Regrets in Wardens' Home

Elenri looked at the man and smiled, dawning of armor and cloak, sword and dagger. Weapons preferred by the mortal man yet all that armor was nothing more than a conductor for the most trivial of spells. "I really hope your not offering to fight me in that armor. Lightning really likes metal." The maji smiled trying hard not to laugh. The man reminded him of something....so odd how people resembled poppenjays. Strutting around thinking they had some authority in this world...this place of all called the wardens home had another name. In truth they owned it about as much as the dwarves owned the heavens, or elves owned land.

His ears flicked as he sensed the woman move. "It's really annoying to go where your not invited little one. Keep it up and I may have to shut off your sound. Amazing how one can come in peace yet the arrogance of those around him can infuriate him. I seek Nygozy and they speak as if her little time on this world is too important for others. A man with a order made by humans thinks he has authority in this place because he is among a society thought up by man. This place was not built by your kind mortal, but by the kind you will never speak too. You have no authority here." Elenri looked down at the dog and smiled. "Now that there is something that can belong anywhere, ancient, strong, true. And most of all it doesn't need servants and slaves." His eyes flicked back to Griffinheart and smiled. "Allow me to show you something...mortal." Elenri slammed his staff down and a blinding light lit the entire room. A light as bright as a sunflash and standing there now was a being who crackled as lighting floated over his body. He was no longer substance just energy. "Do you think armor and sword will protect you if I wanted to hurt you?" Elenri turned back to normal and laughed. "You waste time human."

The maji turned his head looking at Serethial and smiled. "Your music is....nice. But remember, if you go to my core again...I'll deafen you sweetling." He chuckled and walking towards the door he laid a hand on Tortures head before leaving. He had better things to do. Like find Nygozy.

It was as though Shade did not exist in Griffinhart's world. He had locked eyes with Torture, wondering what exactly the dog wanted. There was a droning noise that might have passed for speech to anyone else eavesdropping on the training hall, and a light (was it a great light?), but the soldier paid no obvious attention. And then...

"You waste time, human."

Surprisingly, this amused Griffinhart. Greatly.

"I waste time? But you stand here, talking and flaunting, as though you or your words have any meaning to me." The Anders man looked up from the mabari hound, finally, cold eyes staring out from beneath the shadows of his hood. "I thought you had business with the Warden Commander, not with me."

He looked back at Torture, putting the peacock out of mind and attention, and addressed the dog. "What is it?"

Torture waited as Elenri made his voice heard then looked up as the man gave him a pet on the head. All that had moved were his eyes but as soon as Elenri left he turned his attention fully to Griffinhart. This chatter confused the mabari. He wasn't sure if it was a display of dominance or simply a territorial reaction between the males. There did not seem to be anything to be territorial about except for the female in the rafters and they did not seem to be posturing for her.

Well, Griffinhart wasn't posturing. He was stiff and analyzing where Elenri was all emotion.

He snorted out his confusion then realized that his subject of attention had now spoken, asking him why he had come here. The dog stood, barked twice then walked to the double doors where he waited, turned his head and barked twice again.

Griffinhart took one backwards glance, at where he supposed Serethiel was (she was quiet - dangerously quiet - but that was to be expected of a being that did not seem to be wholly in this physical realm) before moving towards Torture.

He couldn't remember if this was the first time he had taken orders from the dog - a dog, any dog - but presumably the beast had seniority over him. It certainly didn't seem unfamiliar with both the territory or the people - which didn't surprise the warrior in the least, for he had heard the tales of mabari hounds and their intelligence (really, did anyone in all of Thedas not know the dogs for which Ferelden had its reputation?). Perhaps the hound was simply pretending at seniority, and importance, and knowingness, and in reality, Griffinhart had just been tricked by a mere animal.

But Griffinhart had no pride in his skills at reading the intents of animals - namely because he had no skills at reading the intents of animals - and so he followed Torture without question or comment. Besides, in the worst case scenario, he could just kill the dog, though the Warden briefly considered that doing so would probably earn him the enmity of every other mabari hound associated with this one, and perhaps the enmity of those dogs' masters, of which most likely the Warden-Commander counted. That was troubling.

