sigrun (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
roguishpast) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2017-02-12 08:08 pm
roguishpast) wrote in faderift2017-02-12 08:08 pm
open - are we there yet?
WHO: Sigrun and Kaisa, Sigrun and YOU
part a - arriving at skyhold (closed to kaisa, continuation of this)
When the outline of a person fades into view on the edges of her vision, Sigrun instinctively grasps the hilt of one of her swords, squinting through the onslaught of snow and trying to determine who or what is bounding towards her. Once the figure gets close enough to be recognizable in spite of the weather, however, her grip goes slack. Is that...?
“Kaisa--!” Relief rushes through her, which reinvigorates her enough to ignore her numb limbs in favor of doubling her pace. Which really just means she’s wading through the snow slightly faster, but she’s trying, okay. It looks silly and undignified and unabashed, meaning the company in question is the perfect accent to these antics. Being composed is for the boring wardens.
Once both parties have closed the distance, Sigrun smiles wide and breathes hard, resting her hands on her knees. “Yes, well.” Huff. “You know me.” Huff puff. “I never know when to quit.” It takes another minute for her to fully catch her breath. Once she’s confident she has enough air in her lungs to form full sentences, she gives Puppy’s ears a good scratch and leans her weight against him. “I don’t think everything ever stopped being weird. But you can tell me all about it on the way back.”
The offer for help is wordlessly accepted by Sigrun pulling herself up and onto Puppy’s back. She shoots Kaisa a cheeky grin once she’s settled in, tilting her head as if to say this is what you meant, right? “I think I can manage. As long as I have the help of this noble steed, of course.”
part b - warden camp
Sigrun sits in front of a campfire in the warden camp as if she belongs there. As if she never left. As if this place even existed when she was here last, which it certainly did not. The situation around here has improved in more ways than just the sleeping conditions, near as she can tell, but there’s still so much she doesn’t know. There are things she needs to confront and work out and it makes her head spin to think about any of it. It’s all too complicated. She’s a simple dwarf with simple needs, like stabbing darkspawn with a sword and staring at shiny things and trying to make the world better. How did she wind up here, plagued by thoughts of traitorous wardens and demons and dwarves consumed by red lyrium to the point of returning to the Stone in the most twisted and sacrilegious way possible?
She closes her eyes and wiggles her toes in front of the fire, soaking in the moment and driving her troubled thoughts away to address them at a later date. Not today. She’s not dealing with those today. Today is for warmth and friends and untroubled (less troubled, anyway) sleep. The grim expression on her face eases, the furrow in her brow falls away, and she’s left with silence, save for the crackling of the flames. It's a good time to approach, if you don't mind her lounging in casual wear while her Legionnaire armor (notably not her warden armor) is drying out beside her.
part c - tavern
After the sun has set and Sigrun’s frozen bones have been sufficiently thawed by the warmth of actual, tangible flames and sentimentality alike, she retires to the tavern. She needs a drink. She needs about 100 drinks, if you do the math and divide what she’s been through by the time she’s spent in a tavern lately (which equals none at all), but that would probably kill her. So she starts off with one and makes it last by sipping slowly, coaxing conversation out of those around her with humor and tall tales. It’s not hard to find her in the middle of a bad joke. Or staring into her cup wistfully. It’s been a long day.
WHAT: Sigrun gets to Skyhold.
WHEN: Guardian, 9:43 Dragon
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES: If you have an idea for a more specific starter not included here, let me know!
WHEN: Guardian, 9:43 Dragon
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES: If you have an idea for a more specific starter not included here, let me know!
part a - arriving at skyhold (closed to kaisa, continuation of this)
When the outline of a person fades into view on the edges of her vision, Sigrun instinctively grasps the hilt of one of her swords, squinting through the onslaught of snow and trying to determine who or what is bounding towards her. Once the figure gets close enough to be recognizable in spite of the weather, however, her grip goes slack. Is that...?
“Kaisa--!” Relief rushes through her, which reinvigorates her enough to ignore her numb limbs in favor of doubling her pace. Which really just means she’s wading through the snow slightly faster, but she’s trying, okay. It looks silly and undignified and unabashed, meaning the company in question is the perfect accent to these antics. Being composed is for the boring wardens.
