so the inn was where she spent much of her day. She had a few of the games she received during the gift giving, games that she had been taught and understood. There were also books. With her cow soon to give birth, she read and reread the chapters in her animal care book at how to handle births of that scale.

She at least had tea and something to eat as she watched the hail fall outside. After beating herself for the third time in Solitaire, she glanced up towards one of the other villagers. "Would you like to play with me? I'm still learning a few of these games, so I imagine you will win quite regularly."
perseverances: (Default)
[personal profile] perseverances
WHO: Cullen Rutherford
WHERE: Fountain, around town
WHEN: May 11-13
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Nothing yet.
STATUS: Ongoing


There's something that tells him to open his eyes. Something deep within that tells him something is wrong. When isn't something wrong, his brain wants to argue, but the need to breathe takes over, and he opens his eyes. Underwater, unlike when he last remembers being back dry at Skyhold. Had he fallen asleep amid the festivities? Was this a dream? Something that he'll wake up from soon?

The need for breath is suddenly present, and Cullen pushes himself to the top with ease - something that makes him wonder, considering the armor he had been wearing and should be wearing - and breaks the waterline with a gasp for air. A quick swim to the edge, and he holds on for a minute, pushing hair from his face while he looks around. A fountain? He doesn't recognize this place. He pulls himself out, and once on dry land he leans forward to take a few more deep breaths before straightening. "What in the Maker's name...?"

He had to be dreaming.

[Around Town]

He's not sure what to make of it all.

It's not a dream, nor some haze of a nightmare from lyrium withdrawal. Quite real, he had been assured, and frankly, there was something deep within him that just felt wrong. That he didn't want to accept that somehow he had pulled here against his will and was, for lack of a better term, stuck.

Cullen's taken to observing as he walks around, trying to figure out this place. He's nothing like Leliana; he doesn't know how to lurk in the shadows like she can, he's too clunky and loud for that, despite him not having his armor. But he does know how to watch, how to figure things out tactically and strategically. Eyeing buildings and whatever defenses the town might or might not have.

And how strategic it might be to drink until he wakes up from this. Either might be good.
stormborned: (pic#5353437)
[personal profile] stormborned
WHO: Daenerys Targaryen
WHERE: fountain, inn/pub
WHEN: May 8-10
OPEN TO: all!
WARNINGS: will adjust as necessary
STATUS: ongoing!

i. 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷.
She opens her eyes and she's underneath the surface of water — and Dany's first thought is to look around her for the wreckage of boats, both Ironborn longboats and Yunkai'i warships, for horses and her Dothraki khalasar treading fearfully in the poison water. For her Unsullied, and her new allies.

She looks skyward then for her dragon children, who would be inevitably searching for her.

It was a storm perhaps, she thinks as she feels a push to the surface, her lungs beginning to ache with the need to breathe; although strange that she does not remember it. It must have been a savage maelstrom to wreak such havoc on her entire fleet, potentially destroying her chance to land on the shores of Westeros and finally claim what is her family's birthright.

...No. Her dragons are circling overhead, screeching, she's sure of it. No squall is a match for a stormborn dragon. If Drogon and Viserion and Rhaegal are above the surface, with her, she can still fly.

She pushes up, kicking with her legs, breaking the surface and gasping for air. There's a brief moment where she simply breathes, catches her breath and her bearings.

This is not the Narrow Sea. No shipwreck; no floundering horses or soldiers. Only an ornate fountain, not nearly as deep as she's first imagined and half the length of one of her ships. She treads to the edge and perches her arms over the stone, drenched and gasping to breathe. A look down at herself reveals she's not even in the battle dress she'd worn on her flagship alongside Tyrion Lannister and Missandei and Varys, but in strange clothing.

And only now do her eyes widen, in a mixture of fear and fury.

ii. 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓷/𝓹𝓾𝓫.
The building is nondescript, not a stone castle like she's seen drawings of in Jorah's books but made of wood. Daenerys approaches it cautiously, still wary of her new surroundings since emerging from the fountain and having dried in the sun and cool breeze. It's cold, remarkably colder than Essos, and she vaguely wonders if she should change into the clothing she's found in the protected pack she's arrived with.

Inside the building as she steps in is an entryway area with various pieces of furniture, tables and chairs. A long wooden table lines the back wall, with stools for seating and bottles of different sizes and colors lined up along the shelves. Spirits, she recognizes; wine and ale in various forms she's never seen or heard of.

On the other side of the entryway is a seating area flanked by a large hearth, constructed with stone and brick and lit with a roaring flame, and with relief she heads toward it to warm herself and ward off the residual chill she's felt since arriving in this place.

