Arya Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aryaunderfoot) wrote2013-03-04 12:44 pm
aryaunderfoot) wrote2013-03-04 12:44 pm
1st Winter [Action]
[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!]]
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!]]
no subject
[She wishes she knew exactly why they'd all had wings put there, but she's still trying to uncover that answer.]
Whoever is in charge of this place is really powerful. I thought it was a genjutsu - an illusion - at first.
no subject
Why can't you hurt them if you can't fly with them or do anything? I'm not afraid of a broken bone.
[Pain is practically an old friend by now.]
no subject
[And it doesn't occur to her that she's perhaps revealing a little more about the type of training she's had than she means to.]
I want to get armor for mine.
no subject
If they don't have armor for them here, they should. It would be stupid not to.
[She will make armor if she has to. Septa Mordane always complained she had blacksmith's hands; maybe she can put that to use.]
no subject
[Finally, she nods her head and offers a little smile.]
My name is Konan, by the way.
no subject
I'm Cat. [For today, at least.] I might need your help designing armor, if there isn't any. I knew a blacksmith boy, but he never really let anyone else near the forge.
[Translation: I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm going to do it anyway. It'll work out. How hard could it be to beat out some metal to cover up a couple wings?]
no subject
If we have to make it, how about something like this to start with? I haven't seen a lot of metal that could be melted down, but it would protect the wings at least a bit.
no subject
Something like that would probably work. Chain mail is better than nothing at all. Would that actually turn a blade, though?
[If these wings are like vital organs, there's bound to be someone somewhere who will try to slash them right off. The Hound would have, at least.]
no subject
[Konan has to think about that for a moment.]
I don't think it would stop a heavy sword, but I know it can stop shuriken and kunai.
no subject
What's a shoo-rikin?
[...Forgive the pronunciation.]
no subject
[She reaches into her pouch and holds one out on the palm of her hand for Cat's perusal.]
no subject
How do you throw it?
[There's nothing to get a good grip on without ripping apart your hand.]
no subject
[Konan demonstrates how to hold it.]
Then you throw from the side instead of like how you'd throw a small rock.
no subject
I don't think we have anything like that where I come from. Most of our throwing weapons, you throw overhand.
no subject
[Technically, ninjas weren't supposed to out themselves, but this is common enough knowledge in Konan's world that it's no more harmful than pulling the shuriken out of her pouch to show Cat in the first place. Although if she knows about weapons, it's probably safe enough to talk about it with her.]
What do your throwing weapons look like, Cat?
no subject
[Not that she wouldn't be interested in learning. She's just never actually thrown one herself.]
no subject
[Mostly because she was the best at using those.]
I can teach you how to throw a shuriken right now, if you want.
no subject
Really? Are you sure?
[She has no way to pay you for the lesson, girl. D:]
no subject
[She passes the shuriken over very carefully so that Cat won't cut her fingers.]