faderift | [OPEN] Welcome Back! Now Take a Bath.

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[OPEN] Welcome Back! Now Take a Bath.

WHO: Blackwall and you!
WHAT: Blackwall returns to Skyhold after being away for a few months
WHEN: Current?
WHERE: Around Skyhold, mostly the stables and the tavern
NOTES: none that I can think of... his intro is over here. prose or brackets are fine

i. Just arrived
It's midday when Blackwall and the small group of scouts and soldiers who'd been with him in the Storm Coast are spotted by one of Skyhold's lookouts making their way back up the mountain road. They're definitely not in a rush, but getting inside of the fortress' high walls and out of the whipping mountain winds is a relief. After weeks in the constant drizzle of the Storm Coast, dry clothing felt like an unattainable fantasy.

Muddy, damp, and worn out, Blackwall was looking even more unkempt and wild than when he'd first arrived in Haven. The Storm Coast seemed to have that affect on people; the others with him didn't look like they'd fared much better. He's a little surprised at how glad he is to be back, but why wouldn't he be? A change of clothes into something that isn't already soaked through with rain and a proper place to enjoy a drink, what's not to love?

ii. Sparring/Beating up practice dummies close to the stables
It doesn't take Blackwall long at all to fall back into a routine, which means getting some time in with a dull sword and a stuffed potato sack on a stick meant to look like a person. It's unusual for him to be in anything less than his full armor, which includes the puffy gambeson he always wears, but it's still hung up to dry by the fire in the stables, so this morning he's settled for a loose tunic and trousers.

Unlike some of the others whacking away at the dummies, his movements are calm and devoid of emotion, simply going through training exercises and focusing on form and technique. Training exercises are all well and good, but if someone actually offered to spar he'd be hard pressed to turn them down, especially after fighting nothing but bears and spiders in the mud for the past few weeks.

iii. Tavern
"Oh, pardon me," Blackwall offers, managing to sound completely genuine while fighting back a chuckle. It's late evening and the tavern is apparently the place to be. It's surprisingly easy to misjudge how close you are to someone after a few drinks and Blackwall misses the mark as he leans over the counter to signal for another pint, bumping a few people.

"Ale, like the last one," He tells the barkeep when he gets their attention before offering a slightly intoxicated smile while waiting.

iv. or choose your own adventure!
[Walking around Skyhold or find him in the stables... demand he come tour the Warden encampment and watch him squirm, or comment about how much he needs a haircut. I'm down for all the things :3]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"No, no. Swords might have been relegated to shiny wall decorations in my world, but we still understand the concept of the pointy stick." He smiles in return, moving to join him at the water pump and taking his own drinks and splashing some across his face and the back of his neck.

He could not help but laugh softly at his answer to the style question. "It sounds as effective as anything else," he agreed, glancing to his armor piece. "Not just 'shield'?" he asked, because he had thought that as it, but all the pieces of armor were nearly as difficult to keep track of as the politics of this world.

He had at least thought he knew what a sword and a shield were, but apparantley not.

Blackwall gives him an odd look before remember these 'rifters' were a thing now. When he'd left for the Storm Coast there weren't many and he'd never met one, and of course out there he'd never run into one. Unlike the other Thedasians, he was still getting used to the idea that there were people here that the rifts were somehow pulling from other worlds that were nothing like Thedas.

"What?" He looks down at the practice shield and then realizes where the confusion had come in. "No, no. I was talking about- well, you asked if my 'style' of fighting had a name. Wearing heavy armor and trying to make sure the enemy hits you and not anyone else is called vanguarding. This... is still a shield."

Understanding dawned and his teeth flashed in a sheepish grin. He had seen the term now and then in some of the historical texts he liked to read, if he read something from the correct time period, but honestly the term was never rightly explained. There hadn't been much need, after all, and the word was used a bit more loosely in the present for himself.

"Where I'm from, we call that being the distraction," he laughed. "That's impressive, though. You must be quite good at it."

"Ah, well, it's a bit more complicated than just 'being a distraction'. A distraction that hits hard and can take a lot of hits," He corrects, but the young man was close enough.

He quirks an eyebrow at his assessment, "Quite good at it? What makes you think that? Well... besides the fact that I have all my teeth."

"The fact you're alive," he said, tilting his head to assess him again. "I was watching you move, and I didn't see any obvious hitches like a possible limp or compromised range of motion. But I'll admit I wasn't watching for all that long. Unless you're hiding some under your outfit and that impressive beard, I don't see any major scarring either. That would tend to suggest that you probably have good gear as well as skill considering you have to take hard hits. There's a difference between 'taking' a hit, and being hit."

