ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jun 28, 2014 11:15:08 GMT -5
A large valley lay on the Orlesian side of the Frostbacks. The Shamans of the Winterwyrm Clan say that the Mountain Father had cried over the beauty of this creation, for from the three grand peaks that overlook this valley flow three pure streams: "The Tears of Our Father". The name has stuck since the time of the Tevinter Empire's fall, for as the Chantry came to power their scholars had deemed it a fitting name, and so "The Vale of The Maker's Tears" was put on the official maps of Orlais.
It was a peaceful place, for the three streams flowed together into a small lake at its center, and from there did the lake feed a small river that had carved it's way through the mountainous walls west into Orlais itself, into the Dales of the old Elvhen Kingdom. Along this river's banks life flourished, for here stood an ancient undisturbed pine forest, home to many types of game. Various types of: Deer, Boar, Wild Fowl, even a herd of Halla make this valley their home. For this land is rarely visited by Man, Dwarf or Elf - especially those of Orlesian Nobility whom have extensively hunted so much of Orlais' wild parts. For this valley is considered sacred to the Avvar, who only pass through it should they absolutely need to - as is it also considered a treasure of the Dales by the Dalish, whom only rarely send hunters in as the Clans pass by and only take that which they need and not more. That did not mean this valley was without danger, several times had Avvar and Dalish spilt blood upon its plains and Bears, Wolves and the claimed Wyvern or Dragons even hunted from the peaks surrounding it.
Along the banks of the lake sits an old Elven tower, built during the Kingdom of the Dales for unknown purposes. It had been looted, almost completely, and sacked by a band of Chevaliers during the Exalted March upon the Dales so it stood empty and useless, forgotten even by the Dalish. Left to crumble into dust like the rest of the Kingdom of Dale.
One of the great white stones that held one of the higher levels had fallen to the grass below, for unknown years I had lay there collecting moss and dirt. Now it seemed to have begun collecting Humans, for an Avvar perched upon it.
The Avvar sat looking over the glittering lake, it was late in the day yet the sun still had many hours left in its descent. Yet the Avvar had paused, taking this day to rest his weary legs. Before him crackled a fire, not a small fire either for the Avvar was used to the colds of the Frostbacks and he was used to building larger fires to compensate. Not that he noticed his fire was overly sized, for at the time of its construction he was preoccupied with thoughts of the piglet that now lay skewered over the fire. It's skin popped and crackled, and the scent it produced was more attractive to the Avvar than any Orlesian perfume. But for now, as the piglet cooked to a tender finish, the Avvar distracted himself with the view of the lake. Never before had he been to this land, his Clan was far away. It was by pure luck that he had found this tower, setting up a makeshift camp within its entrance hall - which through disrepair had become half exposed to the skies above. So safe did he feel here that he had left his pack inside along with the thick wolf-like pelt that served as bed or blanket. But his weapon, the Greatsword lay next to him, never left his sight. Nor his armour, if he could help it, which he sat in as comfortably as if it were Chantry robes.
But control himself any longer he could not, and as the piglet let off another loud "pop" he reached for his hunting knife and dug it into the skin. It cracked as he broke through it, juices bubbling out like a spring from the deep Earth. With a deft cut he sliced a chunk out of the animal and with surprising balance bore it to his mouth upon his knife like a plate. The chunk was almost half the size of his face and far too hot for most to consider eating, but the Avvar was hungry and the pain was negligible as he stuffed the chunk half into his mouth and sat there - slowly dragging the other half in.
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Post by Zenios on Jun 28, 2014 19:15:21 GMT -5
The elf looked out across the valley, stricken by its beauty. Such an untouched valley was a sight to behold even by a veteran wanderer, if you could look past the tower built by her forebears just a short distance away, and wandering through it accompanied by naught but nature was sure to be just as promising. Oh, there were a few more Dalish hunters around: one kill wasn't enough to take any significant amount of strain off the ever-dwindling supplies stored in the clan's aravels. It was still rather unlikely she'd run into any Elvhen, though; hunting in a pack as wolves did would have been quite impractical, considering the hunters were all quite skilled at their jobs. She assumed she was completely alone, if the directions she and the other elves had travelled upon entering the vale was any indication. It was even probable that one or two, or maybe even all of the other hunters, were already returning to camp with their contribution in tow.
That didn't bother her so much, Calene Aldaren supposed as she swallowed a chunk of dried meat; she knew she wasn't the only one to take some time to appreciate setting foot in such a place as this vale, and judging by the sun's position she still had a few hours until supper anyway. Changing tacks, Calene began moving down the mountainside. Weapons about her person rasped as she did so, some unexpectedly: her bow not so much, but the pair of dar'misu clinking against each other on her right hip and the longer dar'misaan on her left added weight, noise, that she was unaccustomed to. She wouldn't have brought the things if Keeper Sirrel hadn't insisted upon it; human barbarians, she was told, had a tendency to show up here from time to time, and had evidently clashed with the Dalish before.
