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WHO: Mac Journey and you there!
WHAT: Exploration of Skyhold, self-educating and existential dilemmas.
WHEN: The duration of Kingsway.
WHERE: Everywhere in Skyhold he can get access too, really.
NOTES: No warnings as of yet. Several prompts inside but feel free to bump into him anywhere! He's bound to stick his nose where it doesn't belong at some point.

Mac made it to Skyhold safely, accompanied by the lovely Miss Ellana. He learned most of the basics along the way, accepted his new palm and head accessories and decided sometime during the journey that he wanted to be part of the Inquisition, formally or otherwise. Anywhere people were in need, Mac was supposed to be there, and as far as Ellana said, the Inquisition was the choice to make. Fine by him.

Besides, they have a castle fortress and he's not about to pass up that opportunity.

Throughout the days following, Mac spends most of his time trying to learn about the world he's landed in and the people inhabiting it, both through literature and personal experience. As with all social efforts it's a bit touch and go; it's not made any easier for him being newly minted as a Qunari - or Rifter equivalent - and he certainly stands out with gold-plated ram horns, lime-colored eyes and long, undercut hair he painstakingly dyes a rich purple color.

Library

While terribly excited about the innumerable prospects available to him upon arriving at Skyhold, Mac is infinitely more intent upon the library, mentioned to him in brief. If is meant to be in the strange new world he has to do what any self-respecting Warlock would do: educate himself.

Back home the Guardian had scoured every library available to him and even gone on countless missions for the colleges to recover lost knowledge from the Ishtar Academy. He has a voracious appetite for knowledge (though a good many that knew him would say he wasted that motivation on his obsession with fiction and fantasy) and speed-reading is a talent he happily indulges. Thedas, as it turns out, is everything he had ever dreamed of and if he's going to inhabit the land for any length of time, being poorly educated is simply unacceptable.

Though certainly availing himself of other amenities available in the hold, Mac is most often found sitting on the floor surrounded by books, flipping through page after page, pale eyes scanning written words so quickly it's a wonder he can retain anything at all. His curiosity isn't limited to the written word, however, and anyone passing within range of him gets stared at without a hint of apology. He isn't trying to be rude, of course, but he's quite in love with everything and everyone he sees at present; that includes all those from the flashiest of Orlesian courtiers to the blandest of wool-wearing scullery maids.

Tavern and Kitchens

As it turns out, getting spit out of a green sky means you don't always come out the other side quite the same. Never actually having to eat or sleep back home was more of a dull fact than a boon and the novelty of needing to do both is unlikely to wear off anytime soon for Mac. As such he's always eagerly poking his head around corners and following the smells of local vittles.

There is nothing he's unwilling to try, however vile it might first appear, and his new appetite happens to be curiously large; he accounts it to his magic likely needing to be supported more by his metabolism and personal health now than the physics of his former home.

He's also never been able to enjoy the effects of alcohol and he's easily seen spending more time at the tavern during evening repast observing the effects on others while obviously longing to join in but being too unsure to try.

Healers

Injuries are a new thing for Mac, and they aren't at all welcome. While adapting to sleeping and eating regularly has been immensely enjoyable, having to actually heal from wounds is forcing him to question his usually more reckless approach to things.

Paper cuts, scrapes and bumps have been accepted as badges of newfound potential mortality, odd but harmless. The first time he endured a solid bruising left him bewildered but largely unmoved. The day he decided to hop down the battlement steps instead of walking the distance resulted in a tweaked ankle and limping. That was far more alarming. As a result Mac has endeavored to be more careful with his actions and person, but years of blindly barreling onward are difficult to change.

Due to his inevitable learning curve, Mac shows up at the healers regularly enough, pouting and holding new bruises and cuts as he seeks aid for ailments he's never had to deal with. It's about the most sullen he gets, having to put his fun on hold to treat a cut or burn. On the upside, he's certainly garnering a lot more respect for medicinal arts.

Main Bridge

When the library gets a bit crowded - as it sometimes does with all the mages, intellectuals and other curious Rifters - Mac likes to sneak a book off to the bridge and tuck himself against the stones jutting from the parapets, feet dangling over the side. Often, however, when he goes here he spends more time looking out across the frozen valley than actually reading, lost in thought or lost in the view.

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"Yeah. Really dead. Ghost brought me back in--well, nevermind, you wouldn't know the place. But he brought me back and I was just charred bones sitting in a dump heap," he snorts, not one to overthink his origins. Though Inessa's remark brings a possibility to light and he nods lightly.

"Well, realistically, that could be what the Ghosts do. Most beliefs where I'm from say that when you die, whatever little mystical, intangible thing inside that makes you who you are goes somewhere else, permanently. Heaven, Hell, Nirvana, Shambhala, Xibalba, Elysium, Hades...everyone believes something different. Or that we just cease to be. But either way the body is empty, so maybe Ghosts stuff spirits in there, and we're just not self-aware. Who knows?" he shrugs, not terribly worried about it, but filing it away for later questioning. If he ever went home, it would be worth going to the different colleges of thought with any new insight.