(No; what was really troubling, more than anything that had transcended today, was the mere fact that Griffinhart couldn't remember. But this was a problem for another time; he put the thought in the back of his mind, or near enough to the back of it.)

Torture led Griffinhart back towards Nygozy's apartments, which was not hard for the man to find as his rooms were beside hers but the dog decided to take a cut around the building to go to the kitchen to beg a scrap and remind the fighter he should eat too. He'd heard his person saying that the man sometimes did not seem to eat and should so the mabari decided on his own that this was so.

He sat at the kitchen and nudged Griffinhart to go inside and get something as one of the cooks tossed him a big bone.

"Now you quit coming to bug you mutt. And what have ya brought here." The woman looked Griffinhart up and down, "My you're a sight of armor. Well here," She handed him a couple of sandwiches before he could say a word, "Now get out of my kitchen the both of ya."

As the cook waved them off Torture barked at the man then took his bone and trotted along to a spot outside where there was a bench and nice patch of grass. He lay on his tummy to eat his bone and give Griffinhart time to eat his sandwiches.

He was past the point of being surprised, it seemed. If he was to be given sandwiches, then he was to be given sandwiches. And if the hound bade him to eat, then he was to eat. Nonchalantly, Griffinhart pulled back the hood of his cloak and unclasped his helmet, setting it on the bench. He considered balancing the plate of sandwiches on the armor for a moment, before deciding against it - Maker knew just how much darkspawn blood had already seeped into it.

The Warden sat down on the bench, heavily, and positioned the sandwiches on his lap. Jerkily, as though he were unsure of the action, he began to eat.

With a tilt of his head to one side, then to the other, Torture watched the warden with a confused eye. How could a person be so unused to food? He ate more stiffly than dogs sniffed each others' butts. That was an interesting point about this one and confusing as well. Everyone knew how to eat. Right? Food was food and it tasted good or bad but this Griffinhart that his person wanted did not seem to react in any way about it except awkward.

Torture went back to chewing on his bone but watched this man out of the side of his eyes. Curiousity ate at the mabari just as he ate the bone. This one was one his person trusted beyond many others and that was proven with his den being right beside theirs, opposite sides to the pretty smelling white haired elf. He wondered why his other favorite female, and her mabari, wasn't closer because she was trusted as much or more or ... it didn't matter. She was his friend's person and took care of his person as well.

He picked up his bone and found a good spot by a favorite tree then buried it, kicking up dust with his back feet as he made the final touches to his burying and watched out for others. The mabari then turned towards Griffinhart, trotted back to him and poked a hand with his nose. It was time for some ear scratching before he brought the man to his person.

The brother left, and his song faded as his impressive cloak snapped around a corner and was gone. His last words had been incomprehensible to her, their meaning a mystery that fled her mind almost in the instant they had been uttered, and her head tilted in curiosity as she was grabbed by some new scene. The hound that was the stone-song's companion, Fade-bred and intelligent as any creature to walk the earth, rounded up Raphael Griffinhart as a mother rounded her pups, and now, wasn't that an amusing image. She crept forward in the rafters, a smile on her face as she watched they two speak, not with words but as clearly as any two humans might speak nevertheless. And it was precisely because they did not use words that she could follow along with their conversation as easily as she did.

Raphael Girrinhart was wanted, and the hound had been sent to fetch him, and because Raphael Grffinhart was efficient in a way she had never seen before, and because the hound was eager, they left within a moment. The hall was clear now, the Fade within it finally restoring itself after being twisted and stretched so, earlier, and there was no one to see as she touched down on the ground, toes, heel, down to the knee and then up again in a fluid motion. She would follow, and if she was not wanted, she would return to the flowers that grew about the stones of the Keep.

