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faderift2018-01-05 06:38 pm
Open log for Wintermarch
Oh yes, this is a rare sight. Carver Hawke, in the library. Reading. Well, attempting to anyway. The rather tall man is almost dwarfed by the stack of books around him; clearly he's been here for awhile, judging by the stacks and the empty plate next to him. His brow's creased in a perpetual frown as he pages through the book in front of him. Occasionally, he'll jot down something in a little piece of parchment next to him. But often he'll just cross it out later. Whatever he's trying to discern, it's not going well.
After awhile, he shoves the book away from him, blowing out a frustrated breath. Calloused hands run over his face, scrubbing at it. "I'm not cut out for this," he mutters.
Now this is much more his style. Despite the cold weather, Carver's still outside, practicing his sword form. He whet his blade plenty on the undead that swarmed them in the Grand Necropolis, but that doesn't mean he gets to slack off. And really, it's more something to just keep his mind occupied and feel somewhat productive. For now, he's practicing on one of the dummies set up... somewhere. Someone probably propped up a few somewhere, right? Right.
Of course, a real partner that can react and swing back would be ideal. But Carver's never been much of one to ask for a sparring partner; too used to doing it on his own and all. Still, he won't say no if someone offers. If he knows you, he'll wave in greeting. If not, he'll either likely ignore you or just nod. Or if you're REALLY lucky and he likes you, you might just get a smile.
Or just don't let him know you're there and ogle him from a distance. He's getting warm from the movements, so he's ditched the coat. Now he's just rocking a threadbare shirt and pants, so.
Because fuck people, honestly. Griffons don't care about politics or image or whatever. They just want food and head scratches. And after the Grand Necropolis debacle, Carver's happy to spend time up there with the beasts, giving them bits of food and learning about them. They're used to him enough now that they're not quite as rambunctious and screechy when he comes up, though that might have more to do with the fact that he always comes with food.
Carver's also wisened up; most of the shiny things on him are hidden or just entirely absent. Still, it doesn't stop one from trying to pick at a button on his shirt. Carver gently whaps its beak. "Don't you try it. Beth will give me that look and chide me, and I can't sew for shit." A protesting squawk. "Look, I'll bring you something big and shiny to play with next time. Knowing our luck, you'd swallow this thing and choke on it."
He gets perturbed look.
"I'm right and you know it."
You know the drill
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"We lived on a farm and yet it still smelled better than it does here." Ever the one to look on the bright side of things. "Didn't think it'd snow so hard here, honestly."
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"Oh now. You're just absolutely ridiculous. Although I am surprised by the snow myself." She looked around, pressing her legs up and under her.
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Tucking her hand through his arm, she shook her head, "For you, never. What can I help with, twin?"
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But he lets it go with a roll of his eyes as she tucks her arm through his. He's not quite sure how to go about asking what he wants to, since it's a touchy subject, at best. Still, he needs to know. There's a moment where Carver hesitates, looking around to make sure they're alone. "You might change your mind about that in a moment." Uh oh. "Beth, if you don't want to talk about it, I won't force it, but... Weisshaupt. Clarel. All of it. What... exactly happened?"
A sigh. He's heard bits and pieces, but he's never gotten the whole story. While luck favored him in keeping him in the Deep Roads while the whole thing played out, Carver feels like he's missing out on something. At the very least, he feels like he should know, especially if it ever comes up that they'd need to go back there for whatever reason.
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"Oh, Carver ... it was awful. There were mages there, with nothing in their eyes but a demon looking out of them. Clarel ... justifying turning people into abominations for the greater good. And our leader - Our Leader - forgetting every single principle that the Wardens are supposed to stand for and stealing the crown from a child. A child I am not entirely certain he was going to keep alive."
She exhaled, grief flashing over her face, "I'll tell you but - but you won't like any of it. I need you to promise me you won't run off half-cocked."
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Well, that particular horror, of mind hijacking. That Wardens started going insane, and their abominations began to control them. About how they went to escape through the nearest opening, with safe Wardens, with the Griffon eggs, and their sanity barely holding on.
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He listens, quietly, only his deepening frown betraying what he thinks as she tells him everything. Of course he knew it was bad, but hearing about it in detail just... there aren't words. The assault, the coup in the Anderfels, and what's happened since then. All of that, and for what? Power. That's all it ever came down to.
"Our brothers and sisters dead, and not even in the line of fulfilling their duty. Dying to darkspawn comes with the job, but to have to be put down like that... Maker take the First Warden and Clarel." And Corypheus, of course.
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"I never wanted to die by Darkspawn, but this somehow seems worse."
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