#IN MY DEFENSE THEY NAMED HIM SUSURRUS FIRST

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 14: Somewhat Biased

Making decisions that will affect thousands is hard. Having people oppose you every step of the way is even harder. It doesn’t take much for someone to crack under that sort of pressure.

Thankfully, Dorian’s there to provide said someone with some much needed comfort. <3

Read here or on AO3!

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Skyhold’s yard was buzzing with activity. Ascending the stairs to the dais, Tristan felt every step heavier than the last as a wave of indistinct susurrus washed over him. Cullen, Leliana and Josephine were already there, waiting for him. The bright sun reflected on Cullen’s armour and on Josephine’s golden neckpiece, so much so that they were almost blinding. Hoping that he wasn’t squinting too much, he climbed the last few steps and stood tall between them, his back as straight as he could make it.

His eyes drifted over the tightly packed, indistinguishable crowd below. They were all watching him, expectancy and curiosity gleaming in their eyes. The murmurs and whispers gradually died as all faces turned to stare at him.

The parchment in his hands felt heavy and stiff. His speech had been carefully crafted, and he had obsessively rehearsed it in front of the mirror in his quarters for days since returning from the Hinterlands, but now it was different. He felt like even if he tried to speak, none of the words he had prepared would come. He fought the urge to turn around on his heels and run back to his quarters.

Nowhere to go now. A deep breath, and in he went.

They all listened silently as he talked about the Inquisition’s work, and praised them all for their service and their bravery. A mention for those who had fallen in Haven, and a vague promise that their deaths would not be in vain in the battle against Corypheus. A few heads nodded mournfully.

Another breath and a pause to let his words linger. Thedas was waiting to hear about the future of the rebel mages. The Inquisition, Tristan declared, had made its full support of mages across Thedas known. “Now is the time for change,” he said, and his voice rang harsh and wooden in his ears. “Now is the time to address the issues that led us here in the first place.”

Several gasps disrupted the silence when Tristan openly denounced the rule of the Chantry over mages in general, and the rebel mages in particular. New Circles would be founded for the rebel mages that had allied themselves with the Inquisition, and would become places of knowledge and research for mages, overseen by mages. The members of the Circles would be able to research and hone their skills safely, and after their mandatory years of attendance had been fulfilled, they would be free to stay there or lead normal lives in the outside world.

Ignoring the horrified expressions of the Chantry sisters in the crowd, Tristan pressed on, hardly pausing to take a breath.

The Rite of Tranquility, as well as Harrowings, would never be performed in Skyhold or the Circles founded by the Inquisition. Both flawed solutions for problems that were barely understood even by mages today.

"A mage will not become immune to demons by being tossed in the Fade amidst demons, the same as one would not become an expert fighter by being thrown, barely armed, in a pit of wolves. Hundreds, if not thousands of mages have been lost that way, when they didn't have to. This is our chance to find a better answer to the issue of possession, if we all work together."

Cheers and claps amidst confused glances erupted from the crowd.

Tilly’s face flashed in his mind. He steeled himself before he carried on.

“Fraternisation and family visits will be allowed, as in any other school or university. Magical research will be encouraged and supported, and emphasis will be given to the study and practice of practical and defensive magic, rather than offensive magic. No more will mages be treated like devils, prisoners or weapons of war. Magic is in service of the people of Thedas, not against them.”

More cheers sounded from below. A reluctant voice emerged after the roar from the crowd had quietened. “What will happen with the Templars?”

Tristan’s brows were furrowed as he searched for the man in the crowd that had spoken. His blood sizzled just underneath his skin, but when he spoke his voice was thankfully level. “The future of the Templar Order is still under consideration. The Order and the Chantry will have to answer for their many abuses of power and cases of misconduct against mages and researchers, once the battle against Corypheus is won. For the moment, we must all band together and fight against the common enemy with all of our might.”

When he prepared his speech, he knew that it would not please everyone. The reforms he was proposing were the most drastic that had been undertaken in hundreds of years. The yard erupted in cheers, gasps of surprise and fierce arguments. The Chantrics and the Templars were watching him with narrowed eyes, while mages were either praising his name or arguing amongst themselves. The nobles and dignitaries that had arrived to hear his speech were watching the chaos around them, some of them clinically and dispassionately, while others seemed altogether horrified.

