unasked_for: (Default)
Racial status: Elf
Armor
Lyrium tattoos
Sword - Ream-Ward
• Aggregio Pavalli wine
• Maul - Dogs of War
Battleaxe - All-Fall
The Book of Shartan
unasked_for: (bloody mages.)
[It's not that Fenris is completely unaccustomed to cold. He's been to less than temperate regions before, and lived through plenty of seasons that were equally less than temperate. An escaped slave on the run has to endure plenty of unpleasant conditions, and he hadn't always been in the position to be well-equipped for the environments he was driven to. What coin he'd ever had at his disposal had, of course, had to be stolen, since he'd rarely had the opportunity to take time enough off of running to even do anything as simple as mercenary work.

But it's been years now since he was on the run. He's become used to having a home, somewhere to hole up during the colder months - Danarius' abandoned mansion had its fireplace, and his house in Mayfield has a heating system he doesn't question, even if he luxuriates in it. So suddenly having that taken away catches him unprepared, to say the least. It's not as though he's usually equipped for cold - mostly he just wears his armor, which being metal conducts cold well, on top of it leaving a decent amount of skin exposed in any case. He doesn't even usually wear shoes.

So he's a bit more cranky than usual, to say the least.]


[Phone]

Are the usual torments of this place not enough, that now they try to kill us by inches? Is there some point to this, beyond seeing who freezes first? Do even our captors know what they're doing by now, or have they become as confused and aimless as their captives? Certainly if there is any logic to anything that's happened since I've arrived here, I cannot discern it.

[Action]

[Despite Fenris' cold and complaints, the fact is that he has responsibilities. Bethany can take care of herself for the most part - or at least Fenris doesn't want to be the one to suggest otherwise to her - but he also has Sara to think of, and he's quite fond of Sara. There's also Roxas; even if Fenris doesn't know the boy particularly well, he still has some degree of duty to look out for him. Fenris may not place much weight on the housing system in general, but he's not quite so callous as to tell a boy being forced to live with him that he has to look after himself. That means providing for them, to such degree as he's able.

So Fenris can be found prowling through the stores of Mayfield today, procuring general necessities and food. You may simply run into him in the aisles...or you might find that you have your hand on the last item on a shelf that's also being gripped by a menacing-looking gauntlet, and facing a rather uncompromising green-eyed glare.]
unasked_for: (speak.)
[It's a bit late, perhaps due to Fenris' own reluctance to give up something as endlessly useful and reassuring as a good quality sword, but he was specifically asked to return it, and he has no intention of going back on his word - or taking advantage of the generosity of the man who'd helped him during the zombie infestation. So, once he stops putting it off, he acts with purpose, picking up the phone.

The call is open to all listeners; he can filter such things but he doesn't usually fiddle with the phone more than he has to.]


Garviel Loken. [He's relatively sure he remembered the name correctly; he'd made a point of it.] I have your sword. I can bring it to you, or you can come to me - whichever you prefer. I live at 918 Bilko Boulevard. [He pauses briefly.] Again, you have my thanks. It served me well.

[Then he does filter the call.]

[Filtered to Kirkwallers]

I know Varric left some time ago. But who among us is still here? Anders? Knight-Commander?

I trust you at least haven't gone anywhere, Hawke.
unasked_for: (my what a big sword you have)
[After getting the call from Hawke, Fenris had scoured his house and garage for anything remotely like the sort of two-handed weapon he's used to using. Sadly, Mayfield has very little in the way of mauls, battleaxes, or bastard swords just lying around the place. What he did find was a shovel. This is hardly ideal, but it'll do in a pinch, and Fenris is definitely feeling the pinch right now. Especially since his entire household is full of drones.

So, shovel in hand, he's been making his way through the streets to Hawke's house, killing zombies as needed but largely trying to avoid them; he knows full well that it's not terribly prudent to take on the drone mobs alone, wielding a significantly inferior weapon to what he's used to. But avoidance only goes so far, and he eventually finds himself surrounded by the damned things, fending them off as best he's able - which is slow going with a shovel, as taking even one out with such a weapon is a slow process that leaves him open to attack.

He could definitely use some assistance.]
unasked_for: (what?)
[Fenris snaps awake rather suddenly. He's not sure what woke him up specifically, but there is a definite sense of wrongness to his surroundings - even beyond what he's been forced to accustom himself to in Mayfield. The bed is different, the atmosphere is different...his clothes are different.

He sits up, plucking at the suit he's wearing in bemused disgust. What is he wearing?

With so much that's out of place to take in, the presence of another person nearby takes a second to come up on the list of things that need addressing. But when he turns his head, his eyes widen. There's a woman, wearing an outfit revealing enough for even Isabela to approve of -

- and then he processes who it is, and Fenris is off the bed and at the other side of the room before his brain has even fully processed out the name 'Meredith'. It's not that he's afraid of her - though he knows perfectly well she must be more than capable of being dangerous. No, what he's afraid of is of her waking up dressed in that, in a bed that looks uncomfortably brothel-like, while he himself is close at hand. He can't imagine how this could have happened unless he was drugged - and, as he doesn't recall anything of the sort, he's assuming Mayfield is response - but he does know that the last thing he wants is to be held accountable for it by Meredith...or to seem to be taking advantage of it in any way.

He doubts even Hawke's influence could protect him if Meredith was made to truly wish him dead.]
unasked_for: (do I have something on my face?)
[It would just figure that the next surprise Mayfield would spring on them would be something for which Fenris' newly regained armor is wholly useless. What good does it do him against milk?

He's the only non-drone member of his household; if anyone is going to drink the milk, unfortunately, it's down to him and only him.]