The halls were as empty as they had been when she had traveled down them earlier, but it was not difficult to follow the Fade-trail left behind by Raphael Griffinhart and his hound companion. Like footprints, unique to them both in every way, they led her through the corridors she did not know, and the breath of life grew fresher and fresher around her until now it was the plants outside that called to her, and not just the trail of Raphael Griffinhart and the noble hound. For a moment, she was distracted, a blissful look on her face as the sturdy, silent stone gave way to the living vibrancy of the garden, but she reminded herself to recall what she had been doing. It was a difficult thing to pull herself away from, but even so, she manged it.

Like a wolf sits at the mouth of its den to ensure that no uninvited visitor escapes his notice, so did Raphael Griffinhart sit at the bench in the garden, all of the entrance and walls within his sight. There would be no sneaking into the tree at his back without his notice, and since sneaking was not necessarily her intention anyway (some, perhaps, would say that she 'snuck', but she had never used it with ill-intent, and simply found it to be a natural way of moving), she strode into the garden quite without hiding herself.

Once the grass was under her feet, however, she was lost. She smiled, forgetting why she had chosen to follow the hound's path (for it had been the hound's choosing, and Raphael Griffinhart had simple followed) in favor of bounding to the line of flowers that had grown wild and tangled in the absence of a gardener's hand. It was better that way. Why restrict their growth, why keep them from their natural path, when all they wanted, in their small way, was to reach for the sun, wherever it may be. They reached for her now, though, as she passed them, and she leaped into the lower boughs of the large tree in the central yard, the smell of upturned earth where the hound had dug and of strange food beneath her. Her curiosity won out, and she lowered herself to hang, upside down and hair swinging, near Raphael Griffinhart's left side, looking at the strange food he held in his hands. Even the elf once called Serethiel had never seen such food, and for once, they were both just as stunned as the other.

"What is it?" she asked, because there was no reason not to and because she wished to know. Hopefully, asking such a thing would not be considered rude.

All things were taken in stride. Was he getting slow, or careless? Or did he care less? No; it was not that, nor the others. There were thoughts brewing behind Griffinhart's eyes, even as they watched the spirit-girl step and smile and spring and bound; even as he put hand to mouth and ate, neither liking nor disliking the food - for he was not aware of its flavor, even though his tongue might have been.

All parts worked autonomously as the mind was distracted.

But the man stirred from his reverie as Serethiel hung down from a low bough, a question on her lips, perhaps even on her tongue. Distracted from his deep thoughts (would that he were again in battle, so as to not have to think, so as to rely simply on instinct), Griffinhart turned his gaze aside from the portal to this small piece of peace, and looked in the direction of the speaker; his cold, thinking stare meeting her curious eyes.

For a moment, he said nothing, as the storm in his head wound in a different direction.

"The dog wa-" Before Griffinhart could answer in the wrong direction, Torture bumped his sandwich-hand. Distracted once more, Griffinhart looked down, cocking his head at the demanding hound. He held the animal's gaze for a moment, and very clearly looked over at Serethiel, before looking once more at Torture. I am preoccupied, the motion stated.

Griffinhart returned his attention to the tree-girl, about to repeat his question, when his glance caught her eyes looking at his hand.

Oh. "A sandwich." Well... "Sandwiches," the warrior restated, gesturing with his free hand at the plate with still two more of the named items on it. (Griffinhart wasn't sure if it was because he was a slow eater, or if the cook had been a big feeder. Similarly, he couldn't tell if he was still hungry, or quite full.)

There was not a light of comprehension in Serethiel's eyes.

Ever the teacher (well, no - not really; he could only show, not teach), Griffinhart split open the half-eaten sandwich in his hand - taking great care to not spill or waste the food - and showcased its innards. "Meat - beef, in this one; vegetables - lettuce and onions; cheese; boiled chicken's egg; held between slices of bread. Rye. Buttered." He paused for a moment, thinking, trying to remember... but could not. But he could hazard a guess. "I think the others were - are - different in component materials, but the concept remains the same. Two slices of bread holding together slices of other food."

Torture bumped his hand once again, demanding the Warden's attention.

Soundlessly, Griffinhart relented. He rested his sandwich on the plate and placed his hands outwards, palm up, for all the good that it would do. His eyes on the dog, Griffinhart pondered his next course of action. Politeness dictated that... that... he invite her to share his meal? Was that a thing that people did? He thought back, trying to remember if anything like that had ever happened to him.

