#abysslain

it's impossible to be nice to her like lmao...the lesbophobia

--- well...that could have certainly gone better. a mission success of sorts, information and a location gathered. onwards and ahead, and he sees a raven in the sky familiar. ( doesn’t speak of it, but the relief in the sigh remains there ). anders begins to speak, frustration pent, ready to burst remains with the need to fill the silence. 

“ --- i never told you, did i? ” rare was the opportunity / words better left unsaid. too much turmoil - too chaos comes with the binding of a spirit and man. his is a story of the break that never comes. re-grip: the flex of fingers at the memory kept, but twice now the once-called champion had seen the setting of jaw and straightening of spine, twice now he had felt the tension between him and those clad in blue. twice now was the opportunity to finally speak some truths.

not all, of course - for some scars remain with a permanence in injury and the well of anger far too deep. 

Journal Meme | Selectively Accepting | @abysslain

The first page is found early in the journal, before any mention of the Breach or its effects upon the world. The drawing of a man as he was imagined by the artist as he read through Tale of the Champion. There is some resemblance to the man as he truly is: skin shaded dark, with a strong nose, but his visage is more befitting of an idealised hero, rather than the disenchanted Champion of Kirkwall (his eyes are not quite so tired) and his frame more typical for that of a mage. Notes, seemingly written much later, are written around it.

Garrett. The first I had heard of a given name

Familiar air to him, the Veil presses close when he weaves his spell

The Kirkwall alienage wasn’t exactly fun. It was dirty and kind of smelly and the Templars were a touch out of control- Akira was lucky he was handy with daggers rather than a staff, that was for sure. Be it as it were, he had a little attic room above one of the taverns that was more or less a secret beyond the residents. It gave them a place to breathe and somewhere quiet, the owner had even let Akira start working there on and off to make a little extra money.

Besides that, he’d finally grown his hair enough to cover the tips of his ears to more easily sneak out into the city proper to nab a few things- usually food, sometimes whatever shiny object caught his eye (namely more daggers), or whatever looked valuable enough to sell right back to the merchants a few months down when they’d forgotten what was taken. It wasn’t exactly an honest way of living, but he couldn’t name a single elf in the alienage who made it out honest.

Within the past few months, however, they’d gotten a new resident- those weren’t as uncommon now, what with the blight spreading and more people flooding to Kirkwall and other cities. The newcomer, however, wasn’t from another city- she was Dalish. And she was from a clan not far from the city according to her story. With her came a few others- namely a couple humans, a dwarf, and another elf. He had tattoos too but somehow wasn’t residing in the alienage.

Getting visitors was uncommon at best and suspicious at worst- it wasn’t long until Akira found himself tailing them, hanging just behind to try to listen in on their banter for a clue, any clue, as to why they kept coming back. They never seemed to notice him, or were at least making the decision not to acknowledge the gangly elf following them around like a shadow- that is, until they did.

‘We want you to investigate Hawke.’  Her handler’s voice is brusque, trying to get her in and out of his office as quickly as possible; she understands why. She hadn’t blinked the entire time she had been in here just to see if it would get under his skin. It seems it had. ‘Full reconnaissance mission; determine his threat level. Understood?’

‘Understood.’

What she hadn’t understood though was how shitty Kirkwall’s air was going to be. She hasn’t visited Kirkwall in a while, sure! She hasn’t been here since she was a teen, yeah! That doesn’t mean that the entire city could up and rot up its sky for no good reason while she was gone; jeez. She puffs at the air, trying to see if she could note a visible difference between her own breath and the smog, as she bides her time. She was staked out on a building not far from the Hanged Man, watching as the note worthy ‘Hawke’ had entered, and so had some of his companions. This was usually their rendezvous point, wasn’t it? It was some sort of meeting place, none the less. She might not get lucky tonight, which was fine; she could amuse herself by choking on smog, no biggie. Except! She is getting lucky! Hawke was leaving the tavern with a small gaggle of his friends! How wonderful! Now she can choke on the smog while sneaking on the rooftops!