[[ ooc: feel free to respond in either past or present tense prose; i default to present tense but have no preference to either one! 💕 ]]
not_a_slave: (I do not brood)
[personal profile] not_a_slave
WHO: Fenris
WHERE: Fountain and Inn
WHEN: May 8 - 10
WARNINGS: ... nothing yet

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.
wittyskepticism: ({ 009)
[personal profile] wittyskepticism
WHO: Astrid Hawke
WHERE: Fountain, Inn
WHEN: April 26th and 27th

April 26th - Fountain, Midday
Hawke is fairly certain that the Nightmare Demon she was fighting didn't have the ability to make her drown. Then again, she was in the Fade last she checked and the Fade is malleable enough to manage that. Still, the demon knows she hates spiders most of all. Why it would try to drown her is beyond her comprehension at the moment.

Not that she minds not staring at giant arachnids at the moment, but it is confusing.

Those thoughts flit across her mind as she struggles to push herself to the surface of the water. She can see it glinting above her like Isabela's ship, like a priceless personal goal that's just out of reach. Just a little further. She reaches, her hand breaks through, and then she's sucking in deep lungfuls of air as she pushes herself up and out, nearly falling over the edge and onto the ground below. For a few seconds, she just lies there, catching her breath and looking around for any sign of the Nightmare Demon.

Nothing. Groaning to herself about the way her life has gone, she finally rolls over and pushes herself to her feet. "That's two apologies the Chantry owes me," she complains with her usual dry humor. "This doesn't look like the Maker's bosom, either."

April 27th - Inn
Hawke takes up a room at the Inn at the first opportunity and her first day is spent just trying to cope. Of course, Hawke's version of coping is hardly the same as everyone else's, so mostly she stays away and tries to figure out what she can. She gets the main idea of the place and that's enough. No one has heard of Thedas. It's enough to make a girl crazy.

So the next day, she hangs out in the Inn proper and not in her room. It almost reminds her of the Hanged Man and that realization brings with it a squeeze of pain. She misses her companions, even if it was her choice to leave Kirkwall. She wonders vaguely how Bethany is doing, if Isabela has managed to find herself a new ship, if Fenris ever cleaned his estate, what Merrill is doing now, and if Aveline and Donnic have decided to try for children. They would make good parents, she thinks. Her mind wanders to Varric and she finds herself smiling into her cup of tea as she sits by the fire. She misses him most of all and she knows he probably misses her, too. He and Aveline were her best friends and she really misses their counsel. And Varric's very broad sense of humor and storytelling.

She keeps her mind pointedly away from Anders. That is a subject she would rather avoid.

Once she has drained her cup, with or without company, she sets about asking for work, trying to see if anyone needs any kind of help. Anyone nearby may find her walking up to start a conversation with a quick, "Mind if I ask you something?" If they say no, she'll start asking and hopefully not badgering, but if they say no, she'll politely leave them alone. Or as politely as possible.
learned_to_die: <lj user="buckybear"> ([mood] worry)
[personal profile] learned_to_die
WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: Jon's Cabin, #50
WHEN: April 20
OPEN TO: Jon Snow
WARNINGS: N/A (will update as needed)

Ned had made a promise, all those months ago (had they been years? had it been a dream?) at the splitting of the King's Road. He and Jon on horseback, Ned to travel south to King's Landing (what a naive fool he'd been then), Jon to travel north to join his uncle at the Wall. He'd been nothing more than a boy then, though the weight of the world had already rested heavily on his shoulders, for all that Ned tried to do for him, for all he tried to shield him.

There were many times throughout his life that Jon had tried to ask after the woman who'd given birth to him. He called her 'mother,' though she'd never played a part in such a role throughout his life. Of course, Catelyn hadn't either, despite Ned's requests and insistence that Jon be treated as one of his own, regardless of his inability to carry the name of Stark. But each and every time Ned sensed the question curling up at the tip of Jon's tongue, there would be another, more urgent matter to discuss - or he'd placate the child with promises of tomorrow, of someday, of eventually.

After Ned had come through the waters of the fountain, gasping and believing he was placed in some sort of afterlife, he'd promised the boy - no, he was no longer a boy, but a man - a man with sorrow in his eyes and splinters in his heart - he'd promised him that he'd reveal the truth about his lineage, as he'd promised all those months ago at the splitting of the King's Road.

Now, in the living room of Jon's cabin, Ned could no longer run.