It hardly mattered. What was done, was done. He gazed at the buzzing crowd before him, a vast emptiness spreading inside him. He had been thinking about this matter for weeks, months, entire years. He had tried, time and time again, to imagine what it would be like to play a part in the shaping of the mages' future. And now that it was done, he felt… hollow.

None of what he did would ever bring her back. But he could at least try to make sure that no one else had the same fate she did. Not if he could help it.

Clenching his jaw, Tristan ascended the steps to the throne room, his advisors at his heels.

“Mentioning the Chantry and the Templars may not have been the wisest decision, Inquisitor,” Cullen said in a low voice, falling into step alongside him. “We still need all the support we can get from them.”

Tristan sniffed audibly, not even looking in the Commander’s direction. “I could hardly have evaded a question like that, Cullen. Besides, the Chantry would be displeased no matter what I said. It seems to be their speciality.” He pressed on towards the end of the room, not looking behind him, to avoid any further talk. His heart was still pumping from talking in front of so many people, and he wasn’t certain he would be able to keep his composure if another one of his advisors confronted him.

The feast that followed was a quiet and humble one, organised by Ambassador Josephine for the high ranking members of the Inquisition and the nobles that had attended the speech. Tristan’s stomach was growling by the time the hors d’oeuvres were served. He had been too nervous to eat anything before the speech, so now he downed two spicy cakes one after the other, sighing in relief. He had managed to slip away from all those that were looking for him to congratulating him on his declarations, and had carefully hidden himself in a quiet corner behind a large stone column, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“There he is! The man of the hour. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Since their trip to Redcliffe, he and Dorian had somewhat returned to their usual companionable banter. Some awkwardness still lingered, but Tristan was glad that he could at least speak to him as they used to.

He turned to face him, a half smile already widening his lips. “And here I thought that hiding away was my strong suit. It appears my stealth skills have gotten a bit rusty.”

“So it seems. All this time under the spotlight has grown on you, I wager,” Dorian said, smiling behind the rim of his wine cup. “Skyhold’s buzzing, within and without. Soon the news will spread all over Thedas. I have to admit, you do know how to cause a stir.”

“I’ve learnt from the very best.”

Dorian laughed heartily, his arm resting on his waist. He opened his mouth, no doubt preparing to reply with a witty jab of his own, when heavy bootsteps sounded behind them. “Here comes trouble,” he murmured, taking a step back.

Cassandra stepped between them, eyes blazing. “Inquisitor,” she said. “May I speak with you?”

Tristan straightened up, preparing himself for yet another tirade. “Of course, Cassandra. What is it?”

She eyed Dorian behind her back, who took another step back and turned the other way, sipping on his wine casually, as if oblivious to her rage. “I wish to talk to you about… your proclamations.”

Tristan nodded, with some reserve.

Cassandra took a short breath, glancing at her boots before fixing her dark eyes on his. “Have you any idea what you’ve done?”

Her bluntness took Tristan aback. She had said the words so quietly, it did not even sound as if she was mad, but Tristan knew she was boiling with anger. He crossed his arms before his chest and looked at her coolly. “I know very well what I’ve done. I’ve given this a lot of thought, Seeker. I believe it’s the best way forward.”

Cassandra’s nostrils flared. “By giving the mages full authority? Making the Chantry and the Templars look like they were solely responsible for everything that happened? Is that your idea of the best way forward?”

Tristan bristled at her curt tone. “If the Chantry and the Templars had not been abusing mages for centuries and painting them as the evil ones, the war itself would not have happened in the first place. The Chantry and their propaganda is to blame here. I’ll make sure they stay as far away from the mages as possible.” His voice was low and determined as he uttered the last words. If he so much as raised it a little, he was afraid he might start yelling and never stop.

Cassandra huffed in annoyance, her scowl deepening. “Abolishing the circles will only bring about chaos. People are still wary of mages. They don't even know how to govern themselves!”

“They don't know because the Chantry never let them.”

“And for good reason! Don't you know how dangerous a mage can be when let loose?”

“Almost as dangerous as a Templar or a Seeker when let loose,” he hissed, his voice dripping with vehemence.

Cassandra took a step back as if she had been hit in the stomach. Her eyes were wide as saucers when she looked at him. Her astonishment didn’t last long. Soon, she was rounding up on him, brows knit in fury. “You are a fool if you think that this will work. What’s next? Disbanding the Templars and the Seekers? Making the mages rulers of Thedas? You can't just blow everything up and expect it to work by itself purely because of good intentions!”

