Little escaped the eyes of The Huntress, especially from a high perch she kept overlooking one of the few ways into Arlathan. Nearby on the tree lounged her panther, enjoying the sun as it filtered down through the foliage. The Huntress left her companion alone, however, when a ghost of the past seemed to beeline for the Repository. Curious it would know where to go. No. She. She would know. The Huntress clenched and unclenched a fist a couple times, reminding herself with a bite of nails into her palm that she was not Qunari any longer. That the bas saarebas was no longer her target.
But the saarebas was a worry - a great worry - to The Huntress. To be in Arlathan would mean danger to the people who'd accepted her. Who'd made her the woman she was now.
Tracking the woman into the repository was a simple matter. Her footfalls nearly silent after years of training. Tracking. Perfecting her skill. Both as Qunari and as Tal-Vashoth.
Vitaar decorated her skin and her hair, the dark locks made blue with the thick coating. All of it pulled and twisted that morning into braids before she'd assumed her perch. Black and white colors decorated her face, some of it still leftover color from when she'd gone all out for that event outside of her home.
Even if she could not follow the trail of the woman, the voices would lead her just as easily. She appeared in view first of one of the archivists. Faelyn, if memory served on his name. She'd only ever really seen him in passing till now. The words that The Huntress used first were chosen carefully. Chosen so as not to alienate herself in the scenario when all she wished to do was help.
But the saarebas was a worry - a great worry - to The Huntress. To be in Arlathan would mean danger to the people who'd accepted her. Who'd made her the woman she was now.
Tracking the woman into the repository was a simple matter. Her footfalls nearly silent after years of training. Tracking. Perfecting her skill. Both as Qunari and as Tal-Vashoth.
Vitaar decorated her skin and her hair, the dark locks made blue with the thick coating. All of it pulled and twisted that morning into braids before she'd assumed her perch. Black and white colors decorated her face, some of it still leftover color from when she'd gone all out for that event outside of her home.
Even if she could not follow the trail of the woman, the voices would lead her just as easily. She appeared in view first of one of the archivists. Faelyn, if memory served on his name. She'd only ever really seen him in passing till now. The words that The Huntress used first were chosen carefully. Chosen so as not to alienate herself in the scenario when all she wished to do was help.
Is everything... in order?A hesitation. A want to demand what the saarebas wished of Arlathan. Of one of the archivists.
04-10-2023, 04:32 PM