Not that a sword and a pair of daggers would help much; Calene had spent most of her last ten years training with the bow in order to be a more effective game hunter, and had proved passable at best in duels with some of the clan's more mediocre sword-wielders.
She halted, slowly drew the bow strung over her shoulders as something caught her attention. She wasn't quite sure what it was, at first. A few more seconds of looking, listening, and smelling indicated, though, that it was a very much unnatural scent. Calene certainly hadn't expected to catch wind of someone roasting what she guessed to be pork, and it seemed unlikely indeed that this was a Dalish. So who, then? Was it one of the shemlen Keeper Sirrel had taken it upon himself to warn her about?
Either way, there was no sense charging in and being careless.
Calene drew an arrow, glanced at the arrowhead briefly, and nocked it. Wrapping her bow hand's index finger around it so she could hold both arrow and bow one-handed, she leaned around a pine tree, presumably significantly older and definitely much taller than an elf just entering her third decade, and caught a faint glimpse of smoke. She crept a little closer, as quietly as she could--which, given the careless way she'd attached the two dar'misu sheaths to her belt, wasn't particularly quiet--and poked her head ever-so-briefly around another tree. This time she definitely spotted the fire's creator, a beast probably much too large to have ever been an elf. In fact, he was more liable to have eaten one!
She'd heard tales of the hornless qunari before, back in Val Royeaux. Maybe this was one of them; he was certainly big enough. The barbarians Keeper Sirrel had spoken of were reputed to be large, as well, though, and common logic dictated that he was more likely one of the people that had shown up here from time.
That, in turn, meant that this human was intruding on what essentially amounted to sacred Dalish grounds - intruding, hunting, and lighting fires that certainly looked too large. Which, in its turn, indicated Calene needed to do something.
Gathering her strength with a deep breath, she reached for her arrow with her free hand and half-drew experimentally--nothing felt odd, no issues with the nock--and then released the tension slowly before stepping around the tree. "And what brings a shemlen to Dalish lands?" Calene called out, more than a little confrontationally. There was a tinge of Orlesian in her speech, plenty enough to be noticeable if one knew what to look for; the elf didn't bother trying to hide it. She considered pulling up to a full draw, but quickly decided against that: at a closer look, she wasn't even sure an arrow would find its way through the human's armor. Perhaps better to seem more inquisitive than threatening, tempting though it was to give the man her best 'get out of here or die'.
A brief moment of terror flashed through her mind; no sane person of her stature, element of surprise or no, would consider threatening someone like this, someone large enough to swat them away like she would a fly. Not alone, at least - and perhaps convincing this shem that she wasn't alone would pretty much have to be her next step in driving this shem away.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jun 30, 2014 7:47:55 GMT -5
The Avvar marveled at the succulent nature of the Piglett, the softness to its flesh, the juice that collected upon his lips. This land must have been overly healthy for the animal to taste so - He looked up from his meal, immediately scanning the shoreline of the lake for any disturbance, for he had heard the sound of metal upon metal. Not combat, no, rather the subtle shuffling of a poorly packed bag or Donkey. The lake was calm, the sky empty of clouds and shining a bright sun upon it. The last of the meat gripped in his mouth he slurped up, quickly chewing and swallowing. A thick tongue darted out and cleaned his lips dry of the animal's juices before it could creep into his short beard. Nothing but the gentle lapping of water upon the Lake's pebble shore greeted him from that direction, so he opted to turn around and look into the heart of the forest itself - when suddenly he was stopped by words.
"And what brings a shemlen to Dalish lands?"
Orlesian words from an Orlesian mouth. He growled at the gentle lilt to the voice that characterised the Orlesian tongue, but his curiosity piqued when the words spoken finally registered. Slowly, he shuffled his body enough to turn his head fully at the intruder of his respite. As he suspected, an Elf. A She Elf. The right side of his mouth curved in a smirk at the sight of her. A thin, frail, little thing - to be easily broken and tossed aside like bones sucked of their marrow. His eyes eventually struck upon the bow that she held strung and semi-drawn. Typical Dalish confrontational display to those they know only as strangers. Her grip of the weapon indicated she had enough knowledge of its use to cause him some serious injury, although if she truly wished to she could have done it by now. Or attempted to, for his armour was strong and with few weak spots to such weapons. Other than his head. His eyes continued across the woman, distracted suddenly from the more obvious weapon by the glint of sunlight from the blades at her hips. Three of them, but of no concern to him in this situation. His gaze moved onto her form-fitting leather armour, up to her thin little neck then finally resting on her large, green, Elven eyes. Somewhat pretty as they were, Elven was the first word that would come to mind to describe them. Followed closely by unusual. Weird. Too-big.