“It’s not-“ Tristan started, then stopped. He could argue with her for hours if he let himself, but he wasn’t about to do that. Allow enough people to think that they can question your decisions and you’ll never make another, his mother always said. For all the terrible things she had told him, she did have some sound pieces of advice to offer.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to soothe the waves of irritation rising in his chest. “What’s done is done. There's no going back now. Everyone needs to work together this time otherwise it's all for nothing.”

Cassandra rubbed her temples, huffing like a caged bull. When she looked at him again her eyes could make a forge melt. “Who will stop the mages when they decide to grab at power again, if the only people able to do that are not there anymore? I’ll tell you who,” she growled, bringing her face so close to his their noses almost touched. “The people of Thedas will bleed once more. The farmers, the sheep-herders, the dock workers. Men, women and children, defenceless against the dangers of magic. They will pay, as they always do. Only this time, there won’t be anyone left by the time the mages are done with them. I will not stand for this!”

Tristan’s nails dug deep into his arms as they rested there. He hadn’t realised he was trembling with anger. He forced himself to take a breath and pressed his lips together in a tight line, returning Cassandra’s glare levelly. “Seeker Pentaghast,” he said, lowering his voice so that only she could hear him. “You are still a member of the Inquisition, are you not? Or should I start doubting your loyalty?”

Her gasp was barely audible. “What?”

Tristan kept staring at her, determined not to back down. When he didn’t answer, she narrowed her eyes. “How dare you,” she spat. “I was the one who called the Inquisition into existence. Do you think I’m going to abandon it that easily?”

“You called the Inquisition, but I am leading it. You were the one who offered me the title. ‘Wherever you lead us’. You said that. Is that not true for you anymore?”

“Of course it is,” Cassandra retorted indignantly. “That does not mean I will agree with every-“

He cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand. “If you still believe it’s true, then act like it. If you don’t like the way things are now, help me make it right. I can only do so much by myself. If I can’t rely on the people around me, then what point is there?”

Tristan’s throat strained with the effort of keeping his voice calm, but he clenched his jaws as tightly as he could. He had promised himself he would not lose his composure, no matter what.

Cassandra blinked, taken aback by his words. “Inquisitor, I… I didn’t…”

“Excuse me, Seeker.” He brushed past her before she could finish her sentence, barely noticing her disgruntled look as he walked away, as far away from her as possible. Faces turned towards him as he stalked away, nodding in greeting and calling his name. He ignored them all. His eyes were burning behind his eyelids, his vision was blurry. He opened the first door he found and closed it hurriedly behind him.

He leaned with his back against the cold stone wall. He could still hear the sound of voices and music on the other side of the door, but it all seemed so far away from him. The stair to the library was empty. He was all alone. Finally.

He let his anger and frustration stream down his face. He had no desire to stop it, no reason. His palms were still balled up in fists at his sides, green light flickering from his left hand. He glanced at it, bleary eyed, as if it belonged to someone else.

Anger bubbled inside him, thick and hot like fresh tar. All he had wanted was to bring about a change that was needed more than anything else. He had vowed long ago that he would bring justice to his sister’s memory somehow, no matter the cost to him. But along the way, it had become so much more than that. It was about transforming the very hearts of the people, creating a world where no other mage would have to go through what Tilly had. Now that he was finally doing it, everyone wanted to rip him apart. How could he ever hope to change a world that was so rigid and unforgiving? And why was he not just letting it burn to the ground, with him in it?

He heard the latch on the door turning, and quickly wiped the tears from his face. It was an effort to assume a serious and unaffected expression when his eyes were still burning. Whoever it was, he would just excuse himself and go up the stairs to the library, right up to Leliana’s office and just hide himself there, away from everything and everyone, until…

His heart returned to its place when he saw Dorian’s face peeking through the door opening, but only barely. He closed it behind him softly and turned to face him, grey eyes searching Tristan’s face. “I couldn’t help but overhear what happened. Are you alright?” he asked, his voice edged with worry.

Tristan huffed, but it sounded more like a half sob. “Of course. Never better.” He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes and nose. He must have looked a mess. “Forgive me, I just… I’m not sure what happened back there. I guess it was the nerves from the speech, and Cassandra…” He shook his head and bit the inside of his lip, afraid to say more lest he embarrass himself even more.

