[OPEN] Align my heart, my body, my mind

[watchesandlistens]

WHO: Corvo and you!
WHAT: Corvo is starting to settle into Skyhold, and goes to a job interview.
WHEN: Early Harvestmire
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES: Probably gonna be talk about death, killing, etc.

Library

Corvo would not necessarily consider himself a bookish man, but he acknowledges the well of information that can be found within them, and he detests ignorance--in himself, most of all. Slowly, he has begun accepting that whatever drew him to this world does not intend for him to leave any time soon, and thus it would befit him to try to understand more of this Thedas. It's been slow going, at first, because Thedas is so utterly alien to him, completely different from anything he's known before. But he perseveres.

He can be found sitting in the library, hunched over in a corner of the room, a book on his lap, and a piece of parchment next to him. As he reads, he occasionally pauses to jot down a quick note on the paper--questions, phrases, things that he doesn't understand yet, that he will have to find out more about later on.

Feel free to approach him, or if you're close enough and don't look too unwelcoming, he might ask you about one of the things that he doesn't understand.

Training yard

He doesn't just spend his time reading, however. He spends plenty of time in the training area, practicing with his sword and crossbow. While this place is unusual, there's one perk about it--he has a chance to practice his magic without worrying about anyone seeing. Having had several people confirm that no one will be tossing him on a pyre for using his mark, he feels comfortable enough to do it in the open.

While practicing on a dummy with his sword, he holds his hand out, and then there's a sudden blur, and he's behind the dummy, and promptly sticks his sword right in its cloth neck. Practicing with his crossbow, he takes a potato out of a stack of them he had acquired, and throws it in the air. Then he raises his hand up, and a great gust of wind blows up past him, hurtling the potato far into the air. Once the target is an appropriate distance away, he raises his crossbow and sends a bolt into the unfortunate potato.

He doesn't quite smile, but he does look rather satisfied.

Kestrel House

And now, he feels rather nervous. He's never exactly had a good relationship with other assassins, people who killed as a job more than because some people simply had to be killed.

But at the end of the day, killing people was one of his greater skills. The ability to do it quietly, slipping in and out without being seen. The job that he had spent most of his life doing, guarding another's life with steadfast dedication--no. There was a little girl he had already promised to serve. He would not take that job here, not in this strange land with strange people. So assassin, it was. Everyone needs to have a job, after all.

And so it was that he lurked outside of the Kestrel house, hands stiffly held behind his back, as he waited for the man in charge of the guild.

Comments

[watchesandlistens]

Corvo would not, indeed, know what a telephone was. Not that they didn't have something similar in the Isles--and he understood the intent behind Mac's metaphor. He nods, glancing back down to the book and flipping through a few pages.

"This religion is different from the one where I hail from, but I can see the relevance of it--people find comfort in religion, in having reasons for things, and order to their life." The thing that the Chantry had, and the Abbey didn't, were actual people. The Maker and Andraste, figures that tried to help you. Slightly more comforting, he supposed, than the idea that there was nothing but chaos. "The people who wrote these books certainly seem to have found solace in it. I suppose attempting to find the facts in it is..." He waved his hand dismissively.

He sets the book aside for now, shifting to take Mac's hand and give it a firm shake. "Corvo Attano. I'm not from here, but I'm also trying to, ah. Take in the local knowledge." He waves his free hand back to the book. "If we must be stuck here, ignorance would only hurt ourselves."

[spaceswan]

"Wooo, you sound like my boss-lady from back home. She's all about hittin' the books," Mac mumbles, returning the shake in a firm albeit relaxed manner. No real guile there, no ulterior motives past being a bit nosy; curious like some small animal with no regard for etiquette.

"History is the very foundation of...something something," the man raises a fist, starting off well with a low, stern voice before trailing off and wrinkling his nose, likely at the very idea of being authoritative in any manner. "Always about the books. Granted it isn't as if I don't enjoy learning, myself, but being told what to learn is a chore. This stuff? Whole other world." Quite literally, in fact. Roaming his pale eyes over the immediate area, Mac gestures vaguely.

"I'm fairly certain the whole idea of religion is based on the principle that there's nothing that can be proven or disproved. Faith is it's own definition. Very uncomfortable business with an entirely sketchy purpose. Mm, I don't know if I really like the idea of taking comfort in something that in all likelihood isn't real. Well...back home, anyways. I dunno about this deifying formerly living people deal. That's not quite as bad. Kind of like Buddhism or something...I guess," he hummed to himself, fidgeting a bit and picking at one of his heavy gloves.

"What do people think where you come from?" he asked with a cocked brow, moving to lean against a shelf, boots crossed at his ankle.