ocularum | open post;

[Excuse you, he had this perfectly in control and certainly had no need for a rescue.

Hell, who is he kidding? A free helping hand is always nice, and all too rare these days. For a moment, he honestly considers just outright fleeing. It'd be easy enough, and he doesn't know this warrior elf.

But the tattoos he catches so briefly -- something nags at him.]

Well, just remember you said that.

[Without another word, Twisted Fate slides off to the side through a quick Fade Step, giving himself space before he's raising his hands, summoning a wall of fire behind the remaining men.]

I hope you weren't planning on going anywhere for awhile. Or ever again.

[ A mage. Of course. Fenris scowls, but he resolves to deal with one problem at a time.

The remaining men--perhaps a half dozen in all--raise their weapons in counterattack. One of them's got a spellbook, and he's preparing to snuff out that fire wall with a blast of ice. Fenris lunges, his lyrium tattoos flashing brilliant white, and grabs the mage by the throat. His hand shimmers as he plunges it into the man's chest, feeling for and then grabbing hold of the rapidly-beating heart. He kicks the mage off of him as he pulls his hand out, the heart clutched--and crushed--in his fist.

The vicious attack serves multiple purposes. First, the other men are terrified; one so much so that he forgets about the fire and just backs right into it, screaming. Second, the mage was the most immediate threat, and needed to be dealt with before all else--snatching out his heart was the quickest solution.

Third, Fenris just enjoyed doing it.

He draws his sword again and sets himself on the others, fighting with the ferocity of the starved, the enraged. It's been over ten years since he's suffered at the hands of these scum, and his anger hasn't abated by even a little. ]

[Well, this mysterious elf with glowing tattoos just straight up ripped the heart out of the mage. Obviously, he really didn't need much in the way of help beyond a distraction, because the rest are about to be slaughtered.

Someone really, truly does not like Tevinter, and while Twisted Fate is putting those pieces together in his mind, he has more urgent things to attend to.

He crouches by the first man that the elf had slain and begins sorting through his pockets and pouches. A bag of coins are fine -- and pocketed -- but he pauses when he discovers the note on the dead man's person.

And an apple. Nice.

Fate glances up as the warrior tears through the remaining men, taking a bite of the apple before he reads the note.]

Hmm, Aregor, you lousy bastard. [With no pause, he sets the note aflame, letting it go to ashes.]

I don't suppose you left enough of the others for me to sort through, hm?

[ Fenris glances at the charred remains of the man who'd run into the fire. Shrugs. ]

You might have a little trouble with that one.

[ He folds his arms, his gaze tracking back to the note's ashes, now staining the grass. Aregor? What does it mean that this elf seems to know his attackers? Fenris's already dark expression turns doubly sour. He approaches, one hand on the hilt on his greatsword.

He nudges the mage's body with one bare foot. ]

Friends of yours?

A true tragedy. Suppose I'll live with it.

[Another bite to the apple is given as he casually strolls toward the remaining bodies. By now, he's put out the fire, leaving only scorch marks on the ground and the dead body to show real evidence the magically induced flames were there.

He roots around in more pockets. A glance to a trinket is given, but it's quickly discarded with a snort implying lack of interest.]

Now, do I look the sort to conspire with people from Tevinter? [A faux innocent look is granted to the warrior, the batting of eyelashes included.] Now you, ser -- you look the sort with a grudge.

[ Fenris is not deterred by theatrics. He's tired; he's hungry; he never had much patience to begin with. He moves swiftly, grabbing Fate by the wrist. ]

Tell me how you knew that slaver's name.

[ His markings flash, bright and pale against his dark skin. ]

[The elven mage pauses, peering down at the hand on his wrist, then his bright blue eyes rove back up to how the tattoos glow again.

His lips twitch, his smirk not quite leaving.]

And that there is some very specific work done.

[But he doesn't press.]

I prefer to tell my stories over a drink and a hot meal. If you've some... patience, I could treat you at the closest pub. In thanks, for the rescue.

Or you could continue to threaten me. That's an excellent motivator, but one less free meal for you.

[ His stomach growls, as if in answer. He shuts his eyes briefly, sighing, and lets Fate go. Wary and exhausted as he is, he also well knows that he has a tendency to judge first and ask questions later (if at all). Had he met this man ten years ago, he might well have continued with the threats--or just moved on to the violence. But his time with Hawke did teach him a few things about painting all mages with the same brush.

He steps back, runs a hand through his fine white hair. ]

Fine.

[ He's not quite ready to tender any apologies, though. ]

But if I find out you were ever somehow in league with them--

[ HELL TO PAY, BUDDY. ]

I doubt you'll be the last man to threaten my life for what I may or may not have done or will do. At least save it until I do something that actually irritates you, yes?

[Despite his words, Fate is grinning, as if amused. At the very least, he doesn't seem offended to be manhandled or threatened.

Readjusting his wide-brimmed hat, he gestures for the other elf to follow him.]

Do you have a name, or should I make up something for you?

[ This man is irreverent, but it doesn't exactly put Fenris off. He's reminded--briefly, slightly--of Hawke. She always talked like this, too. Like everything was a joke, or a game.

He follows along, thinking of her, trying not to let the sudden association predispose him too warmly. He doesn't know the first thing about who he's dealing with, and he's not averse to ending their association violently, if need be.

But he does find himself hoping it won't come to that. ]

Fenris.

[ A beat. ]

What of you?