Dorian nodded, taking a small, tentative step forward. “I understand. There’s no need to apologise to me. Maker knows how frustrating Seeker Pentaghast can be. She’s almost brought me to tears once or twice, and I didn’t threaten her precious Chantry. Truly!” he insisted with a smile, when Tristan started laughing.

The sound of his laughter echoed eerily along the empty staircase. Tristan sighed heavily, and wiped his eyes again. His smile was now only a memory on his lips.

“Cassandra is only the beginning. There are many who will oppose my decisions, this I know. I never asked for this sort of thing. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time, yet the weight of the world falls on me. Everyone talks about how bad things are, how much needs to change, but no one wants to do anything about it. I’m aware there might be… personal reasons affecting my judgement, but at least I’m doing something. I’m trying to make things better. Curse me for a fool, but I am.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. He was weary, so impossibly weary. He felt the sudden urge to just run away from it all.

Dorian’s voice was low and tender, a gentle caress after a painful blow. “What you did was very brave. I don’t say this very often but you are… unlike anyone I have ever met. You bring about change, everywhere you go. Not many people can claim that. Certainly not the ones running their mouths outside this door.”

He peaked under half closed lids at him. “You almost make it sound like you admire me.”

Dorian huffed in mock exasperation. “Very well, you’ve rooted me out. I obviously think you’re incredible. But I might be somewhat… biased.” Dorian was watching him carefully, silvery grey eyes glinting in the amber light of a torch above them. How beautiful were his eyes.

Without thinking, Tristan surged forward. Lips found warm, soft lips. The feel of skin against skin. A small gasp of surprise, a gentle moan in the echoing silence of the stair room. The taste of red wine on his tongue, the sweetness of cinnamon and cloves, and underneath it all, the taste of him.

It was everything he had been hoping for, everything he had been missing. It was soft, and warm, and tender, and it felt right. Maker, but it did. All reservations flew out of his mind when their lips locked, all the reasons why he’d been avoiding it, why he’d been running away. At that moment, drunk on the warmth of their shared breath, he regretted every single moment he could have kissed him and didn’t.

At that very moment, he knew; how could something that felt so right ever be wrong?

A moment passed, then another, enough time to wonder whether it was just him, whether he had pushed his luck too far this time. He drew back slightly to look up, lips already aching with the absence of his. But before he could speak, Dorian had leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss of his own.

It was all he needed. With a soft whimper, Tristan clung to him desperately. He kissed him harder, surrendering everything he had, barely stopping to draw breath. He needed, needed to be close to him, closer, as close as possible. Dorian’s arms were on the small of his back, pulling him in, holding nothing back. Tristan felt his breath leaving him when Dorian pushed him up against the wall, his breath hot and ragged on his skin. A sigh escaped his lips as Dorian pulled back, eyes blazing under heavy eyelids.

He brought one hand up to cup Tristan’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip. His eyes followed the movement of his finger with unusual intensity, as if he couldn't quite believe Tristan was there.

“I’ve been dreaming about this, you know,” Dorian whispered. His expression deepened, the sadness that Tristan had seen back then shining through. "I thought..." he hesitated. His eyes fixed themselves on Tristan's, and he let out a short, pained laugh. "I had almost lost hope."

Tristan's heart tightened. He cupped the back of his neck and gently pulled him forward, pressing his forehead to his. "I never wanted to hurt you, Dorian," he whispered, his voice choked. "All I wanted... all I ever wanted-"

Dorian leaned in, pressing a feather kiss to his lips. "It's alright,” he murmured against his mouth. “I understand."

"It's not," Tristan retorted, frowning. "I hurt you. I know I did. I pushed you away and didn’t even try to explain. Just the thought of you being upset, or angry because of me-"

"I’ll admit that there were a few moments that I wanted to smack you on the head with a particularly heavy book. But I don't anymore." Dorian smiled, a small, tender smile. "As if I could stay mad at you for long."

Tristan chuckled. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”

“It is for me.”

Tristan looked up into his eyes then, expecting them to gleam teasingly. But Dorian’s expression was serious as ever. Without waiting for a response, his arms wound around Tristan’s back,  holding him fast as he pressed his mouth to his. A shiver ran through Tristan then, at the warmth and the intensity, at the pulsing need with which Dorian held on to him. Blight, it was as if they had both been frozen, the fire inside each other their only chance at life. He let himself be swept away, not quite caring what was going on around him.

