therookery | [open] Towards an omnibus of other worlds-

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{ ariadne }

[open] Towards an omnibus of other worlds-

FORM: Written in an elegant hand and posted on the board and at other gathering spots.
SENDER: Vergilius Vulpinus, Chantry Brother
RECIPIENT: Anyone whatsoever, rifters in particular.
WHAT: A call to rifters to recount their origins.
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: This is the first step in Vergil's ambition to build an omnibus of other worlds, and an attempt to make just a little cosmological sense of things.

[A lean figure in black velvet is seen posting these where they are most likely to be found, as well as approaching those marked as 'rifters' to inform them of his endeavor. The gist is this: he wants their stories, tales of their home, recollections of the elsewheres from which they come. The letter itself reads:]

Welcome, travelers!

This open missive addresses those remarkably souls who have made the metaphysical journey to Thedas from realms unknown, who now find themselves under strange skies.

Do you still dream of your home, seeking a way back through the twisting ways of the Fade? Do you remember family, loved ones, loyalties or duties you have left behind? Do you miss some festival, have taken to private worship when you once held grand assemblies of faith? Do the seasons here seem strange?

I, Chantry brother and skilled archivist and historian, wish to compile an omnibus of other worlds, containing the recollections of your places of origin. I ask that only those sincerely interested in a true and untainted account of your lives before arriving in Thedas reply. While I suppose there will be no way for me to determine your veracity, I implore you to approach me honestly about your homes. Consider it a matter of honoring your origin, and helping us - your hosts - to understand the nature of the process that brought you to us.

Join me in creating a work unlike any that has graced even the loftiest halls of learning!

With reverence, respect and - above all else - curiosity,
-Brother Vergilius

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Ariadne likes to tuck herself away into small places, alcoves and nooks. It reminds her of the comforting concealment of the forests of Deleo. And it's the best place to watch people without being seen.

She's been watching the man in velvet for a few days, actually. Not in a leering, oppressive sort of way. Just out of curiosity. She's seen the way he's been approaching the other Rifters and she's read his letter. Really, she's torn. On the one hand, her instincts lead her to see the best in people and make her want to believe that he's merely curious. On the other hand, Aunt Lysia would argue that he must have some ulterior motive.

It's hard to tell, just by watching him.

So finally, after several days of observation, Ariadne makes her choice.

When she spots him approaching the board, she wriggles herself out of her hiding place, between a tree and a wall. And very slowly, she approaches.

Ariadne could never be described as threatening. She's all of nineteen, with a delicate, bird-like build and a long braid falling well past her waist. Even so, there's an 'otherness' to the way she walks, her arms held out to either side of her, like wings. Like she's about to take flight. And her voice? Surprisingly girlish.]

Hello?

[ Aunt Lysia might have had a point. The man's cordial manners and gracious words are tinged with an aloofness that makes them seem if not insincere than too well-chosen; he'll smile even in the midst of a heated argument. And he's a watchful person himself, by all appearances, rarely seen away from places of gathering, remaining obscure before either sliding sidelong to insinuate himself or drifting away at a similarly oblique angle. To wit: ulteriority hangs off this man like a shadow.

Which means, of course, that if he is a spy, he's a very bad one.

Case in point, his obliviousness to the fact that he himself is being watched. Indeed, Ariadne's sudden appearance startles Vergil more than he'd like to let on, and he's wordless for the moment it takes to recover his lost composure as the slight girl emerges as if from nowhere. ]

Good day-

[ He turns towards her, arms clasped behind him, his expression warm - he wears that well-worn smile - but his gaze a bit cool; he's still taking the catfooted girl's measure. ]

-What can a humble brother do for you?

[Ariadne offers him a quick curtsy. It's a bit bouncy. But then again, everything Ariadne does is slightly bouncy. Like gravity only barely has a hold of her.

Still, when she straightens, she smiles at him politely. It's a smile that reaches her gray eyes, making them gleam like silver coins. Despite her eccentricities, she's quite appealing. By humanoid standards, anyway. It's part of the disguise.]