[Fenris. The name is familiar, but he imagines it'll come back to him soon enough. Honestly, the tattoos and the demeanor are more interesting to him than anything else.

With a sharp smile, he tips his hat before looking forward again.]

Twisted Fate.

It's a pleasure, Fenris.

[ Fenris doesn't say much until they're ensconced in the tavern, drinks in hand, stew on the way. He'd asked for red wine, a luxury he hasn't been able to enjoy for weeks on weeks--but if this elf is paying, why not?

He swirls it in its goblet as he stares down Fate, his green eyes luminous, searching. ]

I've known the Dalish to have odd ways, but 'Twisted Fate' does not strike me as traditional.

[Red wine. Not a bad choice, and a price he's willing to pay. In his own goblet, he has a sim, giving a little hum before he returns to his mutton.]

If there's something I can at least assure you, I'm leaps and bounds away from a traditional Dalish. I really like wearing boots too much, in any case.

But you, my friend, wanted to know what I know. So here it is.

Magister Aregor Priggs is interested in getting his property back. You can probably guess what that is. Simple enough, isn't it? I escaped him, and I have no interest in going back to Tevinter ever. Something I get the feeling you can relate to.

[ He has to admit, he's rarely seen one of the Dalish dressed so flamboyantly. It wasn't something he had time to consider while in the thick of battle--his focus being firmly elsewhere--but now he's taking the time to observe. He doesn't quite know what to make of what he's seeing, and when Fate mentions property recovery, he visibly tenses.

He bites back his first response--don't presume to know me-- ]

Are you saying you were a slave?

[A specific question that requires a careful answer. Fate sets down his fork and knife, and folds his fingers together, his grip tight.

He frowns, and says:] I am saying that I will be, if he does manage to find me. And he is a prideful man who does not make light on his losses.

[ The stew arrives, steaming hot and--if not exactly premium with regard to the meat and vegetables--filling. Fenris licks a bit of gravy off of his lower lip as he considers what Fate's said so far. ]

And I'm to presume those men were in your magister's employ.

[ He's still not sure if he buys this story. ]

What was in the note?

That would be correct.

[Such annoying little details. Twisted Fate sighs and sits back.]

Instructions on how to find me, and what to do with me. I'm not keen on too many loose ends, and certainly not eager to be found by anyone with a grudge.

Hmm.

[ He taps his armored fingers against the table, considering. He knows what it is to be pursued--it was his life for years upon years, after all. ]

Do you expect more company from your good Magister, then?

You know how it is with prideful men. They aren't easily deterred, and most definitely not him.

So yes, I do. Perhaps someone would be interested in removing a few more Tevinter from this world?

Someone has been doing that already.

[ And quite well, in fact, if he says so himself. He drinks his wine as he eyes Twisted Fate, remembering the days when he stole coin to survive. He doesn't live well as it stands; mostly just manages on the bounties he collects here and there. ]

But if someone were to be paid, he might focus his efforts for his employer's benefit.

[Twisted Fate smiles crookedly, then shrugs a shoulder.]

I think that could be arranged. [Fate is rarely hurting for coin, for one reason or another.]

Name your price.

[ He leans forward over the table, his bright green eyes focused on Fate's unusually fancy clothes. They're of much better make the average Dalish elf--even of the average human. Bespoke, perhaps, though it's harder for him to tell with robes. Fine fabric, certainly. Befitting an Orlesian noble. ]

What can you afford?

[ It might be a leading question. ]

[At that, Twisted Fate chuckles and leans forward to peer at the other elf. Most things can be bought, easily.]

Let's begin with an allowance, perhaps? Five sovereign weekly for keeping me alive. An additional for every Tevinter you slay.

If we need to adjust the terms, then I'm open to discuss. [But he's going to guess that it's a better deal than whatever Fenris has been doing otherwise.]

[ His eyes widen slightly, because Fate is right, of course--that's a far superior income to his current intermittent earnings. It feels too good to be true, and that makes him suspicious. He's always been a little paranoid, usually for good reason, and it's a difficult habit to break.

But he supposes there's no harm in seeing where the offer takes him. ]

Quite generous.

[ He finishes off the wine. ]

And how many men did I already kill for you back there? I'm forgetting.

Don't think much of it. I'm looking forward to having a simpler time, really.

[And he will run, for as long as he can; he has no urge to confront Magister Priggs anytime soon.]

Ah, yes. Six, I believe. Expecting back payment, are we?

[ Can't run from the past forever, buddy.

Fenris lifts the empty goblet, shrugging. ]

This is good wine. I should like to have more of it--only, my coin purse is unhappily light.

[you wanna BET]

Well, never let me stop someone from having as much wine as he'd like. Especially when he's watching out for my ass for the foreseeable future.

[From his purse, he relieves himself of six sovereign, leaving them on the table for Fenris.]

As for me, a drink sounds fine enough as well before I turn in. Unless there was something else you needed to ask of me?

[ Maker's breath. Does this elf always throw so much money around? He runs his fingers across them, as if checking to make sure that they're real. With a slight frown, he glances back up at Fate, shaking his head. ]

No. I know all I need to, for now.

[ Questions linger. How did a Dalish elf get involved with a magister in the first place? What was their history? Why was the magister so keen to get him back--or kill him?

But those could wait, he supposes. ]

open post;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

propheretic dasharathi lavellan ( DA: I )	eleutheron fenris ( DA II )
( coding by whambam )