He shrugged his shoulders, grinning a little sheepishly, wondering if he had overstepped.

"But the teeth are kind of a giveaway too."

"Another good indicator," He agrees. Not dead, no major injuries, these things usually pointed to a decent warrior.

"I've my share of scars though. That one's unavoidable. Good gear, good training, and obviously being good doesn't hurt," He says with a lopsided smile and a wink. "That's, uh, quite a bit of flattery though, just for being alive and in one piece.

You know, not that punching things isn't fun and all, but there are plenty of spare weapons for practicing with."

Edited 2016-05-15 02:03 (UTC)

Kirk looks down at his hands, wrapped in thick linen, though there are bits of fingers that show some scraping from the wood and would probably be developing light bruising beneath. The same on his legs, though his pants hid those pains for the moment.

"Ah, that's okay," he shook his head, sheepish grin still in place. "I don't know how to use any of them, not really, and I've only just started practicing with a staff. I would probably just end up hurting myself if I tried anything sharper than that, and I don't want my hand-to-hand skills going dull."

"Are you a mage?" Blackwall asks, nothing but idle curiosity behind the question. It was the only reason he could think of to decide to start with a staff.

"Suit yourself," He shrugs, "But your fists aren't going to do you any good when you're facing down someone with a sword, wearing full armor. I'm sure there are plenty of people who wouldn't mind showing you a thing or two."

He'd known a lot of people, with a lot of different armor and weapon preferences, but hand to hand just wasn't done outside of fighting for sport or tavern brawls.

He shook his head. "No, not a mage. Rifter," he said, holding up the hand where his shard was, currently wrapped up and thus hidden. "Where I'm from, there is no magic," he added, as if that might help explain some things for the other.

His head tilted in a sort of half-nod. "I know that," he admitted. "But I find myself uncomfortable with something like a bladed weapon." It felt to much like carrying a phaser set on kill, rather than stun. He was not ready to give up that part of himself just yet. He had begun to learn the art of fencing, just the smallest bit, but that was a sport where no one was intending to kill the other, so it was different.

"But, I don't think people here have learned hang-to-hand the way I have," he smirked a little.

Even with the armor making the other heavier, there were ways to defend himself, even put the other to the ground if he wanted. Could he outright defeat him? Probably not. But he was no pushover, and he could at least buy himself time to get out of the range of combat in the first place, which was what really counted.

And there was the Vulcan Pinch he had finally gotten Spock to teach him...

"Ah. I just thought, what with the staff and all," Why anyone would opt to learn how to fight with a staff before choosing other weapons was beyond him. He raises an eyebrow at Kirk's justification, but doesn't push for more of an explanation.

"No, I'd think not. Mostly because people here tend to wear ten or more pounds of armor. And, you know, use weapons," He'd like to see the Vulcan Pinch work through platemail. If a blade couldn't get to his neck, a hand sure wasn't going to be able to.

"That's true. But being ten pounds heavier can be to my advantage," he pointed out. Not that he intended to go against anyone with it at any point any time soon. He had never been one for face-to-face combat in the first place, though he had learned how to defend himself.

He cocked his head. "Do mages tend to lean towards staffs then? I wouldn't think knowing magic would mean they couldn't use bladed weapons."

"It's not an advantage if you can't do any damage. You can't punch your way through a metal chest plate," He pauses and raises an eyebrow at Kirk, "You can't, can you?"

He'd heard some of the rifters possessed strange abilities, punching through metal would be a great one.

"Yea, they prefer staffs. I'm no mage, but from what I understand, it requires a lot of focus, a lot of concentration. Fighting and swinging a blade isn't about blind fury, it also takes a lot of concentration. Now can you see why those two things might not mesh so well? Mages don't need staffs to use magic, I guess it helps them focus in and direct their power, or something, but you'd have to ask a mage about that."

"Maybe I don't want to," he shrugged. He took down people when he had to, but here he thought that his objective would mostly be - get away from the angry person with the sharp, pointy weapon. "But ten extra pounds on you, is ten extra pounds to try and stop when it comes to momentum. And I bet that armor isn't easy to get up off the ground with. And no, I can't punch my way through metal." He grinned at the thought though.

It wasn't much, but it was what he could do, and he saw no reason to let those skills go to waste or rust.

"Hmm, it makes sense," he thought aloud, thinking of Hermoine and her use of the wand. Was it like that with a staff then? He'd have to ask Sam. "Do you work with anything besides shield and sword?"

