The shadows cannot find me if I stand in the shade

[This is a modern-AU Feynriel RP blog, set in Kirkwall 2013. Part of the City of Chains universe.] My other CoC-verse blogs: Morrigan, Zevran, Bryony My personal blog Stuff I've written

[skullpunkcoffee]

[sandintheireyes]

Hightown Manners || [Feynriel & Swiftrunner]

[the-heart-of-the-beast]

Dastan effortlessly guided his bike through the maze like city streets, wind whipping through the curls of his dark hair as he followed his rider’s instructions on where to find his home. He’d never been much for helmets, too restricting, but he kept one for any passengers he might carry and the rare occasion when he found it necessary to wear one himself.

Noting the buildings he assumed to be the ones his passenger had intended he be delivered, he eased the engine down to a slower idle and pulled it in against the curve outside the set of apartments. “I’d offer’ta help if ya have any further problems, but I don’t live in town.” He explained, golden eyes watching the younger man as he slid down from his seat and moved around. “Pretty sure they don’t have tha’first clue how’ta track anythin’ though, so ya should be safe now.”

[sandintheireyes]

Feynriel rode the rest of the way in silence, once biting his own lip to prevent himself from giggling as some absurd thought about a children’s-story rescue and a knight on a swift steed flitted through his head.  For fuck’s sake…  Apparently close calls made him giddy.

When his rescuer stopped the bike in front of Feynriel’s building, the mage slid off, tugging the helmet off his blond head and reaffixing it to where the man had originally taken it.  He remembered that the biker hadn’t been wearing it when he first showed up, so he must only keep it for passengers.  “Yeah, and you kind of scared them shitless, anyway,” he murmured. 

He turned to go, but looked back a heartbeat later with a small, shy smile.  “I’m Feynriel, by the way.  Thanks for the ride.”

[womenaregoodforsix]

The Babe with the Power [[Feynriel and Isabela]]

[womenaregoodforsix]

Oh, he didn’t know her name? Wasn’t often that her reputation didn’t precede her in a establishment such as this. “Isabela,” she grinned, golden flecks in her dark eyes catching the dim lights, like the cats that back alley healer was so fond of. 

"Is Feynriel your real name?" Or was it a stage name? Or did he not care to say? She’d call him whatever he liked, but more importantly… "What are you drinking?"

One could tell a lot about a man (or boy) by his choice of drink. Purely from his tender age, Isabela might make certain assumptions about him—frou-frou drinks, or maybe cheap-ass beer or something like that. But this boy was different enough, intriguing enough, that she was ready to be proven wrong. And even if she was proven right, she wasn’t willing to write him off as easily deciphered, for those eyes of his promised oh so much more than the surface offered. It was just a matter of how deep that surface layer went.

[sandintheireyes]

“Pleased to meet you, Isabela,” he replied, laughing at her question and giving her a mischievous look.  “Is that your real name?  Feynriel is actually mine, though I probably should have used a stage name here.  Half the people I meet can’t pronounce it, for some reason.”

But his Dalish heritage had always mattered to him, even moreso when he had first left his mother and begun working here.  He was far more accepted in the environment of the Rose than he had been at the Alienage, but he felt more disconnected than ever from the identity he’d always – as a child – daydreamed about reclaiming.

“And my favorite drink here is the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.”  He bit his lip and glanced toward the bar.  “Apparently it’s some kind of sci-fi reference.  One of our bartenders is a nerd.”

[sandintheireyes]

Where All Roads Lead || [Feynriel & Duncan]

[fereldan-commander]

"No," Duncan whispered aloud as his eyes fell upon the familiar visage of a former lover, his eyebrows immediately drawing together. The stagnant, raw air of the deep roads seeped into the soft flesh of his throat and made both breath and speech more painful.

This was wrong. This was all so very wrong. Duncan had tracked a dwarf here—he was sure of it. Though the waystand he’d started off in had been empty when he could have sworn he’d meant to have a group of Wardens with him and his leg burned with the pain of an injury that seemed to make a familiar path thrice as difficult, those details felt minute compared to….