That and the archivists and cryptarchs would probably toss some money his way. That never hurt.

"Sort of both," Mac admits, shrugging again and reaching up to rake a hand through his hair. A habit impeded by new horns, which he briefly gets tangled in.

"Having a role makes it easier not to be so confused when you come back. Without Ghosts to guide us and a purpose already written down I think we'd all be a lot more...I don't know, afraid? Though we're rarely that. It isn't often that a Guardian questions their role in things, but it does happen. Usually that just leads them to do something even more impressive or important, but sometimes...sometimes it makes them turn away from the Light and then it can get really bad. Mostly it's just kind of lonely. You still think about and want things like normal people, but you're not normal anymore, so you can't really have it. That sounds more gloomy than I intended. Sorry. Usually it's fine."

The habit gets a wince of sympathy from Inessa, who can't imagine having horns to deal with on top of an entirely new world. She shakes her head at said gloominess, even as Garahel reaches up to gently paw at him and bump against him for comfort. "There's no need to apologize, not to me. I'm a mage and a Grey Warden; I know well what it is to be separated from the rest of society. For good or ill, it's not my lot in life and I know it. Some would say just being an elf does that as well, though I'm not certain I would.

Regardless, I hope you find purpose and comfort here, among the Inquisition. Everyone needs a path, even if -perhaps especially when- all else is unfamiliar." It's the only way she could keep going, at times. Focusing on issues greater than herself has managed to put things into perspective, reminded her not to despair. She has to stop herself from rambling, though, not wanting to override his own experience.

He pauses, chuckling softly and arching a brow with a lopsided grin, nodding in understanding.

"Yeah I can imagine. Just from what I've read and what people have told me, mages got it rough, elves got it rough, Wardens got it rough. You're battin' a thousand, lady," Mac laughed, shaking his head and lowering his hand to smooth across Garahel's head.

"So really all I learn from that is you have to be a bland, poorly educated, small-minded human with no special talents to get any respect around here? Well, shucks. Guess I'm boned," the Guardian grins, lofting both brows and shrugging with a serene expression.

"Screw 'em. I think you're all lovely, so far. Haven't met anyone I couldn't like at least a little. But then I've been accused of having poor taste in people, so can't really base anything on my stellar assessments," he remarks with a wink.

That expression is unfamiliar to Inessa but she gets the general tone of it and responds with a dry chuckle while Garahel pants happily at all the petting. He'll never move away or get tired as long as there's someone to even partially pay attention to him.

"Well, I admit that even human commoners don't have an easy life. To truly be someone of influence and respect, you must be nobility or clergy...or both, preferably. Away from those areas, the path toward respect is decidedly steeper. You have to be twice as good to get half the respect and even then, if you make a mistake, you'll fall twice as hard. I'm not saying it's impossible, but very difficult." It's a good thing she's not really after respect, personally. The general respect afforded to Grey Wardens is enough to do her job mostly unharassed and so she'll take it.

"And...thank you, you're kind to say so. I'll refrain from spreading word of your poor taste." She smiles again, a glint of humor in those eyes.

"Yes yes, do that. I have a very important negative reputation to keep and being in a new world doesn't change that at all," he replies cheerily, pausing to place his sword across his back once more. Returning to the task of coddling the massive hound, Mac makes a point to scratch behind both ears at once. The wolves back home seemed to like it, at any rate.

"Frankly the only people that get my respect are people who work for what they have. So nobles can stuff it. Unless they're standing on the front lines of their fights and providing for their people - then they get a pass. But rich jerk-offs that grow fat off the little guy? Nah, that's not what I respect. Probably not going to be much into politics here..."

"We do actually have some nobles of that temperament here, thankfully. Joining the Inquisition, recently reborn, is a risk and yet some see past that and recognize the need to counter the threat to us all. Those unwilling to cooperate or only seeking their own gain are unlikely to risk the wrath of the Chantry to begin with. And I can't blame you for avoiding politics as much as you can. Grey Wardens are supposed to be apolitical...but that is increasingly ironic, these days. Would that it were otherwise."

Glancing down at Garahel, she shakes her head, a smirk forming. "Now you've done it. He'll expect that sort of spoiling every library visit, instead of seeing it as naptime. If he becomes too feisty, I'll have to take him down to the courtyard."

"Politics are pretty simple back home. At least for people like me. the answer is always 'Let the Speaker handle it' or 'the Vanguard has this'. You can get involved in politics if you want but our history is a cautionary tale and frankly, I'm not likely to be any good at it anyways. I'm not a very good liar," he laughs weakly, clearing his throat and glancing off to the side before patting the top of Garahel's head.

"It's alright, I don't mind. I would have liked to have pets back home, but...I couldn't, really. It's nice being able to enjoy a little in passing."

Garahel looks back up, panting happily at the patting. "That's the thing, it's never just 'a little' with him. He needs more and more and more. Such a greedy thing." The mabari whines at this teasing, don't make him look back to new people!

