[Open] "Bored."

[seesobserves]

WHO: Sherlock Holmes and Open
WHAT: Working off some steam by way of target practice
WHEN: Early Firstfall
WHERE: Skyhold training grounds
NOTES: Either prose or brackets welcome!

The first arrow seems to land wildly off-course, on the very edge of the target, but the archer who fired it keeps an impassive face while he raises the next one. To anyone who happens to be watching, it's clear this time that he actually is taking aim.

The second arrow hits the entire other edge of the target. Sherlock draws the third, notches it, takes aim.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The arrows fly in more rapid succession as he goes on. While the lines aren't perfect, it soon becomes apparent that instead of aiming for the bulls-eye, he's firing a pattern into the target: specifically, a smiling face.

Comments

[equanimiti]

The answer receives a chuckle from Alayre as he regards the archer with a hint of amusement. "Merely passing time, hm? Certainly sounds like something much like boredom." The Orlesian says before offering Durandal's reins to one of his officers. Once his horse is lead away, the Templar returns to the archer again.

"I take it you're a scout." He says judging from the other man's mastery with bows. It's been years since Alayre used such a weapon and whenever he has, it was only in leisure. Who has time for bows and arrows when you train with blades? Certainly not him.

[seesobserves]

Boredom is exactly what it is. Sherlock is as unsettled by the appearance of these new heralds or whatever they are as anyone — meaning he wishes they would work it out soon and get on with the Inquisition's actual business. Having a fortress means little when it's still in disrepair and can't even offer proper space for brewing elixirs...

He sighs hard out of his nose, examining his handiwork one last time. A scout... among other things, but considering the context, not inaccurate.

"I take it you're a Templar." So long as they're stating the obvious.

[equanimiti]

The Knight-Commander would begrudgingly agree with those thoughts considering how ridiculous it is that Skyhold is in such a state. Progress is often slow but it's at a snail pace now with the coming of these new visitors. Alayre is almost grateful for the distraction that Fallow Mire will bring. It gives him the excuse to take leave of Skyhold for awhile while the Magi plot their fate. He's done enough political maneuvering so far. The man needs a break.

A chuckle escapes Alayre again. "I certainly cannot deny it." He replies curtly. "Much like many others, I have yet to be fully inducted into the Inquisition but I stay abreast upon topics well enough to know this period of stagnation is bound to end." A momentary pause follows.

"...Are you bound for Fallow Mire?"

[seesobserves]

"I expect so." Tamping down the feeling of ice in his veins that surfaces whenever he thinks about darkspawn will be a more thrilling challenge than staying here and waiting on the repairs.

He steps forward at an even pace, set on retrieving the arrows from the target. If the man wishes to follow, he is welcome.

"Little to do here but watch the walls go up."

[equanimiti]

From what little Alayre knew of the darkspawn, the Templar views them something akin to demons. They're no different than fiends but their blackened blood is said to drive men to madness. Whatever the darkspawn touches becomes ash. They're the walking personification of evil, a nightmarish horde of crude beasts who lust for destruction. The more Alayre learns about these beasts from books catering to the lore of the darkspawn, the more he realizes why all parties here at Skyhold must be unified under one banner.

"You could assist in helping those walls go up." The Templar says as he trails behind. "Though, I certainly understand. Hiding within the grand halls of this hold is something of an unwanted luxury at this point. I much rather spend my time battling the Blight rather than linger inactivity."

Skyhold is quite dull.