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Post by cyrlan lavellan on May 8, 2016 9:53:43 GMT -5
[googlefont=montserrat][newclass=.hug_much2]width:345px;padding:20px 19px 20px 19px;background:#efefef;border:1px solid #bcbcbc;[/newclass] [newclass=.much]width:320px;padding:10px;border:1px solid #bcbcbc;background:#ffffff;padding-bottom:30px[/newclass] [newclass=.image]width:320px;height:160px;position:absolute;background:url('http://ultraimg.com/images/Untitled-11efaf.png')[/newclass] [newclass=.much_border]width:300px;height:140px;border:5px solid #ffffff;margin-top:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.much_text]width:250px;margin-top:195px;line-height:1.3em;text-align:justify;font-size:9.5px;font-family:calibri;color:#343434;padding-bottom:25px[/newclass] [newclass=.much_text a]font-family:georgia;color:#343434;font-style:italic;font-size:8.5px;letter-spacing:0.4px;[/newclass] [newclass=.alive_much1]border:1px solid #bcbcbc;padding:12px 25px 10px 25px;;font-size:7px;font-family:PT ono;letter-spacing:1.7px;text-transform:uppercase;width:194px;text-align:justify;background:#ffffff;line-height:1em;color:#a2a2a2[/newclass] [newclass=.alive_much1a]border:1px solid #bcbcbc;padding:5px;width:246px;background:#efefef[/newclass][newclass=.lemcred]width:300px;height:20px;font-family:montserrat;font-size:9px;margin-top:5px;color:#232323;[/newclass] [newclass=.lemcred a]color:#323232!important;font-family:montserrat!important;font-size:9px!important;text-transform:lowercase !important;[/newclass] [attr="class","hug_much2"] [attr="class","much"] [attr="class","image"] [attr="class","much_border"]
[nospaces] [attr="class","much_text"] for Fenris ; he's gonna have like, a single moment of coolness and that's it[break][break] After a moment of consideration, he belatedly realises that he is holding a soldier's, of the presumably deceased variety, rusted gauntlet. Or so he assumes it is rust, but chances are that dried blood is somewhere within the mix, for this soldier has surely fallen victim to some vicious beast within the wilds. Those are aplenty, that much he is certain. Hastily, he deposits it where he found it, shakes his hand of any suspicious residue that he does not want to think too much about, and continues on his way. There is no Inquisition insignia, neither is it the rotting, corroded-away armor of red templars, so it cannot be from the fight so long ago. Eventually his mind leaves the fallen gauntlet, if only because he now senses an odd disturbance in the air.[break][break] Or more accurately, the Fade. It starts as an odd tug of his gut and he keeps himself from physically lurching forward with all the ease of an experienced mage. Even so, it is enough to shake him quite visibly, ears flicking about to catch the slightest sound, any warning to what is happening. It comes rather discreetly, far off to be almost impossible to catch if he were anything besides a dalish elf. As it were, he is, and soon he sets off in the direction of crackling roots and creaking branches. The demons are stirring within their wooden hosts, rage twisting and turning otherwise harmless boughs into deadly limbs, ready to ensnare and crush. Sylvans - rage demons who possessed trees to avoid running into powerful mages or templars. They often lie dormant in their original positions, stirring only when visitors announce their presence. He supposes that his actions, coupled with that of the elf he's met shortly before, have more than done that. Might as well have yelled it for the forest to hear. [break][break] This time, he unslings the staff from his back. The spirit sword will hardly be enough to deal with a horde of raving sylvans, and with the other not being a mage, the task is an uphill one. The most certain way to destroy them is with fire, but the other (who surely chooses to fight rather than flee) is not a mage and wields a sword instead. Cyrlan narrowly misses tripping over a twisted root, thankfully just of a regular tree, and wonders if he's hurtling towards his demise. He's read stories before in Skyhold's own library, and those who survive encounters with sylvans never quite come out unscathed. And that's the people who are smart enough to brave infested forests with whole armies. This forest isn't overrun with sylvans, but the veil is weakened - not surprising given the place's history - and demons will find it much easier to pass through. It's not a cheery thought.[break][break] He charges into the fray, unsurprisingly. The staff he grasps looks less of the fanciful masterworks that enchanters and magisters hold alike, but instead seems to be a crudely made mash up of pale wood and a blade - a terribly mangled spear with a curved edge, runes embedded along one end. Yet it is formidable in his hands, or so one hopes, as fire sparks down its edge. "Get down!" He barks it out, and this time there is no humor in his voice, but it is chillingly cold and sharp. Here is the Inquisitor who has lead one of the largest armies, who appears to navigate even the grand Game with quick wit and silken purrs. Here is the man who helped to stitch together a broken sky, eyes blazing and teeth bared in a ferocious snarl.[break][break] Flame explodes out, a controlled jet that hits the sylvan closest to Fenris. It does not spread ceaselessly like a forest fire but curls tightly around the searching tendril, and the sylvan bellows in pain. How it manages to make such a sound is beyond him, but it reverberates through his bones and now he's got its attention. A piercing snap behind him as he realises that there's another sylvan behind him as well. "Fenedhis," he curses quietly, and it's quite clear that this unexpected development unsettles him. "Not quite the plan." Cyrlan leaps clear of a stabbing root and raises his voice enough for the other to hear. "How many do you see?"[break][break] [attr="class","alive_much1a"] [attr="class","alive_much1"]the worst thing is that they aren’t even nightmares. they’re memories. |
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Post by Fenris on May 8, 2016 14:17:47 GMT -5
These were times when he almost wished he'd brought a battle axe, a weapon far more efficient when dealing with trees in his mind. Of course the best way to deal with these things were numbers... and a mage. Course Fenris wasn't in the business of seeking out help from them if he could help it and was positive he could handle this on his own. He'd faced far more threatening foes before. What was a damn tree going to do? He tried to ignore the blood already trailing down his arm, the demon having managed to slice him with one of it's roots. He'd never understand how something so harmless could turn out to be so deadly, but there were many things he'd rather not delve too deeply in, he supposed. Despite the struggle, the elf remained ever as calm, not letting panic get to his head and making sure each of his strikes counted, not dallying about and risking even worse injury. Soon he even managed to slice completely through the Sylan's leg, the amputated tendrils becoming lifeless once it had been severed from the demon, though it only hinders if for a moment. No, now it's more upset and Fenris narrowly dodges the trees next attack, catching a glimpse of the elf again just in time to hear his order. Fenris grits his teeth but obliges, if not solely because he didn't wish to be burned. In a matter of seconds, the monster was set ablaze, it's embers fortunately appearing to be well controlled, though it hadn't completely put the distrustful Fenris at ease. "Perfect... Now it's on fire." he mutters, unamused as the tree continues to stand, charred but undefeated, though it's attention was now placed on the pesky mage which made dealing with it slightly less difficult. While the Sylvan began closing in on the mage, Fenris had approached from behind and served a powerful swing, managing to slice the now weakened tree in half, sending it crashing down, seemingly lifeless. Whether he'd destroyed the demon or it left on it's own to survive was uncertain, but he was content enough that it was down. Instead of blood, ashes covered his armor and blade, though the elf hadn't quite relaxed just yet, not even because of the trees either. Though the