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]

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Given how crowded the tavern can be some nights, Korrin's long ago stopped caring about any intrusions into her personal space that weren't of the groping kind. More often than not, she more conscious of her relatively larger frame and the possibility of bumping into others instead. So the apology is met with a headshake after she drains the last of her own pint.

"It's alright, I--" She pauses mid-gesture, glancing back upon realizing she recognizes that voice. Sitting up straighter, the Vashoth Woman's eyes widen. "Warden Blackwall! Andraste's ass, it's been forever." Since before Haven was destroyed, she's sure of that much. A smile quickly forms, glad to see another familiar face from earlier. "Let me get you a round, and you can tell me where the hell you've been all this time."

Ellana likes coming to the stables to pet the mounts, though some have made it onto her list of favorites, and today she can be found sneaking a hart an apple. She holds onto the large, red fruit so the animal can take a big bite, and she laughs as she watches him chew.

"Good boy," she tells him, but turns her head when she spots Blackwall out of the corner of her eye. Still sounding amused, she asks, "You're not going to tell on me to Master Dennit, are you?"

On and off, he's heard about the infamous bearded Warden Blackwall, and admittedly he was immensely curious to meet the man himself. For all the time Twisted Fate has been here, he's never had the pleasure. Off on some majestic Wardeny adventure on the Storm Coast for awhile, it seemed.

Which is all fine; Fate had no desire to get covered in the spray of salt water anytime soon. That was one thing he didn't miss from his pirating days.

In the courtyard, Twisted Fate had been in thought, trying to figure out the mark on his hand, frowning at its faint green glow. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Warden. There's no real mistaking him, not from how Sera's described him. The unkempt look is almost endearing, but the beard is indeed majestic in its way.

Twisted Fate works on his gloves, preferring to pretend that there's no shard of anything there before he goes to bother someone. For a moment, he laments to himself for not being single anymore. Nerva is more then worth his time and love, but he still can admire from afar.

"Blackwall, isn't it? Seems a welcome back is in order. And a hot drink, probably."

Lothlorien was not a land that often took in travelers but, when they did, they always had the same look about them: bone-weary, road-worn, and more likely injured than not. The party of soldiers that returned to the Keep this day were that same sort of traveler. They each looked harried and exhausted, their clothing matted and muddy, their expressions drawn, and while she had no particular love of the Inquisition (at least not of late), Galadriel was courteous to a fault.

She debated the merits of assisting them, or what might be done, but it wasn't long before she made up her mind.

In the end, she decided that she would offer to take the mounts of those who had returned. To brush and dress them while the scouts saw to themselves and their own comforts. It was a courtesy that didn't grate upon her and one that she could offer with ease. She had never met the horses but, muddied and windblown as they were, it took only a few gentle phrases in Sindarin before the creatures happily followed after her. She collected them, one by one, until she came to Blackwall and his own.

"I shall take him, if you like," she offered without prompt and motioned to his steed. "I am fond of horses and, I expect, you might relish a moment to rest after traveling such a long road?"

It was only recently that Kirk had taken to coming around to the sparring grounds. It wasn't that he was shy, it was just most of the time he saw people with rather sharp objects practicing, or groups, and he had though it wiser to keep out of their way than intrude. He would watch now and then, though, but otherwise seemed content to take his lessons from Sam. Which had been stalled in the past few weeks thanks to the sickness that had swept through Skyhold.

He had come at a time when he didn't think anyone would be around, snagging a dummy for his own and using it for a rather different type of sparring - hand-to-hand. He had worked up a good sweat when Blackwall came out, pausing in order to watch him. While he might not have the skills him, he found sword fighting to be a rather entrancing thing to watch. Not to mention it was a good enough reason to take a short break.

"Your style got a name?" he called to Blackwall, hands on hips as he panted, both hands wrapped in bandages.

There's a hammock set up off to one side, near the stalls for horse and hound and suchlike. Normally it's wound up out of the way, bothering nobody, least of all the bay mare that snuffls her way through hay and what apples that ain't been eaten by the Mabari dozing next to her. Today? The hour's long and the day's half done and yet there's still a long limbed sprawl of someone draped in the hammock, grunting at the beam of sunlight through one of the cracks in the wall.

It's been there since he took up this spot and usually he's up and about by this time 'a day, but he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before or night before last and there's one foutu plank missing and it's beaming the sun right in his face no matter where he turns. Fed up, Malcolm swings down, shirt rucked up, hay in his hair, boots on his feet, sleep in his eyes. Squinting and stumbling he hunts about for a hammer, some nails, and a plank. And- as he's not rightly look'n where he's go'n, bumps right into whoever's wander'n about. Words ain't a thing yet- he manages an apologetic grunt. Better than nothing.

