thehometree | (no subject)

| characters | Fenris & Open

| date/time | Evening, April 19th

| location | Entrance

| rating | Some warnings of scars and abuse.

| summary | Fenris does not approve of this place.

The wooden floor of the tree was hard, the wall uneven and rough. Yet he still leaned to it, his lkarge green eyes following the bright light in the middle of the room as if it could give him any answers. He was tensed, uncomfortable all the way down to his core, and there had been no lies to avoid, no battle to fight.

Just a ray of light... and that gem.

Wings. A dream to some, an enhancement worthy of a magister, to conquer the skies the sky itself. Not to him. To Fenris, it was nothing but a joke, a cruel reminder from someone with lousy humor. He had been so disgusted, seething in silence at the mockery of those markings. There might be no lyrium in them, but the pattern was a perfect match.

You're still flawed, scarred, branded.

Anger was easy. Rage was comfortable to turn to, and he had sent the gem flying towards the wall of the room, hoping it would shatter; maybe release the illusion from his mind. It proved quite impossible, however, and it didn't matter how many times he threw the gem away. It somehow returned to him again, and it was more than a little disconcerting.

It made his skin crawl.

Whoever put him here weren't showing themselves, which had the elf even more on edge. He didn't like being alone. Not any more. Hawke had already been gone for a long time, and he didn't want to be trapped in this illusion when the mage came back.

He wanted to be free.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[She's still not entirely convinced they are tiny, just that everything around them is disproportionately large. Perception can be an asshole at times.]

So you think the purpose could be to make us fight?

Fight, or force us to use more and more magic until we are bound to whatever rules this place. Either way would be an amusement for our jailers.

[He tenses up a bit, memories leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. How many times had he seen slaves used as props in rituals meant to amuse their masters?]

[Speaking from experience? Natasha runs her tongue over her teeth, and then reaches for an oversized pecan.]

Well, there were those giant spiders.

They have those here, too? Kaffas, as if the mines were not enough.

[He's not exactly afraid of spiders, but they were annoying]

Giant spiders are the theme of the day, apparently.

[Which, you know. She finds pleasantly ironic. The pecan is turned over in her hand, and then she pulls a small knife - nothing lethal looking, just small and built for utility - out of her pocket and she starts out by cutting a piece from it, inevitably spilling pecan crumbs everywhere as she does.]

It got handled, though. I don't know how thoroughly, I sort of-- stayed out of it.

[Fenris watches her cut a piece of the pecan while thinking back to the spiders in the Bone Pit. He was... a little concerned about what would happen if he spent more time here. He might miss any letters from Hawke. (Not that he still wasn't damn mad at the man.)

Absently, he rubs the red cloth tied around his arm.]

Any other threats I should be aware of?