mage had come to his aid, he was still wary of his presence and didn't seem willing to trust him just yet. But when he noticed another one of the living trees roaming about, he reluctantly decided to perhaps put aside his differences... for now. "...Two." he finally answers, stabbing down with his blade to stop a new set of roots that had tried to entangle him. The other Sylvan had made that awful sound before it emerged from the foliage, joining the other Sylvan to fight off the two elves. They were quite fortunate that all the trees hadn't come to life, but he hoped to not have to fight against the entire fucking jungle if he could help it. Pulling his sword from the ground, Fenris reluctantly decided to get a bit closer to the mage, if only the purpose of ensuring he wasn't in his literal line of fire. "This changes nothing." he feels the need to state, not wanting the other elf to believe they were pals simply because he decided to offer him assistance. "If you can weaken them, I can cut them down." he explains, watching both Sylvans closely as they made their approach. The one thing they could be thankful for was that while powerful, these towering beasts were rather slow. "Unless you intend to simply piss yourself." he mutters. For a moment there, the elf had seemed a bit more fitting of the Inquisitor role, but now that things seemed a little more difficult, he could sense the uneasiness. The coward could run now if he wished, but Fenris was going nowhere. fenris was kind of impressed while it lasted xD |
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on May 9, 2016 9:12:48 GMT -5
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[nospaces] [attr="class","much_text"] for Fenris ; cue the intense tree fighting scene[break][break] Few things overpower sylvans. They are strong, fueled by the sheer force of anger alone (as one expects from being possessed by rage demons), and stop at nothing to wreak devastation upon the living around them. Simple, perhaps, in how they do not trick and seduce as the desire demons do, but relentless with a brutal fury in their attacks that Cyrlan finds exhaustive to match. Part of him is glad that he is facing sylvans instead of powerful rage demons on their own, considering the latter's extensive set of abilities. But, he notes as he brings up a parry barely quick enough to counter a spear-like branch, sylvans are much bigger. Their little party of two is half the size of Cyrlan's preferred travelling group, too. No matter how brightly he wants to paint this picture, it's very much beyond his capability. [break][break] Until Fenris finally deigns to reply him, of course. "Two?" He echoes hopefully, this time summoning up the spirit blade just long enough to cleave the offending branch in half and relinquishing his hold before the blade gets the chance to be embedded in the trunk. "Two is good! We can hopefully handle two, ah, very angry trees." The cracking and ripping of the sylvans make them seem like an entire army, as though the wilds themselves are turning against these intruders. It's not too far a stretch of the imagination, but Cyrlan stops his mind there and returns it to the task at hand, nodding mutely at the explanation. He doesn't speak again until he catches the muttered comment (which, truth be told, is not too long after), spluttering indignantly in response. "I can assure you, that will not happen." Neither can he flee, as per the other's suggestion. The idea does not sit well with him, and he's also fairly certain that a certain champion would try to kill him if Fenris is harmed.[break][break] He falls easily into the rhythm of combat, of real combat, not batting about friendly opponents in a dusty courtyard. Here, it seems all too easy to reach into the pool of mana within and gather the Fade's energy into any desired spells. A casual wave of the hand sends a shimmer of blue light across them both, a protective barrier of sorts. As slow as they might be, the sylvans gain ground quickly with their giant strides. [break][break] The mage gathers up his energy, and when he releases the next fireball, it feels as though his breath is wrenched from his lungs as well. This one is larger but no less focused, and like before it coils tightly around the sylvan before exploding. It sends the sylvan roaring back, batting helplessly at itself as leaves shrivel into ash. A nod sent Fenris' way is a signal to go ahead and launch an attack before he remembers how to speak. "I can work around your attacks, so go ahead," he calls out at the other's back. In the splitseconds when he calculates the next spell, he considers the idea of setting the greatsword on fire to make their attacks more efficient, but dismisses it just as quickly. This is not one of his companions, not the inner circle of friends he's all too familiar with. This is a stranger (a term relatively used) who can and most likely will, take his head off right after demolishing these trees if he does something as stupid.[break][break] He moves forward to get a better aim and the second sylvan takes the opportunity to remind him that yes, it is still there. A root lashes upward and grabs hold of his leg, biting down with more force than he would expect from a tree. It does not stop there, lifting him into the air, and he doesn't resist the motion. Rather, he swings forward with a grunt and buries the blade end of the staff into the wooden trunk, flames dancing across its length. The tree bellows and drops him with all the delicacy of tossing trash aside, and the elf collides with the ground rather harshly. He doesn't move from there for a moment, only rolling to his side to angle another fireball towards the sylvan Fenris is facing, careful to arc around the warrior. Only then does he move, scrambling out of range to prepare another blast of fire. [attr="class","alive_much1a"] [attr="class","alive_much1"]the worst thing is that they aren’t even nightmares. they’re memories. |
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Post by Fenris on May 9, 2016 20:35:57 GMT -5
It almost sounded as if the Inquisitor had truly found this situation hopeless, but upon hearing the count, he seemed to be a bit more confident. Though he didn't want to admit to it, having the mage there did improve his chances, so he would appreciate him to not lose his head, legend or not. His brows furrowed at the thought, dodging another blast of roots that had attempted to trap him in place and slicing them down in one quick swoop, the chopped roots retracting almost as quickly as they'd arrived. If they didn't actually start fighting soon, they may not even have the chance. "Then stop talking and get on with it!" he growls. If the elf's fear of the Sylvans wasn't enough to get him going, perhaps the broody elf's threats would do the trick. Perhaps not, but he didn't concern himself too much with waiting on the other, merely trying to keep himself alive. Of all the pain he endured, he wouldn't want his life to be ended by a damn tree. He may have appreciated not being inflicted by the other's magic, sending him a harsh glare at what could actually be a beneficial spell. Fenris however bit back any insults he may have wanted to throw, deciding to save them for after they got through this. Instead, he waits for the signal, watching as another of the living trees are consumed by flames, before hopping back into the fray. The demon shrieks and hisses, disoriented for a moment, long enough that he was able to make his first strike without issue. The magical flames had worked to weaken the tree's form and with another strike, the Sylvan lurched forward, it's balance put off as one of it's legs had been amputated like the first offender before it. The demon recovers quickly enough, it's mobility hindered but it's attacks were not. This time it would catch the elf in it's tendrils, holding him steady while it moved to strike with it's claw-like branches but is hindered once more as another blast of fire strikes, a bit too close for comfort for the warrior. He shakes it off, keeping levelheaded as he manages to free himself from the roots. Once able, Fenris continued his onslaught on the charred Sylvan until it lied still, a mere tree now with the demon gone. He couldn't simply relax just yet, however, leaving that tree behind in favor of attacking the other who was stalking towards the Inquisitor, undoubtedly holding a grudge for that stab it had endured. "Hey, tree bastard!" he raises his voice to catch it's attention and it surprisingly works. "Make this easier for me and just walk into my blade, will you?" he suggests as he wiped the sweat from his brow, taunting the rage demon who fell for the distraction without even a second thought. So he waits for it to come towards him, giving the mage more room to work with. this is mostly rambling, i'm sorry! |