"Bryce?" he croaked, ignoring the dissheveled scion’s singular command and limping nearer. "Bryce, what are you…what are you doing here?"

Duncan was stricken by two feelings: a swellng elation at the sight of a man he’d loved so dearly and thought—somehow incorrectly—to be dead; a crushing, suffocating dread at encountering such a man huddled in the deep roads, looking…looking like….

Duncan took another uneven step forward, into the pool of firelight in which the once-senator now huddled.

[sandintheireyes]

Feynriel didn’t know what to do.

So many dreams, he had masterfully shifted, redirected from nightmare to peaceful sojourn.  It had been his first true magical skill, and the one he treasured most.  Physical healing had become another favorite, when he had learned, but giving peace was something that few mages could do directly.

The clergy would have it that they could do so, through their Maker, but he had never found that to be true.

But here he stood in a dream that absolutely resonated with pain, and there was no clear foothold from which to reshape it.  He would change the image of the man before them to look healthy rather than wasted, but if he made a wrong guess and the result was dissonant with the dreamer’s memories, that could potentially be even worse than simply allowing the scene to play out.

If he wanted to have any hope at all of success, he would have to somehow link this representation of the man the dreamer had called Bryce to the dreamer’s better memories.  For now, though, he did the only direct thing that he dared: He willed the man to rise to his full height and smoothed away the fear from his features, if not the wan, wasted appearance, directing the figment to simply stand and wait as the dreamer approached.

[merrillvaskirkwall-blog]

Elgar Shiral [Merrill & Feynriel]

[merrillvaskirkwall-blog]

She took a moment to think about the collection of abilities she used, most of her skills stemmed from her keeper magic.  “Well, most of the spells I use draw their power from the earth, so it involves more keeper magic than anything.  Since I am using the earth’s own power, however, it doesn’t require me to use lyrium as a medium.  There are other abilities that I have developed since discovering the Elgarlin.  One is the ability I call blood mending, but it takes a lot out of me while doing the same thing you can do with creation magic.  It seems to be much less draining when I use the abilities in an offensive capacity.”

Looking cautiously over to see him still looking on without judging her, she continued, “For example, I can use the Elgarlin to mind control the target.  It basically sends them into a blood frenzy attacking their allies while causing hemorrhaging internally.  But, I’m not limited to that magic.  I can use other magic, but it requires me to have and use lyrium which I don’t tend to keep on hand though I do tend to have vials at my digs.”  There was more to it than just those spells she mentioned, but she wasn’t certain how much more information he was seeking.

When the topic turned to the demons, she smiled and took her turn at listening to him and his story, a small smile playing on her lips while she looked on with large eyes.  He had chosen a topic that she was less familiar with to attempt to explain how he saw things.  There were arts in the Dalish clan, and she had learned about them though for the most part she had not tried her hand at the painting side as she had stuck with music.  Still, she knew how the artists mixed the pigments together to make the colors they wanted and how they had oft scolded the children for touching things that hadn’t dried thus smearing them.

“It makes some sense, but I’m not as familiar with painting as I am with other things.  Could you show me what you mean?”  She tilted her head in curiosity not knowing whether it was a task she was capable of seeing herself or not.  “Oh, and are you a painter?  There were some in the clan that could do that, but after learning the base knowledge and discovering it wasn’t my strong suit, I stuck to my musical strengths.”  She beamed a soft smile at him.

[sandintheireyes]

Feynriel’s eyes widened for a moment and he chewed at his lip as he took in what she was saying about her ‘Elgarlin’ magic and what it could do.  Some of that sounded… disturbing.  “Why… why would you want to do that, though?  Do you get into a lot of fights?” he asked with a slight frown, in response to her explanation of turning opponents against one another.  “That sounds… really gruesome.”