...hart! Eat! Sit! In the opposite direction! No, I mean...

If there had, he didn't remember. But Griffinhart was quite sure no such politeness had ever been extended to him in his lifetime (at least, in his lifetime prior to being remitted to Ferelden), for he had never asked nor earned such politeness. But maybe that was something unique to Weisshaupt, or (more likely) to himself. There were moments around a fire, weren't there? Or something similar enough to the warmth of a fire.

Hey, tall, dark, and scarred, pull up a se...

"Have one," bade Griffinhart, to Serethiel, while facing Torture (who was, by now, unhappily mussing with the Warden's pliant hands; just what did the hound want?).

There was a softness in the air as the person who had been in the training grounds moved within the yard then got into a tree and hung upside down. Trying to get a pet from this man his person wanted brought back to her was not working out that well. Griffinhart seemed confused about what he wanted so he tried again and again with basically the same look except it seemed to be more confusion each time the mabari poked at his hand.

Fine. If the metal head couldn't figure it out he would try with this ... what was she? A person who smelled oddly like the wilderness in a fashion which was not quite the same as Nygozy's scent. It was more flowery than earthy. Maybe because his person tended to roll in the mud a lot fighting while this one seemed to like hanging upside down.

Torture pounced over to Griffinhart's left side and stood on his hind paws to try and reach the woman's hand and attempt to get her to pet him. If she did it he would go back to metal head and poke his hand again. If not ... well he'd go back to metal head and poke his hand, put his nose under it and force his hand onto his head then move his head so the man would get the idea. If that did not work he would have to growl at Nygozy to tell her to teach her guard man proper manners of how to give pets to an exceptional guard dog. And that was THAT.

Letting go of her branch, she flipped once in the air to land on all fours in front of the warrior. With a curiosity reminiscent of the bravest of forest creatures and an intrigued light in her eye, she edged forward, taking a sniff of the proffered food before standing up before Raphael Griffinhart, looking down at the 'sandwich' (or 'sandwiches'). Reaching forward, she took it up into her own hand, mindful of keeping the numerous contents in their proper place. It was like an entire meal stuck into one little compartment of food - how novel.

A smile lit her face, chasing away the curious frown, and she placed the sandwich down on his stoney bench with a hurried movement, and in the blink of an eye she had disappeared into the tree once more. Bare feet barely touched bark as she clambered from one branch to another with a swiftness typically reserved for smaller animals than she. In a few more steps, she was over the wall of this particular garden, feet touching down as she let the earth guide her to her destination more surely than any guide or map could have.

There. Corned in another of the Keep's numerous gardens, it stood, shriveled and lonely with neglect and the hardship it had seen. With each step she took, she allowed a pulse of rejuvenating magic to surge through the ground towards it, reminding it of the sun and warm spring breezes, of life and growth and all the things it had forgotten. By the time she reached it, the bud had unfurled into a flower, and the flower into the swell of fruit, and her hand twisted it gently off the vine with barely any effort at all.

Gathering two more from the now-heavy branch, she held them securely in her arms and dashed off again, scaling the wall with the help of some vines to compensate for her filled hands. In the span of another few minutes, she was dropping down over the wall again, and she watched the hound perk up from leveling its intelligent eyes at Raphael Griffinhart.

She skipped to the bench once again, crouching before the sitting man and beast, and held up the newly grown apple, one for each of them. The hunter had offered to share his meal with her, strange and new as it was, it was only common courtesy that she would offer something in return.

Griffinhart recognized the apple for what it was - an eye for an eye - and took the proffered fruit, nodding his head as thanks. He did not, of course, bite into it - not because he did not trust Serethiel, but because he did not trust anything. But, at the same time, an ancient lesson learned long ago compelled him to not offend.

So the quiet Warden nodded, and took the apple, and held it, and beheld it, and did his best to not be distracted by the furiously snuffling and agitated Torture.

