Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alwaysshielded) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-01-04 11:03 pm
alwaysshielded) wrote in thecapitol2015-01-04 11:03 pm
You have neither reason nor rhyme
Who| Cassandra Pentaghast and anyone!
What| Cassandra arrives between Arenas. She is unimpressed.
Where| Training Area, District 3 suits, and anywhere in the Capitol
When| Post arena 12
Warnings/Notes| TBD
Training Hall
[The sword had not been still from the moment she took it in hand. Hunger Games. Another stab, another burst of light as...some form of magical practice dummy burst before her, shattering in squares onto the ground around her before vanishing into thin air. It did little to assuage her theory this was yet another trick of spirits, of the Fade. Impossible for a Seeker to be so impacted by demons. Yet possible and im- had so very little to do with reality as of late. It was impossible for the ancient villains of religious text to appear and terrorize the world. This? This was child's play in comparison.
So she had taken to the training hall to think. Block, parry, thrust, kill. A simple dance of death against these magical conjectures, one that hardly took an ounce of her attention. It brought a calm no other activity could, save perhaps prolonged meditation. Kept her rage occupied as her mind contemplated her current state.
But the sound of another entering echoed through the hall, breaking the dance. She pivoted from the illusions, attention locked on to the potential threat. Without thought her sword pointed in the direction of the noise, her gaze locking onto the newcomer.]
District 3 Floor
[The tragedy was that the chambers were, by all measures, an improvement from her quarters in the Inquisition. There were no holes in the walls, none of Leliana's birds sneaking in to nest in her rafters. The exact function of much of her quarters was beyond her, but she hardly had the patience to sit about and figure them out. If it were important, she would come to terms with it in time. For now she would see the other captives of her cell block, and hold no illusions they were otherwise. The kitchens, however...
Cassandra had to scowl at the sheer unfamiliarity of the room. There were no fires, no mouser cat, no...no turnips burning for no apparent reason. Even the simplest of needs, nutrition, was a confusing endeavor in this nightmare. She stood in the doorway for a long moment before turning to return to the (slightly more logical) common area. Chairs, at least, were an unchanged concept.]
Wildcard
[She will be exploring and disapproving of the Capital and common area, feel free to bump into her scowling at things anywhere!]
What| Cassandra arrives between Arenas. She is unimpressed.
Where| Training Area, District 3 suits, and anywhere in the Capitol
When| Post arena 12
Warnings/Notes| TBD
Training Hall
[The sword had not been still from the moment she took it in hand. Hunger Games. Another stab, another burst of light as...some form of magical practice dummy burst before her, shattering in squares onto the ground around her before vanishing into thin air. It did little to assuage her theory this was yet another trick of spirits, of the Fade. Impossible for a Seeker to be so impacted by demons. Yet possible and im- had so very little to do with reality as of late. It was impossible for the ancient villains of religious text to appear and terrorize the world. This? This was child's play in comparison.
So she had taken to the training hall to think. Block, parry, thrust, kill. A simple dance of death against these magical conjectures, one that hardly took an ounce of her attention. It brought a calm no other activity could, save perhaps prolonged meditation. Kept her rage occupied as her mind contemplated her current state.
But the sound of another entering echoed through the hall, breaking the dance. She pivoted from the illusions, attention locked on to the potential threat. Without thought her sword pointed in the direction of the noise, her gaze locking onto the newcomer.]
District 3 Floor
[The tragedy was that the chambers were, by all measures, an improvement from her quarters in the Inquisition. There were no holes in the walls, none of Leliana's birds sneaking in to nest in her rafters. The exact function of much of her quarters was beyond her, but she hardly had the patience to sit about and figure them out. If it were important, she would come to terms with it in time. For now she would see the other captives of her cell block, and hold no illusions they were otherwise. The kitchens, however...
Cassandra had to scowl at the sheer unfamiliarity of the room. There were no fires, no mouser cat, no...no turnips burning for no apparent reason. Even the simplest of needs, nutrition, was a confusing endeavor in this nightmare. She stood in the doorway for a long moment before turning to return to the (slightly more logical) common area. Chairs, at least, were an unchanged concept.]
Wildcard
[She will be exploring and disapproving of the Capital and common area, feel free to bump into her scowling at things anywhere!]
no subject
"I am not at all objecting. I may in fact even agree with you. I simply find it amusing that this should be that case at all. I am normally much more proficient defending myself."