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on May 10, 2016 8:14:44 GMT -5
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[nospaces] [attr="class","much_text"] for Fenris ; he swears it is more difficult than it looks also psshhh your post is great[break][break] His leg starts throbbing, and a headache worms its way to settle behind his eyes. The mage still rides on a momentary high given the use of his magic, as any other mage does, but he knows all too well that the euphoria does not last long, and is prone to making him overextend himself, giving himself the false impression of having more energy than he really does. Still, the pain is not overwhelming, and he shoves it to the back of his mind and keeps it there with mulish stubbornness, until it is nothing more than a dull drone. It will come back to bother him later, that much he is certain, but first he must secure the chance of getting a 'later'.[break][break] The other elf is doing well enough, mercilessly hacking away at the charred tree until it remains as that, a lifeless bulk of blackened bark and burnt leaves. Cyrlan catches only a glimpse before he's once again preoccupied by the remaining sylvan, its branches extending out as giant claws. One tries to wrap around his waist and he scrambles out of its grasp just in time, calling up the spirit sword just in time to bring it crashing down on the branch. Said arm retreats rapidly, only to replaced by more roots. The rage demon is relentless in its approach, as expected. The stab wound inflicted still glows like dying embers, but it is not quite enough to stop the sylvan. If anything, it simply serves to make it angrier. He comes to the conclusion that only the giant fireballs, much like the ones he's summoned earlier, can truly hinder its process.[break][break] A shout distracts the sylvan and the demon lurches away gracelessly, focused on a new target. It has no mouth nor eyes that he can see from here, but yet it roars deafeningly, and Cyrlan is tempted to clap his hands over sensitive ears to drown out the sound. That is not an option, however, so he opts for simply flattening his ears against his skull and summoning up another fireball. The Veil, he notes absently, is thinner here. Not the thinnest he's known, or anywhere near that, given his experience, but enough for things like sylvans to manifest. Magic comes even more easily to him now, but every spell weakens the veil. It's a terrible cycle he wishes to have no part of, even as he launches another gout of flame at the sylvan. It connects squarely thanks to the warrior's distraction, and Cyrlan allows himself a grim smile of fleeting triumph.[break][break] His magic bleeds like an open wound now, unchained and swirling wildly around him with the coiled grace of a predator. It is visible even to the naked eye, golden licks of fire that lick the very air about his being, giving green-grey eyes an odd glow. "Please do what he tells you to do," he directs this tired comment at the sylvan itself, not quite loud enough to catch its attention. The Inquisitor pauses, watches as the warrior strikes before he waves his hand in a broad, sweeping gesture. The fire that explodes out is different this time, a vortex of controlled chaos that digs into the demon and does not burn out like the rest. His hand is still outstretched, still straining for control over this flame which has already left him. It burns fiercely and dances as though alive, until they both are certain that the sylvan has been defeated. [break][break] Only then does he relinquish his hold, the fire winking out to a pile of cinders until he goes over and stomps it out completely. "Wouldn't want to start a forest fire, now would we?" His voice resumes its conversational tone, almost song-like and oddly cheery for someone turned as pale from exertion as he is. [attr="class","alive_much1a"] [attr="class","alive_much1"]the worst thing is that they aren’t even nightmares. they’re memories. |
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Post by Fenris on May 11, 2016 3:07:29 GMT -5
As the tree approached, Fenris repaired his grip, aiming to finish this demon off sooner rather than risk both he and the mage tiring out. He'd simply focus everything he had on his strikes, delivering each precisely and with deadly force. This Sylvan wouldn't be walking any longer once he was done with it, the elf having a bit of pent up rage he'd like to get off his chest. It just so happened he had an ideal target now that wasn't this apparent Inquisitor, which perhaps was the best. Demons were far worse than mages, after all. The rage demon releases a roar that Fenris might have swore shook the entire earth around them, though he still remained unfased, eyes narrowing as the monster drew near, side stepping just out of it's aim and using the momentum to slice through the embers and bark, merely frustrating the beast more now that it was struggling to deal with both the relentless flames and the sharp blade. Like the others, however, it was only a matter of time before it would fall. The elven warrior of course wasn't satisfied until he sliced the remains in half, firmly believing that it was better to be safe than sorry. Quite honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with another Sylvan so soon, a fact that lead Fenris to question whether he should turn back before he no longer had the choice. The warrior scowled at the thought of leaving empty handed, but if this damn jungle didn't kill him, Hawke certainly might have the mind to. Besides, he was certain the scholar would be happy with any sort of information he could provide. But he supposed there was still another matter to tend to, the elf turning to the other as he stomped out the embers, claiming to want to prevent a wildfire. How thoughtful. Well unfortunately Fenris hadn't appeared too impressed. Actually, he looked annoyed again. Was he still upset with the mage, even after he proved himself? Perhaps... Fenris approached the other, sheathing his sword and not saying a word until he placed a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Sit down before you fall down." he mutters, not bothering to look at him. Why the sudden concern? Well try as he might, it didn't take much for the warrior to notice the Inquisitor's state. If being pale wasn't a clear indication, Fenris had seen Hawke in this state plenty of times before. Though this was not her, he oddly felt compelled to keep the man from getting any worse. He of course decided to blame it on being a bit weary himself. Either way, it'd do neither of them good if the man passed out as Fenris wasn't in the business of carrying mages like some pack mule. Not anymore, anyway. The ghostly glow of his marks would slowly begin to die down alongside his adrenaline, the elf retracting his hand, regardless of whether or not the other would comply, as he took a moment to scan the area. There didn't appear to be any immediate threat, but Fenris still wasn't too eager to wait around long enough to give anything the chance. Until the mage looked less like a ghost himself, the warrior had reluctantly taken on the role of lookout. "Fasta vass..." he hissed as he examined his arm for a moment. It was nothing serious, more like a nuisance than anything as the blood had seeped into his gauntlet. he's not totally sold, but at least he's behaving... kinda |
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on May 11, 2016 9:57:59 GMT -5
