@cnuasach | kdaid.
Anorýn follows the stranger almost with an earnestness. Whether it was wise or not, the blooming curiosity in her belly had spurred her to follow suit. She was compelled by the MORSELS of information he had offered her, a weakness to be assured, but as it would likely be with any child so quickly ripped from the security of their mother. Anorýn wanted to understand what he knew, what he could reveal, as there was so little her father had given her over the long and desolate years. Yet it would seem, in her eagerness, her training and frankly even her good sense had abandoned her for a moment. When she stalls him, it’s wholly without malice or ill will, but his dark return sees her only shrinking back at the scolding. For a moment, she finds herself silent once more staring at the creature with wide eyes and confusion. What he speaks is not wrong, not in the SLIGHTEST, and had anyone been there of her character, Anorýn likely would have melted with embarrassment. Perhaps her father had been right, maybe she wasn’t ready for such a position.
The elleth does not answer his initial inquiry, partially afraid to provoke another reaction that might cede him to lesser control. While she had a good enough assurance of her own speed and skills in terms of evasion, those wandering beasts along the distant hillsides did make her uneasy. A partial reason she wished for the company upon returning back to camp, but it was not the sole reason. It’s only when he asks about her people’s recovery did grey eyes reignite in conscious thought. “RARELY, it’s too dangerous, even as the decades slip by many survivors choose to move on rather than face the horror’s that occurred here,” Anorýn answered honestly, watching him manoeuvre around until he came upon a chest. It was beautiful, garnering her eye before she faintly returned her sights to the giant man. “I COULD take it back, but I doubt anyone who lived here could claim it. Most survivors have begun boarding ships back to Valinor. Most who remain are in the armies or too poor to leave.” Another admission of honesty, although more so empathetically revealing than informational. Her brow knits, teeth sliding over her bottom lip before she tries once more. “I should like you to return to camp with me, even if you are a looter or a mercenary,” Anorýn prompts faintly. “I should hate to leave you here amongst these monsters, even if I do not know your name, I am not so CRUEL to wish death by dragon on anyone.”
CALLOUSED FINGERTIPS RUN across the gleaming metalwork, charred but undamaged by the fire that consumed the rest of the building. It was testament to the craftsmen that created such a chest -- and the quality of the materials they used. The wood was still solid despite the obvious evidence that it had burned like the rest of the building. It was almost a shame to break it open, but there was no other way besides a key, and even then there was no guarantee heat hadn’t warped the lock. While he may not show much in the way of interest, he’s actually listening intently to what the young elleth has to say even if a low hum that rumbles deep in his chest is the only real acknowledgement of it. “So your rulers would rather let it rot, or get recovered by others?” It seemed both a ridiculous concept and unsurprising -- wasteful, and yet completely in-character for every ruling elite he’d ever come across. But then he had no idea what he would find when he eventually cracked open the chest.
Sweeping his coat back, he unhooks the hand-axe that’s slung around his belt and turns it around in his grip until he can slip that crude but wickedly sharp blade between the lid and the body of the chest until it connects with the internal bolt of the lock. There’s a moment of brief silence and then a metallic crack as the palm of Dau’s hand hits the blunt back of the axe head and the metal lock breaks as easily as if it were made from softwood. The axe is returned to his belt by his right hand while his left opens the lid of the chest to reveal the contents. There isn’t much of interest; a pouch of coins that he pockets for himself, a few items of jewellery and toys that he has no interest in, and a few rolls of parchment that he ignores completely. “Take anything of note out to return it if you wish. Or for yourself if you’re so inclined -- I doubt the dead would care.” He stands, wiping his grime-covered hands on his coat as he steps back and turns his attention to the structure they’re in.
The walls seem solid enough and, even though there is now no floors to speak of, the larger wooden beams have survived and weren’t rotten enough for mosses and lichens to grow on them. With more agility and grace than someone of his size should be capable of, he climbs a lodged beam to what would have been the next floor up and uses his own momentum to vault onto the wall where a roof would have once sat. It’s a vantage point that he makes the most of, using the valuable extra height to scan through the charred trees -- he can even see the remains of the city off int the distance and considers it for a while before a roar off in the mountains in the opposite direction pulls his attention. “By now you’ve realised that death by dragon is not something that concerns me, avaivk orrodh.” He speaks casually, his voice easily carrying in the still air. “Drop the pretense and tell me the real reason why you are so adamant on bringing a stranger back to your camp even when there’s a high chance of your superiors being less than pleased.”
