1st Winter [Action]

[aryaunderfoot]

[Early this morning, somewhere deep in the woods, there is a wolf howling.

It's a long, mournful howl, and the wolf doesn't seem to want to stop. Occasionally, she'll pause for breath, and then throw her head back again after a moment's rest. This place isn't right. Her cousins aren't here, the smaller ones of her pack. The air is too warm, too full of the smells of spring. And the more she searches, the more she howls, trying to get some sort of answer out of these unfamiliar trees.

Around mid-morning, the crumpled form of a small girl can be found on the path leading from the village to the Battle Dome. She's not hurt, just very much asleep (and scrunching up her face with each wolf howl) and very much covered in grime (and smelling faintly of fish cart). And there's also the fact that she's in a New Feather dress. As the howling reaches a higher pitch, she awakes with a start, freezes, and tries to figure out what this place is. There's a chill in the air, yes, but it isn't winter building up to full strength. It can't be the Summer Islands, and it most definitely isn't Braavos. This place...

...is less concerning than the fact that there is a journal right next to her with "Arya Stark" printed right on it. She gives it an incredulous look for a moment before deciding that this must be a test of some kind. The kindly man must be behind it. With a shake of the head, the girl stands, pushes the journal with a foot until it's tucked out of sight under a nearby bush, and then turns back to the task at hand.

And tries to ignore the mournful howling that is practically tugging her in its direction. That's not something she needs to worry about. That was Arya Stark. Not her. She's nobody.]

[With so many things glaringly wrong with this place, she figures it's time to try scoping it out. The girl very cautiously approaches the village, keeping to the trees for cover until she's sure there aren't any Lannister banners flying anywhere. When there aren't any, it isn't much consolation; the buildings are huge, and the architecture isn't anything she's ever seen before. This place may not be full of lions, but it's not exactly a safe zone, either. She's not even sure what it is.

Eventually, she finds her way into town, going around to see what exactly there is to see here. She doubts she'll spot any familiar faces, but she still makes her way through all the shops in the main square, trying to get some kind of sense of what kind of town this is. The smith shop is familiar, the fashions in the clothing shop completely outlandish, the foods in the indoor marketplace entirely alien.

And she is so, so very lost. As she makes her way through town, the old phrase starts repeating in the back of her mind: Fear cuts deeper than swords. She can do this. She has to do this.

Towards nightfall, after much exploration and poking around, the girl makes her way back to the stables she passed by at some point. The horses are horses. That much is familiar, at least. This much she can understand completely. And the familiar, earthy, horsey smells are something of a comfort when you're trying to wrap your head around what in the world happened to bring you to a place such as this.]

[[ooc: Feel free to run into her at any point!]]

Comments

[aryaunderfoot]

[There are so many parts of that which grated across her nerves that she's not even going to bother to attack any particular bit of it. She just scowls. Because seriously, how many times is she going to have to be a prisoner in her life?]

That's a cheerful way to put it.

[complicatedliar]

I'm a terribly cheerful fellow.

You can think of it as a vacation if you like, I suppose. Some seem quite content with their lot here.

[aryaunderfoot]

[And she is a terribly serious girl.]

They're stupid, then. It's a prison.

[complicatedliar]

Something upon which we agree.

Though I do tend to make an exception for those who are dead in their home universe. I can't really blame anyone for finding prison preferable to death.

[aryaunderfoot]

[Whoa, wait, slow down. That could be either very good news or very, very bad news. The dead have walked before, if you listen to Old Nan, and it isn't a good thing.]

This place brings back people who have died?

[complicatedliar]

As best I've been able to tell, it doesn't so much bring them back as... capture them before the moment of true death.

[aryaunderfoot]

So it stops them from dying, then.

[That can't be. It's too easy.]

[complicatedliar]

In a sense. Then they are alive here. But if they were returned to the place and moment from whence they came, likely they would continue on into death.

[aryaunderfoot]

[But there's still a chance that things might be able to change. A small chance, but a chance.

Not that she thinks it would actually work out right. Things have a way of turning out badly back home.]

Why do they even bother bringing someone here just to send them back to die, anyway? They're wasting their time.

[complicatedliar]

If I knew the answer to that, I'd be far closer to removing myself from this cursed place. [He smiles thinly.] Understanding motivation is the first key to bending someone to your will.

[aryaunderfoot]

[That. Is useful information to keep filed away for future reference. But she still frowns at the thought of bending the will of these Malnosso, from everything she's heard.]

I would think they wouldn't be able to be affected by anything any of us could do.

[complicatedliar]

You'll find that they need us in a strange way. It's just a question of finding the shape of what they want. Patience is required.

[He smiles slightly.] No prison is perfect and no one is untouchable. Not even gods.

[aryaunderfoot]

[She shrugs. She's escaped enough prisons to not feel too trapped here. There's bound to be a way out for someone small enough.]

If they're supposed to be gods, then they're not very good ones. Otherwise they wouldn't need us at all.

[complicatedliar]

Oh no. The Malnosso aren't gods.

Though you are right. Gods do not require mortals.