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[nospaces] [attr="class","much_text"] for Fenris ; cyr is impressed by the concern ahaha[break][break] He casts his senses about him to the best of his ability, eyes straining to pick out any foreign movement, ears swiveling to catch any sound out of place. Nothing jumps out at him as he continues to put out tiny fires until every little one is extinguished, and even the air seems still. The headache remains a dull roar crashing against the back of his eyes, but he knows it to be due to unexpected exertion and less of his sensitivity towards the veil and fade. His posture is strained now, shoulders slumping ever so slightly, leaning on the staff as one would a crutch. The buzz from the magic leaves him as well, leaving him feeling more drained than he likes to admit. In another time, he would have drawn power from the odd mark on his hand, one that simultaneously gave and took in manners so complex he never quite managed to wrap his head around. Now, however, it is gone (along with his entire forearm, truth be told) and the pool of mana within him feels pathetically shallow in comparison.[break][break] For a moment, he stares off into the foliage and wonders about the next course of action. The fact that the world around him is starting to spin in ways he thinks is rather impossible suggests strongly that he take a rest, but for some odd reason he remains upright until he feels a hand on his shoulder. He might have jumped a foot into the air at the unexpected contact, but as it is, he only flinches slightly, turning ever so slightly to refocus on the other, eyes widening a little in surprise. At first, he opens his mouth as if to protest and a feeble "I'll be fine" escapes his lips before his legs crumple beneath him and the Inquisitor flops onto the ground inelegantly. "On second thought, this is more comfortable." [break][break] The smile is heard rather than seen as he searches for a potion, finds more than a few attached to his belt (he does not remember this, and assumes that some helpful scout or other has taken the initiative to do so). He gulps it down, winces slightly at the bitter taste, and returns the vial to its original location while waiting for it to take effect. It isn't as if he can simply sit here on the floor and wait for himself to gather enough strength to start moving again. The warrior takes on the role of a sentry, he observes, but doesn't look all too good himself. Granted, Fenris will probably never admit to needing more help, but the familiar Tevene curse he hears is not comforting. Cyrlan surmises that the other does deserve help, prickly or not. [break][break] "Thanks." A quiet, murmured word, tentative as though anything can and will offend the elf. Chances are that it does, but Cyrlan continues nonetheless. "Will you try to kill me if I offer to heal that?" He nods towards the bloodied arm from his position on the ground, but proffers a spare vial should healing magic be rejected. The mage does not know much of healing magic for his specialty lies in that of combat, but he knows just enough to be useful outside the battlefield. The Dalish have to take credit for that. They encourage a miscellany of skills, and it only makes sense that one who capers about the wilderness know how to mend a broken bone or two, not flawlessly but enough to function. Gradually, colour starts to make its reappearance in his face and his limbs, while heavy, at least respond to his commands. "I don't think - I surely hope not - there are more sylvans," he comments, retracting the proffered potion if unaccepted, staring out at the dense forest that lies beyond. [break][break] It is in both their interests to conclude their business and move on, that much he is certain. The camp lies in a direction he knows as vaguely east, but he does not doubt his ability to find his way back. Fenris, on the other hand, seems to be travelling alone. It's hardly advisable in his opinion, if he is to take their recent encounter as a warning for things to come. Though nothing seems to be happening, or more accurately nothing is leaping for his throat, the thought jars him into an attempt to stand up once more. It is somewhat successful as he straightens up still handling the staff as support but not leaning on it quite as much. [attr="class","alive_much1a"] [attr="class","alive_much1"]the worst thing is that they aren’t even nightmares. they’re memories. |
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Post by Fenris on May 11, 2016 17:21:37 GMT -5
Hmm... Well he supposed he couldn't say too much when it came to stubbornly standing one's ground, though he'd like to think the mage had more of a threat to allowing himself to weaken when there was no doubt better chance for him to be preyed upon out here. Fenris was not oblivious to the weakened veil in the area. One might say that it was partly due to the fact he had one foot inside the Fade thanks to his markings, but really it didn't take much to come to such a conclusion when demons were running amok. He'd rather not have to deal with a possessed mage on top of all this, though he supposed he wasn't giving this man much credit. Either way, resting was an unfortunate necessity, one that even the mage clearly couldn't argue against as his legs had buckled, sending him to the ground. At his response, Fenris would merely scoff, turning his attention elsewhere as he walked past the other, giving him time to recuperate. The elf thanked him and Fenris bit the inside of his cheek, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't mention it." he muttered, though it sounded more like a demand than anything. There were only a rare few mages he'd openly support, after all, and didn't seem too fond of the thought of being considered an ally of all, even though he technically fought for them years ago. That of course was mostly for Hawke's sake than theirs, and he doubted there was much confusion when it came to his opinion on them, considering he still killed many of their kind when he ran into dangerous magisters who he'd deem required termination. He supposed the Inquisitor could be another one of those special cases, but not until he knew more of the man than mere hearsay. Fenris would simply have to find out for himself what king of man he really was... At least it wasn't too unfavorable at the moment? Oops. Never mind. Fenris looked over his shoulder to the elf with another one of his scowls. He wouldn't even let Zaria heal him, he certainly wasn't going to let this man. "Want to find out?" he growls, and that should have said more than enough. "You can barely stand. Conserve your energy, mage." he mutters. Well it seemed it wasn't purely hate that prevented his aid, but also that odd concern. It was at least safe to say the elf would sooner cut the other elf down before he allowed him to cast any spells on him. As far as the potion was concerned, however, Fenris seemed to consider it for a moment before rejecting it as well. "It's just a scratch." he explains, an ear twitching in mild annoyance. As he waits, the jungle around them remains relatively quiet, with no signs of danger to be seen yet. It was almost comforting, at least giving the two a chance to compose themselves, but Fenris was still eager to get moving, barely able to just stand still as he constantly adjusted his footing. Soon enough the other elf seemed to be looking a lot less pale and the warrior nodded at his regard towards the Sylvans. "Not in this area, at least." That didn't mean they wouldn't possibly run into more, but he was hopeful they could avoid anything else while they left, at least that had been the plan. As much as Fenris would like to continue on, it seemed far too dangerous to try. Perhaps he'd try again in the future but for now he'd focus on leaving the Wilds so that he could live another day. He turns around as he hears the other's movement, watching him struggle to stand but eventually manage, leaning on his staff for support. "Are you going to make it?" he questions with a slight tilt of his head. He'd have liked to get out sooner than later, but he was worried the other might not be able to keep up in his condition. As easy as it might be to simply leave the other behind, he knew he wouldn't, not at this point, and that thought annoyed him more than it should have. As long as they didn't encounter Sylvans again, he was certain he could handle any monster they may come across, but it'd be a bit more difficult if he also had to babysit the Inquisitor all the while. fenris didn't get paid for this shit lmao |