A bell rang from outside, announcing the beginning of toasts and speeches for the Inquisition’s work and its future. Tristan almost rolled his eyes as he heard Lady Josephine’s smooth voice thanking everyone for attending, and addressing the more esteemed members of nobility that were present.

“Perhaps we should go back,” Dorian offered reluctantly, pulling away. “People must already be wondering where you are.”

He took a step back, his eyes lingering on Tristan’s lips before he turned away. Tristan’s heart sank as he watched him move further away. The last thing he wanted was for that moment to end. Dorian’s hand was only a hair from the door knob when Tristan caught his arm and drew him back to him.

“I think the Inquisition can stand without me for a few more minutes.”

Dorian smiled against his lips. His fingers wound themselves in his hair, softly caressing his skin, sending shivers down the length of his spine. “We’ll have to explore the truth of this, won’t we now?”

Tristan laughed breathily as he fell back, letting himself be trapped between the stone wall and Dorian’s body once more. “I guess we will.”

[ravenclawlitza]

❛  tanna bramsdottir, human lioness totem barbarian

                   original character for DUNGEONS & DRAGONS fifth edition

      STR  16 / +3 / +5*   •   DEX  12 / +1 / +1   •   CON  16 / +3 / +5*       INT  12 / +1 / +1   •   WIS  13 / +1 / +1   •   CHA  16 / +3 / +3

      HP:  15   •   AC:  15   •   LEVEL:  1   •   HIT DICE:  1d12       SPEED:  30ft   •   ARMOR:  unarmored defense, dual wielding       PROF:  +2   •   LANGUAGES:  common, dwarvish, gnomish

skills:

STR:  +5 athletics*

DEX:  +1 acrobatics  •  +1 sleight of hand  •  +1 stealth

INT:  +1 arcana  •  +1 history  •  +1 investigation  •  +3 nature*  •  +1 religion

WIS:  +1 animal h.  •  +1 insight  •  +1 medicine  •  +3 perception*  •  +3 survival*

CHA:  +3 deception  •  +5 intimidation*  •  +3 performance  •  +3 persuasion

feat:

DUAL WIELDER:  you gain a +1 bonus to ac while you are wielding a separate melee weapon in each hand.  you can use two-weapon fighting even when the one handed melee weapons you are wielding aren’t light.  you can draw or stow two one-handed weapons when you would normally be able to draw or stow only one.

abilities:

RAGE:  on your turn, you can enter a rage as a bonus action, with a max of 3 rages per long rest.  while raging, you have advantage on strength checks and saving throws, you gain a +2 bonus to the damage roll of a melee weapon using strength, and you have resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage.  your rage lasts for one minute.  it ends early if you are knocked unconscious, if your turn ends and you haven’t attacked a hostile creature since your last turn or taken damage since then, or if you end your rage on your turn as a bonus action.

UNARMORED DEFENSE:  while you are not wearing any armor, your ac is 10 + dex + con.  you can use a shield and still gain this benefit.

weapons:

BATTLEAXE:  +5 to attack, 1d8+3 slashing, 1d8+5 when raging, versatile 1d10

2 HANDAXES:  +5 to attack, 1d6+3 slashing, 1d6+5 melee raging, light, thrown 20/60

4 JAVELINS:  +5 to attack, 1d6+3 piercing, range 30/120

equipment:

CLOTHING:  traveler’s clothes, a belt pouch containing 10 gold

EXPLORER’S PACK:  backpack, bedroll, mess kit, tinderbox, 10 torches, 10 days rations, waterskin, 50 feet hempen rope, a staff, a hunting trap, a hyena pelt

background:

OUTLANDER:  she’s spent much of her life in the wilds, far from civilization and the comforts of town and technology.  she’s witnessed the migration of herds larger than forests, survived weather more extreme than any city-dweller could comprehend, and enjoyed the solitude of being the only thinking creature for miles in any direction.  the wilds are in her blood, and even in places where she doesn’t know the specific features of the terrain, she knows the ways of the wild.

FEATURE:  she has an excellent memory for maps and geography, and can always recall the general layout of terrain, settlements, and other features around her.  in addition, she can find food and fresh water for herself and up to five other people each day, provided that the land offers berries, small game, water, and so forth.

PERSONALITY:  she’s friendly, outgoing, laidback, optimistic, and a bit clumsy, and she loves travel, nature, drinking, laughing, fighting, and good company.