He squints slightly, leaning back (and probably into the poor person who's sitting beside her) to get a better look at her. He honestly hasn't met that many Qunari, and once her features become less fuzzy he remembers her immediately.

"Maker, you remember my name?" He laughs in surprise, shaking his head. "No, no, no, don't trouble yourself. I've a running tab anyway."

He pauses to thank the bartender when they walk by and a full stein appears in his hand. "Alright, give me a moment. Uhhm... Karin? No. I know that's not right. I'm so sorry. Am I close, at least?" He asks apologetically.

He stands up a little straighter when it's obvious the young woman is talking to him and not the animal any longer.

"I beg your pardon?" He hadn't exactly been watching her, or paying attention. Peering from her to the hart, he still can't figure out what she might be referring to, "And what've you done that you think might garner Master Dennit's ire... aside from stepping foot into the stables that is?"

He'd barely been back a few days and had next to nothing to do with the animals and already had managed to get yelled at twice by the old man.

Training just isn't the same without teacher Zevran around. Oh, sure, she can give some of the rogue trainees a few lessons in disarming traps or picking a basic lock or how to really sink in some blades through the back from the shadows, but she is, in the end, still also a student.

So, that's a thing that's been a little bit disruptive. A lot of the dummies are taken up already, but there's a couple by the stables she remembers. Might as well to go through the motions, work out some worried energy, keep herself sharp. She isn't fighting darkspawn (or whatever else needed killing for the king), and she's not roughing it in caves picking off for the Carta. So aside from a few outings in the name of the Inquisition, she finds herself almost less active than before.

No, that's not true. Just less stabby. She's plenty active otherwise around Skyhold. She takes up next to some furry fellow who she doesn't recognize, which isn't uncommon at all, takes a few slow and steady practice hits with a few pretend dodges.

"I'll be honest," she starts, unprompted, taking a spin behind her dummy and giving a kick right around where a back of a knee might be, "I don't think I've ever seen a human as hairy as a dwarf before." She spins back to the front, a little faster as she loosens up, giving the imagined enemy a few imagined cuts. "Well, that sure sounded a little better in my head."

Only the most majestic of Wardeny adventures. Honestly, trudging through mud in search of long gone Warden tracks was better than he probably deserved. It was just unfortunate that others had been sent along with him and had suffered the same dismal conditions.

He pauses and gives the elf a curious once over, but if he does know him, he can't place his face. Yet, the man obviously knows who he is, which immediately makes him wary.

"It is." His tone doesn't hold the same easy friendliness as the stranger's.

He'd seen a lot of beautiful women, from beautiful farm hands to poised and flawless noblewomen, but the elf, or maybe she was a half elf from the look of her ears, still stunned him into silence. He could always blame the dumbfounded look on the deep seated weariness, but in reality, she was striking.

He flushed slightly when he realized she was waiting for a response.

"I, um..." Perfect. Very well done. "I'm headed... there. -To the stables, I mean."

He clears his throat, which seems to help somehow. "It'd be my privilege to accompany you, m'lady."

As usual, Blackwall was paying little attention to anyone else using the practice dummies, focused instead on what he was doing. A very discerning eye might've recognized the exercises as vaguely Orlesian even with Blackwall's own unique take on them.

He pauses when it becomes obvious the young man is speaking to him, straightening up and out of his fighting stance for a moment to consider him and raise his sword arm to wipe some of the sweat off his brow. No weapons, he notes. Odd.

"Sure. Swordfighting," He replies evenly, though he's obviously being a smart ass.

"I'm feeding this hart a treat," she explains, looking back to hand off the apple completely. The hart takes a step back into his stall to chew on the apple and let the excess fall to the ground where it can pick at it.

"You never know; he might take offense to anyone messing with his diet for the mounts." She gives a shrug, not sounding too worried about it. Really, it was just a way to start conversation.

Being a Rifter, Kirk couldn't even discern the different accents between the two and was only beginning to start to recognize them on a map. So he had no hope in picking out the sword style.

Kirk's mouth twitches into a smile and he lets out a short huff of laughter, recognizing smartass when he heard it. He used it so often himself that it was an accent he could pick up anywhere. "Yeah, I picked up that part of it. Amazing that swords look just like that where I'm from too."

See? He speaks fluent smartass.

For a moment she just responds with crossed arms and a severe look at his outstanding offense, before her smirk resurfaces, clearly just messing with him. "I'm Korrin, of the Valo-Kas company. Of course I remember who you are, you're the first Warden to join us. You know, before it became fashionable. Now they're flooding in."

Gesturing for a refill of her own, she then looks back to him, not about to let her curiosity go unsatisfied. "I haven't seen you in the Fallow Mire or Emprise du Lion, so either you were lucky enough to miss those assignments or the timing was off. Which is it?"

There is no extension of a polite hand; as interested as he is in speaking with Blackwall, Fate would prefer to keep his person unsullied. Instead, he removes his hat and gives a half-bow.