He sighed, and assuming that Cassandra's tone had meant right now stepped over to pick up a spear. Cassandra was right, of course. The spear felt good - a good weight, and close to what he was used to.
"I didn't get my hands on a single weapon, in the last arena," he mused idly as he started twirling the spear in his familiar flashy manner. "Apollo had a bow, however. I should know. He shot me with it."
no subject
He was correct she meant now. And she wasted no time, now he head a weapon in hand, to crouch back into a defensive position, prowling along the very edge of his new weapon's reach. She would give him a few moments to adjust to the weight of the spear and then instruction (however painful) would begin in earnest.
But giving a longer, more detailed report on his experience might earn him slightly more time before that first strike.
"What did you learn?"
no subject
Oh god, she was going to smash him to smithereens, he could see it.
"Utterly bizarre," he answered, trying to take a defensive stance, but he knew few. Why should he, when back home he could have thrown up a barrier around himself? "We were dressed in strange, full-body suits with massive, round helmets made of glass. You could hear the wind rushing into it, from inside. They sent me up a long tube and when I came out I was alone. The sky was full of stars, more stars than I've ever seen, and they did not twinkle. I began to float - I had absolutely no weight at all, and it was only by thanks of a tether that I did not float up to meet those stars."
and here we start pretending I know about melee
But the frown was not for his answer alone. Of course Dorian would never have needed the little odds and ends most apostate picked up when it came to fighting. Never had true templar to contend with. She should have known.
"Remain as you are."
She turned from him to walk over and place the sword back on the rack and picked up a spear for herself. Not a weapon she had, in truth, much used beyond basic training, but the point was she had been trained. Easier to show by example than to try to talk him through the stances while brandishing a sword at him.
She continued speaking as she exchanged the weapons, not ready to move on just yet.
"And Cullen is correct? There was nothing that signified you could be in the Fade? Even some...I do not know. Some far corner I am unfamiliar with, which may only be recorded in some ancient text."
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He shook his head to the question. "There was absolutely nothing. It was not the fade. I would bet every royal I've ever owned against it. Even when I could finally access my magic, it was-- different. Wrong. As if from somewhere else entirely. It was a bit like expecting brandy and getting Ferelden Beer, only the beer would cause an explosion where you expected a lantern light."
no subject
The tone is distracted. The truth, while appreciated, is painting a stranger picture than she had imagined. Dosing with magebane was one matter. Altering the very relationship with the Fade was yet another impossibility. One that made her tighten her grip on the speak to a white knuckle state as she returned to face him.
"Try your best to stop me. Note what I do, then we will move forward from there."
His initial assessment had been correct. She was going to smash him. At least in the initial blow, then refrain from further damage. Call it a life lesson. One less about fighting and more about the wisdom of letting Cassandra talk you into sparring while in a poor mood.
no subject
He shifted, trying to plant his feet firmly enough to take her.
"Fine. I'm ready. Just refrain from the face, will you? A broken nose would be one too many heartbreaks for me this week."
no subject
"What is your assessment of our situation?"
no subject
"I... A few things," he groaned as he struggled upright again, using the spear for support. "First, there is something incredibly strange going on, back home. The idea that there might be dozens, or even hundreds, of variations of Inquisitors... Someone is working very hard to change history."
no subject
That things may be different had been hinted at. That this- hundreds of Inquisitors? She tapped Dorian's spear with her own roughly, indicating he should return to his defensive position. They were hardly done with the lesson, no matter the shocking information he may pass along. That she may very soon be in even greater need of hitting something was, perhaps, also a slight motivation for her demand.
"Explain yourself."
no subject
He moves back into a defensive position after having his arms jolted by the blow against his spear, and his side complains profusely when he moves. Maker, but if she hits him like that again there isn't going to be much left of him for the arenas.
no subject
"Look at me. Do as I do. Nothing is broken, the ribs will hold without your coddling. And I do not...descriptive imagery is not my strongest suit, Dorian. Elven. Mage. A woman. What more do you want?"
Because if she were called upon to wax about the mage's kindness or humor or other fine traits, they may both be in trouble. Varric should have been brought in her stead if fine words were the coin of the land.
no subject
"Mine was a man. An archer. Cullen's a woman, a mage. A human. The one that arrived before you did? Elven. A woman. An archer. I have no idea how much the Anchor affects them, but it is safe to say that we all remember very different people."
no subject
She held up a hand to indicate he hold still- the hand still steady, despite the verbal blow Dorian had dealt. Genders, races, talents...could so many different individuals truly fill one role? Or was some greater magic at word here? How much of her memory could be relied upon?
