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[Her armor and her sword are safely hidden away. Her longbow -- a gift from the camp of the Dalish she met after leaving her own clan -- is all the protection she has. (Well, and a layer of leather stitched against her chest, under her loose, long shirt and sewn to the inside of the pants she wears.)

She makes almost no sound as she ventures through the forest from dawn to early afternoon.

Having hunted enough for supper, she comes to the village about midday, collecting cooking supplies and browsing the item shop to see if any more of her things have come.

She'll take a couple of hours to herself, getting more acquainted with this part of this strange place. For the last seven days, she's kept herself to a portion of the forest that reminded her most of her clan. Not that she hasn't been giving the Journal a look-over every so often, speaking to a few who seem interesting or whom she has met during the short times she's come out of the woods before. (Or those who have met her in the woods.)]

Player Name: Lynn
Are you new?: N
Character Name: Lyna Mahariel
Character Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins

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[He spends most mornings picking his way along the undergrowth and checking his traps. As the seasons shift from summer to fall and edge closer to winter there is less for him to catch. And no real need, truly. At this point it is more of a habit for him, something easy and familiar. The slow stalk, moving through the trees and along crisp ground without making noise.

What a surprise it is to see someone with similar intent. It'd been a flicker in his vision, first. The subtlest movement possible. And yet there they, no, she, was. Another elf.

Ever curious he makes his way over, making a bit of a game out of trailing her as long as he can without being caught.]

[Raised to fear her clan's camp being encroached upon, she realizes she has a pursuer quickly. But her quarry -- a sleek, elegant doe -- is more precious for a time than starting a fight. She is always listening, though, for metal leaving a scabbard or the song of a released bowstring.

In the meantime, while following her prey, she leads quite a path. Really, she's almost impressed every time she spies the faintest glimpse of movement that suggests she's been kept up with.

The doe, though, scents... not her but something else and flees, leaving the Dalish with no food yet. So, she keeps her bow in her hands and turns to roughly where she believes the one following her is. String taut, arrow ready, she calls (less loud than she means to be, but she was never very good at shouting someone down; she was made for silence):]

Show yourself. Now.

[Standing still, the tattoo on her forehead is plainly seen. A Dalish marking.]

[It was a fine chase indeed, he had to admire her grace and stealth as she leads him through the woods. Chasing a doe. Watching them both he honestly couldn't say who had more poise, the doe or the elf. It provided ample cover and opportunity for him to follow along undisturbed.

He hasn't had this sort of fun in ages. There will be no kill at the end of this hunt, but keeping up, keeping silent? Quite a challenge. A marvelous challenge. He's almost disappointed when it comes to an end. But end it does and then, well. The reveal.

The nagging little voice in the back of his head bids him come around to her side. Flank her. Another bids him toss a knife- strike the bow- instincts born of being a Crow. But the mark, aah. That leaves him civil, if grinning, when he steps out a few feet to the left of where she'd aimed.]

That was quite a chase.

[Her mind and body work at the same pace. In the time it takes her to adjust her aim, she's recognized his face and voice.

Lyna sighs, relieved, and lowers her weapon.]

Zevran.

I might have known you'd find your way here, too.

[And, because she can hardly help herself:] I haven't seen much by the way of treasure here. I hope you're not getting yourself into trouble, being bored without it.

...

[She doesn't look familiar. And yet she speaks with a measure of familiarity. Curious. He pushes away from the tree and takes a few easy steps in her direction, trying to sort it out.]

I find my way into many places whenever it suits me. The trick, and the problem here, though, is finding a way back out again.

[And she did, indeed, know him well enough to pull a crackle of laughter from him.]

Aaah, you know I cannot help the trouble if I feel the reward will be worthwhile.

[She chuckles softly, putting away her arrow entirely and shrugging her bow onto her shoulder.]

It's good to see you.

Are any of the others here? Lelianna? Sten, perhaps? [Her grin can't be helped.] I should very much like to see Sten with these wings.

[She speaks as though she is the Warden- but. His warden is human. This does not seem quite right.]

