thearena | they cut into heaven and called it a door

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they cut into heaven and called it a door

viridianwings if you'd like me to post another starter for your character.

Lilah knows she ought to have gotten used to the bizarre by now. Ever since she stepped out of the Fade, she's been thrust into one scenario after another - religious symbol, political maneuverer, fighter of darkspawn and red templars and rebel mages alike, druffalo wrangler, fade walker, and patcher up of the holes in the sky. In all of those roles, though, she'd been the one calling the shots. It was completely different to being thrust in here, unarmed and wearing a skimpy knight getup that would make Cassandra furious at its very existence, wandering alone through deserted buildings and desolate forests knowing that there was no plan here, no advisors she could turn to and claim their advice as her own idea, no companions to provide the muscle and the magic both, just herself, the ever glowing mark on her hand, and the foes that waited in the shadows.

She decides the castle's probably the best place to head for. It would be well fortified, and there must be some way that a Carta trained dwarf could sneak inside. But it's a long walk, and she's tired and hungry and defenseless, and as dark begins to fall, glow of the anchor on her palm is a beacon telling anyone nearby exactly where she is...

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Like Lilah, Bayard's heading towards the castle, although less because he's concerned about fortification and more because he's hoping to find the people of Thedas there. He knows higher ground is the likelier place to encounter them, and so with nothing but his thin knight's costume, he's picking his way over the ground with surprising surefootedness. He's used to running over lumpy grassland.

He stops when he sees a female figure, shorter even than him, not too many yards away and carrying something bright and flowing that illuminates her small stature. Bayard knows that his priorities are to find Cullen and Tabris as soon as possible, and yet he can't in good conscience leave a girl out here in the darkness.

"Little girl?" he calls. "Miss?"

At first, Lilah doesn't realise that he's addressing her. Dwarves are common enough in Thedas that being mistaken for a child isn't something she's had to deal with too often, especially with the weight of first the Carta and then the Inquisition behind her. If anything, she speeds up when she hears him call out, thinking that maybe he's seen someone else and they'll team up against her. As he comes closer, though, she turns on her heel and looks at him, feigning insult but mostly looking amused at his assumption. She gestures to the skimpy outfit she'd been dressed in before being thrown into the Arena.

"Do you really think a little girl would wear something like this?"

After his last stint in the Cornucopia, Sam had decided to avoid the place altogether. He'd been of no use to anybody after taking that great crack to the head in the last Arena - more prudent, he thought, to wait and find someone willing to take words in exchange for supplies, rather than dodging a crowd of Big Folk all out for his blood.

As always, he's kicked off his shoes first thing, and while his flimsy costume isn't much in the way of protection, it doesn't rustle at all as he creeps low through the grassland, all but silent. It's over his own breathing he first hears voices, and draws in a breath to listen.

The first one's familiar, and he picks up his pace as he goes, calling softly as he draws near, "Well! If that isn't Mister Sartoris I hear--?"

But his words die on his lips as he sees that Bayard's not alone - and Sam's brow furrows as he looks at who he's took up with. They're not far apart in height, him and this woman, but he's sure she's no Hobbit - why, Bayard's the tallest of the three of them.

He looks between the two of them, instinctively wary on Bayard's behalf. "Careful, there, Mister Bayard," he says. "She's no more a child than I am." The invitation to the woman to explain what she is he leaves for her to pick up on, if she chooses.

Bayard looks startled as he gets closer to Lilah and sees not a girl's features but a woman's body in miniature, a woman's strong jaw and vigilant eyes. She reminds him of Druscilla, his cousin, the war widow who, it's said, rides a horse better than any man.

Then he turns on his heel and cries out into the darkness as Sam emerges, relieved and gleeful. "Mister Gamgee! I'm glad you made it out of that scrap."

It's rude to just not answer a question, even when he's been interrupted by a friend, so as he approaches Lilah - just a little bit, not too close - he meets her full-faced.

"I...I don't know?" Look, the people in these places where bizarre clothes. He's wearing what feels like a blanket with chain-mail designs printed on the front in itchy black paint and a helmet that's softer than a decent hat. Yesterday he saw a woman wearing a swan dress, and the swan played theme music at him. "I reckon not...my apologies, ma'am."