"Might I trouble you for some water?" Ned asks, knowing he will need it to keep his lips from parching like a Red Waste.
3ofswords: (yellow/drink)
[personal profile] 3ofswords
WHO: Kira
WHERE: Behind the Inn
WHEN: April 21st
OPEN TO: All, Spring Feast mingle post
WARNINGS: Please warn for content in comment headers for individual OTAs

He's hardly the first to arrive for a shift in the kitchens, but those ahead of him have sunk into the the search for the building's chairs and tables--the kitchen is open and empty, the tavern devoid even of stools.  It's another wrench in the works, one of the smaller reasons for routine to fall apart to reactions, and Kira thinks they'll have a better time of solving it if someone gets the fire up in the stove and everyone eats first.
The damage assessment has people upstairs, people on the path wandered out of their homes.  Kira hadn't come through his own dining room on the way out, so he can't say if he's missing furniture or not, and his growling stomach doesn't much care.
It's when he slips out the side door of the kitchen in search of fresh kindling that he finds it.  Every missing table and chair standing in the grass, laden with platters of food, buckets of bottled drinks, carafes of what he finds to be coffee sending steam from their lids.  There are pastries with the coffee, roasted fowl gleaming golden on the next table, between ham hocks shining with honeyed glaze, large fruits piled among wreaths of fresh flowers.
Dotting the tables are jars, more jars than they've had since he arrived, flickering with short candles.  Garlands accent the tables, carry from them into the trees, a web of spring decoration with a feast at its center.  Between the platters are smaller plates, small chocolates laid out under decorative drizzle.  
"Hey!" he calls back through the door, blinking several times to make sure the sight doesn't shimmer away into the air.  "I found the furniture, and I don't think we'll need to cook anything today."

thekittenqueen: (Default)
[personal profile] thekittenqueen
WHO: Margaery
WHERE: #4 Bungalow, Woods, the police station
WHEN: 4/3 - 4/4
WARNINGS: Nothing, but will update if needed

The Woods

The mornings were much the same as ever. With winter slowly coming to a close, it meant that many of the plants and flowers would bloom again, allowing Margaery to gather with the same fervency and delight as before. While her walk through the woods had been to collect kindling and winter fruit, she made a point to stop by many of her favored places to inspect how the plants were faring. Were there buds yet? How far along were they?

It wasn't uncommon to hear noises in the woods. There were others more often about now, many hunters or villagers exploring. When she heard a twig snap behind her, Margaery expected to see a familiar face. Instead, a deer slowly walked from the underbrush, sniffing the ground and listening for potential predators. Margaery rooted herself, hardly daring to move or breathe.

She could sense someone nearing behind her. Taking the risk, she raised her hand, signalling for them to stop. "I have never seen a doe this close before." She whispered.

The Police Station (Outside)

The usual sounds of animals protesting filled the air as Margaery opened the station doors to allow her animals out, her dog Gilbert herding them towards the fields where they could graze. There was still no large pen for her to let them roam about in, much to her chagrin. However, this was better. Gilbert had become diligent in keeping the animals in check, ushering back a sheep that strayed too far or yapping at a cow that lingered too long in the grass. It was pleasant, comforting.

She watched from a reasonable distance, scanning the fields for wolves or any other predators. She counted her animals in her head, tallying the amount she saw ever half hour. Many of the sheep were growing fat, a few pregnant with lambs. She would need to find a place for them all soon.

As someone passed her, Margaery tore her eyes away for a moment to smile at the nearby figure. "It is finally becoming warm again!" She announced happily. "We can begin planting again and think more about what we wish to do with the animals."

#4 Bungalow - Closed to Ned

It was common routine for Margaery to work on her weaving once her animals had finished grazing until the sun could no longer provide her proper light. The cold weather no longer hindered her from sitting on her porch, listening to the sounds of the world around her. She had fond memories of spinning during the summer, now she could weave during the spring. There were birds in the distance, optimistic for the coming warmth. Gilbert was at her feet, worn out from his work and napping as she lightly sang "The Bear and the Maiden Fair."

It was only when she came to the chorus that she noticed Lord Stark nearing her home. They had walked together earlier in the morning, having explored the woods and simply spoken about what he needed to learn. Once they returned to the village, they had parted ways and she had left to let her animals graze. She hadn't paid much mind to what the Starks might be doing, but she assumed they'd be together. Not that it wasn't pleasant to find one Stark or another turning up at her door.

She paused in her work, rubbing her hands on her skirts. "Back so soon?"
yorkist: (Default)
[personal profile] yorkist
WHO: Bess
WHERE: Fountain/House #51
WHEN: 4/1 + onwards
WARNINGS: Aside from maybe some amusing 15th century cursing, nothing.
STATUS: backtagging


Fountain ━ April 1 )


Village + House #51 ━ April 2 & beyond )


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