faderift | [Open] Drunk uncle is in town

WHO: Oghren and whoever wants to meet him
WHAT: Oghren has sloshed into Skyhold. Time for people to meet him.
WHEN: Starting on Drakonis 9 and going on after that
WHERE: Locations in Skyhold
NOTES: Oghren is a perv. And a drunk. And has a dirty mouth. That's a good start for a warning right?

Arrival - Closed to Anders and Nathaniel

He'd been on a cart the last he'd checked. Likely some merchant heading this way with some supplies. Really he hadn't paid much attention and had simply heard 'headed to Skyhold' and had hopped on. Good enough for him. He could do the whole riding with a stranger thing. Besides, he could kick their ass if he needed to.

Still, all of this had led to him being under a bush somehow. Feet sticking out, stinking up the location. Really one would think a body had just died under that bush considering how it wasn't moving. And this was what Anders and Nate got to stumble upon while they were out together doing...whatever they were doing.

Good thing that upon investigation there was suddenly a loud snore coming out of the bush. Hooray not a dead guy!

Hello Skyhold - Open to EVERYONE ELSE

After having gotten his bearings a bit here, namely he was now here and he'd refilled his flask, Oghren could now be seen figuring this place out. The training grounds, the Warden camp, and the tavern were his favorite places to be for various reasons. But it wasn't really hard to miss the fact that there was a new dwarf in town. Not only did he have flaming red hair but he wasn't exactly stealthy. And that was before anyone touched on that unique odor attached to him.

Yep, Oghren was here and he was determining whether or not he regretted coming to a place that didn't seem to have much excitement going on. But he supposed that since it had booze that he could get past that a bit. So one could likely find him drinking or telling tall tales or even giving his axe a swing (don't worry, he kept that to the training grounds). Whatever the case was, they were easily greeted by him suddenly letting out a loud belch then him looking over.

"Eh? You need something there?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Careful, you'll ruin my reputation."

But she grins back, gestures vaguely.

"How does that work, with them?" The Ancestors. Not snakes. "I hardly speak to my living relatives."

"That? That's not really the same as all these surface types who look to some sort of being who had a lady with great knockers to lead the people." Not that he knew all the details. He honestly found all of that to be the confusing thing.

"The Ancestors are those who have returned to the Stone. That is where we come from. They're the ones who were strong and brought strength to their Houses and the people. Made it proud. Those that aren't that are denied a return for all of eternity." Sometimes he wondered if he was the latter, the one denied a return for all eternity. Sometimes that scared the snot out of him. Then he usually downed a number of ales to feel better about being a disappointment even with his hero reputation he had again.

"They're not gods or whatever sodding thing you believe in up here. They're the voices of the Stone and we are the Children of the Stone. We have no gods."

What does she believe in, up here? Clouds, she supposes. Air. The inevitability of death. A lady with great knockers, who led the people — at divine inspiration, or merely an unshakeable, mortal will.

"But they do speak to you?" The royal you, the you of all dwarfkind. Swap Stone for Sky, for the Fade, for the Maker's Side, and she supposes she finds the distinction unclear. "There are those that yet hear them?"

"Eh that depends on what you mean by speaking and hearing. You probably mean something like conversation like this. Not how it works and it would be creepy to suddenly hear sodding voices like that when you're enjoying your ale." He gave a shudder at the very though. Seriously, who would want to hear voices like that?

"No, the ancestors speak through the Provings. Or with actions sometimes. Usually the Provings though. Strongest way to see what they're thinking."

"Could you imagine it? Go to lift a cup and suddenly your grandmother is scolding you of it."

A laugh at that, as though she's absolutely positively never ever heard voices out of the blue. Heard their chorus.

"The Provings — ? I have read little of Orzammar's customs."

He gave a shudder at the very thought.

"I don't want to know how disappointed my ancestors are in me. I get enough of that from the living as it is."

Last thing he needed was for the dead to start in on that too.

"Yeah? Well let's see what you know about the Provings then. I'll fix your knowledge up after."

"Duels, of a sort. Two dwarves enter, one dwarf leaves."

Some old book of Arnault's — duller than she'd expected — a survey of honourable combat across Thedas. There'd been a brief mention of the Dwarven method, attached curiously to a passage on Tevinter coliseums. But so far as she's aware, Orzammar does not keep slaves.

"There's more honor to it than that but the loser usually does die. Better than there being some kind of mess later. It's an ancient tradition though and keeps disputes to that. Though the celebration ones are pretty good too. You get the Trails of Blood but those are an annual thing."

He had a drink and let out a pleased sigh. Good stuff here. Had decent flavor to it. He had to approve of that.

"Good place for a berserker like me. Least it was before I lost all that honor and was a disappointment instead."

"Do not tell me that you lost one of these trials."

Berserking. What a pain in the ass way to fight, unless you fight alone. Discretion may not be the better part of valour, but she'll put in a good word for its use in not getting everyone else killed.

In a ring, though? At sport? No doubt a popular attraction; she cannot picture it leading to any loss of honour.

"Lost? Ha! I was a favorite. Never lost a single fight I had in the Provings. I was a champion."

No, he'd fond other ways to become a disappointment. Mainly through the consumption of alcohol. To the point of having his entire clan abandon him to go on a suicide mission.

Nothing quite being so not wanted that people would rather go on a suicide mission than be with you, after all.

[Open] Drunk uncle is in town

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject