milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Everyone's heard this one before: an elf walks into a bar...

It is a joke with, as they say, very little class and as such does not bear repeating. He steps in, dusts off his armor, looks around, and shrugs.

Ferelden is a very strange country indeed. But, this is of little concern to him. The room is ripe for conversation, pockets ripe for picking, and drinks ripe for consuming. Where is the harm in any of these things? It makes for a thirsty day's work, almost getting killed over and over, and even assassins (and especially those sworn to serve their former enemies) deserve their fun.

It might take a moment or two before he appreciates that this is not, in fact, the tavern he was expecting.

[OOC: Rebooted character, different player. If you have questions, see this post.]

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"There are worse races out there," Zhaan says grimly. "I have met some of them. Most of the humans here are friendly, or at the very least benign."

"They do tend to start out that way. Most of the humans I know are perfectly fine people. I've worked with many of them. Lived with many of them. Loved many of them."

No animosity there, not from him. Not until one proves himself (or herself) worthy of it: he is an equal-opportunity assassin and prefers to put politics out of his mind, unless thinking about such things becomes absolutely necessary.

"I have found that they may be reasonably intelligent and pleasant as individuals, but groups can be a different matter entirely," Zhaan says. "Of course, they are hardly the only species like that. I think with humans the difference is simply more...pronounced."

The shrug he gives her in turn is moderate, almost but not quite unconcerned. He supposes even the Darkspawn must have their reasons for the things they do and the ways they act, driven by an Archdemon or no.

"I like to take people one at a time." That might have more than one meaning; Zhaan is free to understand it in the way that makes the most sense to her. "A mob mentality is a mob mentality, regardless of what species the mob consists of, do you not agree? With humans, however, there seems to be more of a sense of... shall we say entitlement? At least where I am from. Where those such as I are kept segregated and impoverished by virtue of the circumstances of our birth and little else."

No one at this tavern seems to care that he is an elf, and he prefers it that way. Then again, he is talking to and drinking with a tall blue hairless lady, not something he anticipated when he awoke this morning.

"Judging from what I know of their history, if you were not present to oppress, they would be oppressing each other," Zhaan says. "I find it difficult to reconcile this behavior with the humans I know personally, but I have seen some of their close genetic relatives behave in the same way - so it is not beyond my capacity to imagine."

"Yes, yes." He believes that this is so, but waves his hand dismissively. "They would turn on the dwarves next, if they could only stand to be underground. And very short." That makes him laugh: he has nothing against anybody simply because of who they are, and no wish to discuss the inherent unfairness in human-elven (or elven-dwarven) relations. He is no politician. He has had it better than many of his kin.

"It is my firm belief that one can be what he or she wants, regardless of race or species. As long as he puts his mind to it, there will be autonomy even in the most, shall we say restrictive of situations."

If this plan of his works and he manages to convince the Crows of his own demise, he will have found his way out of that round of captivity. Then again, odds are it will not work. The Crows have eyes and ears everywhere. It would not surprise him to know they even have agents here.

And he is not making much of an effort to blend in, not that he could. He is a spectacular specimen, in this or any other world, and he knows it.

"Come, come. Let us talk of less unhappy things. In a few minutes I should return. It is my first night of... feeling my way around my new circumstances, and there is much to do. Weapons to be honed, clothes to be laundered, time to waste on frivolities. The usual."

"You could do some of it here," Zhaan says. "No matter how long you spend here, you always return to the exact moment when you left. Some people find that very useful at times. And truth be told, it would sadden me to see you go so soon."

Now she really is beginning to sound like a demon. Temptation, temptation, temptation: one ought to be able to resist. Is he not stronger than that?

Leaning forward now, acutely aware of the sword and dagger both ready at his side should the need arise, he grins a ready grin. "I grew up in a whorehouse in Antiva. Until I was sold to the Crows, that is, but the important part of the story happened when I was very young. There were a number of motherless children there, and the women at the whorehouse were very nice to us. When time permitted, they told us stories. In particular, I remember a story about a woman who was so wonderful and so kind that she loved everyone, regardless of race, regardless of income level, regardless of whether they were devout or unbelievers. She was so good that people flocked to her side, and she gathered many followers, although she did not believe herself to be worthy of them."

