[ 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

[gatheringstorm]

"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.

[thesteelwolf]

"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."

[gatheringstorm]

"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.

[thesteelwolf]

"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."

[gatheringstorm]

"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.