I would say the same...if I knew who you were. This place does strange things, pulls people from similar but not quite identical worlds. If I may ask- as well as my own fine company you've Morrigan, Oghren, a overly excitable Mabari, a cheese loving ex Templar, my dear Wynne, and a walking, talking statue among your companions, yes?

I... Similar worlds?

[It's baffling. Yet... she's seen strange things over the journals. Even hearing the animals speak in the forest. And Zevran... looks at her like he doesn't know her, now.

She took it for caution at first, but now. No. He truly seems like he doesn't know who she is.]

Yes. Against the Archdemon, to stop the Blight, and the shemlen Loghain, who betrayed the Gray Wardens and the human king at Ostagar.

[Carefully, she pulls a necklace free from under her shirt. The one Alistair gave to her, with Darkspawn blood in it, for surviving the Joining. As a reminder.]

I am Lyna Mahariel, of the Gray Wardens.

Very similar, it would seem. The only difference between my world and your own would be...you.

[He shrugs, playing it off as nothing of import.]

My Warden is human. Elissa Cousland. Fair of countenance and fierce in battle. I cannot help but wonder at the difference. She and Alistair did not speak much of how they came to be Wardens, well. Alistair did. At length. If you look at him long enough. I've taken to flirting with him just to make him be quiet.

My people tell stories, though the ones I have acquired as of late are not the sort I should feel over ready to tell.

[She smiles, but it's a sad, quiet smile.]

There are decidedly few heroes, I am afraid. Not like what my Keeper told me and the songs Lelianna sings at the fire.

Do you...

[It's so difficult to imagine. Because this is Zevran. This is the elf she knows, an eventual friend and half-confidante. Someone who understands what it is to be an elf in human society.]

Do you truly not know me?

I have heard few tales of the Dalish, and fewer still from them, unless one counts what happened in the Brecilian Forest. Though that was much more like living through a tale than being told.

[There's something tense and a little sad in his eyes, in his voice. He'd attempted to live among them once. A fantasy he'd had as a child, a chance to be free of the Crows and live as an elf should. It did not suit the Dalish he ran to, nor did it suit him well. There might be a bit of envy lingering still. He doesn't think about it.]

I am afraid so. You are not my Warden, and I am not your Zevran.

[His lips twist into something familiar and rakish.]

But...for you, my dear, I most certainly could be.

[His final remark makes her smile just a little, but her mind is too caught on the Brecilian Forest. She remembers it too well. And she will never know if she made the right decision, trusting the spirit over her kind.

Yet... Yet little harm came to them... in the end.]

An old Keeper who held onto his grief and anger too long. Though... When everything else has been taken from you, what else is there?

[So many memories. So many lessons.]

We are the last Elvhenan.

--Forgive me. I... I dare say that I have bored the Zevran I know to tears on... many occasions. Talking of my clan. Of the Dalish. [But he had always seemed willing to listen. Ready to counter the stories that drove her fiercely yet made her mourn for the life she could never return to with comical escapades of assassinations.

Only some of which she actually believed. But he and Alistair could make her laugh. Lelianna could make her relax. Wynne could brush away some of the burden from her shoulders. Morrigan could buck up her spirits. Oghren could provide ale. And the Mabari hound always made her feel safe.]

It is... strange. To see a friend's face and speak to a stranger.

Wine. Women. Men, if that is your preference. Dance, music, good food- not that stew Alistair cooks, that is not food that is some form of slow acting poison I am sure of it, flirting, fighting, love making...There is a great deal to living beyond holding a grudge for however long you have left.

[He knows that furious despair very well. Faced it- and found solace in the most unlikely of places. Found a place and a purpose at his Warden's side. Knowing himself, and considering how much of what they lived and experienced and how it ran parallel to one another? He can't help but think the same of her Zevran. Where he'd met a human woman worthy of admiration, her Zevran met mercy at the hands of one of his own.

He was probably far more comfortable with that than he had been with his Warden. Being in debt to a human can feel very odd at times.]

I assure you Lyna, if he is at all like me? He enjoyed every word of it. If not for the content then for the very alluring shapes your lips make when you speak. [A smirk, quick and easy.] I may not know you as well as he, but I certainly look forward to getting to know you. I must say you've got the upper hand here, if he's told you much of our past.

