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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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Puffing a long sigh and shaking his head, Mac finished off the remains of his second wine and leaned forward, cradling his head on folded arms.

"It's never one thing, is it? Here you have the Blight and civil wars and demons. Back home it's the Darkness, Hive, Cabal, Vex, Fallen...now the Taken. It never ends. It can never just be one simple, obvious enemy. And it's always so gray!" he complains, stomping a foot in the manner of a complaining child.

"It can't ever be just bad guys that are bad, always have been, always will be. Noooo, there's always gotta be exceptions to the rules, civilians, defectors. All these tangles. Stupid tangles."

It may be childish, but Mac's complaining gets him nothing but sympathy from Korrin. "You're preaching to the choir, here. I'd love more black-and-white situations, not all this tangled web bullshit. I'm a mercenary; point me at a problem and I'll fight my way out of it. I'll take whatever I can get, but the last truly simple fight was a fucking high dragon. That was a bitch and a half to kill, but at least then it was straightforward. Nothing manipulating it, just a damn dragon that needed to die.

If you want to get as close to unadulterated evil as you can, the Red Templars and Venatori are excellent targets thanks to their willingness to corrupt, experiment on and work people to death. The more we can put in the ground and free civilians from their crap, the better."

"Oh man, I wanna fight a dragon, though. That's gotta be the craziest. Like...a freakin' dragon? You can' make that stuff up. You can write about it all day, but you can't really imagine it until you do it, right? It has to be the most insane experience. If I weren't so damn squishy now...ugh. How do people handle being so vulnerable all the time?" he continues complaining, pulling up a sleeve and nodding to the bandages on his arm.

"Ridiculous. Can't even handle bumps and dings anymore. I'm a delicate flower!" the man continues to whine, thumping his head on the bar lightly before peeking up over his arm again.

"So this Inquisition, though. They're the unequivocal good guys, right? Like no question, best intentions, righting the wrongs and doing the good do?"

As he pulls up his sleeves, Korrin's eyes narrow as she stares at those bandages. "Remind me to take you to the Undercroft. You need to learn how to mix healing potions. Don't worry, you don't need to be a mage to make one of those. Rejuvenation potions help, too; they heal you a bit at a time."

But she's not getting up now because her refill is coming over, so Mac will just have to deal. "That's the intention, at least. Compared to the asshole who wants to enter the Fade and become this world's god, the Inquisition just wants to restore order, which includes not having demons all over the place. That also means uprooting his lackeys, who I just mentioned. It's a tough tightrope to walk, though; the Chantry's denounced us as heretics and we really only have influence in the places that agree to listen to us in the first place. Orlais is embroiled in its dumbass civil war or it might pay more attention to us, good or bad. Everywhere else has its own problems, only some caused by Corypheus. Though they know we stopped that giant hole in the sky, some still aren't convinced we can ultimately bring the bastard down. And some just hate that there's a new player in Thedas politics.

Hell, I hate it too but I always hate politics. And yet, I'm on the mage council." Smirking a little at the irony, Korrin takes another sip.

"Politics. I don't like those either," he mumbles, sighing with a little huff and resting his head on his arms again, speaking at the bar with his voice slightly muffled.

"Healing potions would be good. I'm always going to the healing tents and I think it's driving the healers kinda crazy. Maybe. They're all pretty nice so maybe not, I don't know. It's hard to tell. Sometimes people smile when they hate you and frown when they like you, so...you pretty much just have to wing it all the time. I like them, though. We don't have healers so it's a neat thing, despite the necessity."

Raising a hand but not his head, Mac curls his fingers briefly, then opens them again, a crackle of blue-white light arcing between his fingertips before coalescing into a spinning, fluctuating orb hovering in his palm. Flicking his wrist and dismissing it again in a flutter of crackling sparks he returns his hand to it's place tucked under his face.

"I'm a Warlock, but I don't think it's the same thing."

"Eh, don't worry about the healers. That's what they're here for, to patch us up. If we didn't get injured, they'd have basically nothing to do. Besides, most of the ones I know are pretty long on patience." They've far more of it than Korrin, who would make a terrible healer just because of that and she knows it well.

Upon noting Mac's power, Korrin leans in to have a look...and to shield the blue-white light from any potential onlookers that might get jumpy about magic, especially unknown magic. When he dismisses it, she leans back again, shaking her head. "Not exactly, no, but as long as you hold your own in battle, I don't care about distinctions. Blasting enemies when you spot them is all anyone can ask for, and then some."

Alas for Korrin, Mac doesn't really understand that basic demonstrations of power aren't precisely okay in a shared social setting. It's too common and simple for him to think about it as anything bigger than showing someone you know how to twist your tongue funny ways. Some people can, some people can't. It's not that big of a deal.

"All I'm really good at is blasting things, honestly. Healing is occasionally a byproduct of my actions, but past that, I'm mostly good for explosions and not dying. Mostly. I don't know about that so much anymore. Without Ghost I'm a lot more squishy than I'm used to."

