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WHO: Merrick and Y'ALL.
WHAT: Catch-all for the rest of September!
WHEN: throughout Kingsway
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: warning for drug use!!! if u wanna starter hmu

Tavern.

The whispering that follows Merrick around Skyhold is always the same-- 'Look, that Dalish there-- attacked a Templar, he did!' 'Stay away from that one, lad, you'll lose a year off your life every word you speak to him.' 'Frankly, I'm astonished the Inquisition would allow such a savage among their ranks...'-- but for someone with such a violent reputation, Merrick is remarkably mellow company. He spends many of his evenings at the Herald's Rest, either sitting alone with often-doled-out whiskey or engaging in the occasional card game.

With a few drinks in him he'll be amenable to conversation, provided you don't mind his brusque nature and his tendency to put away a truly legendary amount of alcohol. He does seem unusually mollified lately, and his hand often trails to the cord looped around his neck, on which a piece of a dragon tooth is fastened.

Rogue School.

It's become a bit of a calling for Merrick to pass on some of his fighting expertise to new recruits, and while he doesn't think he's being too hard on them, it's fairly obvious that he is. The recruits have started taking bets on who will have the cojones to take him on, and how long they'll last before they're pinned to the wall with daggers or blue in the face from being headlocked between his thighs.

He's open to sparring with anyone, always eager to shake off some of his manic energy, even though he might take the fake-fighting a little too seriously. Just bring protective headgear.

The Garden.

As a Dalish, Merrick has always enjoyed being around plants and trees, but there's a particular kind of plant that he favors most. He has his own private stash of elfroot--some local, and some varieties which he's procured from some rather shady sources--which he dries and cures himself and takes to the garden for some quality smoking. It's something he's been doing a lot more of lately in an effort to calm his fits of rage and mania, and he likes to spend his off time tucked in a little corner, pipe between his teeth as he works on his wood carvings (he has a lot of them now, all finely hewn and intricate, and he's open to selling them or even taking requests).

He'll also bring out his guitar and sing softly, or else pluck out chords as he works on a new song. He's open to sharing his pipe and exchanging music, and might pass you his flask of homemade moonshine too. It's okay; he won't bite unless you really piss him off.

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Isabela has made little secret of her amusement in watching others take on Merrick, her own eyes on the new recruits. And she's noticed not many feel up to the challenge of handling the elf.

"Well, this is boring if no one's willing to step up," she remarks airily. "What do you say, you and me and drinks afterward?"

"Merrick." It isn't a crack through the air, a sigh, or even so much as a reprimand. Simply a quiet means of attracting his student's protection. Lucci tucked into his arm and leaning against the nearest fence, he sighs. A mission might do him well, but he has nothing for him and as far as he is aware? Nor does Leliana. Not that he blames her, finding a use for him is...difficult. "You know you are to either remain with those of your skill level or above, yes? Or attempt to scale back your attacks. Otherwise you are teaching nothing."

Beleth knows where Merrick generally stashes himself in the garden, and while he's hardly the only one who smokes elfroot (Beleth herself also being in that group), when she smells it in the garden, she often stops to peek around and see who it is. Sure enough, she spots Merrick in his little corner, and plops down next to him, leaning against his shoulder with a smile.

"Hey there, come here often?" It's a silly, teasing thing, but with the ease that came with how comfortable she was around Merrick.

If Merrick is considered the Dark Cloud of the Dalish, then Bethany Hawke is considered The Sun Between The Grey Clouds of the Wardens, or something equally ridiculous like that. Either way, she's a warm and friendly person who gives everyone a chance.

No matter who they are, or where they are from, or if they are glowering like a rain cloud.

Except for all the talk about Merrick? He seems to be in rather a good mood. Or at least, not angry. So Bethany has no problem whatsoever lifting a hand for him to join her at her table, when there seems rather too little space for the night.

If Merrick is any different than normal, well, Sam doesn't see him often enough to recognize it. He brightens when he sees the elf sitting alone in a corner of the bar, and after a quick stop for a mug of ale of his own, immediately goes over to join him.

"Good evening, Mr. Merrick," he says in greeting, and peers with interest at the dragon tooth. "What a strange bit of jewelry you have there!"

It's late at night and Cyril returns to their room. He's quiet when he enters in case Merrick is asleep, but when he sees his brother is up he grins a bit. They have been spending more and more time apart, which was good - healthy. But tonight is one of the nights that Cyril has come back.

"Having trouble sleeping?"

It's the music that draws Kallian in, and her sweet voice offers gentle harmony to his for a short time.

She notices the carvings and looks one over.
"These are beautiful."

The singing is what gets Bruce's attention; these last few weeks have kept him busy enough that he doesn't come over to help out at the gardens as much as he used to, and this seemed to be recent enough that he hadn't heard it until now. Intrigued as to where it was coming from, Bruce uses his brief break from mucking in the garden to follow and find the source of the singing--which, surprisingly, turns out to be Merrick.