[She laughs just a little.]

I know some things. [A lot, actually. He's told her, in some ways, more about himself than she's revealed about herself. She's spoken of the Dalish, but that's lore and the clan's history. She's hinted at her parents' fate... but that's about it.

She hasn't really spoken about Tamlen, though she ought to have. He shared stories of friends past... and stood with him against one. Yet, she hadn't shared the story of the shade among the creatures that had attacked their camp. She hasn't talked about her Joining, of course. That, she has sworn to secrecy.

But this... is Zevran, certainly. Those remarks. She smiles.]

I can pretend I know nothing of it, if you'd prefer.

[And then. Because it's deserved.]

Andaran atish'an.

Well if that isn't ambiguous I do not know what is.

[He may not know her, but he finds he likes her from that alone. She spared him and found him, a version of him, to be good company. Obviously she has excellent taste. Whatever he may have shared with her, this alternate self, it would most likely be things he would feel well worth sharing in time. She has earned his trust in one world. Why not allow her to do the same in another?

He steps close and extends a hand to her, grinning.]

Oh no, that would make this terribly boring. I find the allure of a woman well versed in my own habits quite alluring. Enticing, even.

[Lyna looks at him for a moment. She smiles then, nodding just a bit as she reached out and took his hand. Her grip was firm but not aggressive.]

If I... may ask...

Your quest with the Wardens you know. Is it to stop the Blight?

How does it fare?

[There's still too much to worry about. The Landsmeet is won, but that is it. There's still a battle to fight, an Archdemon to slay...]

[There's a sense of camaraderie in the shake- of course it will not stand to leave it at that. He dips into a bow and raises her hand to her lips, kissing her knuckles. Much better.]

Mm? Ask anything. I may or may not answer honestly.

[He stands and releases her hand, brow quirked. Then the question. That so serious question.]

Aaah, that. Well. We were set to fight the Blight and correct the wrongs done to the Wardens by Logain until Alistair had the wonderful idea to flee to Orlais and start up a theater troupe. I think he simply wants to hop borders for the cheese.

[She wants to be angry. It's a serious matter, and she's desperate for news. There is no one to tell her how to slay an Archdemon... so if the other Warden has done it.

But she can't be angry. It's a dark question, and Zevran tries to keep her spirits up.

So, she doesn't smile, but her voice is warm enough.]

You should have seen how he looked at me after the Brecilian Forest. I thought he might flee.

And I would not blame him for it. It was a terribly unsettling venture, that...if I might ask, before I answer your earlier question seriously-

What did you choose, then?

[It would be interesting to see how different a Dalish would have handled the situation. Elissa had been horribly conflicted- she hadn't felt right making the choice for them. Honestly, he could not fault her for it.]

Before I joined the Gray Wardens, the forest around our camp became inhabited by darkspawn. You could feel the taint in the ground, trees, and air.

[She frowns, remembering it. Perhaps she doesn't need to tell Zevran, but it all feeds into her perspective, in a way.]

It wasn't the same in the Brecilian Forest, but the evil was... everywhere. So much hate.

We chose our way of life to be free. We want a homeland, not to subjigate others. That is not the purpose of the Dalish.

What Zathrian did... offended every lesson I'd learned from the hahren and keeper of my clan. In the immediate aftermath... I would have supported him. If it had been those things who had taken his family, I would have killed them all and enjoyed it.

[She can't regret thinking it. Too many Dalish lives are still lost to humans for her to pity them as a whole.]

But those men were long dead.

And it was time for a new Keeper, for the good of the clan. He lifted the curse and joined his family.

...then you chose much as Elissa did, though for more personal reasons.

[And yet they were reasons he could respect easily enough. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like as a Dalish to make that choice, to witness what he had seen as an elf and an outsider and know the people, know the suffering. And have to choose. Her honesty pulls a wry smile from him- this indeed is a woman he could come to respect, to extend the very beginnings of some manner of trust. He could see that easily enough.]