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on May 12, 2016 9:57:02 GMT -5
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[nospaces] [attr="class","much_text"] for Fenris ; fenris isn't paid enough for all the shit he goes through, the poor bab[break][break] Seconds tick by and the elf grows increasingly aware of the thinness of the Veil here. It wraps around him, familiar yet strange - it reminds him of the places where his clan travels (used to travel), places where the veil is thin, but not thin enough to wreak outright havoc, but sufficiently so for the fade to bleed into the physical world and touch the living. The concept doesn't faze him as much as it would a circle mage, he only accepts it as it is (being attacked by rage demons notwithstanding, he's understandably nervous when facing down giant angry trees with whip-like branches). [break][break] The mage raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright, alright." This time, at least, he meets the scowl briefly with yet another faint tug of the lips before turning away to stow away the rejected poison. If the other insists on simply dealing with that injury, he will not argue. Eventually his legs start to feel steadier than twigs and Cyrlan tentatively bounces on his heels, feeling relief flood through him when his body behaves as it should. The potion has worked, evidently, but a good rest is still in order before he tackles the woods again on the next day. Next time, he will be sure to bring a companion. There is no shortage of curious persons, but few may be willing to wade through a forest steeped in elven history, especially a forest bloody and fade-touched. His cousin is not a bad choice, he concludes after a moment, and makes a note to ask her properly when he gets back, assuming she hasn't already decided to explore the wilds on her own. [break][break] Fenris' eagerness to get going does not go unnoticed by the other elf, who soon stops leaning quite so much on his staff if only to give the impression that yes, he isn't going to fall onto the ground uselessly. Which he is not. In fact, he thinks that he feels fairly good for someone who hasn't had a real, proper fight in a very long time. Rage demons are rarer now, and for that he is glad. Wounds still linger, his shoulder occasionally burns from when one flung in across the battlefield. [break][break] At the question, he waves a hand almost dismissively, though not unkindly. "Am I going to make it back to camp without a demon taking advantage of my weakened state?" He chuckles at the thought, but in a rare moment of seriousness, he considers the possibility. It is no higher than usual, he decides promptly. "I should be fine," he responds eventually, taking a step towards camp (or at least, where he strongly believes it to be). "We've all faced worse before, right?" He has faced down would-be gods and evil magisters, red templars and corrupted dragons. He has railed against the creature planning to fall an entire kingdom and emerged victorious, and lived through his own arm trying to kill him. Cyrlan can handle a simple walk back to camp, he tries to convince himself; tries to ignore the fact that it has been more than five years since then; more years than the journey itself. [break][break] "Out, right?" He makes the wild assumption that they're travelling together for the moment and starts to walk now, with long confident strides that lead by right, as if sweeping through some imaginary ballroom instead of marching through undergrowth. Yet each step is carefully placed out of instinct rather than deliberation, avoiding tangled roots and sharp rocks with ease as he consults an mental map of the area. It is by no means stealthy, but neither is he making a racket. For now, he's content with that. [attr="class","alive_much1a"] [attr="class","alive_much1"]the worst thing is that they aren’t even nightmares. they’re memories. |
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Post by Fenris on May 12, 2016 12:19:42 GMT -5
 Fenris is annoyed by the offer, but pleased enough with his reaction that his scowl softened as he turned his attention back to their surroundings. It didn't really matter if the mage had meant well or not. Were Fenris on the verge of dying, he likely would have been just as hostile. Why? Because he'd dealt with magic far more than he'd like to in a lifetime, the markings that burned his skin was a reminder of that. He apparently begged for the chance to have them before, a 'fact' he still wasn't too thrilled about knowing, and now he wanted absolutely nothing to do with magic, not wanting to relive the horrors he already had. So perhaps he was exaggerating just the slightest when it came to healing, but magic was still magic and it didn't matter how well he liked a mage, he still would never fully trust them to cast their spells on him. He'd been through far too much to simply let it go. Just another thing he'd have to work on, he supposed. But quite honestly, he was content with leaving that to the last of his list of things to improve. Fortunately the other elf would at least start improving and Fenris had already decided now was the time to get going before their presence was once again noticed. He also made a mental note to not mark any more trees, at least for now. It wouldn't really be necessary if they were heading out anyway. But first he'd like to be sure his 'companion' would not be a threat to his own safety, which was something that the Inquisitor had evidently caught on to. Good. At least he wasn't completely hopeless, though his lighthearted tone could use some improvement, as at first he didn't seem to take it too seriously. After some thought, he'd decided that he still ought to be fine, insisting that they faced worse. "Perhaps... But I don't want to 'inconvenience' your friends by having to put you down either." he states casually and it seems quite apparent that if possession were to occur, Fenris wouldn't hesitate. "I'm really not in the mood to have to fight an abomination." he concludes. Hopefully neither of them would be in danger, that their path would go smoothly. "Out..." he agrees with a nod, almost reluctantly. Earlier he had immediately shut down any attempts to travel together. Seemed like that worked out about as well as he could expect. At least now he felt like he could trust him just a margin easier, seeing as he fought alongside him. "I suppose I should thank you..." he admits with a sigh, not exactly pleased to have done so, but obligated to own up to it. As confident as he might have been, things would have been a lot more difficult if he had to face three Sylvans alone. There was a high chance he wouldn't have survived. He would have considered them even, after the whole incident in the Fade with Hawke, but even then the woman meant so much to him that it would perhaps take more than merely saving his life to match it... But it was a start, at least. "Till we are out of here, my sword is yours." he states, offering his services temporarily as thanks, mostly because he didn't want the mage wasting anymore of his energy on magic. luckily the bab is tough! and making some progress in the whole friendly thing lol |
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on May 14, 2016 4:33:58 GMT -5
[googlefont=montserrat][newclass=.hug_much2]width:345px;padding:20px 19px 20px 19px;background:#efefef;border:1px solid #bcbcbc;[/newclass] [newclass=.much]width:320px;padding:10px;border:1px solid #bcbcbc;background:#ffffff;padding-bottom:30px[/newclass] [newclass=.image]width:320px;height:160px;position:absolute;background:url('http://ultraimg.com/images/Untitled-11efaf.png')[/newclass] [newclass=.much_border]width:300px;height:140px;border:5px solid #ffffff;margin-top:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.much_text]width:250px;margin-top:195px;line-height:1.3em;text-align:justify;font-size:9.5px;font-family:calibri;color:#343434;padding-bottom:25px[/newclass] [newclass=.much_text a]font-family:georgia;color:#343434;font-style:italic;font-size:8.5px;letter-spacing:0.4px;[/newclass] [newclass=.alive_much1]border:1px solid #bcbcbc;padding:12px 25px 10px 25px;;font-size:7px;font-family:PT ono;letter-spacing:1.7px;text-transform:uppercase;width:194px;text-align:justify;background:#ffffff;line-height:1em;color:#a2a2a2[/newclass] [newclass=.alive_much1a]border:1px solid #bcbcbc;padding:5px;width:246px;background:#efefef[/newclass][newclass=.lemcred]width:300px;height:20px;font-family:montserrat;font-size:9px;margin-top:5px;color:#232323;[/newclass] [newclass=.lemcred a]color:#323232!important;font-family:montserrat!important;font-size:9px!important;text-transform:lowercase !important;[/newclass] [attr="class","hug_much2"] [attr="class","much"] [attr="class","image"] [attr="class","much_border"]