His mind begun to race with images of the coming moments, of him leaping from his position on the rock into a full on sprint. It would be taxing, but she would only manage a handful of arrows from that distance before he could pounce upon her, bowling her over with his weight atop the frail frame. Her skull cracked, or her neck twisted, she would be dispatched before she could scream for aid or reach those weapons of hers. His armour would take the hits from one or two arrows, but it wouldn't be the first time he had broke loose an arrow head and cared for the injury with hedge remedies. Perhaps if he gave her his best battle cry it would cause her to falter in her first shot, then maybe her second as she realised that the first had missed.
Luckily for the Elf, the Avvar's judgement had gotten the better of this idea - perhaps in another life she would be broken upon the pine trees and he could return to feasting upon this well deserved hunt, but not in this one. He realised that he had been staring too long into those strange eyes, while his mind carefully calculated her demise, without even a word on his part when her grip on the string seemed to pull it back ever so slightly. Maybe the surprise of an Avvar being able to talk would cause her to drop dead on the spot - maybe if she were Orlesian, but this one was Dalish and they knew better of the Mountain Folk than to think of them as idiots.
"I didn't think the Dalish had lands, not since the damnable Orlesians stole your Dales from you." he called out in return, his rough hewn Ferelden accent leaving from the smirk still bore upon his lips. Perhaps it was the wrong words to use, but if he could remind her that the Avvar were not the ones responsbile for the downfall of her people she may look passed his race. Unlikely as it was, as he knew some of the local Tribe's various conflicts with traveling Dalish Clans over this valley. His or her blood would not be the first to spill over a situation such as this. But he hadn't killed her yet, nor she wounded him, nor did he intend to unless he had to. That was not why he was here. "If you really want to know what I'm doing here," he continued without giving her much pause to respond, "I'm eating this Piglett." his hand stretched out to the side, away from the greatsword that lay clearly upon the stone, and indicated the fire with the Piglett held over it. Even though it was clearly a dismissal of what she had asked him, he found it better than a lie or a death spoiling his appetite.
"If the Elf would like, she could join in this meal. It would be a waste for any of it to go uneaten." He seriously doubted she would take him up on the offer, but the act of civility alone should be enough to ease the tensions long enough to either have her leave, lower her weapon peacefully, or come within range for him to kill her more easily.
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Post by Zenios on Jun 30, 2014 17:40:11 GMT -5
Calene tensed reflexively at the smirk the barbarian gave her, took about half a step back. There was something predatory in the man's gaze, something that gave her the distinct impression that he wouldn't have thought twice about pulling her head off. She should have just turned him into a porcupine before notifying him of her presence; while more violent, shooting first and asking later was also much less dangerous than the reverse. If nothing else, having loosed upon the barbarian instead of calling out to him would have meant that he wouldn't just be staring at her with promises of death in his eyes.
She thought for a moment about turning, fleeing, vanishing into the underbrush; but that would only provoke him, she imagined. Maybe he could smell fear, or maybe he was just waiting for her to show a sign of weakness before he charged with that greatsword lying beside him, an item surely as tall as Calene herself. Some follower of the Vir Tanadahl she was. She couldn't even confidently look a shem--albeit one easily two feet taller than her--in the eye. She was being irrational, misattributing powers wolves were said to have to a giant human who hadn't yet shown any propensity for language or higher thought.
A nervous movement eventually did draw the hulking shem to speak, though--or at least distracted him from whatever blood-filled daydream he seemed to be in the midst of. The barbarian's voice was about what Calene had expected - deep, clearly Fereldan, rough around the edges, and yet it still startled her a bit to hear him utter something other than a primal scream. That was still something of a relief, though; at least she could attempt to reason with him before he decided he was bored and moved to pull her arms off.
She was even more surprised to discover the shem was fairly articulate despite his appearance, even if that didn't ease her desire to just put a few arrows in his eyes and move on. He was right, though - the Dalish no longer technically owned this vale, even if it was clear Calene's forebears had lived here once upon a time. That had never meant much, though, in a world where people fought and killed each other over perceived slights.
The barbarian gestured towards his fire after a moment of silence, explaining his presence to some extent - if not the reasons for being in the valley, then at least why she'd been able to follow the scent of cooked food and fire to his little resting place. For her part, Calene decided to lower her bow. It was a pleasant little start, though she was absolutely certain that things would flare out of hand and blood would be spilled if any of the Dalish-born Dalish happened by. Being raised around humans did have its advantages, to a limited extent: Calene, at least, wasn't willing to crucify all humans simply for the crime of being human. She'd seen enough to know not all of them were bloodthirsty racist elf-killers. Just most of them were, but Calene had never been one to spill blood because she'd jumped to an assumption.
She wasn't too keen on accepting his offer of a meal, though - even if she could feel her stomach growling a bit. That was a little too close for her comfort. And besides, the barbarian had already done a good job of eating a sizable chunk of the piglet; she didn't doubt he'd down the rest of it just as quickly.