IDEAL:  she believes it’s each person’s responsibility to keep their companions in good spirits.  ( good )

BOND:  she will protect nature to honor her father’s memory.

FLAW:  she has a weakness for strong drink, good food, friendly brawls, and a pretty face. 

history:

         The first time she tried to summon her totem animal, she nearly froze to death before returning to the barbarian encampment empty-handed.  Five days she spent out in the wilderness, slowly growing more hungry and more numb as the certainty that this was her path faded into nothingness and she was left with only herself, small and empty and alone.  She'd tried so hard to learn their ways, despite not being one of them, honing herself to be stronger and work harder and be as harsh and severe as the north winds.  But no spirit animal came, and only then did she let the truth sink into her heart like a cold heavy stone.

         She was unworthy.  Too civilized, too ignorant, an outsider.

         Maybe it was cowardly to leave.  She'd learned much from the tribe, made friends, learned their ways to the best of her ability, learned how to live off even the most uninhabitable tundra lands, and somewhere deep down she was grateful for that, but the rawness of her heart made it impossible for her to stay.  So she wandered in the only direction she knew, finally arriving home to her modest childhood home.

         Her father had always been a wild soul, so different from her quarter-dwarf mother, always so calm and solid and steady as the earth.  He was gone often, wandering the wilds and bringing home strange artifacts and stranger creatures, spouting cliche little proverbs about protecting nature and the magic of the earth.  He always grew restless before even a fortnight passed, promised to be back soon, and left again.  If Tanna's mother ever minded his long absences, she never showed it, content with taking good care of her home.

         Bram only barely managed to make to home the day he died, weak and ashen with a death rattle already in his throat.  He told Tanna and her mother he loved them as they carried him to bed, with no time to find a healer or guess at what poison had entered his veins.  "Be good," he whispered, the last hoarse words of an old man, his weathered hand weakly grasping Tanna’s.  "Be good."

         She stayed with her mother for a little while, but before long her soul ached with wanderlust once more.

         "You have much of your father in you," her mother finally said, "and you're wearing holes in my carpet," and all but pushed her out the front door.

         Finding her cousin Adric was both harder and more joyful than she'd anticipated.  Deep in some caves finding treasure and fighting elementals, he was nearly impossible to track down, but seeing his face again after a year and a half was like seeing the sun for the first time.  When was the last time she'd laughed, or even truly smiled without the weight of the world on her shoulders?  He didn't comment on her appearance, but she caught his sidelong looks, and she knew him well enough to recognize his concern.  They'd practically grown up together, only one town apart, and everything Adric had learned about fighting he'd taught her as well.  They both shared the same hint of dwarf blood from their mothers, naturally strong and wide and both possessing the same love of the thrill of battle.  And the same love of good strong drink, and good food, and beautiful women.

         They sat around a fire that night, drinking all of Adric's ale and telling each other all the stories they'd missed over the past eighteen months, embellishing and exaggerating until they were in stitches from laughter.  It hit her like a wave, deeper than oceans, the way she loved him, the way she loved this, aching with travel and laughter, drunk and overwhelmed with joy, once again filled with the surety that the world was a vast and unimaginably beautiful place.

         They traveled together for a while, drinking and laughing and camping their way through every imaginable climate, making friends wherever they could and fighting all manner of beasts and fiends, picking up companions here and there and staying up nights staring at the stars and telling stories and laughing themselves sick.  They stayed in taverns when it was clean and convenient, but Tanna loved sleeping on a bedroll on the dirt under a canopy of trees and clouds and wild night sky more than any bed.

         As much as she loved the camaraderie of a party of like-minded adventurers, even more entrancing was every new village they found, every new and wild and far-flung tribe that she could convince or bribe to teach her about the land, what plants were good to eat and how to find water and what to avoid and how to survive.  She made every climate and every biome her friend, coaxing out its secrets with bright-eyed adoration, and those nights when she fell asleep with charred meat and sweet mead in her stomach with stars whirling overhead, she thought she could happily live like that forever.

         But there was something that still whispered to her, in her heart of hearts, something deep in the earth that was ancient and powerful and benevolent and was ever calling her by name.  She began dreaming of the sun, of warm wind and fast clouds and the soft susurrus of tall grass.  And a voice, deep and mellow and honey-gold, speaking words she couldn't yet understand.  So she and Adric parted ways, he compelled home for the love of his family, and she unable to shake the thought of south, south from her mind.