"But if that doesn't deter you, you're welcome to pester him at any time. Mabari are war hounds and need a lot of exercise. Don't you, boy? And many, many games of fetch?" He wags his tail, though knows better than to bark in the library. "Speaking of animals: if you've time, you should consider familiarizing yourself with the mounts at the stable. Some of them, are more...interesting than others, and they might need some adjustment if you're to rely on them in the field."

"I barely have any experience with animals," Mac protests, albeit weakly. Even if he's unsure about riding animals anywhere, he's excited by the prospect of being introduced to more flora and fauna from a realm unknown - at least to he and his. Besides, he's been riding Sparrows for years and they're faster and more dangerous than any horse, by far. What could go wrong?

"Once I've gotten more reading out of the way I'll start getting out there a bit more. I wanted to make sure I have races, religion and basic culture down before risking going out there and causing too much hassle. While I usually prefer a direct approach, I don't want to cause other people grief with my own ignorance."

"Well, I can never discourage anyone away from more reading. Ignorance is a large factor in a lot of the problems that Thedas faces, so the more you learn, the better you can decide for yourself. Just keep in mind that history is written by the victors. Some tomes have a decided slant to them, but comparing them with others might gain you a clearer picture. At least Ambassador Montilyet has promised she would make an effort to include more sources, not only the Chantry-centric ones."

"Oh, no worries there. I definitely know how that can be. Where I'm from, people had a historical habit of completely erasing important matter from history in order to pain a better picture of the victors, as you say. I think that's par for the course no matter where you are. Winners are sore losers, or something to that nature. Anyways, I keep my judgment reserved for individuals, not races, religions or groups in general."

Doing that had certainly made a bad impression on the royal family back home, so he endeavored to broaden his perception. It definitely changed his interactions with others for the better, in the end; he certainly never could have accomplished as much as he had in the prison back home without the guidance of someone he once would have considered an enemy on sight.

"There has never been a situation - to my memory - where everyone was right or everyone was wrong. Motivation and perspective change the light every time," Mac shrugs, turning aside briefly to run his gloved fingertips along the spines of the nearest books.

"The only time everything is wrong is when you can't see anything. Step out of the shadows and all will be revealed. Or...something like that," he shrugs, clearing his throat and turning to smile at Inessa uneasily. He didn't like drifting into too-deep thinking - just because he was a Warlock didn't mean he wanted to conform to their stereotypes. Unfortunately for Mac it was more deeply ingrained than mere choice, but at least an intellectual wasn't the worst thing to be.

Mac's rambling is listened to with interest, as Inessa has no intention of interrupting him or telling him to stop. One can learn a lot from people by just letting them speak as they please, and his insight seems to get her approval. She nods readily enough, a smile curving her lips.

"You need not cease on my behalf, or censor yourself. If I never wished to discuss such topics, I would avoid the library and the people within altogether. This discussion reminds me a little of my Circle days, when we would debate about issues of morality. But it's one thing to do so when cloistered away from the outside world, another altogether to confront them while a part of it. And I agree with your assessment, overall. Even the most devoted or stereotypical individuals might have surprising facets. You never know until you give them a chance."

Glancing up with those too-green eyes, Mac nods slowly, lips crooking into an uncertain half smile as he he sighs and rubs at one side of his head. Chances were few and far between for him back home - rumor got around pretty fast in the Tower when it can to annoying Warlocks who didn't conform.

"I...well. Thank you?" he spoke up after a moment, smile broadening a fraction as he leaned back and propped himself against a row of shelves.

"I don't like the view that all Warlocks are stuffy scholars that can't fight as well as Titans or Hunters. Doesn't mean I don't like doing stuffy scholar things, but the impression it leaves usually complicates my interactions more. I'm used to being on the defensive, I suppose."

"That I can well understand. Even mages who aren't maleficar or necromancers are often lumped together, as though there aren't vast differences. We carry staves and are tied to the Fade, yes, but a wide variety exists outside those simple facts." Inessa shrugs, knowing she could go on forever about said differences and still not be certain she was covering everything.

"Here, you can at least shed some of that baggage. Those here aren't aware of such views unless you tell them, and though many still don't know what to make of rifters, you actions can help shape their views."

"Mm, still not getting the best start though. Like stumbling at the beginning of a footrace," he sighs, sniffing softly and reaching down to seek out the dog's head again, running his fingers along behind the ears.

"I like being able to talk to people, here. It's always one conflict after another back home. Never time to really do what you like for the sake of it. If you're not fighting something, you're not a very good asset," Mac remarks, tone a bit petulant. It wasn't that he didn't feel any degree of honor, but he did envy the common man his freedom and hobbies. Now? He was as free as he pleased, though he wasn't doing anything all that different. Whether because he was so stuck in routine or genuinely liked those things he couldn't say.

"I appreciate your indulgence," he adds after a moment of thought, arching a brow and inclining his head with respectful acknowledgment. Inessa didn't have to give him the time of day, if she preferred.

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