Instead, Calene decided to take a deep breath to try and calm her nerves a bit, thinking a plea to Mythal while she was at it. Then she slipped the arrow back in its quiver--slowly, so as to make her intentions clear. The bow, she held onto perhaps a bit more tightly. It certainly wasn't going to do her any good on its own if the barbarian changed his mind, but the feel of its grip beneath her fingers did a surprisingly good job of reminding her she wasn't totally helpless.
That done, she took a couple of measured steps forward. "Ma serannas, but I feel I shall have to decline. I wouldn't want to deprive a man of your stature of his meal," she replied, "and besides, I ate recently." It wasn't technically a lie; she had, indeed, eaten some of the preserved meats she kept on her person. They weren't particularly filling, but nourishment was all she asked for.
"Your fire, on the other hand... it seems a bit too large for a cooking fire. You're like to burn your meal if you leave it there."
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jul 2, 2014 14:26:18 GMT -5
The Avvar watched as the Elf seemed to cave in to his civility. She was lucky, this Elf. He wasn't like some of the other Avvars, who would have broken her in half as soon as she let her guard down. Some Tribes were on more Axe-first basis with the Dalish, they didn't trust the knife-ears at all. In fact many would prefer the company of a Nug to an Elf. Nugs are at least edible.
But this wasn't the first Elf, or Dalish, he had met. He found them to often be good company, in a sense. The non-judgmental ones, that weren't so high up on their Halla they couldn't see the world they were born in anymore. One with Man, Dwarf and now those grey-skinned Qunari. All forced to live and die together.
That didn't mean he'd picked up on those pretty words they spoke. But he took it as some sort of thanks or greetings, and made an effort to clearly nod his head in return as the Elf stepped slightly closer, bow lowered and now unstrung yet gripped as tightly as an axe. In truth he was thrown off be her acceptance of his proposal. Granted she hadn't accepted the meal he offered, to which he was slightly thankful, but he had expected her to just walk away after he proved he meant her no harm. Instead she had stayed and made a slightly amusing remark about his stature and his appetite, to which he gave a small smile and an approving nod.
He looked towards his fire, and his browning Piglett, as she mentioned the size of it. "You're right, I was going to eat all of that Piglett. Today or tomorrow." He stretched his arm out toward the stick holding the Piglett aloft and pulled it free from the fire. In one hand he pulled the entire stick, animal and all, free of the flames and put it to rest next to his greatsword.
The Avvar turned himself back towards the fire and idly kicked some of the surrounding dirt and grass into it. It seemed to die back, a fraction. Hopefully enough to make the Elf feel more comfortable with it. As he did this, he spoke, "The Frostbacks are a lot colder than this valley. A bigger fire is a better fire, a warmer man, a safer night. Maybe not so, down here in the Vales.".
Once finished playing with the dirt, he stretched one wide hand out towards another fallen stone not far from his. Although that stone had broken in half upon impact and he had deemed this solid one a better option, he had no doubt the lithe Elf would fit perfectly upon it. "Welcome to my temporary camp, in the middle of scenic nowhere. Sit, Dalish One, sit. Amongst the wandering Avvars it is customary to invite a traveling stranger to the fire, so they may rest some, share a story or two and leave better for their stay." He seemed genuinely cheerful with his offer, for in truth it was one he rarely got to present. Rare was such a meeting with a fellow traveler these days for Idwal. Ever since the Orlesians had hired many an Avvar as mercenaries in their civil war for dominance over their countrymen, the Frostbacks had seemed much more empty... But perhaps that could be because of other reasons, too...
"You, Dalish One, may call me Idwal, the only part of my name you'd find important." He let out a quiet chuckle at his personal joke, then looked to the Elf expectantly to see if she would sit. In all truth it's be rude to refuse him now, but as an Elf she couldn't be expected to know to insult that would cause him.
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Post by Zenios on Jul 11, 2014 0:16:49 GMT -5
Calene tensed slightly as the barbarian moved to put the skewered piglet next to his blade, more than a little irrationally. This entire encounter had basically been an excuse for the giant of a human to pick up his giant of a sword and come chop her head off, and he hadn't even moved yet. As long as she watched her words, Calene figured, that wasn't particularly likely to change. If nothing violent had happened yet, it was unlikely that that would change at the drop of a pin. Or a piglet, as the case may have been.
She allowed herself to relax a moment later as the human shifted to kick some dirt into his fire. The reduction in size wasn't particularly noticeable, but it was enough to get Calene's attention off of that sword. She absorbed his words carefully, even if they did little more than confirm he was a native of these mountains. If nothing else, that explained a few things - the fur trimming the barbarian's armor, the size of the fire, might have helped to explain his lengthy hair. Calene had never been too deep in the mountains on her own, but she could certainly imagine how inhospitable the area was during the winter and how a bigger fire might be a good idea.
Similarly, taking a seat as suggested seemed like a pretty good idea. Calene stalked over to the rock Idwal had gestured to, keeping her eyes on him both to show that she was paying attention and to avoid turning her back. She didn't mind being friendly, but that didn't mean she was comfortable completely letting her guard down either. That much was just common sense, as far as she was concerned.
