one free fantasyland orphan
WHO: The tiniest elf (niceassassin, special child version) and OPEN.
WHERE: Central Park and its environs.
WHEN: Earlier today.
WARNINGS: Possible violence, most likely depressing mentions of terrible things being done to children.
SUMMARY: Zevran is a kid again. He is not a happy kid. Especially since he's stuck in the middle of a scary human city, wondering how he can get out of this situation alive.
FORMAT: Whatever!
☠ prologue ☠
This isn't Antiva City. Of that, Zevran is absolutely sure. It's not the sheer unfamiliarity of it that makes him certain. He knows that there are parts of his hometown that he's never seen, never been rich or special or human enough to enter. What makes him positive he's somewhere else is something more prosaic: the language he overhears from most of the others around him. True, some are speaking Antivan (although what they're saying, as far as he can tell, makes no sense), but the majority sound more like the occasional merchant or traveler he's heard from Ferelden or the Free Marches. Which is also confusing, since from what little he knows of those places, they're barbarous, barely civilized at all, and this city is vast and advanced despite its conspicuous lack of adults. If he were prone to philosophizing, he might wonder on that contradiction. But the fact is, he doesn't have that luxury. He is in a strange, truly bizarre place full of human children. It's lush and beautiful and full of food and comforts, so to make matters worse, they must be noble human children. There's no doubt they'll kill him on sight. If they don't, well, it's even more certain that the Crows will have him killed when they find him again for daring to stray. That's if they didn't dump him here in the first place as a kind of test. Which still means they'll kill him if he fails.
He tries to find some comfort in his situation. He's always been good at that. There is one bright spot: when he found himself here, he had possession of a dragonbone dagger, a beautiful thing that would never be allowed to him normally. He's only just started his training, after all--he barely knows how to use it. That he has it with him now must mean his masters trust that he can survive this and accomplish whatever mission is his purpose here. It must mean that he's special, that they know he's going to do great things (never mind that to the Antivan Crows, "great things" all involve murder; he doesn't have a choice, he'll have to learn to live with that soon enough, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week). He'll just hold onto that--and try to figure out what he's supposed to do to get out of here alive.
☠ one ☠
He's trying to stick to the shadows. As it happens, he's quite good at it. Although Zevran hasn't been formally trained in stealth much yet, he has almost eight years' experience in learning to stay out of the way. Which is how he ends up in bushes and up trees in the midst of Central Park. Of course, he could hide just as easily in the alleys of the City proper, but...those enormous buildings disturb him. They seem the work of magic, and he knows he's nowhere near well-trained enough to take on mages, of all people. Apprentices, maybe. But not the kind of magic, almost Tevinter-level magic, that could have created that majesty. Besides, here in the park...
...he can play pretend. Just a little. It always helped him when he was younger, before he had to devote his time to training. And there are unparalleled opportunities here. He can lurk in the shadows of leaves and pretend that he is a Dalish hunter, being brought into the forest and taught the ways of tracking animals (what are they called? Halla? That's right! He remembered!) for the first time. By his mother, maybe? No, that's too much to hope for. But still! It would be amazing!
But he catches himself as he's starting to pretend that a stick is a bow and he has imaginary arrows. This isn't right. He's in danger here, amongst the humans, on some unknown and unexpected mission. He snaps the branch in two--only to immediately regret the noise it makes.
☠ two ☠
As enticing as the great wide green space of the park is, Zevran knows he can't stay there forever. He's not learning anything there. He's managed to decipher some of the words of the other children speaking the language of the Fereldans and some of the Marchers, but they haven't told him anything useful--save that there's a whole great city outside the park. He needs to get out there. And so he winds up slinking out into the streets in front of the Museum of Natural History, only to stop in shock at the huge and imposing building. Maybe this is where the important people live? Yes, this must be the place he needs to infiltrate. Maybe he'll just have to steal something. That's probably it. The Crows wouldn't send someone as young and untrained as him to kill anyone important. He should take the chance if he gets it, though--he needs to impress them. Otherwise, they might not let him live. Unfortunately--
--just below the steps of the museum's entrance, he gets distracted. By a hot dog stand. It is only now that he realizes how very hungry he is. So he stands there at the already half-looted cart, clutching a pretzel, struggling to figure out if it's poisoned or not. It's for the human children, right? So it can't be poisoned. But what if it's only poisonous to elves? That's definitely possible. But he's so hungry.