It sounded, honestly, more like the popular caricature of blood magic, but he wasn’t going to say that.  For all his own powers were rarer, they were just as feared, by many who knew of them.  And there were a lot of similarly… unpleasant things he could theoretically do, though he hadn’t actually done any of them.  It sounded like she had, and that mental image was difficult to reconcile with the apparent gentility of the elf before him.

“Yes, I paint,” he said with a reserved smile a bit later, glad to be on a friendlier topic.  “Though I’m not… quite sure I can show you what I mean, but I can try to put it a different way.  Everything’s more real-seeming in the Fade, in some ways.  It’s bigger, brighter.  But it doesn’t last.  It’s like the… intensity makes it unstable, almost.  If you nudge it just a bit, it changes.  In the waking world, everything’s a bit more dull and flat, but it’s very stable.”

[skrillss]

Let’s say we were gonna go out together, and someone was attacking me. Could I trust you to protect me as yourself?

[womenaregoodforsix]

The Babe with the Power [[Feynriel and Isabela]]

Juxtaposition. Duality. Dichotomy. Liminality.

All sorts of words that Isabela hadn’t even realized were part of her vocabulary came to mind when she saw that boy. Equal parts vulnerability and strength, slenderness and presence, youth and wisdom, and somehow reality and… not reality? She wasn’t sure how that last one worked. Just a feeling she had.

The Blooming Rose was lucky to have him—he brought in so many appreciative customers. Isabela herself liked seeing him dance, but as pretty as he was… well, he was just such a boy wasn’t he? She was always down for corrupting the innocent, but this seemed beyond even her, even as she knew that calling him ‘innocent’ was a bit of a misnomer. She couldn’t always help what did and didn’t make her lady parts quiver—she’d leave him to those that could appreciate such budding youth.

She liked him though—he had a sweet smile and was a hell of a dancer. She paid her dues while watching, but this evening, after a bit of a lucrative job, she was feeling a tad more generous. And there he was, after his set, lingering a moment before he went to the back, and so she took it upon herself to wander over.

"You’re not too young to drink, are you?" Or would she be buying him a virgin tonight? Seemed a bit out of place in the fair Rose…

[sandintheireyes]

It had been a busy evening for Feynriel – two turns on the stage, with plenty of customers seeking his personal attention both before and in between.  He liked the nights like this, all whirling colors and sound and flowing from one admirer to the next.  It made the time pass quickly, even interestingly, and as long as no customer got too objectionable, it made for a pleasant shift.

When his second dance segment was done, he was grateful that no one immediately came to tug him into their lap, as he was finally feeling the fatigue and considering taking his break soon.

There was a woman approaching him – one he’d seen a few times recently and to the best of his knowledge had always treated the dancers she interacted with well.  He’d been pretty sure he wasn’t her type, though, so it was a bit of a surprise to find out that she was in fact headed for him and not one of the others near him.

“No, I’m not,” he said with a laugh and a coy lift of his eyebrows.  “Was when I started working here, but that was a few years ago, now.  Who wants to know?”

[sandintheireyes]

[orsinofe]

Faded Shadows [Orsino & Feynriel]

[orsinofe]

“I admit this is the first night since it’s happened that I’ve been conscious.  Otherwise, I’ve been in a dormant black state that doesn’t really have any substance, perhaps it is a fade of my own making, or just a vision of the blackness inside my head.  I was not coherent enough to attempt to make light of what it was, but I did make all efforts to escape from it.”  He sighed letting his head fall to the table to rest upon his arm.  “But, the physicians within the circle say that there is nothing physically wrong with me anymore as far as they can tell.  It’s hard to tell them otherwise when I don’t know how to explain what ails me.  If I were to report being under attack by demons in my weakened state, the Templars themselves might have me taken to the Rite simply for fear that I might not be strong enough.”  His laughter had a slightly made tinge to it this time, which made him cut it short.