"Andaran atish'an, Idwal," Calene replied once she was comfortably perched upon the standing stone, inclining her head briefly. She used the motion to conceal a small smile, briefly appreciating the irony in the greeting's meaning. She certainly hadn't entered this place in peace; she'd been more inclined to put an arrow or ten into Idwal than anything. "You may call me Calene, if it pleases you."
She shifted slightly, resting the bow in her hands across both thighs. So Idwal was an Avvar, then; she didn't know a whole lot about that human people, but she knew at least a bit more of them than she did the Qunari. The elf cocked her head slightly as she looked towards Idwal curiously. "Among the Avvars, is it custom for the host to share his tale first? I know less of your culture than I'd like, and it seems likely that what I do know is tainted by fear and rumor."
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jul 12, 2014 16:10:04 GMT -5
" 'Rumour and fear'. " The Avvar mused slowly, a wry smirk upon his lips. "I know the rumours you speak of, I hear them from the mouths of Lowlanders and Orlesians and more." His tone changed, his words coming out mockingly spiteful as he recounted the tales of his people 'Barbarians of the mountains, eating the flesh of Men, Elves, Dwarves. Dragon worshipers, too.' " He frowned, casting a darkness over his features, a snarl forming on his lips as the words reach their end. "That's only some of us. I only know of one clan who take of man-flesh and Dragon Worshipers are heathens to the true Gods." Twisting his head away from the Elf he spat, as if the words themselves held poison to his lips.
With a heavy sigh he turned back to the Elf, "Forgive me, not all the Avvar see eye to eye. In truth we are a fragmented people, few hold true to the Mountain Father's ways." Idwal stopped to make a fist with his left hand, holding it out in a salute to the nearest of the three mountain peaks before turning back to the Elf. All sense of anger or outrage upon his features was gone with the return of his playful smirk. "You are right however Calene, it is a tradition for the fire's host to present his tale first." Idwal leant forward with a slight cough, his hands cupped together in front of him. "As you know, I am Idwal. My Birth-Clan is of the Wyvernwood from further north in the Frostbacks, closer to the Lowlander city of Jader than the entrance to Orzammar. Although today I come from closer to the Lowland city of Amaranthine. My clan is many, although our numbers of late have dwindled... The Fifth Blight took a toll on our numbers. But we strive to survive, we rebuild." A short burly laugh broke from his lips and for a time his overconfident demeanour was replaced with amusement. "Much like your Clan, I imagine."
He leaned back and slowly reached the piglet by his blade, he made effort to show he wasn't reaching for the eagle-headed weapon. With a great tug he pulled another flank free of the beast and brought it around to face the Elf. Showing some more civility than the situation she had found him in, he opted to tear from the meat with his hands over throw it all into his mouth.
He paused momentarily as he chewed, but clearly he wasn't finished with his tale. "In truth," he continued as he licked the juice from his lips, "I am on a journey, a long one - more of a hunt really. For my quest has a quarry and my quarry moves. I have traveled far to reach here and was passing through this sacred Valley to follow my only lead. When I was almost assaulted by a Dalish Elf." His smirk grew wider and he casually sprung a thick finger from his meal to point at Calene, clearly working to change the conversation somewhat. "Although by your name you don't seem very Dalish. Calene is a true Orlesian name and your accent is unusual for a Dalish Elf. At least of those I have met. You seem to speak their words but not their tongue. What is your story, Free Elf?"
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Post by Zenios on Jul 16, 2014 21:18:12 GMT -5
I don't know that rebuilding is a word I could ever use to describe my people, Calene thought as Idwal paused to eat, keeping her mouth shut so as to avoid interrupting the tale he pretty clearly wasn't done with. Calene was absolutely certain that Idwal had meant something more like 'recovering', but his choice of words couldn't help but to provoke some introspection. Rebuilding, in Calene's eyes, indicated having something to rebuild from - a permanent home. The Dalish hadn't had that since the fall of the Dales. To her, it was awfully hard to rebuild when you traveled about Thedas in caravans, and when you couldn't stay anywhere for particularly long because the local humans got touchy.
A solemn, almost thoughtful expression turned to a tight smile as the Avvar gestured towards her; 'almost assaulted' seemed like just a bit of an exaggeration, given the nervousness she'd not been able to shake, but she left him to his illusions there. Better she come off as a confident, veteran Dalish huntress for as long as possible, if she could keep that veneer of bravery up. "My story?" Calene repeated with a shrug, buying herself a little more time to consider a story than anything. She didn't really know any good Dalish tales to share with a shemlen, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to spill her life story to a man she barely knew just yet.
Calene moved again, setting the bow next to her--well within arm's reach--and hugging her knees to her chest. Maybe she'd give him the abridged version. Any amusement faded from her smile as she prepared her words. "Well, you already know I wasn't born into the Dalish; that's about half the fun. I was an Orlesian city elf, once, living in the Val Royeaux alienage." She moved her right arm, feeling with her forearm for the small knife she'd carried with her for the last dozen years. "One day I found myself in, shall we say, a little spot of trouble. Enough that I chose to flee the city, turn away from the only life I'd ever known, rather than stay and face punishment.
