There are two kinds of fears, rational and irrational. Being afraid of realtors is an irrational fear.
— Lemony Snicket, A Series of Unfortunate Events
HOW TO PLAY:
Comment with your character. In the body of your top-level, your character is forced to admit their biggest, darkest fear. Maybe they assumed no one was listening, or perhaps this is the work of a magical truth serum. Either way, it's out in the open now.
Other characters can offer comfort, judgement, or probing psychological questions to delve into the root of this.
An especially evil character might look for ways to exploit this newfound information... but you wouldn't do that, would you?
Anything involving images, especially spooky images, should be linked and tagged.
... being controlled. Being helpless. Being leashed again. [ there's a sharp, acrid kind of bitterness to her words, resenting that she's even having to admit the sentiment. ] I'm afraid I'll wake up and everything I've accomplished, everything I've won for myself will be gone. I'll be back in a cage, back to begging someone else to be granted the privilege of a sip of air or a glimpse of sunlight. If that happened, I don't know what I'd become to free myself again.
Or, I don't know, becoming a broodmother, I suppose.
[Fenris prickles with unease to agree with someone so whole heartedly. The similarity to a certain champion doesn't catch him at first if only because he's busy brooding about the whole idea.]
Feral, in most cases. I am not above having done so to gain back my freedom.
Feral, hmm? [ with a thoughtful sound, ] Yes, that sounds about right, all things considered. We are just animals in the end. Although I've no doubt any such behaviour on your part would have been richly deserved, to those who challenged it.
Just. Pah. The magister who owned me used to call me his 'little wolf'. If he wanted me to be a wolf, then he should not have been surprised when I tore him open.
Ugh, a magister. Good riddance. [ the disgust is palpable in the curling of Amell's own lip, a mirror of Fenris' expression. ] Chantry tales always hold them up as terrible beacons of power and cunning, but every magister I've ever killed has been a shortsighted fool. I can only assume that holds true for the lot.
[ there's no small degree of pride in how Amell adjusts the clasp of her uniform, emblazoned griffons shining brightly. ]
It does, yes, though not the Marcher branch. The Ferelden Wardens are mine. [ a polite extension of her hand towards her conversation partner, and a smile. ] Warden-Commander Amell, at your service.
[Fenris pauses. Gapes, just a little. This is the face of a man doing the fastest calculations Thedas has ever seen and still not being quite sure where it ends him up with. He slides off one of his gauntlets before reaching out with a slender hand to shake in turn.]
Fenris. Of. [A pause.] Kirkwall, I suppose. I am being told it could be my home if I so chose it, now.
Ah... [ a sympathetic grimace. ] What little I know of Seheron through my Qunari friend certainly doesn't make it sound pleasant, and of course Tevinter speaks for itself. Kirkwall may have its own ups and downs, but at least it's not either of those! A fine place to choose for home, probably.
[ it's not like she'd know, she hasn't been back in decades. ]
Mm, that's true. Probably for the best that I wasn't kept in that Circle, even if the reasons were political rather than benevolent. No doubt I would have been killed quite young. [ she says it with the casual ease of stating a simple fact, breezy as a comment on the weather.
one eyebrow arched, she gives him a quick glance: he certainly looks well capable of taking care of himself ]
Well, now that the man is dead, surely there's no reason to keep up the same speed? What else might keep you from making Kirkwall your home, if you want it?
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bakerstreet2025-02-11 02:48 pm
warden amell | dragon age
Or, I don't know, becoming a broodmother, I suppose.
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Feral, in most cases. I am not above having done so to gain back my freedom.
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[Fenris sneers a little.]
Does that armor put you with the Wardens, serah?
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[ there's no small degree of pride in how Amell adjusts the clasp of her uniform, emblazoned griffons shining brightly. ]
It does, yes, though not the Marcher branch. The Ferelden Wardens are mine. [ a polite extension of her hand towards her conversation partner, and a smile. ] Warden-Commander Amell, at your service.
no subject
Fenris. Of. [A pause.] Kirkwall, I suppose. I am being told it could be my home if I so chose it, now.
no subject
Is that so? Was it not your home before?
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It was not. I was once a slave from Tevinter. Seheron technically, but as I was enslaved to a Tevinter magister it hardly matters where I was born.
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[ it's not like she'd know, she hasn't been back in decades. ]
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[And yet, it IS something akin to a home. As are the people he has fallen into company with.]
It does not feel far enough to have fled, but I grow tired of running from the man who would claim to own me.
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one eyebrow arched, she gives him a quick glance: he certainly looks well capable of taking care of himself ]
Well, now that the man is dead, surely there's no reason to keep up the same speed? What else might keep you from making Kirkwall your home, if you want it?