[ OPEN ] We all in together now, birds of a feather now

[thesteelwolf]

WHO: Issaquntaar + You
WHAT: Arrival at Skyhold
WHEN: first of the month
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Shirtless Qunari in one prompt.

[ THE GATE ]

Tacking up the side of the mountain had been difficult, but not impossible. With patience and more than a few mental notes of possible projects to make the way easier for the soldiers and civilians that made their way up for refuge (a few of which Issa offered space on her cart as walking up the slopes was not so difficult for her), she and Burly managed. A massive cart of tools and supplies hauled by a Druffalo is something of a sight. Odd- as though Issa herself is not odd enough. Vashoth linger about often enough that she is not stared at quite so much- but her daily recitations of the cantos on the ride up did earn her some scorn and curiosity. More the latter than the former.

At the gate she rides up front, a great black pelt about her shoulders, Druffalo hauling the cart and her few passengers into the courtyard step by step. Upon arrival she helps those that rode with her down by hand, pausing only to ask where she might stow her beast and supplies safely. "I have business with the advisors."

She says. "A letter from the Arishok."

At least that is what she was told.


[ THE MAIN HALL ]

Druffalo and cart stowed Issa strides her way to the great hall, asking (quietly) after the wherabouts of the Advisors- and a specific list of names she had been given. Morrigan. Alistair. Leliana. Comrades of the Arishok during the fifth Blight. Tucked under one grey arm are simply wrapped parcels, their names written in straight, blocky letters. A single scroll for the Advisors waits on top. She does her best to keep out of the way (difficult at her size) and to keep her voice low out of respect of those that do business- but she does wish to find these people. She has work, and cannot start that work until this task is done.


[ THE FORGE ]

Deliveries made, Burly unhitched, brushed, watered, and set to rest in the stables, Issa unloads the bulk of her crates and supplies in the forge. It is...sufficient for the moment, even if the tools at hand are primitive. There's a river running along the bluffs outside Skyhold- given time and tools she'd rather set up something more suited to her skills. For the time being she strips off the pelt, her shirt, her harness, leaving grey skin bare and glistening in the forge's heat as she starts to draw out a length of bar with heavy blows of a hammer. Quiet humming under her breath as she works away at her last task before she is to be left to her own devices. A gift only a smith of her skills could create meant to be offered in the spirit of cooperation to the Advisors of the Inquisition. Purely symbolic, but a blade is a blade and it is simple enough practice to learn the way the weather effects her alloys and tools this high in the mountains.

OR

Slim canisters of brass and iron filled with dusts, ground minerals, or metal pellets. Of to one side (still shirtless) Issa weighs and measures portions of what look to be unabled vials and leather pouches before mixing them, layering the result in the shells with more pellets or fine filaments. They are sealed shut with a hammer- anyone coming close is cautioned with a "Try not to breathe in. You will burn your lungs."

Anyone trying to offer light will be nudged carefully backward with a gentle (but firm) hand. "That won't end well- keep the fire on that side of the forge."


[ THE TAVERN ]

After having worked well into the evening, with the light failing and the bulk of the blade roughed out? Issa dresses herself once more and finds a quiet corner in the tavern to drink and observe these people. Her voyage south has taught her a great deal of Common that she hadn't quite had a grasp on in Par Vollen; but it is prudent to listen and learn more. Observation is quite educational, more than most might think. She's amenable to company- offering the stool next to her with a grin and a nod, even going so far as to cover a round in return for a story, a game of cards, or a song.

Comments

The Tavern

[gatheringstorm]

Another horned woman isn't such a common sight around Skyhold that Korrin can't ignore her, even if that was her intent. After her Valo-Kas sisters left, it's just been herself and Yael, after all. So the offer of a round is met with welcome surprise and prompt acceptance. The company of a Tal-Vashoth or fellow Vashoth? Well, her night is looking up.

"I usually buy new people a round instead but I won't say no. My voice hasn't recovered from all the drinking songs of last night, but I know Wicked Grace and I have a shit-ton of weird or crazy-awesome mercenary stories, if that works."

[thesteelwolf]

As far as she knows, Issa is the only one of the Qun in Skyhold. There aren't many practitioners this far south- and an organization rooted so deeply in the Chantry isn't normally something they would bother with were it not for the state of the world. Still, she hopes for a touch of familiarity. The comforting reassurance of having something in common with anyone this far South. Seeing another horned woman (Tal Vashoth, Vashoth, either is likely), has her somewhat tense.

Having the reminder that she's a mercenary, that she thinks herself a warrior? Has Issa's eyes tighten for all that she pays for the round. "What kind of mercenary work is there this far south?"