[Filtered to fellow Kirkwall residents]

This won't end well. [His ability to state the grimly obvious is clearly still intact.] Hawke - keep the mage close at hand.

Tuesday: Murderdroning )

Wednesday: Fast-Acting Poison )

Thursday: 'Special' Milk )

Friday: Non-Lethal Poison )

Saturday: Razor Blades )

Sunday: Slow-Acting Poison )

Stage 3

Jul. 15th, 2011 05:48 pm
unasked_for: (why would you tell me this?)
[He doesn't filter this, because he doesn't actually...know how, at least not very well. Besides, who outside his world is going to care? But he probably would, otherwise.]

Some years ago, I was injured fighting on Seheron. A group of qunari rebels took me in, tended to my wounds. They were...admirable, far beyond my limited ability to understand at the time. They taught me things I hadn't realized I was ignorant of. I owed them my life, and far more. Had I been given the chance, I might have stayed with them permanently.

...instead, I killed them all. I slaughtered my saviors on the orders of the man I hate more than any other.

There are many things I will never forgive him for, but that...that is chief among them. And neither will I forgive myself.
unasked_for: (I will have to give it some thought.)
[Fenris is having some difficulties today. Part of him is quietly pleased that it's the 4th of July, and that he's going to take his daughter to see the fireworks later...but every time he happens to look in a mirror, or glance down at his arms, he sees the newly regained lyrium brands etched across his skin, and this jolts him out of any such complacent thoughts.

Danarius. The depths of his hate for the man, and his inability to forget him even now, keep reminding him that he doesn't have a daughter, doesn't have any family of any sort, and that he doesn't even know what the 4th of July is. He's an escaped elven slave from another world, no matter how ridiculous that sounds to the half of his mind that considers Mayfield home and stubbornly refuses to be convinced otherwise.

Of course, every time he tries to go about his business, he begins slipping back into that droned complacency until the next moment he sees and remembers. So when he gets on the phones, he's keeping his eyes locked firmly on one arm, on the glowing patterns of the lyrium. These are real. The pain is real. He won't be lured by these pleasant lies.]


This...what new sorcery is this? Is this the Fade, or the town, or am I simply going mad? I keep - forgetting where I am. Who I am.
unasked_for: (blade at the ready)
[Fenris is vaguely aware that Hawke would disapprove of this - killing someone on her behalf. Not that he hasn't already done so a hundred times over, traveling with her, but the situation here is different and he expects the distinction would matter to her, even if it means little to him. That, and she's not part of this; he's not mentioning it to her, not giving her any choice in how this plays out. And Hawke loves to have her say - if she objects to nothing else about this, she would likely complain of that.

To some degree, Fenris himself disapproves of this. Killing someone on orders from those in power here, with implicit threats if he fails to comply...it's all unsettlingly similar to slavery, and he's not so oblivious as to fail to notice it. It brings back bad memories...particularly of the Fog Warriors. Murdering the qunari who'd helped him, all at the orders of a master he hated, for no other reason than because he knew nothing but to do as he was bidden.

But Hawke's life is on the line, this time - and those threatening her are foes well beyond either of their capabilities. He can't see any other course of action beyond appeasing them...and he's done this sort of killing before. There seems little sense in balking now.

It takes a bit of asking around, but eventually his inquiries lead him to 851 Goldberg Street. He has nothing but his two hands, but that's been enough before. Granted, the lyrium was usually there to help. Hopefully, whoever this Merlin was, he wasn't any better armed than Fenris.

He lets himself into the house; knocking seems somehow inappropriate, given his purpose.]
unasked_for: (enough.)
[Fenris is stalking through Mayfield today, looking uncomfortable and irritable in the clothing Mayfield has provided for him. There must have been a time before he wore his armor constantly, taking it off only to clean and repair it or for sleep, but those days have been forgotten. It feels like walking around without his skin.

Skin which is, of course, devoid of the lyrium markings. He still feels phantom pain, as though they are there, and the shock is fresh every time he looks down and sees only unmarred skin. And this is, of course, only speaking of his own personal issues; there are plenty of other things around Mayfield (like cars) which are only adding to his aggravated bafflement, only serving to make him feel that much more out of place.

He is, to put it mildly, not adjusting well.

But he's determined to explore this town, even if he's given up on finding anything so unlikely as satisfactory answers. He wants to know where the important locations are, where his home (and the Arishok's, who's the only person thus far he trusts here) lies in relation to everything else, and in particular where the post office is. He also wants to get a feel for the other captives of this place...which is easier said than done, given that he's usually only social when prodded. Or drunk.

Feel free to approach the grumpy elf!]
unasked_for: (I will tear your heart out!)
[Fenris is prowling through his house like a caged and very angry animal. The facts, as he views them, are these:

He doesn't know where he is.

His armor, his weapons, even his markings - all gone.

Wherever he is, the architecture is strange beyond anything he's seen, the furnishings completely unfamiliar, and the strange images strewn everywhere are utterly baffling...mostly because he's in them. Looking happy, standing beside people he's never met.

Magic is probably involved.

None of this is anything to be happy about. His only workable hypothesis right now is that he's in the Fade; things being unpredictable and even one's form changing at a moment's notice isn't uncommon there, from what he experienced while they were trying to help that child mage. But how did he get here, and what can he possibly do about it?

Virtually nothing. There's almost no way for a non-mage to fight magic in any way...one of the many things he hates about it.

As his frustration builds, he begins taking it out on the house itself. Flinging the insulting pictures off the shelves and tables, throwing a vase against a wall, punching another hard enough to dent the plaster. And, somewhere in this aimless destruction, the phone is swept off its table and onto the floor, treating anyone listening in to a flood of cursing in Arcanum.]
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