"The first weeks outside the walls of Val Royeaux weren't easy. It was cold, hungry, but I managed to avoid death long enough to stumble across a Dalish clan and convince them to take me in. It was hard adapting to that life, to life as a wanderer, but it's grown on me a bit. I much prefer this new life to being trapped in a prison made for Elvhen.
"Well, friend Idwal, I do hope that was enough of a story for you. I don't have all that many more."
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jul 23, 2014 15:50:35 GMT -5
"I imagine it wasn't easy to be outside of the only place you had ever known." Idwal started with a sincere apolagetic tone to his voice. "Even I know the rumours of the Val Royeaux alienage. Walls so high the sun only reaches the houses at it's zenith." The Avvar looked up at the sky, the realm of the Lady. "To not feel the Lady's breath upon your face every morning... To be caged like a Wyvern in some Noble's pen... That is no life for anyone to live, Avvar nor Elf." Idwal returned his gaze to the Elf and gave her a slight nod of apology. "I pity your kind who remain locked behind walls Calene. I understand why many Elves wish to see the Lowlanders pay for their misdeeds."
"But now you are with the Dalish? You are free of that stone prison and now you wander the lands with your kin and their Halla. I heard from a trader there one of those... Dalish Meetings... Happening in Halamshiral soon? The uhm... Arlaven? I assume you're heading there, then. North through the Dales." The Avvar's mind ticked back and forth with ideas, the Dalish were gathering in Halamshiral during the largest Orlesian Civil War in memory. Were they up to something? Perhaps attempting to retake the Dales? It was possible that this could serve some purpose. In truth Idwal had little idea how to go North, and he could use the Dalish to take him.
But how to get into the Dalish's tight circle of trust was another problem... Idwal was Avvar, so simultaneously he stood more and yet less chance of success than the Lowlanders. More because he was not bound to the teachings of the 'Chantry' and the standards of Lowlander society, yet less because the Avvar had fought tooth and nail against Elves for centuries over the valleys beneath the Frostbacks.
Yet Calene seemed respectful enough to listen to him, perhaps she still would. He leaned forwards and cupped his hands together, he was clearly nervous about his next proposition - or maybe just putting it in. "Calene, I think the Mountain Father has blessed me with your presence. Those I hunt, dark men who wish only to darken the sky and corrupt the living, they lie to the North. Passed Halmshiral. I would like to ask you, your clan, if they would allow me to travel with them. I am unused to these Lowlander lands and you are... You are Dalish! Travelers who know all paths and ways." with pleading eyes he looked to the Elf for an answer, although he planned for many other scenarios should she say no.
He needed his guide.
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Post by Zenios on Jul 24, 2014 20:23:22 GMT -5
It was tempting to lash out at Idwal for his sympathy, his pity, his apologetic tone. Calene quickly realized that was her inner Dalish speaking: the one who would not allow shemlen to feel sympathetic for the elves' plight, the one who hated humans for crimes long since past. That seemed a little excessive, though, especially considering Idwal was an Avvar. While Dalish-Avvar relations had been rather sour for at least as long as Calene was aware, the Avvars hadn't played nearly as much of a role in the fall of the Dales as had the Orlesians. Even with those heightened tensions, Calene wasn't blind enough to have much interest in passing that hate onto every human she met. Hate begat hate, and she had met at least as many elves worthy of hatred as humans.
So she bit her tongue, offered him a simple nod of thanks instead. It was easier to do things that way, easier to offer a simple nod than risk offending him or otherwise inform him he could shove his pity where the sun didn't shine.
Idwal's talk of dark men and corruption, however, was much more interesting - and much more worthy of revealing her true feelings, irrespective of how the human would react. The only question was, however, whether or not the clan would be interested in bringing him along. Not everyone was nearly as rational as Calene could be sometimes, and there were more times than not where Keeper Sirrel fell into that irrational camp. That would complicate things at best, result in her being shunned at the worst, and probably just generally wasn't worth dealing with.
The Arlathvhen, however, was to take place soon, and in not-especially-distant Halamshiral - just as Idwal had spoken. If they were passing by that city anyway, perhaps Calene could get word to the clan that she would be away for a bit - or just double back south to meet them later before the Arlathvhen ended. She'd been around for a previous one a decade ago, and the gathering certainly hadn't been a one-day affair by any means. That would probably give her enough time to go investigate these dark men with Idwal, then double back or else at least inquire as to which way the clan had traveled.
