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ooc: inbox/plot with me
There's a board outside Asher's tent by Boneflayer Camp City with daggers in it so you can tack a note onto it. Or feel free to grab him in person or via the sending crystal.
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Note: I work Mon-Fri and I'm basically away 11 hours a day but I do tags in gdocs and I try to do a round a night. Timezone is GMT.
action spam welcome
Note: I work Mon-Fri and I'm basically away 11 hours a day but I do tags in gdocs and I try to do a round a night. Timezone is GMT.
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[Asher snorts, upsetting Bronson; the hackles go up because the dog knows Asher, knows his moods, and he clicks his tongue so a huge head comes to rest on his thigh, the one working eye watching Kaisa as Asher's rough hands busy themselves with scratching behind his ears.] So I ought to know then that people who thought they might have had a second chance - I was one of the lucky ones, I didn't sell everything and scrape my way in because of the Blight - ten years later only for something like that to happen. You know what happens, you're not stupid. People get blamed. Kirkwall didn't want them there, and they were harbouring an apostate for a long time. None of them had a Champion.
This isn't like a broken bone you're going to reset, and the only way it's like a rotten limb you lop off is if you kill him. Hercules Hansen is worth of a hundred of that thing but one of them is here, walking around and the other one is locked up somewhere, possibly dead. And trust me, the Avvar way with mages and spirits is different to anything the Circle teaches, after what he's done, he would be exiled from the hold. We consult the spirits differently, they're more, they're our gods Kaisa, and the augur goes between the hold and them, between them and the hold; it's balance. If an abomination becomes corrupted, then they sleep and never wake again, that's how it should be. Not this. This is unnatural. There is no fixing something like this.
[It is fleetingly rare that his voice gets that quiet when he isn't talking about the dead. But then he remembers Liadan when the news came, the scream, the month of her silence and the traded watches, that isn't something to talk about though, not when he doesn't know how she'll take this, if he'll have to do it again, sitting in his mother's house, surrounded by his living family when her parents are dead and gone in Kirkwall now. He doesn't even know if he has that in him to do it again after seeing it the first time, when it was living day to day until at last it broke, the first day of sun after winter. And sure as Asher is no mage, his respect for the augurs is immense, his respect for any mage in their community be they one of the Avvar, one of the Dalish, even the local wise woman that has strange coloured flames burning at all hours is immense. There are things you don't do with spirits, what Anders is said to have done with one goes beyond, lashes against every story his grandfather, his aunts, his uncles, his hold, and every other hold ever told him. It makes his throat tight, has him dragging one hand through the tangle of braids at his scalp for something else to do; he knows what the augur of his grandfather's hold would say, he knows that anger, the soft quiet horror.
Asher feels a shame that isn't even his, a lingering remnant from fifteen years dragged to the Chantry where he was told that believing what felt right was wrong, a squirming wrongness one feels when what they know to be true in their bones can be tipped sideways so easily and cast aside because it's old, because it doesn't matter, because it's backwards and it doesn't matter, hillfolk rules for hillfolk people.]
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She spends most of the time Asher speaks listening quietly, though she shifts around, fingers digging into the dirt, eyes occasionally wandering off to the rest of the camp--those she always drags them back to the ground fairly close to Asher. She has to listen to all of this. Or at least try.
When he mentions abominations and Avvars, though, her eyes flick up to him, and there's a moment that curiosity flickers across her face. These augurs--they deal with abominations regularly? But that line of questioning isn't going to happen with Asher, and her eyes flick back down to staring at the chickens, filing that piece of information away for later. Maybe bring it up with Nathaniel, he'll know what to do.
She wished that he were here, that he were the one arguing about this. He'd say something smart, probably. And he wouldn't care about Asher disliking what he had to say. It's not something Kaisa has to deal with often, worrying about that, and it's tempting to just get up and walk away, because she could shove down any disappointed feelings over losing a friend easier than playing this damn tiptoing game she's trying to do. ]
Those are...good points. I'm sorry, Asher.
[ It was hard to say, though it's probably not enough, but it's also spoken in a quiet, serious tone. She wants to squirm, but holds herself steady. Even if she can't say anything useful, she can at least try to look respectful. ]
With this entire damned mess. I'm...I'm sorry.
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[It's abrupt, and more than that it's cold; Asher's stare is unflinching now. Asher is used to almost everyone in his life being little more than a passing acquaintance. It's what happens when you're fifteen and you're told that there isn't a place for you. You don't care.
(You do. You just push it down. You laugh too loud. You shout. You cling too tight to the very few you love. You see red and then your hands are hot and wet and sticky with it when someone insulted them.)
That isn't for Kaisa. Maybe it will be, maybe it won't, he's already shoving Bronson off carefully and rising to his feet to put more distance between them, because tall as she is for a woman he's still taller and he folds his arms.]
Maybe try telling someone else and actually thinking. You get to keep a brother, a pity he never gave a lot of others a choice in the matter. [She doesn't need to know right now that he had a trip planned, he doesn't owe her anything and he can be as much of a bastard as he likes as he shrugs, feeling his mouth starting to curl into something that isn't really sure what it wants to be - a sneer, a snarl, a smirk.] I'm off anyway.
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She stands up, because even if she's shorter she's not sitting while he's standing--and also she has to walk and that requires standing. But also he's standing so. Lots of reasons for standing. She puts a hand on her hip, expression careless. Because, you know, she doesn't care. Whatever! ]
Yeah, fine. I got other stuff I gotta do. Have fun with whatever you're doing.
[ She makes to leave, then pauses, and despite that it will put a serious dent in her attempt to act like this didn't bother her, she turns around. Because she knows she'll regret it if she doesn't, and she knows that she has to act like an adult every once in a while. ]
...Are you coming back?
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[Well he'll get to see Aura and give her a gift, he'll get to tell her stories, see all the little nephews and nieces too, see how big in the belly Shannon is by now too because she has to be getting on by now and if she's close then he might stay a bit longer to see that one into the world.
When he shrugs, it doesn't come off as casual as he'd like but nothing does these days. His skin feels too tight, he feels trapped and cooped up, has done since the news came and he knows himself well enough to know that he needs to go before it turns bad. Still, he's angry, she's welcome to it.]
I might, I might not, comes with the territory. A lot of shit can happen between here and the Hinterlands or here and the Hold.
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[ Despite the joke, her face is still solemn, and she still doesn't leave just yet, mulling over his words, and her own thoughts. She knows what the territory comes with, because it's not so different for Wardens. A violent death is in the cards for her, if she doesn't die from whatever this Corypheus jackass is pulling. Still. ]
Try not t' die if you can bare it. And if you can't, try to make sure it's not a really cool death, or I'll have to aim to do one better.