OPEN | they've given you a number

[hassaran]

WHO: Open to all, plus a couple specific closed starters
WHAT: Moving into the DH quarters, general routines, and kicking off some particular intel-gathering ops
WHEN: Now-ish
WHERE: Around the Gallows, but if you'd prefer somewhere else hit me up on plurk and we can work something out.
NOTES: n/a, will be updated if that changes

Yseult's move into the Scouting office and Division Head quarters isn't immediate. There are Beleth's things to be packed up and new chosen to replace them, options scavenged from unused quarters or dusted off after years in storage. Gallows staff come and go, bearing away rolled-up wall-hangings and grumbling about how to get the old desk back out through the doorway (they got it in here so there must be a way without sawing it in half), and Yseult can be found "overseeing" the minor commotion. This appears to mostly involve her ignoring it, except to shift from perching on this windowsill to that end-table or crate corner as needed, rotating around the emptying rooms as she reads through a stack of files, occasionally making notes with a stub of pencil otherwise tucked behind an ear or rolled absent-mindedly between knuckles.

When she runs out of reading material she might instead be found even further up the central tower in the aerie, visiting with the griffons. One of the adolescents, a white female with grey-tan markings on face and wings, seems to delight in prowling on tip-toes behind her, attempting to discreetly sidle up and steal things out of her pockets as Yseult pretends not to notice, only to coincidentally shift out of reach just at the key moment. When this game grows old there are others: a version of Find-the-Lady played with three wooden cups and a hidden treat, or catch played with bits of food or a leather ball and other random objects tossed around the aerie, griffons darting between rafters and racing to beat their siblings to catch it.

The training grounds are another common haunt, though she prefers odd hours--at dusk or dawn, or during mealtimes--when they are at their emptiest. She trains most often empty-handed or with knives, obviously a favored weapon whether thrown or wielded against one of the straw-filled bags hung from the ceiling. But sometimes it's a long staff, or two short ones, a whip-fast rapier, occasionally even a regular longsword or mace if she really wants to sweat through a challenge. Most sessions begin and end with her scaling the walls of the training hall building up to the roof, light on her feet across the ridgeline to a far corner within leaping distance of the isle's outer wall and from there across parapets and rooftops and forgotten banner-line ropes back to the main towers. She usually chooses her moment carefully to make this climb without being spotted, but can occasionally be caught dangling from a gutter on her way up or down. With the Scouting suite in flux, she can still be found in the common baths in the Templar tower afterwards.

After a couple days, the dust settles on the eighth floor, and from then she can be often found in the re-fitted Scouting office, its door always cracked open to eavesdrop on the hallway invite a knock unless she is in conference with someone. The space has been rearranged, but some of the spirit of Beleth's office remains in the pair of armchairs and tea-table now set in front of the fire and in the bookcases that still line the walls. The desk, large but simply carved on its solid front, is already accumulating files and missives neatly collected in stacks around the central blotter and pewter inkwells. The walls are bare, but that seems likely to be temporary, a few rolled tapestries in a corner and paintings in frames propped against the wall. When not bent over a report, pen in hand, she might be found flipping through them, or contemplating the merits of a seaside landscape in various positions on the wall, frowning thoughtfully over a cup of tea late into the evening.

Comments

[hassaran]

[ Yseult is perched on the sill of one of the tall, narrow windows, a boot braced against the stone beneath. ]

The bulk of them are still in Ghislain, according to our reports. The darkspawn are raiding further afield, but the army itself hasn't moved. We've no notion what they're waiting for.

[ She watches the straw fly as the young griffons wrestle to be first to find the ball, to the increasing annoyance of their elders. ]

Full grown they can carry two riders. We might be able to drop someone inside the city walls at night. In Ghislain, or Perendale. Minrathous.

[katabasis]

[A low hum. His hand drifts high to his chin to tug absently at the short crop of his beard - a practiced, thoughtless motion.]

There must either be something worth their attention between Ghislain and Perendale, or they're not as well-supported as we suspect. Otherwise there'd be no reason to dig in while Orlais scrapes its army back together and the South sorts out the Divine business. Eyes in either [--Or, says the look he gives her, in Minrathous--] might have some opportunity to find out which.

How many riders does the Inquisition have now?

[hassaran]

[ Her thoughts exactly, says the steady look she gives back. ]

Not enough. A couple Wardens, a couple others. As far as I know they've never really been used. I can understand being reluctant to risk them. [ She casts a glance toward the adolescents, tumbling and squawking playfully. They're awfully cute to put in danger. ] But they're a potential advantage I don't think we can forego any longer.

[katabasis]

Losing a few wouldn't cripple the breeding stock. [A fairly bloodless assessment, especially when underscored by the symphony of thumps and scratching and indignant half-squawks from the two young griffons scrabbling in the straw.] That said, I imagine they've some innate protection. No one would kill a griffon if there were a chance to capture one.

[In which case, best to be mindful they never give anyone the chance to take a breeding pair. The last thing they need is finding themselves facing flying Venatori in a handful of years.

(The last thing they need is to still be fighting Venatori for the length of time it would take to hatch and raise new fledglings.)]

How long would it take to train new riders? Allowing, of course, that the new Divine doesn't have an allergy.

[Change is in the air and very soon there will be a woman on a fancy chair with strong opinions about the force here in Kirkwall and what they apply themselves to.]

[hassaran]

[ Yseult makes a soft noise of agreement. Unlikely anyone would be willing to go along with a 'kill your griffon before allowing it to be captured' rule, but they can counsel caution, at least. Assuming they manage to get this concept off the ground. ]

To fly, aweek or two, if they take to it. Actual combat from their backs, I'd guess a few months, depending on skill? Maybe less, if they can form a bond with a griffon. They're smart enough to understand verbal commands, and I'm told they'll even follow them if they trust you.

[ She looks back at Flint and raises a brow. ] Have you tried it?

[katabasis]

[A pause, all shot through with a genuine look of surprise. It's a very tactile point in comparison to the rest - a question rooted here in this room, specifically about him rather than someone or something somehow five miles distant.

He chuckles, grin flashing briefly wide behind the line of his knuckles. With an air of downright boyish conspiracy:]

Have you?

[hassaran]

[ Caught off-guard by this shift in expression and manner, the like of which she has never seen or imagined on Flint, Yseult smiles back without thinking, and leans as if to share a secret. ]

Once. It took two whole chickens and the risk of my fingers but one of the older ones agreed to take me. It was incredible.

[katabasis]

[There's an undeniable appeal to it, isn't there? Never mind the practical applications, the whole concept of being so removed from the world entirely on the merits of an animal who's trust requires earning tugs at the imagination. It's a good story.

He laughs again, and the grin must tug wide again but he's turned his face away and in the moment after, one of the juvenile griffons at last loses interest in with wrestling in favor of loping back on its mismatched gait. She chirps once then throws herself under Yseult's feet with a blustering sigh. Flint tips his face back. Some of that good humor still survives there.]

I happen to like my fingers where they are, but two chickens? Might be possible.

[hassaran]

[ Yseult reaches down to the griffon beneath her, tall enough now to make her draw one foot up onto the sill, and busy flexing her claws grumpily into the battered floorboards. She sits up and regards the approaching hand for a moment before allowing Yseult to ruffle the short feathers that tuft around her ears, the last lingering bits of baby down, soon to be shed. ]

Worth the investment. And who knows, one might take to you. I suspect in a month or so when she's grown enough Pockets here may let me ride her without trying to relieve me of my fingers at all.