[nospaces] [attr="class","much_text"] for Fenris ; im so proud of the broody bab omg. free to add in whatever encounters if you'd like![break][break] The Dalish do not face the so-called Harrowings, which Cyrlan understands to be suitably...harrowing for young mages. It is a practice he cannot quite wrap his head around, throwing a young and nervous mage ripe for exploitation towards a demon's waiting talons, and subsequently expect them to slither out of the demon's grasp. The Fade is a confusing enough place without the need for demons to tempt them at every corner, a place where even the ground refuses to stay under one's feet. It is safe to assume that this mage does not hold within him the same fear of demons within him as his human counterparts would. He knows enough to talk his way out of a desire demon's clutches, or failing to do so, has enough faith in his abilities to flee an unreasonable creature. Not an easy task by far, but feasible. "You won't have to," he assures the other, seemingly unworried, until his smile twists into something more akin to a grimace. "My friends know what to do." He lets the words hang for a bit more before shaking his head abruptly as if to clear his mind, returning to his familiar carefree countenance. [break][break] He knows he isn't supposed to, but he pushes the memory of the Nightmare to the back of his mind and it settles there uneasily. If he pauses to doubt, he'll fall apart and that is not to be entertained. Least of all here, in the company of less than amiable Fenris, in the midst of an unstable forest. When the other speaks to thank him, it is once more a surprise - the fact that he deigns to speak on the journey, first of all, and the appearance of gratitude, however reluctant it may be. He manages a nonplussed "happy to help", takes a moment to recompose himself, raising a hand to gesture idly as he talks. "I think I owed you before." There is no need to explicitly state the nature of such, he assumes, since a stranger dragging a loved one through the 'ass-end of demon town' is hardly anything one tends to forget. "But thank you." The offer is appreciated, that much is evident, but he tilts his head downwards to focus on the ground beneath his feet before the warrior can catch the pensive glint in his eyes. [break][break] A comfortable silence falls between them should neither choose to speak, the only noise being their progress through foliage, crossing over half-hidden animal tracks and overgrown routes where armies clashed long ago (but in his mind's eye he still sees, still feels the rush of the battle, hears the roar of emboldened soldiers and the screams of the dying). But nothing seems to approach them, as far as he can tell. The trek to the camp is still a while off, since he allows the others to choose where they settle each night. They make far safer judgments than he, and this time they chose to camp right on the outskirts of the wilds. As sound a decision that is, he cannot help but lament the fact that it is not any closer. But the thought of camps spurs on a curious question, turning to Fenris as he asks. "Do you have a camp set up already?" He continues on to pose an offer, rejection already anticipated but he cannot quite bring himself to dwell on it. "You can make use of the Inquisition's resources when we get there, if you'd like." It is not a big camp, but comfortably furnished nonetheless. Despite the Inquisition pulling back several outposts upon downsizing, certain points of interest are closely watched, either for the sake of peacekeeping or other purposes such as research, among others. [attr="class","alive_much1a"] [attr="class","alive_much1"]the worst thing is that they aren’t even nightmares. they’re memories. |
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Post by Fenris on May 14, 2016 14:11:53 GMT -5
The elf insisted he had nothing to worry about, but Fenris was still rather unsure of that. This man was actually rather difficult to peg, acting cowardly one second and then showing some boldness the next. It was unsettling to say the least, but not as much as that grimace that the man wore after that, mentioning how his friends would be able to handle it. The pale-haired elf watched him for a moment, a brow quirked in questioning, but ultimately decided to drop it. There was no sense in talking about it anymore anyway. Soon enough the Dalish elf was acting carefree once more, making things feel less tense, admittedly. Well until he decided to pretty much gawk at his gratitude, just making Fenris regret saying anything at all. Why did people always act so surprised? He could never understand what was so odd about it and it just frustrated him a tad when people acted as if he'd grown two heads every time he practiced simple politeness when it was due. Did they not want him to act polite? He huffed at the thought but fortunately the younger male finally responded, even going as far as to admit he owed him. Fenris wasn't about to argue that, of course. It could be said that he really didn't have too much fault in the whole ordeal, having simply accepted Hawke's assistance, and even to a degree Fenris himself believed that. It was simply easier to set the blame on someone and made him feel a little less useless. He was just fortunate that nothing truly bad had happened. If she hadn't returned, seeking revenge wouldn't really be his sole objective. Living life without her? Now that seemed impossible. "We'll consider it settled..." he offers. For now, of course. He still wasn't certain there was anything that could make up for what could have been, but for now he hadn't the energy to hold a grudge. They continue their trek through the wilds quietly then, something that doesn't appear to bother Fenris in the slightest as it gives him better focus on their surroundings. Perhaps their little battle had repelled many of the creatures lurking about, since things were rather still. Any sort of signs of life were dismissed when shaking bushes had completely died down and potential threats turned out to be mere shadows playing tricks on him. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned by the lack of obstacles, but kept most of his thoughts to himself. It wouldn't be until the Inquisitor had decided to ask a question that he'd finally speak up. Did he have a camp? The answer was a simple "No." which would probably be rather concerning when you looked at him and realized he hadn't packed for such a thing. Was he that confident he didn't need it, or simply hadn't thought to do so? Well regardless, he didn't appear too concerned about it. Even if he had, they were going a different way than he had arrived, all signs of his carvings having long since been gone. It looked like he may have to travel even further after dropping him off at his camp. Or at least that had been the plan. The broody elf looks effectively perplexed by the offer. Maybe even just a tad uncertain about it. "And what makes you think your friends will be alright with that?" he asks. More importantly, who was to say they'd be very welcoming to a man that had literally threatened their leader's life not long before. He supposed if the Inquisitor said it was to be so, it would, but he had a feeling this man wasn't too commanding, nor would it change the fact that if they had problems with him being there, it would be incredibly tense. It didn't seem all that interesting for the elf who was appropriately wary of strangers, but neither was the possibility of travelling back to the nearest town at night. "You seem awfully trusting of a man who threatened you." he points out. Was he worried about his judgement? Well it wasn't as if Fenris had any intention of following through currently, but it did remind him of a certain someone. Regardless of his thoughts, it didn't appear that Fenris was actually rejecting the idea, so much as merely questioning it. It would be wise to rest at his camp, but he was a bit uncertain about being outnumbered by an unknown number of people who may or may not appreciate his presence. He agreed to take him there nonetheless, and he supposed once he arrived he could make a more educated decision. "I guess we'll just see..." he shrugs, leaving it at that. "hey, i'm the elf who tried to slice the inquisitor in half! can i stay for the night?" *shot* |