[gatheringstorm]

If Korrin notices that reaction, it doesn't change her answer at all. She's nothing if not honest to the point of bluntness, and will never apologize for being what she is, any of it. Reaching for her drink, she shrugs.

"Guarding caravans or explorers, taking down local menaces, retrieving captured people or items...you get the idea. Even without a temple fucking exploding and big green tear in the sky raining death from above, there's a lot do do. Hell, Orlais being at war with itself isn't terrible for business either, though you get a lot more condescending crap and 'ox' comments for your trouble. Sometimes it's worth the hassle, if they pay well."

[thesteelwolf]

"Terrible for the people but not for the pocket." Profiting off of misfortune- It seems the sort of thing a Tal Vashoth might do. What she has been told they do. Causing the misfortune in the first place seems more along the lines of what she'd heard in Par Vollen. "What is the weirdest job you've taken?"

Weird isn't terrible. Weird is- strange and often harmless.

The forge

[justice_is_blond]

He's down here to check on the progress being made on his blade for his staff; no one had told him there was now a qunari smith at work. And a topless one at that. Anders isn't entirely sure where to have his eyes. Looking away from a qunari doesn't ever really seem like a safe thing to do, but... On second thought, she has a whole bunch of vials on the table, and that's a rather interesting set of things to look at.

"I'm not sure anyone is going to be able to stop breathing in, I'm sorry to tell you."

[thesteelwolf]

"Then step away from the table. Easy." She peers up from where she's measuring out a vial of one thing into a vial of another. All unmarked (as far as most can tell) all more or less uniform in appearance. Different blends of different powders for different results. Robes, alone, no Avaraad.

"...Are you a member of the chantry or a mage?" They are the only ones that wear robes as far as she knows.

[justice_is_blond]

He takes a step back despite his curiosity before winding up looking at her and snorting.

"There will be no sunsets on my forehead or my clothing, thank you very much." Anders shakes his head. That might not make much sense to her, so he adds, "mage. What are the powders?"

[thesteelwolf]

"Dangerous. Take another step back." It's a subtle thing, the shift in her demeanor. While the general amiability hasn't changed in the slightest- there's a projected gentleness to her gaze, a soothing pitch to her voice. Once sure the measurement's she's made are accurate the powders are swept into their respective shells and she tugs a stool out from under the table, setting it off to the side. Close enough to speak to but well out of harm's way.

"Here, sit."

Tavern

[issala]

Kas was elbowing his way to the bar in order to get some ale when he noticed a new pair of horns he hadn't seen before. Curious, he abandons his attempt of getting Cabot's attention and instead moves a little closer to this new qunari.

...then he's not quite sure what to say, so he ends up staring a for a moment until he actually finds his voice. "Uh, hi. Are you new here?"

[thesteelwolf]

"Rode in this morning. What are you doing on your own, Imekari?" Too old for a Tama, sure, but someone should be minding a young Qunari like him even in the south. Parents maybe? Issa looks past the boy into the crowd, trying to pick out another pair of horns.

[issala]

"I'm not an imekari," he says with a near-pout, trying to puff up a little more because hey, he gained muscle recently! Between that and his horns splitting to two pairs, he's damn proud of himself.

Still, he can't exactly fault her, he still had a baby face (and baby everything, to be honest).

"I don't need minding. Got friends around, though." Thereäs a pause. "I'm Kas."

[thesteelwolf]

"No, you're practically grown, aren't you?" Wiry, young in the face, horns coming in well- who knows what a Tamassran might've had in mind for this kid. That's never been her job. Teaching the ones that come to her how to build things- that's the extent of her experience with the young. "Friends are good. I'm-"

The title doesn't go over so well down here. Shorten it. "Call me Issa."

tavern

[fightorfright]

They may look intimidating, but all the Qunari Amélie has met at Skyhold so far have been friendly enough, so she steels her nerves and makes her way to the empty chair next to the woman.

"Is this seat taken?" she asks once she's near enough to be heard, a mug of ale in hand.

[thesteelwolf]

"Nope." She gestures to the open chair with a smile. Smiling tended to make people more amiable, help them feel less tense around her. Something the Antaam never really sorted out. "Feel free."

[fightorfright]

"Thanks," she says with a nod, before taking the seat and eyeing the other woman with barely guided curiosity over the rim of her glass. "Don't think I've seen you around before. I'm Amélie, by the way."

[thesteelwolf]

"Call me Issa. Most do." Easier than her title bandied about so carelessly with people that can't quite pronounce it correctly. "Nice to meet you. I just rode up this morning."

what is time

[arcaneadvisor]

Kirkwall and beyond still clings to her in places, beneath her skin, in the back of her mind; a rare sight in the main hall when she has other ways to get where she must go but she has messages to leave by the war table for the advisors herself, notes on eluvians for their eyes only, never to leave that room. Tall horned folk are hardly a common sight, but she is used to seeing a few of them in passing, here and there, so she bids this one no mind when she goes to make her way past, staff upon her back.

