ℂ The Wendigo & The Morrigan
devorabit
— Strange though it may have been, Morrigan couldn’t lie and say that there were no benefits to being... taken to this city. The culture was fascinatingly foreign; completely unlike anything she had ever seen or read about. Everything from the language to the style of dress confused and intruiged her, and the things the humans of this age built were incredible to say the least. Beasts made of some metal moved on wheels and magic manifested as black mist, houses two, no, three times larger than the most fearsome dragons, and all the lights... As awe-inspiring as it all was, the noises and the colours were at times too much for the former arcane advisor to bear. When she found her head throbbing, there were a few places she had found were suitable to hide away in.
Her current favourite was that of an old library, more akin to a ruin than a haven of knowledge. She’d heard many passersby complain of the smell of the old pages and the earth seeking to reclaim what was rightfully hers. To Morrigan, it was so similar to the lost archives of the elves that it nearly felt like home.
Often times she would gather a few interesting scrolls and tomes and lay them out before her, resting gently against the shelves for hours upon hours and simply read. Poetry, history, works of both fact and fiction alike; anything to help her make sense of this new land she was forced to temporarily call home. Each time she was able to block out the sounds both within and without her. The well’s whispers dulled, as did any pesky citizens curious about the oddly-dressed woman reading musty old books. Morrigan learned to simply ignore them - apparently the people of this city were far better at noticing subtle social cues than many in Ferelden, and even Orlais.
On one unique occasion, Morrigan discovered that she was not the only one interested in this time-weathered place of wonder. A man, human as many here were, was perusing the shelves with obvious curiosity as opposed to disgust. He had a purpose for disturbing this place of peace, and she was determined to know what that purpose was.
“ ’Tis said by some that those who seek knowledge are often the ones who least require it,” she approached him with her typical air of confidence, her steps halting only when she was at a distance both suitable for conversation and a respectful mind for personal space. “I wonder, what about these dilapidated tomes intrests you? Do you seek power hidden in this knowledge lost to the passing of ages? Or perhaps you’ve come in search of scrolls still legible and books still properly bound that you might sell them for wealth’s sake,” Oh, how she tired of vultures swooping in and claiming what was not theirs, nor anyone’s to claim.