Once both parties have closed the distance, Sigrun smiles wide and breathes hard, resting her hands on her knees. “Yes, well.” Huff. “You know me.” Huff puff. “I never know when to quit.” It takes another minute for her to fully catch her breath. Once she’s confident she has enough air in her lungs to form full sentences, she gives Puppy’s ears a good scratch and leans her weight against him. “I don’t think everything ever stopped being weird. But you can tell me all about it on the way back.”
The offer for help is wordlessly accepted by Sigrun pulling herself up and onto Puppy’s back. She shoots Kaisa a cheeky grin once she’s settled in, tilting her head as if to say this is what you meant, right? “I think I can manage. As long as I have the help of this noble steed, of course.”
part b - warden camp
Sigrun sits in front of a campfire in the warden camp as if she belongs there. As if she never left. As if this place even existed when she was here last, which it certainly did not. The situation around here has improved in more ways than just the sleeping conditions, near as she can tell, but there’s still so much she doesn’t know. There are things she needs to confront and work out and it makes her head spin to think about any of it. It’s all too complicated. She’s a simple dwarf with simple needs, like stabbing darkspawn with a sword and staring at shiny things and trying to make the world better. How did she wind up here, plagued by thoughts of traitorous wardens and demons and dwarves consumed by red lyrium to the point of returning to the Stone in the most twisted and sacrilegious way possible?
She closes her eyes and wiggles her toes in front of the fire, soaking in the moment and driving her troubled thoughts away to address them at a later date. Not today. She’s not dealing with those today. Today is for warmth and friends and untroubled (less troubled, anyway) sleep. The grim expression on her face eases, the furrow in her brow falls away, and she’s left with silence, save for the crackling of the flames. It's a good time to approach, if you don't mind her lounging in casual wear while her Legionnaire armor (notably not her warden armor) is drying out beside her.
part c - tavern
After the sun has set and Sigrun’s frozen bones have been sufficiently thawed by the warmth of actual, tangible flames and sentimentality alike, she retires to the tavern. She needs a drink. She needs about 100 drinks, if you do the math and divide what she’s been through by the time she’s spent in a tavern lately (which equals none at all), but that would probably kill her. So she starts off with one and makes it last by sipping slowly, coaxing conversation out of those around her with humor and tall tales. It’s not hard to find her in the middle of a bad joke. Or staring into her cup wistfully. It’s been a long day.
no subject
"What, you think I'm from the Deep Roads just because I'm a dwarf? That's culturally insensitive, you know." She feigns offense and thinks this is a comment she can get away with because most humans don't know or recognize signs of the Legion on sight. Morrigan has the upper hand on her, in that regard. In a lot of regards, truthfully. Sigrun thrives in her ignorant bliss.
"And, incidentally, completely true. The news is: It's still terrible. I would not recommend going there unless you like the thought of being eviscerated by darkspawn. Or..." Her brow furrows, and she presses her lips in a thin line, the words that follow mumbled and slightly strained. "Whatever you call creatures that have been corrupted by red lyrium."
no subject
"Were you larger and in possession of horns, the words might carry more weight." Skyhold being Skyhold and in possession of several grey ones with their various allegiances to the Qun being whatever they might happen to be. "There are two ways a person might come across such armour are there not? Honestly or...dishonestly." The pause is necessary, the tilt of her head too for her eyes to catch the light as she smiles again to show that she means no malice; ten years have passed, the claws are tucked away, the edges only sharp when they need to be.
"Red Templars, their other victims are simply that." Thus far she supposes all are thankful that the red lyrium isn't the Blight (ha ha ha) where all manner of beasts might become twisted and misshapen. No one needs the corrupted spiders, the blight wolves, the bereskarns. Not unless Morrigan is of a particular mood and decides she's going to remind them all of things people might still have nightmares of for she has seen too many, met too many who remember being caught in the eye of the storm with nowhere else to turn as so much of the world forgets so easily. But that is the way of it. The way of mankind, bitter as it may be to swallow. "I ventured as far as Vimmark on an errand for the Inquisition, fortunately there? No corruption save what you must be sadly familiar with."