"We'll have to agree to disagree on that point, I think, lad," Unable to think of any warrior he knew who would be brought down by a punch or a kick if they could take getting smashed with a shield or a sword and not be knocked off their feet. He had a feeling it wouldn't be as easy as the young man seemed to think it would be.

"Anything else? Sure, bigger swords," He says with a smirk and a chuckle. "Anything you can hit things with is fine though. Ax, morning star, mace, flail. I've tried my hand at jousting as well, but that was a lifetime ago."

"So it seems," though he was talking less about punching and more about simply redirecting. He knew he did not stand much of a change against someone with full armor and a weapon, but he thought he might have enough to buy himself time to put comfortable distance between them and live a little longer.

"Do I want to know how big your biggest sword is?" he asked, glancing at the one he already had and finding it hard to believe anyone could wield something bigger with any use besides cutting down trees. "And what's the difference between the last three?" He thought they were more or less the same, just perhaps one had more pointy bits than the others.

"You want to know how big my sword is? That's rather forward of you," He laughs, a crackily, almost wheezy laugh. "Uh, but I think I've got a claymore that comes up to just around shoulder height. I prefer sword and shield though, always felt like you have a bit more versatility there.

As for the last three, a mace is a stick with what usually looks like a few small ax heads on it that make a circle. Morning stars are similar but instead of ax heads it's usually a metal ball with long spikes coming out of it. You know, like a sun shape. And a flail is a stick with metal balls, or sometimes just another stick, attached to it with a chain, which, as you'd imagine, is pretty hand when you're trying to hit someone around a shield.

Didn't lose you, did I? Basically, they're just different things to hit people with."

The joke gets another smile out of Kirk and a chuckle of his own. "What can I say? I like to get to the point," he waggled his brows, but settled into interested listening when Blackwall went on to the explanation of the weapons themselves. He realized he recognized the descriptions of the three that had confused him, but he had gotten some parts wrong in his mental image. The flail, at one point, sounded like nun-chucks.

"No, I recognize what it is your describing," he assured him. "But isn't that what most weapons come down to? Just another way to hit people?" he chuckled.

Blackwall would've never heard of a nunchuck, but some flails were very similar to one, just with a longer pole to hold on to instead of two sticks of equal length.

"Most? That's what all weapons are for, lad," He says with a chuckle.

"Hah, you're right, of course," he shook his head with a wry laugh of his own. He raised a brow though and pursed his lips slightly. "You keep calling me 'lad'. How old do you think I am?" he pointed a finger at himself.

"Younger than me, for sure," He says instantly, though maybe it's just the lack of hair on Kirk's face, no scars or or a broken nose that stuck out, better nutrition and easier living had kept him from looking as aged as he truly was.

But Blackwall will take a stab at a guess, "Twenty.... two? three?"

"Close. Twenty-seven." Remarkable how well someone could come through death, wasn't it? Well, that and advanced technology when it came to healing meant that scarring wasn't as evident anymore. He had a few, but they were mostly from his younger years, and hidden beneath his clothes - but certainly not ones that would be seen at first notice either.

"I'll buy you half a pint for that guess," he grinned.

"Twenty-seven. Definitely a 'lad'," He says with a smirk. Kirk was a decade and some change younger than himself and seemed nearly clueless when it came to their particular brand of battle, so 'lad' it was.

"Half a pint? Barely worth the walk to the tavern for that," He chuckled. Did they even sell only half a pint of ale at the tavern?

Their brand of battle, perhaps. But he was if not quite a veteran than certainly seasoned in his own. His cheerful disposition hid darker things beneath. Chances were he had seen as much or more death than Blackwall. But none of that mattered here, did it? It wasn't Star Fleet, wasn't Earth, and Blackwall had the right of it. In battle here, he wasn't very useful - at least, not with the weapons of this world.

He was working on it though.

"I'm giving you half credit for being close," he snorted. "But I suppose I could ask another question. If you guess close again, I'll buy you the full one." Challenge!

Blackwall raises an eyebrow, one side of his mustache notched up in an amused smirk.

"Well, if you're that determined to buy me a drink, who am I to try and deny you?" He chuckles.

"Go on then, what's the question? And just so I'm clear on what's at stake, this is double or nothing? One pint, or none at all?"

"That's right," he nodded, though he would probably buy him one anyways. He liked the guy, and he had been informative to say the least. It was the least he could do for him, right?

He coughed, preparing for his question. "In my world, what rank do you think I hold within my organization? We use the same military organization as you do, I believe - Ensign, Private, Sergeant, Captain, and so on." He held up a finger. "If you get within one rank, you win."

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