These two were not the most brilliant when it came to etiquette. How could they not know that you must pet ears and scratch the head and around the ears? He would have to regale his person on the clumsy training her people have gone through in that part of their lives and demand better, more complete learning standards.

Torture snorted, his head bowing with the force of the air escaping from his nose then grumble growled as he bonked Griffinhart's knee with his head. It was time to go now. The man had been fed so he would not be falling over when he met Nygozy and he had a friend to come along as well. What was better?

Then again, he wasn't sure if this woman would be welcome. He'd only been asked to bring the metal Fade man with him. He supposed that if his person didn't want the tree lady she would tell her so. As for now he would let her follow along if she wished.

So he barked at the man, turned his head almost in disgust and started off at a stalking walk. He listened to make sure he was followed but believed the person in metal would understand. He wasn't that dense.

[OOC: Apparently it is my turn to post, if the front page header has anything to say about it. Apologies, Serethiel.]

Griffinhart's eyes followed Torture momentarily before he spoke again. "The hound has use of me." No "it seems," no "apparently." He was sure of the mabari's motives (of course he was; why else would he have spoken?). He returned his gaze to the girl.

"Excuse me," said Griffinhart, bowing his head and rising from the bench. He took up the platter of sandwiches - there still were two - as it was a well-bred lesson in his bones to always clean up after oneself, but did not disturb the sandwich he had offered to Serethiel from its place on the bench, for it was hers, now.

Deliberately, with neither haste nor sloth, the soldier turned from the spirit, and with solid steps, silently trailed Torture.

She bit into the apple, looking between the hound and man with a small smile of interest, and then took a tentative bite of the "sandwich," which was, actually, quite nice. The blend of flavors was rich, and it required no apparent cooking, either, aside from the bread which would undoubtedly be prepared beforehand. It seemed like a lonely meal - in a clan, the cooking of the large meal at suppertime was an involved and many-handed process that was meant to bring each elf together just as much as it was intended to feed them - but a convenient and tasty lonely meal, at least.

Green eyes flicked up as she felt Raphael Grffinhart move, and she moved back as he stood, climbing up onto the stone bench he'd vacated to sit there, cross legged and watching. The hound was leading him now, and its clever eyes cast a look back at her, and she smiled at it in return. Grabbing up her apple, she spared a moment for dismembering her sandwich, laying each ingredient out on the bench for the birds and squirrels to pick at, before leaping up to follow after the pair of warriors. She was interested in where they were going, and if she wasn't wanted, then there were a myriad of places still lurking about in the Keep that she had yet to explore.

((That was an oops. I messed up the posting order as my brain was working backwards when I did that one.))

Torture started off towards the building then stopped and looked up towards Nygozy's balcony. He tilted his head with a slight sound of "mruff?" questioningly wondering what was going on. He sniffed the air then moved his head to the other side to make a huffing sound while watching the balcony. There was a guard up there but that wasn't usual if she were in her rooms.

Now what to do? She had wanted him to bring the man to her but where would she be? He didn't realize that they were just on the other side of the building from her. He was smart but he was still a dog and abstracts were lost on him.

The mabari turned his head and looked at Griffinhart with confusion. He turned his attention back to the balcony and barked but the guard did not move. Something did not seem right to him. The guards knew Torture but he was on the ground. How could they tell one dog from another? Torture barked again but still the guard did not move as another walked around the side to the first one. Then another. In fact, they did not look like they were really guarding anything.

Hand to hilt.

Hilt to sword.

Griffinhart wasn't a whisperer of hounds, nor a reader of their intents, and the dog's barking pushed his paranoia into over-drive. He shifted his hand beneath his cloak, senses as sharp as his swords' edges.

He certainly recognized where they were - near enough to the Warden-Commander's apartment, close enough to have a shouted conversation. But why were there guards on patrol upstairs? Were there guards on patrol upstairs? Griffinhart couldn't but help recall the last time he had been in a keep with "guards" at hand.

Griffinhart looked back at his tail, the ethereal spirit-girl that stepped too lightly through the grass. Perhaps she could be of use. He caught her attention, pointed upwards with a free hand, and spoke softly. "Will you see if the Warden-Commander is in?"