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

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

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.

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"...The little pink creatures with the creepy feet? They have a king." Herd animals don't have kings. That anyone would go hunting for it is five kinds of foolish and a waste of everyone's time. There's no point to it. No purpose. It helps no one and does nothing to seek it out and yet a whole mercenary band went on a wild chase for coin?

With cheese.

And Dwarven ale.

For a Nug King.

"...Did he say if it had a little crown?"

"Yep. It even had a throne, and a bunch of nugs surrounding it like they were playing court. If you believe him. I've seen some pretty strange things in the Deep Roads, but that would be stretching it." Korrin shakes her head, lips twitching. "At least it made for a good story later, and we got in play of action with darkspawn we did find anyway. As far as employers go, I'll take weird and generous over stingy, any day."

"The stranger the request the better the payment ought to be- or so I've heard. Something about the unusual promising wealth or something like that." She hasn't heard much but most assume she's Vashoth up till the Cantos. People talk. She listens. "What brings a Tal Vashoth to the Inquisition? Coin?"

"Vashoth...and nah, though the pay isn't bad." Korrin tilts her head back to take a nice long swig before replying. "Some of my company were working at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, for the Conclave. When it exploded, they all died. Everyone did, except the Herald. So, I'm here for them. If it was about coin, I'd be back up north taking on better jobs. Is that why you're here, or did you just want to see the big fucking hole in the sky? Not that it's there now, but maybe Corypheus will try for an encore."

"To honor their memory?" One word and that subtle tension eases immediately. Vashoth. Raised without the Qun. Doesn't know better. Probably still going to go mad and get herself killed one day but- the nonchalance makes sense now. Probably less likely if she's concerned with honor even in death, but. Some things are inevitable. It may make the next bit of conversation awkward. Issa takes a sip of her ale, setting the mug down carefully (everything is so small and fragile in the South, honestly). "Orders from the Arishok and Ariqun."

...what.

Upon hearing that, Korrin stiffens in shock. She lowers her drink, and it's as thought the tension that left Issa was transferred to her, though the Vashoth is a lot less subtle about it. Her lips form a thin line, those walls going back up. A Qunari, with a capital 'q'. Wonderful.

"And what were their orders, exactly?"

There it is. And they'd been having such a nice drink too- well. Relatively speaking. Nicer than if Korrin had been Tal Vashoth and Issa a member of the Ben Hassrath, probably. "Deliver a letter to the advisors, packages to Alistair, Morrigan, and Leliana- assist in fighting the threat to Thedas."

Field test her cannon. The last doesn't need to be said as it's part of 'assisting'.

Those names certainly get her attention, though it's safe to say that Korrin's no more at ease than she was a moment ago. "The Arishok...he was Sten, wasn't he. The token Qunari of the Fifth Blight gang." It's weird to think of him, a Qunari, having anything resembling friendly bonds with people he'd deem 'bas'. She leans back, then decides to get something out of the way.

"I'm a mage. Is that going to be a problem for you?" And no, Korrin doesn't seem apologetic if it is, but the answer will at least tell her if she should spend any further time on her seat or not. There's little point in drinking with someone who regards her as a 'thing', after all.

"I didn't ask." He ordered, she obeyed. Even if there might have been something a lesser woman would've called 'mischief' in the Arishok's eyes when he handed her the packages. It isn't for her to question. "They didn't seem surprised to get them."

So. There might be truth to it. Perhaps that's why something about 'what is a rift' was included in her instructions. Or maybe it'd been a joke but- no one accused the Arishok of having a sense of humor, and the Ariqun definitely didn't have time for that.

Mage. Warrior. Vashoth. Issa tilts her head to the side, brows lifted. "Depends. You going to burn down the tavern in a fit of pique?"

Then it must be true. Huh. She'll have to ask Zevran more about that later.

That last comment gets a snort from Korrin, who shakes her head. "If that was ever going to be a thing, it would have happened a long time ago. I like to leave my watering holes intact. But I also like to drink in peace and not have to deal with hearing about how mages should be chained." If Issa can hold back from that...well, Korrin's managed civility with Bull. Sort of.

"They are chained when taken into battle and minded by their assigned Avaraad- neither should be the case. They should be...minded for the danger they pose to themselves and others, kept from battle for that is when the danger is at it's most great, and cared for. They didn't ask for the life they have, they make do. Leashing them like dogs is..." Issa shakes her head. "An ugly necessity in the current system. It could be handled better if we didn't need them in the field."

This woman manages somehow- so far. "I hope to change that. So- no talk of chaining mages."

Hearing what she has to say about saarebas--yeah, they are never going to agree on that topic. Korrin bristles at the very thought of being minded and cared for as though she were any less than a full adult. 'Dangerous thing'; she'll admit to being dangerous, but a thing? Never.