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on May 15, 2016 9:58:26 GMT -5
[googlefont=montserrat][newclass=.hug_much2]width:345px;padding:20px 19px 20px 19px;background:#efefef;border:1px solid #bcbcbc;[/newclass] [newclass=.much]width:320px;padding:10px;border:1px solid #bcbcbc;background:#ffffff;padding-bottom:30px[/newclass] [newclass=.image]width:320px;height:160px;position:absolute;background:url('http://ultraimg.com/images/Untitled-11efaf.png')[/newclass] [newclass=.much_border]width:300px;height:140px;border:5px solid #ffffff;margin-top:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.much_text]width:250px;margin-top:195px;line-height:1.3em;text-align:justify;font-size:9.5px;font-family:calibri;color:#343434;padding-bottom:25px[/newclass] [newclass=.much_text a]font-family:georgia;color:#343434;font-style:italic;font-size:8.5px;letter-spacing:0.4px;[/newclass] [newclass=.alive_much1]border:1px solid #bcbcbc;padding:12px 25px 10px 25px;;font-size:7px;font-family:PT ono;letter-spacing:1.7px;text-transform:uppercase;width:194px;text-align:justify;background:#ffffff;line-height:1em;color:#a2a2a2[/newclass] [newclass=.alive_much1a]border:1px solid #bcbcbc;padding:5px;width:246px;background:#efefef[/newclass][newclass=.lemcred]width:300px;height:20px;font-family:montserrat;font-size:9px;margin-top:5px;color:#232323;[/newclass] [newclass=.lemcred a]color:#323232!important;font-family:montserrat!important;font-size:9px!important;text-transform:lowercase !important;[/newclass] [attr="class","hug_much2"] [attr="class","much"] [attr="class","image"] [attr="class","much_border"]
[nospaces] [attr="class","much_text"] for Fenris & Ashyla Lavellan ; apologies for a poopy post ; u ; anyway, i think there's a lot going on in this post so tell me if you want anything changed ahaha[break][break] There is an olive branch being offered and he grasps at it, responding only with a quiet hum. The relief is palpable. He is too tired to argue over anything, and chances were that even if the other decided to berate (possibly an understatement) him for things done in the past, he would simply accept it without protest. Defending oneself required a significant amount of energy, which was more than he could muster up right now, if he were to make it back to camp in any reasonable amount of time. He certainly feels steadier now, the world and ground are steady beneath his feet, but saying that he does not need to properly rest is an outright lie. It's just as well that the other feels the same, no longer snapping out threats. Perhaps it is only because they've ceased to speak for now, but Cyrlan hopes that his display has lent him some credibility, or some reason for the other not to want his head divorced from his shoulders. They were quite happy where they were.[break][break] "Honestly, I just think that they can no longer be surprised by what I do altogether, given all that's happened," he admits with a chuckle. It is no secret that he does as he sees fit, even when his decisions stray into the 'what are you even trying to accomplish with that?' range of thought. It's a miracle his advisors haven't all tried to jump out of the war room's windows when talking to him. His companions regularly voice their confusion regarding such, when he decides that taking a huge detour to locate a lost druffalo takes precedence over dealing with overly ambitious rogue templars, or when he leads them all on a wild goose chase to find a wreath of flowers. Enchanted flowers of some sort, but flowers nonetheless. [break][break] At the next question, he seems all the more amused. "Being threatened at sword-point seems to be a habit of mine I cannot break." He shrugs lightly now, stepping carefully over overgrown roots (thankfully of the regular, unmoving variety). "How else do you want to meet people?" His tone is almost playful as he tries, and fails, to recall situations where he hasn't met people while in a life-threatening situation. The resulting count is pitifully small and he disregards it almost immediately, but brightens once more as the other agrees to accompany him to camp. "It's not too far now," he announces as they pass under a dilapidated archway that looks dangerously close to collapsing. It does not, but two animals come scampering out of the bushes a split-second later, one a tiny fennec making a beeline for the mage, and the other a far more cautious wolf who approaches them slowly, lips drawn back and teeth exposed, large eyes intelligent and wary. [break][break] The reaction is immediate, if unexpected. "Don't attack them," he barely manages to tell Fenris before the fennec crashes headlong into his legs, making a sound somewhere between a bark and a purr, but no less enthusiastically than a hound reunited with his master. Cyrlan waves a hand at the wolf now, calling out gently in rolling words that could only be elven. If anything, it appears to work, with the canine remaining at a safe distance but looking far less threatening. "Emma and Da'sa," he tries to explain, but quickly dissolves into laughter at the fox curling about his feet. "I'm sorry for all this. It means that we're almost there, at least." Cyrlan has the graces to look sheepish, at least, but beckons at the fennec and continues to move forward, twisting off the main path (if it can even be called one) to slowly pick his way through yet another overgrown trail. [break][break] It opens up eventually to a clearing, with brown-red tents set up in a orderly circle around a crackling campfire. A few more tables line the entrance where they enter, one holds a variety of vials with increasingly dubious looking liquids within them, another an assortment of daggers, bows and arrows. A flag bearing the Inquisition insignia marks it as such, planted firmly between two tents. The first to notice is a scout tending to the campfire, tutting loudly as their runaway leader makes a return. The wolf breaks off from where it had accompanied them, loping to an elven woman napping below a tree. The fennec, on the other hand, hovers around Cyrlan's feet for a while longer, curiously looking up at the newcomer. [break][break] " Andaran atish'an. Make yourself at home." The Inquisitor sweeps a hand around, gesturing at the camp. He pauses slightly as a certain red-headed ranger makes her way towards him, taking on an expression hanging somewhere between embarrassed and remorseful. "Oh dear, I might just get my ear taken off for going off on my own." [attr="class","alive_much1a"] [attr="class","alive_much1"]the worst thing is that they aren’t even nightmares. they’re memories. |
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Post by Ashyla Lavellan on May 15, 2016 11:42:04 GMT -5
Emma made her way over to the elven woman who was asleep against a tree. The wolf was of course wary of the stranger, but the return of a friend made Emma paw at the sleeping elf, tapping Ashyla's cheek with her nose when the pawing failed to wake her. She yawned and stretched when she finally woke, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She smiled softly at the wolf, giving Emma a good rub between the ears before she got to her feet, picking up her quiver first and slipping the strap over her shoulder before returning her bow to its usual spot against her back. Emma made a soft sound and looked over at where Cyrlan and the stranger were, and Ashyla crossed her arms when she saw the state Cyrlan was in.