"I certainly hope not, anyway. I look like I've come straight from the red lantern district, midway through a saucy enactment of Swords and Shields!" She turns toward Sam, looking thoroughly intrigued at the fact that he's of a similar height to her. "Now, you're certainly no dwarf."

"I should think not!" Sam replies, drawing himself up a little - more wary than insulted, but comforted enough by the fact that she's not attacked either of them yet to be, at least, a little insulted.

"I'm a Hobbit," he says, for what he thinks must be the seventieth time since he's come to Panem. "And while we've not the time for any proper explanation, I think it's enough to go on that Hobbits and Dwarves are different as apples and oranges, or beeches and oaks; and, beggin' your pardon, I must say you don't look like no Dwarf I've ever seen, either."

The apologetic bob of his head that accompanies this is no true apology, but nor is it a threat - he's more wary than anything, or at least, more wary than offended.

"Now-- are you acquainted with Mister Sartoris, here?" he asks. "On a first glance I'd say you aren't-- but in my own experience, those who mean to do one harm in the Arena just go ahead and do it, like, without waitin' around to get to know one. So I'll have an explanation, if you please."

Bayard almost interjects an explanation for his own height ("I'm twelve years old!"), but he realizes before it reaches his mouth that it's not really in question to them. The thought evaporates on his tongue.

"I certainly wouldn't mean a lady any harm in here. In fact, I can't think of many people here in the Arena who I would act any harm on unless they started quarreling." Bayard chews the corner of his tongue, watching over his shoulder for anyone to emerge from the dark of the woods. The light from Lilah's palm has drawn floating spots in his vision that make vigilance difficult.

"I don't reckon she owes us much of an explanation, Mister Gamgee. Far as I can see we were the ones pulling up on her. Ain't that right, Miss...?" He realizes now that she knows their names and yet he hasn't a clue as to hers.

"A hobbit?" She repeats, tasting the word. "Never heard of them. I don't think there are any of you in Thedas." Which makes her both curious and a little wary, especially knowing that they've all been thrown in here to kill each other. Who knew what hobbits might be capable of? She looks at Sam suspiciously, waiting for him to shoot fire at her with his eyes or something. She feels a twinge of disappointment too, having been excited and relieved to think she wasn't the only dwarf here.

She gives Bayard a wide smile. "There you have it, the boy is quite right. I haven't been accosting him at all, I was just on my merry way through these woods when he approached me. So you can relax, Mr Hobbit, I mean him no harm, you have my word as Inquisitor. ...That is, of course, unless either of you intend to harm me."

It hadn't occurred to her at all to introduce herself until Bayard trails off in search of a name. "Lilah Cadash, at your service. Formerly of Skyhold, now of..." she trails off herself, glancing around at the trees "...of this rather ominous forest."

Sam eyes her a second longer, suspicion on every feature. He lets the silence hang a long second; and then he lets out a decisive breath through his nose.

"...Gamgee," he says. "My name's Samwise Gamgee, of the Shire, and more lately, I suppose, of District Twelve. And I mean you no harm." She don't appear much threatened, though, so perhaps it doesn't need to be explained further than that.

What an Inquisitor is, he's sure he doesn't know, nor where Skyhold might be, but that's simply how it is, introducing oneself here - oftentimes it doesn't actually tell you all that much about the folk you're having introduced. But he's glad for the formality, which makes this place feel a bit more civilized, on the whole.

"Now," he goes on, "Finding two people at once who don't have it in for you - I call that good fortune, in this place." He looks between Bayard and Lilah (and, with some uncertainty, at Lilah's glowing hand.) "...Though I do fear we've made ourselves rather easier to spot, standing out here like this."

"We mean no harm," Bayard agrees. "But maybe we ought to take shelter. We don't know what sort of beasts the Gamemakers have set up for us."

Bayard doesn't necessarily sound afraid of them, but rather enthused by the idea of fighting monsters. He didn't have a chance last time and while the Cornucopia has impressed on him that people fighting each other is terrifying, the realm of combat with creatures is still something that can be played out within imagination.