Calene straightened out, allowing her legs to hang before her and leaning back to allow her arms to support her upper body--at least, as much as the rock would allow. "I don't know if I would say that we know all paths, though I can certainly find my way around this area," she said with a faint smile. "And I don't know if my clan would be especially interested in allowing a human to travel with them." She paused, more for effect than anything, before continuing. "I, however, am not always so close-minded; thus, I propose you this instead - I shall travel with you to hunt these, ah, dark men, you called them, at least so far as to determine enough for myself to convince the clan to aid us. In any case, two hunters should be much harder for your prey to detect than scores.
"I have two conditions, however - should we indeed pass through or near Halamshiral as you say, I shall need to leave a message for my clan somehow in order to inform them that I'll be returning at some point. And should these men happen to possess any items made by an Elven hand, I would like very much to claim them and bring them back to the Arlathvhen with me."
She paused another moment, to allow him some time to process that and to catch her breath. "Does that seem agreeable, at the very least? Many of my kin are not nearly so accepting as I, and I'd rather you weren't made a pincushion simply because I agreed to get you an audience with my Keeper." Not to mention that if Idwal had comrades waiting to waylay her clan for food or shelter or gold or what-have-they, it made much more sense not to lead the Avvars straight into the Dalish encampment.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Aug 1, 2014 11:07:48 GMT -5
Idwal was amazed and in more than one way relieved when Calene offered to guide him through the lands of Orlais. Why a Dalish would wish to seperate from their clan was beyond Idwal - the only Dalish he knew of had been forced away from their clans or in effect stolen from them. As far as Idwal was concerned the Dalish were stuck to their clans tighter than bark on a tree. Perhaps he didn't know them as well as he thought.
Her conditions on the other hand, worried him. He merely wished for a guide to or perhaps just passed Halamshiral - but she seemed intent on joining him in his hunt. In truth this was no hunt for a Dalish, especially one so... Thin and twig-like. Perhaps she could be convinced otherwise once the true manner of this threat was revealed. Idwal scratched a hand through his rough beard, taking his eyes from the fire to look at the Elf as he spoke. "Alright, Calene. I agree to your conditions. I have no need for Elven relics or arms. You can keep any you may find. Although I do not know what relics you may find in their greedy grasp."
Nodding his head, Idwal continued, "Yes, I thank you for agreeing to see me through Orlais. Even if the dark ones are lacking in Elven artifacts, I shall see if there is anything my clan can provide you and yours for the trouble of leading you so far away from your gathering." He was not aware of what the Dalish would want, surely they required coin to trade for what they could not produce themselves - or perhaps they could be supplied with some iron or other metals. But Idwal didn't seem interested in arguing that point at all, the Elf could refute his offer at another time once she had either been left at Halamshiral or had witnessed herself the danger of what she had suggested she take part in.
"I see no point in sitting around any longer, then. We can rest at night fall, a fire big and large should keep away wolves. Or... Perhaps the wolves here aren't as large and ravenous?" he spoke with a hint of humour to his voice towards the end, hinting at the Elves' complaint whe it came to the size of his fire. With that, Idwal abruptly stood. "Come then, Calene. There are still yet hours in the day and the quicker we leave the quicker you can return to your gathering. I'm sure it is quite important to attend." Idwal grabbed for his greatsword, admiring the eagle-headed handle once more before returning it expertly to a sheath held upon his back. With his now-free hands he took the only two other possessions he had with him, a satchel of traveling goods and the blackened remains of a piglett. A swift boot to the ground around the fire smothered it enough that it wouldn't cause a forest fire, then Idwal was already off before the dust settled.
Of course he had no idea which way he was heading and upon realising this he stopped and turned to the Elf, waiting until she had caught up. "Oh yes. You're the guide. Lead on? I was going to try and get out of this valley and find a village with a road to follow, but you're my guide and if you know of a better way through the Dales to Halamshiral..."
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Post by Zenios on Aug 9, 2014 13:44:46 GMT -5
Calene's expression was one of understanding as Idwal accepted her terms. She didn't honestly expect to find any treasures of cultural significance; but part of her calling as Dalish was to recover and protect the lore and artifacts of her ancestors, and she couldn't very well have any such items remain outside of Dalish hands. Keeper Sirrel might have been just a little more forgiving of her absence if she managed to bring back something meaningful, too, but Calene wasn't planning on getting her hopes up too much on that count. She nodded her acquiescence; it was silly to expect Idwal to guarantee she'd find relics among the possessions of a group of earth-defiling humans.
She hopped off her stone, slipping the bow over her head as she watched Idwal collect his possessions rather curiously. That couldn't possibly be all he traveled with, could it? She didn't see any kind of bedroll or method for the big man to keep himself warm at night, and she rather seriously doubted he was capable of surviving the cold nights of the Frostbacks without fires such as the one he was currently kicking dirt into. For that matter, Calene wasn't especially well-outfitted for such an undertaking herself--she certainly wasn't carrying enough food for the journey to Halamshiral--but at least she was carrying a cloak.