For the moment, he lets his stealth slip and just stands there, staring at the pretzel.
WHERE: Central Park and its environs.
WHEN: Earlier today.
WARNINGS: Possible violence, most likely depressing mentions of terrible things being done to children.
SUMMARY: Zevran is a kid again. He is not a happy kid. Especially since he's stuck in the middle of a scary human city, wondering how he can get out of this situation alive.
FORMAT: Whatever!
☠ prologue ☠
This isn't Antiva City. Of that, Zevran is absolutely sure. It's not the sheer unfamiliarity of it that makes him certain. He knows that there are parts of his hometown that he's never seen, never been rich or special or human enough to enter. What makes him positive he's somewhere else is something more prosaic: the language he overhears from most of the others around him. True, some are speaking Antivan (although what they're saying, as far as he can tell, makes no sense), but the majority sound more like the occasional merchant or traveler he's heard from Ferelden or the Free Marches. Which is also confusing, since from what little he knows of those places, they're barbarous, barely civilized at all, and this city is vast and advanced despite its conspicuous lack of adults. If he were prone to philosophizing, he might wonder on that contradiction. But the fact is, he doesn't have that luxury. He is in a strange, truly bizarre place full of human children. It's lush and beautiful and full of food and comforts, so to make matters worse, they must be noble human children. There's no doubt they'll kill him on sight. If they don't, well, it's even more certain that the Crows will have him killed when they find him again for daring to stray. That's if they didn't dump him here in the first place as a kind of test. Which still means they'll kill him if he fails.
He tries to find some comfort in his situation. He's always been good at that. There is one bright spot: when he found himself here, he had possession of a dragonbone dagger, a beautiful thing that would never be allowed to him normally. He's only just started his training, after all--he barely knows how to use it. That he has it with him now must mean his masters trust that he can survive this and accomplish whatever mission is his purpose here. It must mean that he's special, that they know he's going to do great things (never mind that to the Antivan Crows, "great things" all involve murder; he doesn't have a choice, he'll have to learn to live with that soon enough, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week). He'll just hold onto that--and try to figure out what he's supposed to do to get out of here alive.
☠ one ☠
He's trying to stick to the shadows. As it happens, he's quite good at it. Although Zevran hasn't been formally trained in stealth much yet, he has almost eight years' experience in learning to stay out of the way. Which is how he ends up in bushes and up trees in the midst of Central Park. Of course, he could hide just as easily in the alleys of the City proper, but...those enormous buildings disturb him. They seem the work of magic, and he knows he's nowhere near well-trained enough to take on mages, of all people. Apprentices, maybe. But not the kind of magic, almost Tevinter-level magic, that could have created that majesty. Besides, here in the park...
...he can play pretend. Just a little. It always helped him when he was younger, before he had to devote his time to training. And there are unparalleled opportunities here. He can lurk in the shadows of leaves and pretend that he is a Dalish hunter, being brought into the forest and taught the ways of tracking animals (what are they called? Halla? That's right! He remembered!) for the first time. By his mother, maybe? No, that's too much to hope for. But still! It would be amazing!
But he catches himself as he's starting to pretend that a stick is a bow and he has imaginary arrows. This isn't right. He's in danger here, amongst the humans, on some unknown and unexpected mission. He snaps the branch in two--only to immediately regret the noise it makes.
☠ two ☠
As enticing as the great wide green space of the park is, Zevran knows he can't stay there forever. He's not learning anything there. He's managed to decipher some of the words of the other children speaking the language of the Fereldans and some of the Marchers, but they haven't told him anything useful--save that there's a whole great city outside the park. He needs to get out there. And so he winds up slinking out into the streets in front of the Museum of Natural History, only to stop in shock at the huge and imposing building. Maybe this is where the important people live? Yes, this must be the place he needs to infiltrate. Maybe he'll just have to steal something. That's probably it. The Crows wouldn't send someone as young and untrained as him to kill anyone important. He should take the chance if he gets it, though--he needs to impress them. Otherwise, they might not let him live. Unfortunately--
--just below the steps of the museum's entrance, he gets distracted. By a hot dog stand. It is only now that he realizes how very hungry he is. So he stands there at the already half-looted cart, clutching a pretzel, struggling to figure out if it's poisoned or not. It's for the human children, right? So it can't be poisoned. But what if it's only poisonous to elves? That's definitely possible. But he's so hungry.
For the moment, he lets his stealth slip and just stands there, staring at the pretzel.