( ii. ) [ in orlais, he is simultaneously familiar and extremely foreign. his clothing alone, pure white, exquisitely embroidered and ornate, earns admiring glances and soft gasps. he's draped in enough opals and pearls and silver to bankrupt some small nations, his hair intricately braided and draped in the lesser jewels of his station. not that most of it's visible-- when in public like this, he wears a gossamer white veil pinned to his hair and draped over his face and body. it's fine enough for him to see through, but it obscures his features and colouring and hides his ears.
even in another world, it seems, there are those that will always see him as something strange and dirty.. though this time for his elvish side. and wouldn't that scandalize his court? that these strange, round-eared people could look down on such ancient, noble, wealthy families, and on their emperor.. the thought makes maia's mouth twitch up faintly behind his veil, quite unable to help himself. a scant moment later, though, he's composing his features again, even though no one should be able to make out his expression. he feels a bit guilty about thinking something like that. his people--all of his people, from the greatest to the smallest--would be mistreated here. he's seen how many humans look at the native elves. isn't that part of the reason he's hiding like this? as it is, his gray-skinned hands get enough curious glances, when they emerge to take an offered piece of jewelry. he'd come in simply to admire the craftsmanship, fascinated by the work that goes into items that people buy and wear so carelessly. (as carelessly as maia himself, and he resolves to appreciate the heavy jewelry more, for those that had created such pieces if for no other reason.)
he hands it back a moment later with a murmured thanks, then drifts away to wander further into the marketplace. on one hand, the freedom is a little thrilling-- and on the other, he feels naked without his nohecharei shadowing his steps. he misses them, their company, even their steady silence.
he finds himself pausing beside someone else clearly from the inquisition, lacing beringed fingers together as he looks out into the busy street. ]
We must admit, we find this somewhat overwhelming.
( iii. ) [ he quite likes the library. for one thing, he can tuck himself away in some corner somewhere, and he often won't see anyone else until he emerges again. for another, people who come bustling up here looking to do research often don't have the time to stare at the gray-skinned elf with the strange ears and shy smile.
he's been spending his time learning as much as he can about the region and its complicated politics. maia is the emperor of the elflands, which means quite simply that his practical skills are few. he can't fight, he certainly isn't a maza--mage, as they call them here--and he wouldn't have the first idea how to repair skyhold or take care of animals or even cook. he is, however, quite a skilled negotiator at this point-- they hadn't started calling him bridge-builder back home for nothing, after all.
realizing he has to cross-reference from a book he doesn't currently have with him in his little nook, he rises from his chair and emerges from his sunlit spot-- only to come face-to-face with someone at the nearest shelf. he blinks, wide gray eyes going wider, and before he can control the reaction, his ears flatten back in surprise and faint dismay, setting his earrings to chiming. at skyhold like this, he presents himself almost--almost--casually, his clothing simple (though still as white as ever) and his long, curly dark hair braided and pinned at the nape of his neck. it's easy to remember at times like this, that he's only nineteen.
for a moment, he's struck silent-- but then he forces his ears back up, forces his expression to ease, and offers a small, slightly flustered smile. ]
Our pardon. We-- We must not have heard your footsteps. [ he shifts, turning a simple iron ring around his thumb, struggling not to bite the inside of his cheek. ] You were not looking for us, we hope?
( wildcard. ) [ if neither of these work, lmk and i can cook something else up! or you can hit me with your own prompt. ]
maia drazhar ( the goblin emperor )
[ in orlais, he is simultaneously familiar and extremely foreign. his clothing alone, pure white, exquisitely embroidered and ornate, earns admiring glances and soft gasps. he's draped in enough opals and pearls and silver to bankrupt some small nations, his hair intricately braided and draped in the lesser jewels of his station. not that most of it's visible-- when in public like this, he wears a gossamer white veil pinned to his hair and draped over his face and body. it's fine enough for him to see through, but it obscures his features and colouring and hides his ears.
even in another world, it seems, there are those that will always see him as something strange and dirty.. though this time for his elvish side. and wouldn't that scandalize his court? that these strange, round-eared people could look down on such ancient, noble, wealthy families, and on their emperor.. the thought makes maia's mouth twitch up faintly behind his veil, quite unable to help himself. a scant moment later, though, he's composing his features again, even though no one should be able to make out his expression. he feels a bit guilty about thinking something like that. his people--all of his people, from the greatest to the smallest--would be mistreated here. he's seen how many humans look at the native elves. isn't that part of the reason he's hiding like this? as it is, his gray-skinned hands get enough curious glances, when they emerge to take an offered piece of jewelry. he'd come in simply to admire the craftsmanship, fascinated by the work that goes into items that people buy and wear so carelessly. (as carelessly as maia himself, and he resolves to appreciate the heavy jewelry more, for those that had created such pieces if for no other reason.)
he hands it back a moment later with a murmured thanks, then drifts away to wander further into the marketplace. on one hand, the freedom is a little thrilling-- and on the other, he feels naked without his nohecharei shadowing his steps. he misses them, their company, even their steady silence.
he finds himself pausing beside someone else clearly from the inquisition, lacing beringed fingers together as he looks out into the busy street. ]
We must admit, we find this somewhat overwhelming.
( iii. )
[ he quite likes the library. for one thing, he can tuck himself away in some corner somewhere, and he often won't see anyone else until he emerges again. for another, people who come bustling up here looking to do research often don't have the time to stare at the gray-skinned elf with the strange ears and shy smile.
he's been spending his time learning as much as he can about the region and its complicated politics. maia is the emperor of the elflands, which means quite simply that his practical skills are few. he can't fight, he certainly isn't a maza--mage, as they call them here--and he wouldn't have the first idea how to repair skyhold or take care of animals or even cook. he is, however, quite a skilled negotiator at this point-- they hadn't started calling him bridge-builder back home for nothing, after all.
realizing he has to cross-reference from a book he doesn't currently have with him in his little nook, he rises from his chair and emerges from his sunlit spot-- only to come face-to-face with someone at the nearest shelf. he blinks, wide gray eyes going wider, and before he can control the reaction, his ears flatten back in surprise and faint dismay, setting his earrings to chiming. at skyhold like this, he presents himself almost--almost--casually, his clothing simple (though still as white as ever) and his long, curly dark hair braided and pinned at the nape of his neck. it's easy to remember at times like this, that he's only nineteen.
for a moment, he's struck silent-- but then he forces his ears back up, forces his expression to ease, and offers a small, slightly flustered smile. ]
Our pardon. We-- We must not have heard your footsteps. [ he shifts, turning a simple iron ring around his thumb, struggling not to bite the inside of his cheek. ] You were not looking for us, we hope?
( wildcard. )
[ if neither of these work, lmk and i can cook something else up! or you can hit me with your own prompt. ]