"That can't possibly be all you travel with, can it?" she asked as she moved to douse the fire a little more thoroughly, ignoring his inquiry about a faster path northward for the time being - the better to determine if she did know such a better path. She dug her boot into the ground while she pondered that, flinging a good-sized amount of dirt on what remained of the fire. The last time the clan had come through past this vale heading northward, they'd taken a game trail that ended in a clearing somewhere to the west of the valley. It had been tight and overgrown even a few years ago, though, and she couldn't say for sure whether it was still viable.
It was worth a try, though; traveling mostly unnoticed through the brush would have been better on their stomachs, on their purses, and potentially on their livelihoods depending on how the locals felt about Dalish and Avvars. But perhaps gathering Idwal's gear--unless he was indeed bred to withstand intense cold--took priority.
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Post by GuardsGhost on Aug 18, 2014 19:48:15 GMT -5
((Can I join?  )) |
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Aug 21, 2014 6:28:24 GMT -5
((Join if you can find a good place to jump in! I think we're destined for a village and a party increase eventually  )) The Avvar stood up straighter as he faced the woods. He sniffed up his pride and turned to face the Elf. "You're right." He said, seemingly stricken by his own forgetfulness, "My memory must be slipping..." In truth he had truly forgotten about his other belongings, caught up in his newfound traveling partner and the journey ahead. At least, that was the excuse he gave himself. He didn't want to admit what fate the truth may hold. "Yes." He muttered, his great legs making strides towards the ruins of the tower "Yes, I have... A travel roll in here." The tower's entrance was hidden in a tunnel-like corridor at it base, although the great wooden barrier was long fallen and cracked against the stone floor. He turned back to the Elf momentarily, unsure if she would follow him into this ancient Elvhen place. He motioned for her to follow anyway, inviting her in to seem courteous as he tried to remember where he'd left his things The first room was bare, small with enough room for a few beds for Elves posted here. Those fragile things had long been ravage by time, collapsing upon themselves in a mulch of worm-eaten wood and moth-devoured cloth. The floor was white tile and covered in dirt and grime, the trail the Avvar cut through the muck with his footsteps seemed to reveal some sort of mosaic mural beneath their feet. Yet Idwal seemed to be least interested in that and more interested in the small collection of goods on what seemed to be a stone table, yet could easily be an ancient altar by the carvings upon its surface. Carvings that marked a battle between diminutive things with the stolen or mocking forms of Men, Dwarves and more. The things charged as a horde against a line of soldiers, their forms seemingly those of Men and not Elves or Dwarves. Yet what brought Idwal's attention most was, far to the left of the battlefield in a copse of thick trees, an army stood waiting and watched as the battle raged. An army that seemed to be made of Elves. |
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Post by Zenios on Sept 9, 2014 13:33:01 GMT -5
It was probably for the best that Idwal quickly decided to walk away; otherwise, he might have caught the raised eyebrow Calene shot at him. It seemed more than a little strange to her that he might have completely forgotten about his survival gear, after all, given that he was alone and in the wilderness. If nothing else, she assumed he might have a bit of preserved food or even just a blanket to keep warm stashed away somewhere. But then again, there had been a time when she'd managed to do something just as absentminded, so perhaps this was just a momentary lapse in his attention and not the norm. It wasn't until it occurred to the elf that Idwal was walking towards the ruined Elvhen tower, as if to enter it, that she realized he was walking quickly enough to have put a respectable distance between the two of them. She hurried to catch up; that, thankfully, was more than enough of a distraction to wipe the askant look off her face before Idwal turned around. Calene wasn't sure if he'd done so to make sure she was coming or to invite her in, but a look and a lift of his arm managed to accomplish both regardless. As if she'd let him into an ancient Elvhen tower alone, whether or not he'd previously taken up residence within. Places like this, after all, had a certain significance to the Dalish - and while Calene wasn't always the archetypal Dalish, she was quite good at the part about respecting the creations of her forefathers. She wasn't entirely sure if it was a desire to prevent Idwal from further desecrating the site or just a desire to see inside that had brought her over so quickly--or maybe a bit of both--but the end result was a small elf walking quickly enough to eat up the distance in no time at all. Upon entering the tower and looking around, Calene wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected . It was a ruined tower, clearly left unattended for centuries at the very least. Some evidence, however, of Elvhen construction and inhabitation were still clear - there was what looked like rotten cloth in the room in which she stood, and also an intricately carved table or altar of some sort. That, certainly, was the most interesting part - and yet, in moving closer, Calene noted that the carving seemed to depict an army of elves standing back and watching shemlen fight... something. It was possible that those were darkspawn, given that they did not appear to be human and that there were definitely some shorter, stockier figures mixed in. She certainly hadn't seen anything like them in her thirty-some years of life. "That's odd," Calene said after a moment, thoughts of getting Idwal out of this place as quickly as possible more or less forgotten. She reached out towards the figures standing against the shemlen, careful not to let her fingers touch the carvings as she tried to make sense of the whole of the artwork. "What are those figures? They can't be the darkspawn, can they? I didn't think the elves had anything resembling an army left by the time they first came to the surface." |
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