I'm sorry to be a bother, sir. But I noticed all the signs you were posting...

[ That delicate curtsy comes as another surprise, though one that sets Vergil at ease more than it sets him on edge. The graciousness of her manners, her smile, that suggestion of lightness- it paints an innocuous picture, of someone difficult to take as threatening, or capable of guile. In a word, an innocent.

He should probably know better. Appearances commonly deceive, are commonly adopted for precisely that purpose. No laetan grows up unfamiliar with the ulterior. But at least she doesn't resemble a Southern Chantry sister, here to harry him about this most innocuous of schemes.

It also doesn't hurt that Ariadne is a pretty sight by any mortal standards. ]

No bother! No bother at all.

[ His guard drops away, replaced by an attitude of inquiry and more than a dash of carefully restrained excitement. Because if she isn't here to interfere... ]

I take it you have a story to tell?

[Ariadne laughs a little bit.]

There's an expression where I come from. "We all have songs, we all have stories.

[Actually, it's an Alastrian saying that's more or less unknown to the general population. But Ariadne can't ignore her roots. Even if they've been ripped away from her.

She holds out her left hand, showing off the glowing shard in her skin.

It's still so strange to her. Time was, every inch of her flesh was a vibrant green. And she wished desperately to make it pinkish. Now she's gotten her wish and she can't quite...get used to it.]

[ An otherworldly idiom! Vergil is visibly thrilled, not least because of its inclusion of song; as a devotee of a sacred Chant, music has a more than merely cultural importance to him. ]

Do you now? I'll have to mark that down. An appendix of proverbial sayings would be fascinating, don't you think?

[ His delight is knocked slightly askew when she bears her hand, that shimmering proof that she's not just a story-teller playing a prank. It's good to know she's the genuine article, but while the paleness of pink may be new to her, but it's the green he can't quite get used to. If you look them in the eye, if you talk with them, drink with them, laugh with them, one can feel at ease with a rifter, feel they are not so unlike you. But that shard of unreality always intrudes.

Still, he is courting their stories. He must get used to that one uncommon feature they have in common if this venture is to see success. ]

We should adjourn to the scriptorium! ...or whatever nook of the library we can nominate as such.

[ He turns his heel, ready to move into the great barrel tower that houses Skyhold's books, his own gait springing and light, as if Ariadne's weightlessness were catching. He motions for her to follow. ]

If you've read my little note, then you already know my name. Care to even those scales?

[Any lingering concerns or doubts that Ariadne might have felt melt away like spun sugar in water. It's so rare that she meets someone so outwardly pleasant and cheerful. She's often been accused of being aggressively cheerful herself. But there's nothing aggressive about it.

It's a delight, really.

She smiles warmly, folding her hands behind her back and bowing her head politely.]

Ariadne. Ariadne Everdeen, actually. I've been adopted by a local family. But you can call me "Airy" if you want. Everyone does.

[And the nickname suits her well.]

It is a unique pleasure, Airy. [ Vergil will always use the familiar, given the opportunity. However heavily both Chantries lean on ceremony, he knows that formality just as often gets in the way of a priest's work, the very intimate work of the soul. ] And you are free to spare your tongue and call me Vergil.

[ The delight is evidently shared, and he's quick to hasten her library-wards, holding back the questions that threaten to bubble up out of him, for fear one of her answers might be lost without ink and vellum to preserve it. ]

I'm glad to hear you've received real hospitality in Thedas; I hope you are comfortable with your family here. I know that people can be ever so suspicious, especially in the rough and ragged South. [ His Northern snobbery is worn on his sleeve, at least when not speaking to Southerners. ] I confess, however, I'm most interested in hearing about your home... before.

[ Before, that is, his world came apart, and before she was pulled out of hers. ]

[Honestly, the hospitality has been a bit of a mixed bag. But Ariadne's been fortunate enough to find some good people here and there. People like Katniss, who aren't too quick to judge her by the shard embedded in her palm.