"I reckon there got to be somewhere a dwarf, a hobbit and a boy can hole up."

She perks up a little at hearing something that, finally, sounds vaguely familiar to her. "District Twelve, eh? Well I'm not sure exactly what that is, but before they threw me in here they said that's who I was here on behalf of, too." Even if it wasn't the truth, she'd have said so anyway. The last thing she wants is to make enemies right now, and isn't sure how seriously the others take the District divisions.

"In that case I'll follow your lead, gentlemen. I feel you know far more about this place than I."

It's difficult, to keep their motley group together. Especially with the mages acting like bright, magical lamps screaming HERE I AM all the time, Cullen's got more than his fair share of worries.

And then there's the matter of supplies, especially food. After finding each other, food becomes one of the top priorities, and Cullen, naturally, volunteers for scouting jobs. He stays close to the camp - within shouting distance, because there's no use taking unnecessary risks so early in the arena.

He spots the dwarf woman easily - it's difficult to miss her, what with - well. The all-too-familiar mark. It's that which draws his attention, and draws him out. He doesn't recognize her, but he's familiar enough with the Anchor on Adella's hand - and now Maxwell's - to know what he's looking at.

Another Inquisitor. And chances are - she'll recognize him, though he doesn't even know her name. Strange as it is to see a dwarf with a magical mark on her hand.

"Over here," he calls, stepping into her line of sight carefully, just on the off chance he's a stranger to her.

As she hears him call out, she instinctively reaches for her bow, her fingers closing around empty air instead. But then she sees him, and her wary expression gives way to relief and joy. "Cullen? Are you a sight for sore eyes!"

Ah, yes. There it is. The recognition, where he has none. It always makes him feel bad - it did with Maxwell, and it did with that Dalish woman who was here for a short time, and it does now with this dwarf. What next, a Qunari?

"Inquisitor," he says carefully - he knows at least that the title seems to be universal. "You're unhurt, I hope?"

"Couple of scratches, nothing I can't live with." They'd come from tripping over tree roots on walking through the forest in the dark, but she wasn't about to admit that to her advisor. "I didn't expect to find you here. Or anyone, for that matter."

"There are - several of us," Cullen says with a moment of hesitation. "May I ask, however - what is the last thing you remember before arriving here?"

Lilah looks encouraged to hear there's even more Thedosians here, though her expression darkens considerably when Cullen asks what she remembers before arriving. "Oh, just normal Inquisitor stuff, you know? Saving people, hunting things, closing rifts... I definitely didn't just find out my boyfriend is a lying murderer, not at all."

Firo does better when he has civilization to leech off of, so he, too, heads for the castle. Seeing some buildings is promising after the unrelenting nature of the previous Arena, so he takes a moment to be kind of grateful. Or at least less annoyed.

He hasn't been on the road too long when he spots another person sticking out as if they're holding some kind of light. Seeing her clothes, he takes a moment to be grateful for his plain but practical 'shoemaker outfit' and casts his eyes to the ground. It's only polite.

"Hey." He holds his empty hands up, both to show that he's not a threat and to be ready to block or catch anything she might throw at him. Not that he thinks she looks particularly ruthless--though you never know--but because you can't really blame someone for getting startled and attacking you when you pop out of nowhere.

"You got stuck with somethin' like that too?"

Firo hasn't figured out why, but there's a flame above his head glowing brightly and obnoxiously in the darkness. Probably to make life harder, because why not? Though the thing on her hand appears somewhat different, he assumes they're both by gamemaker design.

Lilah whirls around when she hears him address her, eyeing him suspiciously for weapons or offensive magic, relaxing slightly when she sees that he has no intention of attacking her immediately, but not letting her guard down completely.

"You wouldn't happen to have another set of clothes? I'd offer to switch with you, but..." She makes an exaggerated gesture to emphasise the difference in their heights, feeling very envious of his far more sensible outfit.

"Oh, this?" She holds up her palm, the anchor glowing a sickly green. "This was an unintended gift from a rather nasty fellow called Corypheus. I've had it long before I arrived." She glances upward, to the bright flame above Firo's head. "At least I can shove my hand in my pocket when it's bothering me. I suppose there isn't a way to put out that flame?"