"Yeah, well, no one's going to keep me from battle. Fuck that noise. But I chose that, I wasn't forced into it. That makes all the difference." The thought of anyone being denied that basic right still has her clenching her jaw a little. "Wait, what? How would you change that, short of becoming the new Arishok?"

"That makes you a willing participant in whatever goes wrong, when it goes wrong." Because it will go wrong. It always does. "If you accept that? I respect it."

It's stupid and a risk she really ought not to be taking and one Issa would argue against if they weren't sharing a drink- but for the moment? She lets it rest. Yelling at the ocean doesn't turn the tide. "If we don't need them, they won't be used. They'll be able to live off the battlefield however they like, provided it is with proper supervision and care like we offer our wounded warriors."

The ill, the infirm. Somewhere there's a better system to be made for them but- not for her to fix. "I am a smith. I make weapons. If I make something better than the Sarebaas, we won't need them."

"'Proper supervision and care'...Maker, you almost sound like a fucking Templar." And yeah, Korrin's tone indicates just how much she doesn't care for them. But what the Qun does is even worse, and she's not about to lose sight of that. Her jaw clenches again. Yelling at the ocean may not turn the tide, but that doesn't take away from the temptation, at least for her. As an effort to spare the bar her fraying mood, she'll work on draining that drink once more.

"What can you make that would match a blizzard or lightning storm or various other spells? Even grenades can only do so much, and they're pretty limited in range and effect, by comparison."

"Hardly. What I have seen of Southern Templars is..." She shakes her head, sipping her ale. "Disorganized, inadequate. The lyrium use is baffling."

Something that dangerous to help them protect mages? That's asking for trouble- and this is coming from someone that works with Gaatlok on a regular basis. In the interest of keeping things...civil, Issa waves the barmaid down and pays for another round.

"Trade secret. But-" She is proud of her work. More than enough to warrant a little bragging. "Have you ever seen a dreadnought?"

Korrin huffs at that assessment on Templars, not exactly disagreeing on the 'disorganized' part or their use of lyrium, though 'inadequate' has her scowling. The urge to stalk off is there and at some point it'll be too much to resist, though the Qunari's talk of inventions to match magic has her wondering. At mention of a dreadnought, she nods, lips forming a thin line.

"From a distance, on land. That's as close as I ever want to get." She still remembers how the sight of them unnerved Shokrakar, who insisted on them hauling ass even though they likely weren't spotted. No Tal-Vashoth wanted to be anywhere near those, and neither did Korrin.

"If we have something that powerful on land? We won't need to make the Saarebas fight. They can use their magic for...crafting or whatever it was they were meant to be before their magic came, maybe." That's the part that isn't hers to change, isn't hers to choose. But if they are not needed as war hammers, perhaps they still might build.

Everyone has their purpose, their place. It isn't fair that Saarebas lose theirs.

The thought of that kind of power on land gets a shudder from Korrin. "And the advisors are just okay with that? They have to know it'd mean the Qunari are going to head back down again like everyone knows they've been wanting to do." More wars, more exalted marches, and more anger at anyone horned, true Qunari or not.

"If they wanted to make their way this far south, you'd know it, and they wouldn't need me or what I'm building to do it." Her work is to defend the land they've taken- not to bear down upon the Vints and the Chantry folk alike.

"Maybe not, but if they weren't interested in the south at all, you wouldn't be here. You can't tell me that punching a hole into the Fade hasn't put them on edge." It's done that to everyone else, why not them? Given how they feel about magic, Korrin's a little surprised they haven't marched down here by now, though at the same time relieved. That's the last thing they need.

"I'm field testing. That's all." Those are her orders, that is her purpose. To develop. To build the sword that will defend the Qun. How it is wielded is not hers to choose, not hers to question. "The Arishok felt an extra blade against the threat the South faces worth offering. Or. Something. I go where I am told to go."

"And you don't question? Ever?" Korrin shakes her head incredulously, not at all understanding -or wanting to understand- how anyone could be at peace with that mindset. She never goes into a job obeying blindly, and if she doesn't like what she's told, it won't be done. To do otherwise is just beyond her capacity.

"The Arishok and Ariqun? No. Someone that thinks they know Gaatlok better than me? Often." There are degrees. But orders are just that- orders. It's as much an opportunity for her as it is for whatever the Arishok wants out of this. "Questioning your leadership on every decree breeds anarchy. Discord. Things don't get done, people don't get fed."

"Maybe, but not questioning it enough can lead to serious consequences, too." Korrin takes a deep swig, then figures she might as well ask. "Do you know the other Qunari here? Iron Bull?" It's no secret by now what he is, after all. She might as well get what facts she can.

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

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