So best not to argue. She merely smiles and nods.]

Thedas is quite a lot like my home, in some ways.

[She can't call it her home "before." It's still her home. And she has every intention of returning. Someday.]

I wouldn't really know where to begin...Vergil.

Really now? What ways in particular?

[ That's a good way to start. Like two people feeling out shared interests, a courtship between worlds could to worse than to begin with similarities. He's even personally inclined towards this line of questioning. As a cleric, he is invested in the universe conforming to some sort of sense, something he - mortal though he may be - can wrap his mind around, and live his life by.

So he presses: ]

What here reminds you of what there? Places? People? Ways of life? ...beliefs?

Edited 2016-02-18 23:32 (UTC)

[Ariadne isn't quite used to this much attention on her. She's spent most of her life trying to fly beneath anyone's notice. And she's usually the one with all the questions.]

Um...well. We have lots of different races back home. Humans. Elves. Like here.

...and they don't always get along.

Nor do they here.

[ The elves are a difficult subject for Vergil, about whom it is more difficult to form apologia beyond: everyone treats them poorly. Everyone save, perhaps, the Qun. And they are far worse to Vergil's mind. ]

Do you have dwarves as well? Qunari? Anything- else?

[ He's not sure if he wants an affirmative answer or not. So far it's been similarities, nothing new to account for. The first difference will provoke implications he doesn't know that he's ready for. Yet how can he not be excited to discover something he's never heard of before? What would be the joy in other worlds, if they were all just the same?

It would make for a dull book, that's for certain. ]

[This is getting uncomfortable...]

Well. Nothing quite like the Qunari. Although we have a race called the Daruc who are...similar in ways. They're built like Humans. But much stronger and they live longer.

We also have the subraces. Mostly Elven, although there are a few Human subraces too.

And...a wide variety of demonoid species.

[ At once this has become study in being careful what one wishes for. ]

Demonoid? As in- beings of the Fade?

[ Vergil knows a thing or two about demons. The strictures in Tevinter are decidedly looser regarding the study and summoning of spirits, so it's not a topic cloaked in absolute ecclesiastical ignorance. But abomination is abomination, and there is usually only a handful of ways a demon can persist in the mundane world. ]

How is it they- cohabit with the mortal races?

Edited (deanachronization) 2016-02-19 01:15 (UTC)

Not...exactly like what you have in the Fade.

[How did she end up in this position? Ariadne's always tried to avoid the topic. It being so awfully close to home and all.]

"Demonoid" is a word used to describe anyone who has more than two arms, two legs, and one head.

Back where I come from, the Qunari would be considered "demonoids."

They come in a lot of shapes and sizes. And some are peaceful.

[ Spirits, too, come in a variety of shapes and sizes. And some are peaceful, as many a mage will insist, even if none is precisely safe. But there seem to be larger metaphysical distinctions at issue here. ]

So strange, a single word for such different things.

[ It's early in the project, yet already his mind is reeling, try to make sense of it. It would be one thing for there to be similarities and differences, each unto themselves, but to have both at once, intermingled? ]

Is there nothing otherworldly about these... demonoids?

[ It could just be a trick of language, after all. A strange, translocated false cognate. It might be uncomplicated as that. ]

Otherworldly?

[She stares at him uncertainly, the crease between her eyebrows deepening in confusion.]

I'm not sure I understand that word.

[And that's saying something. Alastrians learn languages faster than the speed of sound.]

Let me see...

[Even though he's not a mage, he's had. And he's had to learn it as someone who cannot, as mages do, understand them in an immediate, experiential way. Explanations are all he has. That and dreams.]

Here in Thedas, there is this world - the mundane world of things - and then there is the Fade - the sublime world of notions. Here, a person can have a feeling, but the person encompasses that feeling; there, the people are feelings, the feelings people.

[ An important question occurs to him, something small but oh so crucial.]

Do you dream?