Pausing, he shakes his head before continuing; the tips of his fingers through the half-gloves tap the booth's surface lightly. "One might think I speak of Andraste herself, but I do not. She was nothing more than a common whore. An elf, even, or so they say, with far too much room in her heart. At the time I did not believe there was such a thing. To have too much room in one's heart. To this day, it is still something I do not believe. What say you?"

It is not often that he speaks unbidden of his childhood. At least not with such honesty.

Zhaan's not quite sure what prompted this, but she gives a straight answer. "I would say that such people are rare, but they exist." Pause. "Who is Andraste?" She sounds important.

"Andraste?" There is someone unaware of Andraste? Perhaps then all the things she is saying about this place are true. And would that not be interesting. "Andraste, the prophet? You have not heard of her?"

Wonders might never cease.

"No," Zhaan says. "My people have quite a few prophets, but none of them are named Andraste. And I know of quite a few different human prophets, but none by that name."

Then it is true. If he was wary before, he is twice as wary now. "Andraste's teachings form the foundation of beliefs for the Chantry. I suppose an explanation is in order, no? In my world" -- already, he is getting the hang of things here -- "that is the predominant... how shall I say it, focus of faith. Heed the word of the Chantry, worship there, whatnot. I have limited use for it myself, although I am not unfamiliar with its teachings."

He could go on about Andraste as he could about many subjects, but his eyes stray back to the window, to the end of things, if Zhaan is correct, and thinks back on the things she has said. "How long have you stayed at this place, my friend?"

It appears to be pleasant enough, but there will come a time -- regardless of how little time will appear to have passed while he's been here -- when he will want to leave. He has a great deal of curiosity, after all, about what his life as a member of the Warden's party will entail.

"A few years," Zhaan says. "Actually I live in the House of Arch, which is...somewhat difficult to explain. But I spend much of my time here."

"Years?" His shock is evident. "You have been here for years? Maker."

The only place he has ever been for years was at the whorehouse where he grew up. Even his latest apartment in Antiva City was relatively new to him. Not even a year.

"Has no one told you that perhaps it is unwise to stay in one place for such a period of time?"

"I do not currently have anyone attempting to kill me," Zhaan points out, "which is an improvement over the situation I was in before I came here."

He knows, because he is as skilled at listening as he is at assassination, that she was held captive before arriving at this place, or at her difficult-to-explain House of Arch. The journey from captivity to the alleged end of things was not discussed, and those details are not his to pry out of her. They don't know each other well enough, at the very least, and everyone deserves a degree of privacy, do they not?

"How fortunate for you. I am relieved to hear it." It is tempting to say he wishes he could say the same thing, but he cannot. As discreetly as possible, his eyes shift to the door. From time to time it opens for someone, either entering or leaving, and while they cannot all be using one door to access different locations without some sort of trickery, his curiosity is now piqued.

"I, on the other hand, most decidedly do. But I find it adds to the excitement. And what is life without excitement? No, no, it is a rhetorical question that need not be answered." He staves off any answer with a quick wave of his hand. Life would be far too dull, and he would grow fat and complacent, and that is a thought that horrifies him more than the thought of opening the door and stepping into an entire camp full of Crows. No, he will take his chances as they come along, without question and without reservation.

"I am not able to leave this place - not yet, at least," Zhaan says. "But if you can still see the door you came in by, then you will be able to leave."

"And I have yet to meet the lock I cannot pick."

Whether or not that will be necessary here remains to be seen. Pleasant company or not (if he is under a demon's spell, best to shake it off), there is never any time like the present to test a theory.

"Let us see if this door is as kind to me as you say it shall be." Gregarious and generous and flirtatious though he might be, at heart he is a man of action. He moves from the booth with agility and grace, both, and his weapons are on his back instantly.

"My dear." His bow is gracious, deep, and he presses a kiss to the top of her hand. "Your help has proved invaluable. Now, it is time to find out about this door. As tempting as it is to stay -- particularly with such lovely company -- this is something I must know."

He leaves little time for argument. Later, he will undoubtedly marvel over her, from the comfort of his own bedroll.

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