"Sera described you adequately, as she does," he says wryly. "I go by Twisted Fate. Welcome back to Skyhold, Blackwall. Your fellow Wardens will undoubtedly look forward to your return."

He settles his hat back on. "I won't keep you long." Seeing as how he has just returned.

Blackwall wasn't much of a morning person either. The time could barely be called morning at this late an hour though. The realization that yet another person was sleeping in the stables wasn't a surprise. The Inquisition was growing, he couldn't expect to have the stables to himself forever.

"I beg your pardon," He mutters, sounding both polite and annoyed at the same time. An art form. "You might as well go back to bed. You've already missed breakfast."

He carried on, gathering a few pieces of wood from a neat stack to feed to the small brazier in the center of the room which kept them and the animals warm.

"Hello?"

Bethany called out into the stables, looking around with a curious gaze. She had been sleeping here previously, until the majority of the Wardens had been, ahem, asked politely to decamp. So when she heard an honored member of the Wardens had returned, she made sure to grab the things she had knitted, put them into a bag, and went to find the Warden named Blackwall.

Who apparently had taken up his old digs, but she had no idea what he looked like, outside of 'giant bear of a man'.

The comment makes him pause midswing before shaking his head and continuing.

"Glad I could broaden your horizons, miss," He says with a sigh. It's not as though he's unused to off the wall comments like that. He does, after all, spend time in Sera's company... or Dorian's for that matter. All things considered, being compared to a dwarf is a far cry from the worst things he's been compared to. Certainly nothing to take offense to.

He takes another few swings himself before dropping behind his shield, bracing himself for imaginary strikes. It gives him a moment to think though and his brow furrows. "How did that sound better in your head?"

"Ah. I've no doubt he will. I walked by a stable yesterday and got told off," He says, amusement clear in his tone.

"Is that one yours? Or just lucky?" He really wasn't sure what kinds of things people brought with them to the Inquisition. Mounts made sense. They were valuable and useful, even if the Inquisition had to find somewhere to house them and feed for them to eat.

"Ah, good. I was worried I might've needed to start by explaining that the pointy stick was a sword," He offers the man a good natured smile as he makes his way over to a water pump, setting the sword down so he can cup some into his mouth with his hand.

"As for a real answer, no name for the 'style'. I just try to hit things as hard as I can and make sure the things I'm hitting are hitting me and not anyone else," He laughs, taking a moment to readjust the shield strapped to his arm, "Now that does have a name. Vanguard."

"Korrin! It was on the tip of my tongue," He still sounds apologetic. At least, he hadn't been that far off, "I've started a trend, have I? Try not to hold it against me, hm?"

He could joke, but hearing that more Wardens had arrived was both exciting and terrifying. Flooding in. He forces himself to stop thinking, raising the fresh pint to his mouth to drain a third of it.

"Mm, no. Sounds like I dodged the swamps and the snow, but I've been stuck in the Storm Coast for the past few months. Not a dry day since I left. Not sure which sounds worse. What assignments sent you out there? Especially to the Fallow Mire."

Another grunt. Hammer. Nails- wood. Nothing too big, might fall out. Nothing too flimsy, might crack. Words probably should be a thing- maybe. This ain't his ship, he can't get away with be'n an ass to everyone and hop'n a smile and wink when he's more hisself will do him much good. "Too bright."

When the setting sun spits in a man's eye, a man's gotta rear back and- find a damn way to make it quit spitting. Or duck.

Duck'n works too.

He manages to find a plank that's agreeable enough and shuffles back over to the stall, peering at the beam and following the line of light to a point high on the opposite wall. A hair too short to reach it on his own, Mal glares at it and considers his options. "...don't suppose there's a half decent ladder 'round here?"

The mention of Sera's name immediately makes him relax. Any friend of Sera's couldn't be a half bad person. She had a knack for figuring people out.

"Twisted Fate?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at the strange name. "It's a pleasure. Hopefully, Sera's stories make up for the mess I must look. My apologies, it's been a long few months on the Storm Coast."

Despite how tempting it is, he doesn't ask if the elf is a Warden as well. He doesn't see the griffon insignia anywhere, but that doesn't always mean anything.

He waves off Fate's reassurance that he wouldn't take up too much of his time, "You mentioned a hot drink?"

Since getting back, he'd had a few visitors to the stables, but in general the people who wandered into the stables were looking for someone else.

And, at the moment, there was no one else around, so he might as well offer to point the young lady in the right direction. Setting down the wood carving tools, he clears his throat to get her attention, turning to face her.

"Looking for someone, miss? Or did you get turned around?" Also a distinct possibility. Skyhold was worse than a rabbit warren.

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[OPEN] Welcome Back! Now Take a Bath.

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IV Your welcome back package!

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