Kieran will be done with lessons soon enough, not anxious exactly to spend time with her but wanting to claim a greater portion of her attentions, and of course there is Gwenaelle to consider, a visit to her would never go amiss. Her murmur is soft when she brushes past as someone forces her into Issa's path, and that is when her eyes alight upon her name.

(She sees as a wolf sees, as a cat sees, as a magpie sees, her eyes will clap sight on every fascinating thing there is in the world.)

"Yes?" Her chin tilts up, one brow raises. Did the Arishok warn of the impatience of this one?

an illusion

[thesteelwolf]

"A parcel." Contents unknown to Issa- she hadn't asked. It isn't her place to ask. But delivering it had been tasked to her and she does as ordered to the best of her ability. Even if she has to face strange mages with wolf eyes-

Flemeth supposedly had them. The Arishok did not speak of that particular mage much.

Solid and grey as the steel she crafts, Issa takes a long look at Morrigan from the top of her head to the tips of her boots, considering what little she had to go on by way of a description. It is quite likely this woman. A moment more she takes, eyes flicking back up, iron meeting gold, and she offers the package. "From the Arishok. You knew him as Sten ten years ago during the Blight."

[arcaneadvisor]

"Is the parcel a question or an answer?" That Sten would think to send something to her all these years later is...touching, she supposes. Though she likely got on with him best, which is to say they did not antagonise one another entirely those ten years ago as she considers it.

Has his sense of humour changed at all upon becoming Arishok, she wonders?

"Or is that why you have been sent such a long way?" She takes it haltingly, as little contact between her and the Qunari as possible though if Issa is inclined to ask around, that is Morrigan's way with most even now. A chosen few are allowed more touching but nearly everyone else is held at a very careful distance from her by choice as she sighs, shaking her head. To be a fly on the wall when the news came in earnest but alas, eluvians beckoned. "I suppose when the Venatori are involved, he would not sit idle."

The Forge

[universal_charm]

Kirk had come looking for Sam, who sometimes worked down in the forge. It wasn't anything important, really, but he had been walking by after his classes and had thought to stop in and check on him. Instead of Sam, though, he got the sight of a shirtless Issa with what looked like some sort of chemistry lab mixed with engineering.

Walking closer, curious, his brow furrows a she sees what she is doing. That is ominous, isn't it?

"Uh - what exactly are you working on?"

[thesteelwolf]

"Shells." The same answer she's offered anyone that asks, but she does pause to peer up at him for a moment. Powders are dangerous but inert at the moment, it'll take a spark. "Step back."

After a moment's thought to politesse, she adds. "Please."

[universal_charm]

'Shells'. Glancing around once more and the materials in front of her, it didn't take a genius to put together what she meant. Gun powder had long been out of use in his time, but that didn't mean he didn't know an explosive when he saw it. But he hadn't been aware that Thedas was even at that level of advancement yet.

"Where did you learn to make these?" he asked instead, frowning ever so slightly.

The tavern

[petitchiot]

Delphine wasn't the sort that would drink anything other than wine, and the occasional hard liquor when things got rough. But what can you do? She's exhausted, mentally from over thinking and physically from trying to turn herself into a skilled fighter in just a few days of vigorous training. Alas, she wasn't making much progress. Instead, she thought maybe drinking would help ease her, for now at least. So she took the stool next to Issa, and returns the smile, albeit lacking in authenticity.

"Long day?" she asked, French accent very apparent. Not exactly Orlesian. although wasn't exactly expecting an answer. She didn't seem like the rest awfully loud people, which spiked an interest.

[thesteelwolf]

"Long ride. Hours in the forge." Clipped but not unkind. Not a woman of words, normally, but not curt about it either. This is to be her new home until she is recalled or she has a breakthrough in her research. This woman looks just as tired though- Issa puts down coin for the next round, head tilted. "You?"

She seems tired. Most people here do. Hard work, saving the world.

[petitchiot]

She gave her a faint smile. She was definitely exhausted herself, but did her best to be polite. "I'm a rifter," she pulled up her hand, showing the shard in her hand with a faint wince, it wasn't something she's accepted, and she still forgets it's there sometimes. "I'm not used to living in a place like this," a pause, "not that this place is bad. I don't mean to be rude. But it's very different."

No nicotine, or caffeine and a long day really doesn't do her well at all. She takes a swig of her drink, letting out a sigh. Start over?

"Do you enjoy working at the forge?"