When the man suggested sedation, his brow arched for a moment before incredulously asking, “We’ve been limited on medications that can do that for the express purpose that if we were to slip into the fade we would be much more likely to be possessed or vulnerable to possession.  The likelihood that they are going to grant me sedation even a dreamless one is highly unlikely.  Though, I dare say that it is a good idea.  Again, fear of the unknown and my weakness will work against me.  Two things that the circle and the Templars are not fond of.  Something I have been fighting to change, but it is an uphill battle that I am losing very slowly even though I have gained some footing of late.”  So it seemed when he was weary his true opinion of the circle came to light.  For a long time he had thought that he believed in the circle, but in actuality he had been fighting against the very thing instead of for it for as long as he could remember just in a different way than most had.

“I do not mean to speak ill of the circle.  We are well kept and better off than most prisoners, but there is a limitation on many freedoms that we have; more so within the Gallows.  I don’t say this to scare you or incite rebellion, somniari, but to inform.  Try as I might, I am still a prisoner except here in the fade, or at least, I used not to be.”  He swept the grimace from his face as quickly as it appeared, but it was still visible for long enough to be registered by the onlooker.  “Maybe, once I have recovered a little more strength, I will be able to send for another physician for a second opinion on my condition, or use my limited freedom to find one within the city, though I doubt there is one that would understand my ailments any better than my own healers.”  He said throwing the conversation back to the earlier topic.

“Assuming that Bria is unwilling to sedate me as we’ve discussed, would you be willing to assist me?  I do not know how tiring this is on you or how much strain it is for you to do this every night, but I assume it is something you are accustomed to as who you are?”  He eyed the man, his friend with questions in his eyes; many of the questions he would never be able to ask, many others he didn’t want to know the answers too, but the questions still came to mind.

[sandintheireyes]

Feynriel stared at the man in front of him, fascinated and horrified by how he half-heartedly attempted to defend the idea of the Circle even as everything he said about it showed that the institution was terribly, terribly wrong.

Not to mention, for Feynriel himself, his life or mind would simply be forfeit were he to come within the templars’ sphere of influence, and the First Enchanter clearly understood that.

“You don’t mean to speak ill of the cage that holds you under threat of death or Tranquility, for being what you are and for having been a victim?” he murmured, eyes incredulous, though his tone remained moderated.  “Maybe you should.” 

Feynriel shook his head slowly, then sighed.  Yes, of course he would help.  He could not do otherwise, being who he was.  “I fend off demons every night.  They’re only so much background noise to me, for the most part, lately,” he said with a shrug.  “I can find you and help you, and I will, of course.  And maybe we can unravel some of whatever it is that’s causing these problems for you in the process.  If there’s nothing physically wrong, then it must have something to do with the way your mind interacts with the Fade, and that’s something we should be able to work on here, I would think.”

[sandintheireyes]

A Conspicuous Lack of Promises || [Anders, Morrigan and Feynriel]

[witch-of-the-urban-wilds-blog]

“I would imagine that ‘twould be especially difficult to develop the sense of orientation as to whether you are dreaming or awake, if one has always been as close to the Fade as you are,” Morrigan answered Feynriel, words slow and thoughtful.

“When I was a girl, I carried a small, unique but trivial object with me at all times – a pendant with a small carven figurine.  Such a thing is typically kept hidden, to prevent it from being incorporated into your surface-level mental avatar.  In the Fade, I could turn the onyx pendant into moonstone with only a thought.  In the waking world, such transmutation is not possible.  My recommendation is that you choose such an object – preferably one with some symbolic meaning to you, and better still if you make it yourself – and use it as I did.  I found, after some years, that I no longer needed it because my… metaphysical sense of direction, as it were, had become strong and reliable.  As a somniari, you may or may not ever reach that point, but ‘tis obviously as effective a permanent safeguard as it is a training device.”

She gave Anders a curious look.  “Is the use of totems taught in the Circle?  I have encountered the opinion that the technique is somewhat antiquated.”

[absolutioninflame]

Anders sat in silence listening to both Feynriel’s concerns and Morrigan’s suggestions with which to combat them, a subtle smile ever widening on his face. By the time she had finished the gleam of unbridled curiosity twinkled in his eyes and he could scarcely contain the stream of questions that bucked at the edges of his mind rearing to be answered. 