"Oh, hello." Bruce manages to hide his surprise pretty well at least, he thinks, a small smile appearing on his face. "It's nice to see you here."

Merrick glances up at her. He knows Kallian from the healing poultices she'd made for his headaches-- but seeing as he'd been near incapacitated whenever he saw her, they hadn't really had a chance to get to know one another.

He shifts his instrument to the side and selects one, passing it to her.

"Here."

Merrick raises a brow, still unsure of how he feels about being addressed as 'Mr.', and of Samwise in general. The hobbit had been especially irksome during their mission at Weisshaupt, but he still had a fair bit of guts for someone so small. Merrick can't help but take note of that, since it's undeniably a trait they share.

His ears redden slightly and his hand unconsciously flies to his necklace again.

"It's--a tooth," he mumbles, somewhat defensively.

Merrick is sitting up in bed, doing maintenance on his weapons. He has a bit of dried grass between his teeth and he gnaws on it absently as he works.

He grunts at his brother as he walks in.

Though Sina is aggravated by the knowledge that people will smoke elfroot recreationally, she can hardly fault someone prone to anxiety for doing so. She doesn't know Merrick well in any capacity, but what she does know tells her enough.
Catching the scent of the smoke, she follows it to its source and is pleasantly surprised to see him there whittling, and she makes a mental note to let Nari know she has a fellow hobbyist.
"Andaran atish'an, Merrick," she says quietly, with a soft smile. "Are you enjoying the garden?"

"A tooth?" Sam asks, brow furrowing in confusion, then clearing again almost immediately. "Oh! You mean an animal tooth!" He studies the necklace with even keener interest than before, frowning as he tries to work it out. "But what kind of animal, if I may ask? Whatever it is, I'd hate to meet anything with teeth as big and sharp as that!"

Cyril raises one of his brows and smiles as he moves to start undressing for bed and wash his face. "I could make a joke about you cleaning your weapons on our bed, but that's so overdone."

"Yeah, by you," Merrick grumbles. He gathers up his daggers, throwing knives and garroting wire and stores them carefully. He supposes he ought to try to sleep, despite how twitchy and anxious he feels.

He never really undresses for bed; when protecting their camp, he needed to be able to jump up and fight at a moment's notice-- that, and he feels perfectly comfortable just sleeping in his clothes. He takes off his topmost layers, though, and climbs back into bed, a knife tightly holstered against his thigh.

Merrick moves toward his master, sweaty and out of breath. He scoffs a bit at Zevran's words, arms folding over his chest.

"They're the ones who keep coming back," he says pointedly.

"You should not be challenging them in the first place. Even if they do not know better, you should." And if he does not? That may be a problem. "I began training you to avoid breeding malcontents and ill will against the Dalish, remember?"

Lucci burbles, fat hand grasping at the braid flipped over Zevran's shoulder to tug. Zevran? Doesn't bat a lash. It's normal, now.

Honestly, Merrick doesn't think he can take a breath sometimes without breeding malcontent and ill will against the Dalish, but he doesn't say that.

"Fine," he snaps. "I'll scale back. But I'm not going easy on anyone."

"Scaling back is going easy on them. They are beginners. They will learn nothing from you other than how swift it is they might die." Which is less helpful than one might think, that is a grim reality of living in a world at war. "If you are that restless there are postings I am certain you might take. Missions."

"Yeah?" he replies impatiently. "I haven't seen any postings or missions. It's been dry for a while." He's restless for a reason, though Zevran hasn't exactly been in the business lately while he's been child-rearing.

Still. "Have you got something?"

"There's always a need for scouting." Which is tedious at times, but invaluable. "Actually that is why I have come to speak with you. I've a contract of sorts if you are of a mind."

Not the sort Merrick might have in mind, but, a sort.

There's no verbal reply, but Merrick raises both eyebrows expectantly.

"I do not have time to mentor you further." It is best to be blunt, truly. "You are at a level that is passable, more than capable enough of managing your own way as an assassin should you so desire. But between the guild I am building and-"

One chubby hand snakes up to yank at one of the loose tendrils of hair that falls at Zevran's temples. This, too, is normal- he tilts with the gesture to limit the pain, bouncing his son lightly to keep him giggling. "And my son, I cannot continue as we are. However should you wish to join the Kestrels? You would resume training with them."

Cyril also usually applies some kind of skin oil or lotion before going to bed, so he smells pleasant when he finally does climb into bed. "You seem anxious," he asks as he finishes up his nighttime routine. "Is everything all tight?"

Sina is a near constant presence in the garden, so Merrick sees her from time to time, but he doesn't make a whole lot of effort to be noticed in turn. They haven't had an overabundance of conversation as a result, but he's comfortable enough with her to nod in reply and shift a few of his works in progress so she can sit down if she wishes.

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OPEN

Rogue School

Rogue School.

garden

Tavern

tavern

their room! because i don't follow no directions!

Garden

gardeny garden

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Garden, obvs

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