fight to save the living, fight to threaten the world

[ladyspitfire]

Date & Time: All week during the age changing.
Location: Out and about the city.
Characters: Elissa Cousland and YOU.
Summary: Someone's just been dragged back to the very worst moment in her life. Now, back in Exsilium, she's not so open and friendly.
Warnings: Language at least. Will update otherwise.


Nothing was as it should have been.

The burning of her home and the slaughter of her family was fresh in her mind, the rush out of Highever with her dog and Duncan all too clear, but the city before her was nothing close to the woods around her city. It was dank and dark, raining, and there was something almost metallic and toxic in the air. But perhaps it was the smell of death in her nose that made her feel ill and the strange new town merely offset her balance. She couldn't be certain.

But there was something altogether familiar and distinctive about where she was. Shop names, buildings, faces she could swear she'd seen before. It didn't seem possible or right. A fever dream? Perhaps I'm having a nightmare. Cruel, truth be told. Why couldn't the night previous be little else but a horrible dream? She prayed it was so. If she could return home and everything would be set right...

One glimpse in the window of a shop was all she needed to dispel that argument. She was messy, a smudge of ash on her cheek, hair tangled and out of its tie. Though her cloak was new and made of fine material, her boots and clothes were covered in dried blood, a testament to her battle from the night prior. It couldn't have been a dream. She covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Maker..." she whispered. Her dog nudged her side and she knelt down to press her forehead into his back. "...We'll be all right," she murmured, more for herself than for him. She just needed to get her bearings, that was all. She just needed a little time.


[ooc: ACTION OR PROSE, UP TO YOU. Name the time and place, as she'll be just about anywhere and everywhere to run into people.]

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[ladyspitfire]

Artanis. It didn't sound familiar to her, not from Ferelden. She watched the woman for a moment, as if trying to decide if she wanted to trust her. There was something about her, a radiance, that could not be ignored. Was she a mage? She couldn't begin to decipher it. It did not matter, she supposed. Not right then.

At length, she nodded. "I'm Elissa. Elissa Cousland."

[inafadingcrown]

"A pleasure." The empty courtesy was out of her mouth before she could stop it. It sounded wrong- hollow, given the circumstances, but she didn't know how to correct it, so she let it be. Granted, the next thing she must say was just as insensitive, but she couldn't see a way around it.

"Forgive me, but... you are not injured, I trust? I have some small skill in healing, if you have need of it." Well, it was better than asking outright if all that blood was hers.

[ladyspitfire]

The shade of red that sprouted on her cheeks was faint but still there, embarrassment born of pride. She had seen, of course, but who could not? The mud on her boots mattered little, nor did the cloak she snatched as she and Duncan fled. It would hide her hair, he said, and it would keep her concealed should any allies of Howe be looking for her. And it was in the cloak that she hid her shame and her agony, buried in the fabric she kept close.

She did not weep. But before this woman, she felt like she should.

Elissa swallowed the knot in her throat and shook her head. "I am not injured." The cuts on her body had already healed, small lines of discomfort that would eventually disappear or scar. They mattered little. "The blood is not mine." There was no reason to hide it.

[inafadingcrown]

Artanis gave a quick nod and glanced away, trying not to meet Elissa's eyes. There were times when she was very keenly aware of the power of her gaze and this was one of them.

"Then I will ask no more of it."

[ladyspitfire]

She was grateful that the woman did not meet her gaze and, eventually, she dropped her own. Gathering what shreds remained of her dignity - what Howe hadn't taken from her too - she fought to control any outward emotion she might have displayed. Her voice sounded small, fragile, when she spoke, but her request was necessary. "You mentioned something about food, my lady?"

Though she hated to feel weak and powerless, she knew she needed to eat. Nothing would come of this day if she did not try to help herself.