"My ability to delineate between the realm of the Fade and the mundane world came much less creatively, I’m afraid. Until recently I could not shift my form, but I would dream of it —vividly— and in those dreams I was rarely ever in human form." He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he glance at Morrigan. "If I ever woke curious whether I was truly back in the regular world, I’d make an effort to shift back over, and when it failed I would know I was awake and myself with all the limitations applied to my power."

With a continued low rumble of laughter he paced over to Morrigan. “We were not given totems within the tower walls. Our instructors seemed to fear that such potentially powerful objects as totems and foci should be given out only to those rare few who proved themselves trustworthy enough to carry them. Needless to say, I did not meet with those stringent requirements so I never held one of my own. I rarely even cast with a staff. I learned to manipulate my energy with little amplification because I had to. My first focus came from the Wardens. Took me awhile to learn how to control the boost that came from that enough to comfortably use it.”

"Now…" He stopped in front of the witch with these words, childlike mischief etched into his features and several very large pieces falling into place. "I recall a tome, an ancient dusty tome, tucked away far in the back of the restricted section —for those who abided by such a thing— and in that tome was the legend of Flemeth and her daughters and the pendant by which you could identify a witch of the wilds. As I recall, they were crafted of onyx specifically for its transmutative purposes. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?"

[sandintheireyes]

Feynriel listened to Morrigan’s suggestion with interest and a rising degree of hope.  If he could use such a technique to master his sense of reality, it would do much to make him more comfortable experimenting further with his Fade abilities – which it seemed he would have to do in order to learn, as a mage who was not also somniari would only be able to teach so much pertaining to that particular skillset.

“I sculpt, quite a bit,” he said with a slow nod at her mention that making the totem himself would be the best way to do things.  “So I’ll try that as soon as I can make something.”

Anders, meanwhile, had been getting the same look he’d had when beginning to realize that both he and Morrigan knew Elissa, and what he had to say on the matter confirmed that this discussion had caused him to make an even more esoteric connection.

[elissaromildecousland]

Flesh for Fantasy - [Elissa and Feynriel]

[elissaromildecousland]

Elissa felt herself relax with the sight of his answering smile, her own expanding to mimic it’s warmth, the last of her nervous tension dissipating when the timbre of his voice proved just as soothing in life as it had been within the sanctuary he’d built in the Fade. Nodding at his suggestion she followed along, gladly leaving the bustle of the main club floor behind in exchange for a space better suited to conversation. 

Her eyes passed across his body as they walked, lithe and perfectly proportioned. A dancers body as she knew all too well. She was certain he did quite well for himself here, that certainty verified by the longing glances he received as they worked their way to the space he’d indicated.

"I’m certainly glad that the timing worked in my favor this evening. My luck with those sorts of things usually lands me in either the absolute worst or absolute best set of circumstances. Worse more often than not." She muttered, eyebrow raising briefly at the glare she received from a large businessman who’d apparently had his sights set on Feynriel before she’d taken up the space at his side. "Wow… some of these people don’t really get the ‘it’s all an act’ fine print in this particular fantasy, do they?"

[sandintheireyes]

“Nope, no they definitely do not,” Feynriel answered with a snort and a wry grin as they dodged through the crowd.  “I’d feel sorry for some of them if it wasn’t obvious where their priorities were.  As it is… they’re horny and loaded and sometimes a little gross, but it mostly works to my advantage.”

Feynriel led his guest to the shadowed pillars at the edge of the club’s main floor.  Other than a few actual couples groping each other in the corner – why they’d come here if they were going to do that, he never really understood, but it happened all the time – they were as close to alone as one got on the club level of the Rose on a night like this.  Dancers didn’t usually allow themselves to be taken back here by patrons, despite the plush seating, as it was a little too out-of-the-way (and out of oversight) for comfort.  But somehow he didn’t think Elissa was going to try to molest him, so it was, at the moment, perfect.