One problem at a time. Focus on the drills, then the rest. She stepped out of her own stance, moving- more prowling, really, given her current state of mind- to Dorian. Then a step and she was behind him, of of his view, to more effectively correct his stance if he allowed it. Footing first, then how shoulders aligned with hips after.
no subject
He let her rearrange him, feeling a bit like a playhouse doll, but not complaining.
"However, given the... nature of the Inquisitor's particular talent, all it meant was that fate, or the Maker, or Andraste herself, simply made sure someone else was there to interrupt. I think someone back home is trying to change time, and doing it as many times as they can until something goes right. Our presence here? Either they are actively taking advantage of it, or, it's pure circumstance that every time they bring one of us here, the timeline has already changed."
no subject
This was not one of Varric's stories where the commanding instructor slipped their arms around the waist of their charge from behind to 'help,' thus she is required to move back round to stand before the man as she adjusted his hand position. Along with receiving actual weaponry advice, Dorian could see the concern building in her expression, near matching the rage now. A systematic destruction of Inquisitors across time? It was disturbing... and not as far fetched as she would have liked.
"I will confess, Dorian. It is an unsettling feeling to wish for something as abhorrent as a trick of the mind or demonic possesses to be the cause of my troubles. But if you believe they are merely taking advantage, then the cause for that particular trouble remains in Thedas."
no subject
"I've no reason to believe they have any contact with anyone in Thedas, but I'm not sure what evidence I could have, unless I saw how they brought us here for myself."
He paused, and then sighed a little wistfully. "How much simpler demonic possession would be... They usually try a little harder than this, however."
With grapes.
no subject
Meaning the results were, to say the least, mixed. She stepped back again and gave a small nod of approval before resuming her own, far more aggressive stance. No information. She could not blame him, could not justly blame any taken in the same way she had been. But it made her teeth grind to run into wall after wall for even the simplest of explanations regarding this place.
"Defend your left side. I am going to attack your upper arm."
no subject
He shifted his stance - the new grip utterly unnatural, but he held it. At least she was warning him, this time.
no subject
"Do not think so lowly of yourself, Dorian. You do place slightly higher than Varric."
And there was the swing, again the butt end of the spear, directly for where that large patch of shoulder and skin would be showing in his typical armor.
"But I am to take it this theory is the extent of your observations thus far?
no subject
Still alive.
He never thought he would miss Varric, of all people, quite so dearly, however.
"The extent? Not entirely, though that is what I've been able to make sense of. I have a thousand other burning questions that I've not been able to find answers to, and searching only seems to yield even more questions."
no subject
She gave a slight inclination of her head even as she readied herself for the next blow, indicating she would do what was in her power to acquire it. Which, with Dorian and Cullen at hand, would likely mean being the strong arm to match their earnestness and charm. A role she was more than happy to fulfill. Cassandra would certainly not be able to play the part of charming tribute, after all. Better they each played to their strengths and coordinated, as they had done in the Inquisition, than attempt to solve it all on their own.
"For now, watch my face, not my weapon. One will hurt for the moment of impact, the other will have time to plot your death if you are not attending to how the next planed move is written there. And, come. Attempt to strike me back."
no subject
He sighed - already hurting everywhere - and looked at her a little warily. "If I had been meant to be a soldier, I wouldn't have been born nearly as handsome," he complained lowly. And then, after a moment: "Though you and Cullen certainly do your best to defeat that particular stereotype."
He lunged forward, doing his best to strike out with the blunt end of his spear.
no subject
Handsome was no small compliment for a woman such as she, though given the source, her tone did take a dryly amused tone. She was not quite so manly as to appeal to this mage, she should hope.
Sadly, the lunge was deflected. Though more slowly than she would have usually done, the move exaggerated, see how it is done practically radiating from her. She had not trained many recruits, but she had trained some. And unfortunately for Dorian, she had ever found pain the best instructor, which is why her deflection and pivot ends in a solid strike against his back.
"It is an injustice, Dorian, and a puzzling one at that, to have your true craft removed. We must, however, live in reality. Return to your stance. Let me see what you remember."
no subject
Though he was rather regretting it as her spear hit him bluntly in the spine and he stumbled forward a few feet, dropping his own spear. Wincing, he leaned down to pick it up and tried to set back into a stance that was a semblance of something correct.
"I'm perfectly fine living in reality as long as it doesn't include a broken nose," he said wryly.
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wrapping this up