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whatisright
Sep. 30th, 2017 01:50 pmThey were in Kirkwall when Cole heard it. In the labyrinthine underground that snaked through the city, an anthill crawling with the people that Kirkwall's above ground would like to pretend weren't there. A sharp note of pain, not human in nature but like Cole - a spirit while also being Other.
Pain, so much pain.
The Inquisitor was talking with the strange man who was barely still a man, Cassandra and Solas at his side, and while Cole would have liked to pet the small bear and nug that ran around this was more important.
He wouldn't be missed, not right away. He could leave and return once he had helped. The Inquisitor was no mage but he understood Cole as much as anyone not Solas could, that Cole's need to help was indeed need. Cole would call for the Inquisitor if he couldn't do it on his own, and surely the Inquisitor would assist him.
Unseen even by the shadows, Cole slipped away from that underground treasure room that bled magic almost as strong as the Spire.
Cole didn't know Kirkwall's dark town, but he hardly needed to. He traveled invisibly, his feet following that other sense he had, the call of pain, of suffering. There was so much here - he eased what he could where he could on the way with softly spoken words and small gestures, looking for the fountain of the cry.
Pain, so much pain.
The Inquisitor was talking with the strange man who was barely still a man, Cassandra and Solas at his side, and while Cole would have liked to pet the small bear and nug that ran around this was more important.
He wouldn't be missed, not right away. He could leave and return once he had helped. The Inquisitor was no mage but he understood Cole as much as anyone not Solas could, that Cole's need to help was indeed need. Cole would call for the Inquisitor if he couldn't do it on his own, and surely the Inquisitor would assist him.
Unseen even by the shadows, Cole slipped away from that underground treasure room that bled magic almost as strong as the Spire.
Cole didn't know Kirkwall's dark town, but he hardly needed to. He traveled invisibly, his feet following that other sense he had, the call of pain, of suffering. There was so much here - he eased what he could where he could on the way with softly spoken words and small gestures, looking for the fountain of the cry.