"Hey, not dying is an art form all in its own. Sure, maybe you're more squishy than you used to be, but there are other ways to toughen up around here. Any armor made of dragon material is unbeatable protection right then and there. Protective runes exist, too, and you can add those to armor. Some enchanted items come in handy, too. This ring--" She points to one among many on her fingers. "--is enchanted to heal me whenever I kill an enemy. Morbid, I know, but if you're out of potions or mana, it can be a life-saver."

"Really? Huh," Mac mumbles, perking a bit and peering over enough to see the ring, purple brows furrowing.

"You think they can enchant some of my stuff? None of it really does anything right now. Well, I mean the rings and bangle don't. They're mostly just decorative reminders." the Guardian muses, rubbing where the rings sat underneath his gloves.

"Usually I can resurrect myself, with enough gathered energy prior to a mortal blow. It's handy when my Ghost can't get to me immediately to save me himself, but since I dunno where Ghost is at all right now, I guess I'll just...have to wait and see." Not a very uplifting prospect, but at least he can hope he won't die on the spot.

"What you'll want is a Lifeward Amulet. They break after every use, so you'll actually want to get a set, but they're definitely worth the price. What they do is heal you should you be dealt a mortal blow. It's not a lot of healing, usually, but it'll be enough to keep you on your feet until you can get help." Korrin doesn't have one on her to show as an example, but they're easy enough to request from the merchants in Skyhold.

"And sure, armor and weapons can be upgraded with runes. Other enchantments can probably happen too, though that's not my area of expertise. I got this ring from a giant's horde after killing it, so I didn't make it or have it made."

Edited 2016-09-23 01:00 (UTC)

Nodding and taking the information in - albeit a bit blearily - Mac sighs and turning his head, horn clunking against the bar and flashing in the light flicking across the gold plate. He tilts and taps the horn a few times, clearly enjoying it for some reason and it doubles as a replacement for thoughtfully tapping a finger or foot. Not the most conventional, but he's learning.

"Better safe than sorry, yeah. I'll always keep my spells ready, either way, but it's better than going at things expecting a rosy resolution and ending up dead because of something stupid. At least now I understand why people were always yelling at me for dumb stuff. Jumping off the Tower, running through the fires. Not trying to dodge. Pffft. Dodging."

Talking about getting killed through stupid means would normally get an eyeroll and snarking remark from Korrin, but Kain's death is still very fresh in her mind. She heaves a sigh and nods, staring into her cup. "...yeah, please don't get yourself killed through stupidity or recklessness. I'll try to spot you if I can, but if you're constantly doing that stuff, then at some point you're not going to have anyone to save your ass. I've seen it more times than I care to count."

"No way, not on purpose, anyways. I've gotten dings and scratches and things hurt now. I mean, they always hurt before, but for just a second. Now things ache for a long time, and that sucks. I've never had to deal with a lasting injury," he mutters, shaking his head and closing his eyes with a sigh.

"Definitely brings to light why a lot of civilians cross their eyes at Guardians. To them, not suffering illness or injury must be completely alien. Kinda feel bad, honestly."

"I get that. Not everyone in Thedas has access to magical healing or potions or even just a good, non-magical healer. In Skyhold, we're pretty damn lucky to have all three. So, don't let those resources go to waste. You get slapped down by a demon, have the sense get yourself patched up. Don't be the asshole who constantly has to be chased down by healing staff."

So, maybe she's being a little hypocritical here. Korrin isn't the best patient, and when she was suffering from illness, she did exactly that. But she considers weird Fade-related illness stuff different from wounds that can be easily healed. There wasn't anything she could do in her case but wait, and the same tent walls were so very boring.

"Haha, yeah. No. I'm discovering that I'm a colossal baby about this. But uh, don't let that get around, y'know," he mumbles, waving his hand slightly before sitting up enough to grip his cup, looking down into it suspiciously.

"Would you judge me if I just got water?" he asks, sliding his gaze over Korrin and squinting. "I want more wine, kind of, but I can't really afford to pay anyone back right now."

"Eh, I usually let peoples' actions speak for themselves. Unless they're collossal assholes best avoided, but you haven't fallen into that category." She pauses to take another sip and shrugs. "It's not a loan, you know. I figure everyone new here deserves a drink or few, no strings attached. I'm not hurting for cash, so it's no sacrifice on my part. Get what you want."

"Don't worry, I probably will at some point. But I promise I'll try to be the most fun and charming asshole possible. It might back me more palatable, though I imagine framing a rump with flowers doesn't detract all that much from the fact it's still an ass." He considers a moment, tilting his head and glancing at the rafters before offering a little shrug and propping his chin on his fist.

"I'll have another wine before teetering off to find a place to rest, I suppose. I'm feeling surprisingly good right now. Heavy and pleasant. If I'd known it was going to be this nice I might have tried sooner," he muses drowsily, smiling broadly and tapping the fingers of his free hand on the bar.

"I want to try everything this world has. Everything. I don't know if I'll go home someday, either by choice or circumstance, but I want to take all these experiences back. I think...I think Guardians would fight even harder, if more of them knew what we were fighting for. Like...really knew."