I do not know how the journey ends, I fear. The forest, the tower, the ashes, those have come and gone. When I was pulled to this world we were in the middle of exploring the deep roads. There are few things that give me pause- but that place? I do not relish what it is we will find.

The Deep Roads.

[There's bile in her throat even saying it. And to think all Gray Wardens were supposed to walk those paths at the end of their days...

No.

She'd made Alistair swear to her when she had come through that trial, when they were back in the open air and she could feel the sun trying to warm the chill she could no longer bear, that he would see her put to the sword before the taint possessed her so much as to follow that custom. The sword, the bow, the flame. Anything but to return to the Deep Roads.

For Gray Warden or not, she doubted any woman could see what lay there, the horrors of the darkspawn, and not prefer a certain death to the ideals of the order. Let the men uphold those, she would not run that risk.]

After that, your warden will need a friend. More than anything, she will need a friend.

[Meanwhile, this particular elf is also at ease in the woods. Though Arwen was not so nomadic back home, it feels more natural to be out here, breathing clearer air away from the hubbub in the village and all its strange technology.

Moving just as silently near the riverbank, covered in a dark green cloak, she catches sight of movement out of the corner of her eye, a little ways into the distance. Curious at the chance to meet someone else out here, at this time of day, she heads in that direction.]

[Her bow and arrow are at the ready when she hears an approach. The string is taut, her hand seconds away from loosing the projectile. It's habit, born out of the Dalish ways and then the life of a Gray Warden.

Be prepared to kill. Then ask questions.

Her eyes narrow as she watches the woman carefully. She doesn't speak, not yet. She does not have a clan to protect here, yet she has the instinct of it.]

[As she gets closer, she hears the sudden tension from the bow and stops, peering into the direction she believes it came from. Behind that tree? That bush?

Inhaling silently, she pulls her hood back and removes the cloak, resting it near a rock. Her thin saber, too, she lays on the ground.

She's only too familiar with what a strung bow in a forest means. However unintentionally, she has wandered into someone's territory.

Keeping her arms at her side with palms outward, she finally calls out, her voice clear and, hopefully, reassuring.]

You have nothing to fear from me.

[Lyna lets the string go slack, but she keeps her bow and arrow at the ready. She steps out of the covering she'd found slowly.

Small, certainly, but she holds herself proudly. Blonde hair pulled up, making no attempt to hide the sharp points her ears come to, and her forehead tattoo is very visible.]

Who are you?

[Arwen does notice the ears; she does not look surprised to see them, however. Why shouldn't there be other elves here?

This young woman's bow and clothing, though, seem different. And the tattoo is not even remotely familiar.

Nevertheless. She gives a slow, polite nod in greeting.]

My name is Arwen. Lady of Rivendell. [Giving the full title, in case that should ring any bells...] Forgive me, I did not intend to trespass.

I am Lyna Mahariel, of the Gray Wardens.

[There is no recognition forthcoming from this elf, but she has relaxed her hold on her weapons further, more curious than threatened now. The apology, for one, goes a long way.]

I am still a stranger in this place, and where I come from, I have many enemies. I will ask your pardon for a hostile greeting.

[Arwen gives a sad smile when the..."Grey Warden" introduces herself--mostly because it does confirm that this elf is not from her own world.

But she nods again, and this time, the points of her own ears may become briefly visible through her jet-black hair.]

You have it. I, too, have arrived only recently. There is no harm in caution, Lyna Mahariel. You are well met.

[She does not look like a Dalish, but she certainly isn't a City Elf. So... Lyna makes one test, just to see if perhaps she is, perhaps, a Dalish Keeper never tattooed.]

Andaran atish'an.

[For her part, Arwen tries to keep the sadness from her voice when she hears the unfamiliar greeting.]

I am sorry, I do not understand. Is that the tongue of your own people?

I did not think you were Dalish, but I had hoped.

It is our greeting to others of our kind and words of peace.

[With that said, she puts her arrow back in the quiver and lowers the bow entirely.]

I have never heard of Rivendell. May I ask where it is? Nowhere in Ferelden, I know. Orlais?

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forest! :D

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