[ What will it mean if she doesn't? What will it mean if she does? ]

The Fade... it's where dreams happen, it's where the dreaming mind goes. It's another world, connected to ours, but distinct. That's what I mean by 'otherworldly'. Because that is where what I would call 'demons' dwell. I know them, insofar as they can be known, as dangerous spirits, fatal passions that can make mages into monsters.

[Ariadne listens with rapt attention. She actually loves stories. When she was a little girl, she dreamed of meeting people from far away places, who lived lives differently from her own. Her father's stories were always her refuge. She loved to hear him tell about the outside.

But this isn't the same somehow. She's not hearing a story. She's living it. And while she's fond of adventure, the otherness of this place is...eerie.]

Demonoids are nothing like that where I come from. They're born flesh and blood. The same as anyone else. They live. They die. Sometimes violently or cruelly.

We...we have dreams in my world.

[Although Alastrians don't dream, they only have nightmares.]

But...that's not where they come from.

Hrm- this is the trouble with terminology. Without clarification, I'd be left to assume your world was rife with dangerous spirits.

[ Instead, these so-called 'demonoids' sound much like the Qunari, just as Airy has said; inhuman and otherly, to be sure, but mortal and rational. He has prominent bones to pick with the Qun as a creed, but the people he must admit are still people.]

It's also why this work is so important. Without some context for understanding, we will be free to form all sorts of misconceptions about each other.

[ Which begs the question, is he misconstruing Airy herself? She's not difficult to look at, certainly; indeed, she is by all traditional standards an exceptionally fine example of material humanity. But he's been learning lately just how deceiving appearance can be, even on the fundamental level of what one sees with one's own eyes. ]

Can I assume that you, Airy, are human, chiefly on the grounds that you possess the customary number of limbs?

[She ought to have seen the question coming. But the, she was used to people just assuming she was Human and leaving it be. It made it easier to lie.

But there were always other ways.]

It's not just limbs that define Humans. Elves and Darcus are also two-armmed and two-legged. But my ears are rounded, so I'm not an Elf. And I don't have a Daruc brand on my forehead, so I'm not a Daruc.

...sometimes, I think it would be useful if I was.

[ The implication is clear, but takes a moment to sink in. Vergil does a good job muffling his surprise, but it does surprise him. He had simply assumed, an assumption supported for the most part but what his senses had been telling him. She looks human, after all.

Yet in retrospect, wasn't there something unaccountable about her? Not just her loveliness, but her lightness, her bearing, the way she moves.

But it is impossible to say, now, what he should have noticed, nor even what he notices now. Uncertainty has overtaken everything. He can only ask: ]

What would you call yourself?

A person.

[There wasn't much of a better answer, anyway. She'd lost the things that most defined her as an Alastrian; her wings, her skin, her hair. But she retained her senses, her talons, and certainly all of her memories.

Ariadne was just...stuck somewhere in between.

And it wasn't something she wanted to talk about too much.]

I was actually raised in an Elven kingdom, before coming here. Valeria.

[ The question now: to press or not to press. As a scholar and a theologian, the evasion maddens him. She is a person, certainly, but of what sort and kind? What label can he affix to her, how can he account for her in the grand scheme of things?

As a man and a student of the heart, on the other hand, he knows that one should leave well enough alone when someone makes it clear that they don't wish to tell. Badgering her will accomplish nothing; unlike a mage, he can't inflict his will upon the world. The only way he can hope to find out is by gaining trust. ]

What was that like? Did you have an adoptive family in Valeria as well?

[ It's an elegant name - Valeria - both regal and mystical, sounding halfway between Elven and Tivene. ]

[Ariadne nods, much more comfortable talking about people, instead of races.]

Yes. I was taken in by the royal translator, actually. Her name was Alyssa, but I called her "Aunt Lysia." She was a close, personal friend to the Elven princess, Amanda Harkin.

[Her smile isn't at all forced. Thinking about Lysia and Amanda always brings her joy. So much hope, in such a hopeless world.]

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