trainingwings | action:

[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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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?

action:

forest! :D

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