She walked over to where he was, Emma next to her. The wolf warily watched the stranger, but Ashyla's attention was entirely on Cyrlan. "Elgar'nan... Lethallin, you never fail to run into trouble whenever you run off on your own," she said with a sigh, taking his arm and leading him over to a log that had been moved near the fire. "Sit," she told him, somewhat forcefully. She went to another fire that had been used for cooking and had a large pot over it, dipping a ladle in and spooning out some of the stew into a bowl. She stuck a spoon into the bowl before giving it to Cyrlan. "Eat." She was one of the only people who even dared to talk to the Inquisitor like this, probably one of the only people who felt like they could get away with it.
But once the bowl was in Cyrlan's hands, she turned back toward the stranger. "Ma serannas, stranger," she said genuinely. She was relaxed, but still wary. "If you are hungry, there is stew in the pot on the cooking fire." She glanced at the other elf's odd markings, but she didn't seem bothered by them. Considering that Cyrlan was covered in tattoos and she had her fair share too, meeting another elf with odd tattoos wasn't exactly a momentous occasion.
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They know what I am. Let them come, if they find the courage.
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Post by Fenris on May 15, 2016 12:11:06 GMT -5
Fenris merely sighs at his response, though seems less annoyed and simply rather in thought. It must have been common for heroes to behave so strangely, as for as much as he loved Hawke, there were plenty of times he found himself questioning her judgement. Sometimes it worked out. Other times? Not so much... He'd simply gotten to the point where he expected the worst, but hoped for the best. After all, freeman or not, he followed her lead in most of everything, not because she demanded it, but because she inspired it. He supposed that if what he said were true, his own companions would probably be the same. He couldn't tell you, as he was still trying to find out just who the Inquisitor was after all the legends he heard seemed to have painted a different picture than what he'd been expecting. He supposed in a way he was just as disappointing, as those who knew his story only could ever identify him by his markings. Otherwise, his appearance left many people to underestimate him. It worked out in his favor, at least. "I'm not too surprised." he responds to his following answer. If anything, he was surprised the man was still alive. There were surely far worse people than himself who would have tried to kill him without question, something he would have surely done if they'd met years ago. He'd obviously improved a bit from his mage hating ways, as reluctant as he was sometimes to admit it. He'd never fully trust them, no, but he was at least a bit more open to giving them a chance if they seemed worthy. One day he was certain it would be the death of him, among many other possibilities. They are almost to their destination at least, which is good because it's getting rather late. But it's not long after that a couple of animals approach them. The fennec isn't an immediate threat, but the snarling wolf however is. Fenris had already been reaching for his sword when the other elf had ordered him not to attack. He looks over to him with a mixture of anger and confusion until he finally realizes these were also companions. He still keeps an eye on that wolf, however, even after the Inquisitor introduces them and manages to calm the one beast, Emma. Just what was he getting himself into. His grip on the hilt of his sword loosens as he returns to a less offensive stance. He says nothing to his apology, only offering a grunt of acknowledgement as he seemed to otherwise be in thought. With new travelling companions, that he fortunately didn't have to worry about much longer, they eventually arrive at the camp. There's a lot to take in and Fenris seems rather unsure himself as he follows the other along. Even with the welcome to make himself at home, the elf still remains wary, a given since he knew no one and wasn't quite sure what he was up against. Friend or not, it was always best to stay cautious. It was the reason he was still alive, after all. It was also why he was already looking for a decent spot where he could go undisturbed. If he must, he'd rest on the outskirts of their little camp. But as he debated on this, another elf was headed their way, Fenris quirking a brow as the one beside him worried he might get an earful from the red-head approaching. "Can't imagine why." he states sarcastically. Not that he knew what the relationship between the two elves were, but considering the mages rather rough day, and the fact he already admitted that he got into enough trouble that his friend had expected it, he supposed it was just natural. Either way, he stood aside and decided to let the two discuss while he took a moment to look down at the little creature at the Inquisitor's feet who'd been eyeing him this whole time. It was kind of cute, he'd admit to no one but himself. Rather than speak to him there, the woman had taken to dragging him to a fire, after scolding him for getting into trouble, of course. Fenris didn't really follow, at first, kind of observing. Either this lady had a personal connection with the Inquisitor... or he just wasn't all that commanding of a leader, as she was acting quite bold, like a mother to her child. Fitting, he supposed, since Cyrlan acted as if he were a child as far as the older elf was concerned. But then the attention turned to him, though fortunately with less pushy, instead thanking him for whatever reason. She may have thought differently had she known what had happened, but he decided not to share for now, simply accepting it with a nod. At her offer, however, he politely declined. "Thank you, but I don't wish to impose anymore than I have." he states. Rather he wasn't ready to get all chummy yet, and food was the last thing on his mind. He'd also noticed her staring at his markings, but hadn't seemed to make a big deal out of it, so neither would he. "If you'll excuse me." he mutters, deciding to find himself a place near the fire so he could bandage himself up properly if nothing else. From there he'd figure out his plan. The group seemed nice enough, though the others hadn't really approached him, which honestly didn't bother him, but the broody elf was never particularly good when it came to socializing, and that much was obvious. |
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