"Another wine, it is." Korrin glances over to the bartender and gestures for another one. "Just don't let anyone bully you into trying dwarven ale; imagine distilled dirty socks and thongs and there you go, only worse. That's not an experience anyone needs, I promise you that." She chuckles and stretches, getting comfortable enough to wonder if she's going to be able to get up again any time soon. "We have a holiday coming up several weeks from now in Firstfall, called Satinalia. There's tons of feasting, so if Skyhold does it any justice, you'll have a ton of new experiences -and foods- to try."

"Don't flirt with me," he grumbles, pointing at Korrin and squinting suspiciously. Clearly a jest, though he plays it up with an expression suggestion he was scandalized.

"Satinalia sounds an awful lot like an historical celebration back home, and if I know anything about it, I know they were crazy-awesome parties. I look forward to it! Eating has been a lot of fun and heck, I'll even try socks and thongs for a laugh."

That jest gets a snort of amusement from Korrin, who lifts the dragon tooth suspended on a chain around her neck. "See this? Means I'm taken. And by a rifter, no less. Before you ask, it's...kind of a qunari thing, but not like a widespread one. I just had to do it because, fuck, it's a dragon tooth."

Badass, right? "Oh yeah, I think I remember Antiva's celebrations go on for a week or so. The closest thing I had to a hometown, Wycome, was next to Antiva and the revelry capital of the Free Marches, so it got pretty wild. Some places are pious and boring about it, but whatever. We'll have fun, no matter what."

"Count me in then! For the party, not the engagement," he clarifies, pointing idly at the necklace even as he leans in to look at it. Dragon teeth. Real dragons just out and about. Granted back home he saw all kinds of giant monsters and terrific beasts, but they were the hideous mutations created by agents of evil; so far as he was to understand it, while they were generally bad, dragons were still part of the natural order. It was certainly a step up.

"Definitely impressive! I guess if you're gonna have a love token that says "Raaahhhgggg piss off I'm takennnnn raaaghhh!" that's probably the way to go. Next best thing next to wearing the heads of potential suitors on a belt."

He's only a little serious. Maybe. Probably not.

He opens his mouth to ask about the possibility of Rifters going home but wisely changes his mind. No point being a downer to a new friend, but he reminds himself to ask someone else later. Let it not be said that Mac never has tact. It's just rare.

That assessment of her love token has Korrin laughing, fortunately after she finishes more of her wine. She's trying to do the polite thing and not have the new guy end up wearing it, after all.

"It's not a widely-known thing in and of itself, but people here know me and they don't seem to be that interested in pissing me off, so I'll take it. What dragon teeth don't discourage, looming and giving the stink-eye usually does."

"Never really works for me, but I'm not exactly a very big or threatening person. I accept that. Just makes people more terrified when I actually do break out the fire and lightning," Mac replies happily, expression playfully smug as he nurses the remains of his drink. The fuzzy feeling starts turning into a heavy, unstable-ground feeling and he figures maybe he ought to pace himself - not that he knows what a good pace is. "Slower" seems a safe bet, regardless.

"That's nice, though, right? Someone to worry about you, someone to come back to?" the Guardian muses, frowning a bit before shrugging with a small chuckle. "Mm. Cheers," he added after a moment, lifting his drink and taking another sip. He didn't want to think too much about the lack of people interested in his welfare back home, or the people who he cared about, even if they didn't know.

"This Solas you mentioned - not to change the subject, we can always revisit - but what does he look like and where can I find him? I'll be barreling him over with questions, unfortunately, but you said ask an expert...I'll be asking everyone," the horned man remarks thoughtfully.

"Eh, just let people think you have yet to grow into your full height and they'll still not want to mess with you. Even without that, you still have the horns. People won't want to risk you using those as weapons, after all. Speaking of which, I can give you tips later, when we're both sober."

Especially him, though she's trying to be polite. Lifting her drink in turn, she takes a sip. "Someone to be badasses in battle with, too, though that happens less often than I'd like. Our skillsets often lead us to different missions. I'd suck at stealth or diplomacy and she can't summon flaming meteors. It's alright, though. You work with what you're given."

Ah, right, Solas. "He's pretty easy to spot, honestly. You know the area just below the library, with all those frescoes? That's where he hangs out. You'll know him because he's probably the only bald elf I've seen around here. I haven't spoken with him much, but from what I can tell, he loves being asked questions, so you're in luck."

"Bald elf? That sounds...wrong somehow. I guess I have a lot of stereotypes to work past. Bummer. I thought all elves were supposed to be fancy, flowy types. All moonlight and magic. I think I read too many fantasy romances," he mutters, slowly lowering his face to press his forehead against the bar, only to find the curvature of his horns prevent him from laying flat.

"I wanna be badass in battle with someoooooonnnnneeee," Mac whines, tilting his head about until he gives up and presses the tip of his nose against the wood.

"I wanna see the Prince again. I miss his stupid face. Oooooh he hated me. Ahhh. So perfect..." Because of course drunkenly reflecting on your crushes is the best thing to do.

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