OPEN |

[krem]

WHO: Krem and YOU
WHAT: Getting used to Kirkwall
WHEN: Present
WHERE: Dive bar, Gallows
NOTES: Other starters available on request, PM/PP (relatable)!

i. Some Tavern Somewhere

Krem didn't start the brawl, he swears—when a full mug of ale goes flying past his head, though, he joins in.

There isn't an overwhelming number of people keen on throwing hands with the guy in a full set of armor, but he still trades a few punches here and there. When he gets the attention of someone exactly drunk enough to lack the sense to lay down after getting hit more than once, he casts about and promptly zeroes in on one of the few barstools untouched by the chaos. He starts reaching for it even while asking whoever is standing closest: "Can I borrow this?"

Without waiting for an answer, he swings it like a bat right into the chest of the man charging towards them, sending him toppling over a table and into a messy pile of limbs on the floor. Krem has the gall to look surprised that the poor, innocent barstool survived its brief stint as a weapon, but he recovers enough to flash his most charming smile as he hands it back. "Thanks. Buy you a drink?"

ii. Indistinctly, the Gallows

On one of the rare occasions that Krem can be spotted outside of his armor, he is perched in one of the Gallows' common areas, stitching a patchwork of spare fabric pieces up into a stuffed nug. He's got on a pair of well worn trousers and a loose tunic with no sleeves on it so he can show off his guns for once. Look, he works hard, let him have this.

At anyone wandering close enough who doesn't look impossibly busy, he brandishes two scraps of cloth: one green, one brown. "This one or this one? For the wings."

Very important, please assist.

iii. On a Good Day for a Morning

Krem spends a considerable amount of time in the training yard, doing what looks like soldier's drills. He tends to be there right at the crack of dawn, because he is one of those crazy people who is actually productive in the morning, with a practice sword and shield and a slightly winded grin for anyone who looks ready to join.

Comments

[swordproof]

"I am. I have been in Thedas for almost a year now." Absently, Six wonders if Adalia would have met the year mark if she was still present, if she had not been returned to wherever it is that Rifters go when they are taken from this world. Her eyes flick over his features for a moment, wondering about his reaction, but she sees no reason to reach for her sword just yet - most people do not think of Rifters as the demons their Chantries imagine them to be and Six is thankful for that.

What does make her hand slip away is the rest, and she feels her eyes widening before she shakes her head. She knows her story sounds fantastical - a God, coming to you and speaking to you, offering you power in return for faith and an Oath, but it is not entirely unique in her world. There are many Paladins, many Clerics, all of whom are devoted to a God, chosen or otherwise.

"Not like the Herald. There are many Paladins in my world, those who devote themselves to a God and are given powers and blessings in return for that devotion. Sarenrae spoke to me in my dreams and was the chosen God of my mentor when he was training me. I am blessed to have been seen as worthy a follower for her."