Notes and Chains [ open ]

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for Canicus Callixtus ; I forgot how to write lmao forgive me[break][break]
Cyrlan's itinerary these days was simple. Often, it consisted of sleepless nights spent at libraries, obligatory visits to the chantry (with them often requesting favours), or trekking to both circle and college to ease their ever growing tensions. [break][break]

Sometimes, he took some time off to hunt slavers.[break][break]

Too long had people suffered under them, and with war looming on the horizon, people were moving, and the slavers, hunting them with chain and whip. A free hand traced a jagged scar, faded now with age, as did all childhood scars. [break][break]

Word had reached his ears relatively quickly, rumor cemented with the discovery of a little note in the corner of Val Royeaux, when he had been instructed to coordinate with Chantry Templars (for better mage-templar relations, or some other vague sentiment he more or less acequised to). If anything, it helpfully informed him of his own presence; that of the Hero; and of slavers. Scattered across a period of time, yet solid enough of evidence, as far as evidence often went in his experience, to launch a solo expedition all the way to the Hinterlands.[break][break]


A few slavers were executed swiftly, ambitious individuals broken off from a main group, as far as he could tell from the remaining man's panicked pleas. This, he hauled around by the back of his shirt none too gently. It would always do to have one survivor, especially if he would need to locate their den. Which, in such a case as this, he would. [break][break]

"Alright," he hissed, shoving the slaver in front of him with the bladed end of a staff quickly resting on the small of the other's back. "Let's go find your friends." The inquisitor was admittedly on the taller side of most dalish elves, a trait he used to his advantage now. Combined with the twisted creation that began at the end of his elbow, steel and ironbark woven into eerie organic likeness, and the sword that marked him as a knight-enchanter in skill if nothing else, it was not too difficult to see why some often referred to the dalish as savages.[break][break]

Threads of magic, felt dimly like a fast fading light, were what alerted him to the presence of another; the smell of blood that followed told him that some other hunter had located the main party.[break][break]

"Looks like we found them," he declared upon entry, the slaver still unwillingly marched before him. Any other meeting under more diplomatic conditions would have warranted a more cheery greeting, but all the other elf would receive now was a wan grin, not hostile but even so, did little to help the bloodied, heavily armed dalish elf. Cyrlan moved to rest the staff on the ground but a firm hand forced his captive to remain still (prior struggles had proved futile, anyway). Flames danced around his fingers, residual magic that had yet to leave. [break][break]

"I take it you're looking for them as well?"

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