“That is much better,” he sighed, leaning against a pillar.  “How are you?  I’m really glad you came.”

[waitingforyoutobewaiting]

[sandintheireyes]

There's Glitter in Your Hair || [Velanna & Feynriel]

Feynriel was excited – and distracted, which was never good for tips – but definitely  excited.  The club was in full swing at this hour, and after a turn on the stage, he got clearance to take his second break and went back to the locker room to freshen up, eat a granola bar he had tucked in his bag, and text Velanna.

He had met the Dalish scholar not quite a week ago, when she had nearly attacked him atop a roof in the Alienage.  Strange way to make a friend, perhaps, but Feynriel was glad for it.  And he was going to take her advice soon, too, and try to speak to his mother again.  Tonight, though, there was something more relaxing planned.

Relatively speaking.

Heya  :)  I think your shift ends about when mine does – want to meet me at the Rose on the way back to LT?

The Rose was fairly close one of the better-traveled Lowtown elevators, and it would be on Velanna’s way from the book shop.

[dailyjamiebower]

[the-jamie-c-bower]

[sandintheireyes]

Hightown Manners || [Feynriel & Swiftrunner]

[the-heart-of-the-beast]

"No need’ta thank me." Dastan shook his head, allowing the tension in his body to relax slightly, though it never dissipated fully even at his calmest state. "Men like them, they ain’t nothin’ but scavengers. An’they don’even deserve the scraps they manage’ta scrape together. Weren’t no way I was gonna let’em make a meal outa you."

He looked the young man over as he paced back to his bike, throwing a leg across and flipping the ignition to bring the engine back to life. “Hop on. Doubt them idiots’ll come back, but I’d rather see ya home than risk I’m wrong about that.” 

The nervous energy coming off the young man hung tangible in the air between them as he eased into the space at the back of the bike, his lithely muscled arms sliding around his waist with notable hesitation.”S’alright. I ain’t gon’bite’cha.” The dockman insisted, pulling his boots up as the motorcycle began to charge up the alley. “Just tell me when’ta turn.”

[sandintheireyes]

In Feynriel’s experience, there was always a need to thank someone who stepped in to help, unasked.  It happened rarely enough, especially where he’d grown up, and this part of town was hardly known for being friendly, either.  He managed a smile, though, and a slight nod at the offer (or was it an order?) of a ride home, consciously not repeating the ‘thank you,’ lest he annoy the man – which, while he gathered in this case that it wouldn’t be dangerous, he would still rather strongly like to avoid it.

His benefactor seemed to notice Feynriel’s hesitancy as he climbed on the bike, but the reason for that hesitancy had turned on a copper from general nervousness to an acute awareness that the man was gorgeous.  Had Feynriel been at work, he would have met that particular verbal reassurance with something suitably and wholeheartedly coy; as it was, he just laughed quietly and held on a bit more tightly.

He was grateful for the firm hold a moment later as the bike took off, the man clearly used to going where he was going and getting there quickly and adroitly.  “Avenue Q, coming up on the right,” he said perhaps a minute later as they skirted the edge of Lowtown.  “It’s a ways further in, but a straight shot from here.”

[sandintheireyes]

What is it like to be able to pass for human in this city?

Well, considering I've had a lot of full-blooded acquaintances and coworkers, I have at least a baseline idea of what I could be dealing with on a daily basis but am not.  So… to be human is probably pretty great.  To pass as one… it’s okay now, but honestly, when I lived in the Alienage, it pretty much sucked.  I’d have given a lot, back then, to actually look like an elf, because I never really… fit in.  At all.  I felt a connection to my mother’s heritage – certainly not to my father’s, seeing as I never even bloody met him – and really wanted to be a part of that community, but at absolute best I was tolerated.  Never welcomed. 

*sighs*  I’m sorry.  This all sounds so whiny said out loud, but that’s how it felt to me growing up.  I know I’ve got advantages the rest of our people never will.