He frowns and shakes his head. "Sorry. If I had anything, it'd be yours. Didn't get any chances to loot a body?"

In Firo's mind, that's far preferable to walking around in something that--from the brief look he got--is more suited to be a swimming costume than actual clothing. If even that. Which makes it a darned shame that the Gamemakers are so quick to pick up the fallen Tributes.

"Don't think so. I even took a swim and that didn't get rid of it, so..." He shrugs. "Guess I'll be havin' fun with this the whole Arena."

"Haven't come across any." Which is a relief to her, really - she doesn't feel acclimatised enough to this place to want to see all the gruesome ways in which the other Tributes might have died just yet - although the chance to raid one of them for a change of clothes would be even more welcome. "You don't fancy swapping, I take it?"

She looks up at the flame again, shaking her head at just how prominent it is. "Whoever organised this must really not like you."

"Um." Oh god. He knows he should be a gentleman and let the poor lady cover up, but that's more than he can put up with. He blushes with embarrassment and guilt as he stares at the ground. "I'm really sorry, but no thanks. I don't think it'd fit anyway..."

"Can't imagine why--I'm a real delight to hang around." The sarcasm is plain enough so that even someone who doesn't know him can get that weak attempt at a joke. "Guess I'll hafta send 'em a strongly-worded letter or somethin'."

He shouldn't be this bold when the cameras are certain to be watching, but he's pretty bitter. And it's very plain to see.

Lilah bursts out laughing at his clear embarrassment; she'd not expected him to take her seriously. "Unless you're wearing stilts under those trousers, they certainly won't fit you."

"I'm not sure they'd listen much to a letter. Unless it was accompanied by a severed hand of one of their kinsman, something dramatic like that."

"Oh. Yeah, right." He nods quickly, trying to hide his relief. It probably doesn't work very well.

It's only out of wariness of offending any viewers that Firo refrains from saying out loud how much he likes that plan. His grin probably says enough. "Sounds like somethin' the Black Hand would do. Is that how things work where you're from?"

He's curious, but mostly he likes finding people who are from a place that does things similarly to his home.

"That's a suitably ominous name." She grins back, impressed at the title and finding herself homesick for old times in the Carta before the role of Inquisitor had been thrust upon her. "Sounds far more catchy than 'Carta', anyway. Yes, that's how things work where I-- where I was from." She'd always known it would be impossible for her to return to the fold after the position she'd been elevated to, as much as she may want to.

Their topic of conversation is hardly a nice one, but Firo smiles with a little more warmth. It's good to find something in common with a stranger.

He nods. "It's how they sign their letters." Ominous is suitable indeed. There were quite a few who didn't pay up after seeing a letter marked with the Black Hand--even fewer who didn't pay up and still lived.

If things work like that where she's from, he has to wonder... "What's the 'carta,' huh? That the name for your gang?"

"You could say that. Though the ones at the top prefer 'crime syndicate'. Makes them sound more legitimate. As much as a bunch of casteless surfacers can sound, anyway." She pauses as she hears a twig snap, balling her hand into a fist and hiding it behind her back in case the glow of the anchor had drawn in enemies, but a second later an owl takes flight through the trees and she laughs in relief. "That's all gone since I got this thing, though." She gestures to the mark. "Now I run with the Inquisition."

He raises an eyebrow. "Inquisition? They sound awfully legitimate."

The question in that statement isn't too hidden; he has no idea what that organization is, but he's curious about what could make someone leave a life of crime.

"Don't they? They're your standard 'let's save the world' brigade, most of them, but they're good folks." An uneasy longing runs through her which she can only surmise to be homesickness; it was odd thinking of Skyhold as home at all. "I don't know what I'd do without them now."

He thinks the same of his family and his face falls when she says the words out loud. They are without their people now and he still hasn't figured out how to deal with it.

But focus on the positives, right? He tries to smile. "...That's how it ends up, huh? You meet some people who seem like a bunch a' loons and then--" Then you can't live without them. He breaks off with a shrug to keep himself from saying something that mushy.

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they cut into heaven and called it a door

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