faderift | the mountains are calling

Entry tags:

the mountains are calling

WHO: Metaari and YOU!
WHAT: An arrival
WHEN: Mid-Haring
WHERE: In and around Skyhold
NOTES: hhhhh

It's been a hell of a few weeks, working his way from Redcliffe to the Frostbacks and slogging his way through snow to try to find this Inquisition. A blizzard lands him in a cave for two days before he's able to continue forward again, but when he can finally see the battlements in the distance it's as though his energy is renewed. It surges through him, and just shy of the outer camps he sets up his own to rest up before arrival. The last thing he wants is to show up looking like a tired beggar (who just happened to climb a mountain).

He's up early the next morning, the sun fresh in the sky, when he breaks down his camp to finally make his way to the hold proper. There are only a few glances thrown his direction as he picks his way through the soldiers, and he's glad to see that there at least one handful of Qunari. At least he knows now that he won't stick out quite so much.

When he's finally past the walls he lets out a low whistle, lifting his gaze up to take in the scene. The walls have seen better days, and what's before him looks more like organized chaos than anything, but it's still grander than any setup he's seen before. A grin settles on Metaari's face as he adjusts the bow around him before heading further in to take in the sights (and maybe see if a familiar face has come back yet). "Excuse me," he finally intones after some time wandering and meeting new people (whose names he's going to try very hard to remember), turning toward the nearest friendly face that doesn't seem too wrapped up in something. "Would you be able to direct me to someone I could speak with about work?"

(ooc; most likely locations to find him: anywhere with alcohol, archery range, the camps outside, and generally places that aren't cramped. or just be a bro and answer his question.)

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It's been hell of a time at Skyhold after the matters with the abomination has been ongoing. Now there's the political debates, and he's far less than thrilled with that. He supposes that was going to be inevitable, one way or another, but really he'd rather not have anything to do with it.

Drinking's been done, and then some. For now, Twisted Fate aims to distract himself, sitting by the camps as he thumbs through his novel.

That's about when the question is directed to him. He looks up, then smiles to himself.

Oh, he can certainly get used to all of the Qunari here.

"Certainly depends on the work," the elf drawls, closing his book before he stands. "Now I'm positive I haven't seen your face before, friend. Perhaps introductions are in order?"

The feeling is mutual. Metaari certainly isn't going to complain about all of the elves running around. He's pretty sure there are more of them here in one spot than he's seen in any one location before. At least, where they aren't aiming arrows at his face.

The grin that he offers the elf is lazy and easy going, unintentionally charming, and he inclines his chin a little bit. "Perhaps they are." He holds out a hand, large and calloused, and nods. "The name's Metaari. I've only just finished my little trek up the mountain today."

The mage places his hand into Metaari's; obviously by comparison, it was much softer, few calluses. A smile is given in return as he looks him over, from head to toe. "Charmed. I go by Twisted Fate. Just had a mountain climb and already you're asking about work? So eager."

He inclines with his head. "Why don't we have a brief sit down, and I can do my best to help answer your questions? I'll buy you a drink."

An eyebrow is raised a bit at the name but Metaari doesn't pursue the issue any further. He envelopes Twisted's hand in his own to give it a firm (but unbreaking) shake before he withdraws it. "What can I say? Idle hands make for idle mischief and all that. I can only imagine the kind of trouble I could make for myself if I were to sit around."

He grins a bit before taking a seat with a thankful nod, stretching his arms over his head. "A drink, is it? I think I like you already."

Most often he gets the question. Why the name? Where did you get it? And in return, he's always lied. The truth is always much less appealing. Frankly, it's rather nice that someone isn't bothering him about it and just accepts it. He approves.

"Some of us like trouble," he says, grinning sharply. "I'm a professional mischief maker, personally."

Fate laughs softly. "What a relief. I like me, too." He motions for the barmaid. "Please, two tankards of the honey mead-- you know, the one from Zaun. Thank you."

His eyes turn back to Metaari. "So, I'm going to guess. A mercenary? Hmm. Tal-Vashoth or Vashoth? As there is a bit of a difference, from my understanding."

"Entirely depends on the trouble, I'd say. Some is more fun than others." He inclines his head in greeting and thanks to the barmaid as she shuffles off to get the drinks before he turns his attention fully back to his new companion.

"Good guess. Vashoth. I was born outside of the Qun. My parents, however, are Tal-Vashoth. Last I knew, they have remained free of brainwashing so cheers to that, I suppose." He props his elbow up and rests his chin on his hand as he looks Fate over with a thoughtful hum.

"You're a bit trickier to pin down though, aren't you? Though I imagine that's entirely the point. You're doing an outstanding job of it."

"Fair enough. I'd much rather take a man's wallet than start a bar fight, for example."

As he presumed, but making assumptions is rarely safe. Fate folds his hands together as he listens, then grins to himself. "Good for them. And you," he says, and that's the extent he can truly remark on it. He doesn't know much about the Qun, as most outsiders do not, but he thinks he understands enough to assert an opinion.

"You catch on fast. I'll admit that I was part of a Dalish clan once, but that was a very long time ago. I'm whatever I want to be now."

Metaari lifts his shoulders in a faint shrug before grinning. "There are moments where I wonder what would have happened to me were I born under the Qun. And then I figure... well, I probably would have tried to get out. And then I'd just be in more trouble than I already am." Probably for the best that things worked out as they did.

He glances up briefly when the waitress returns and he nods his thanks before taking the tankard before tipping it to his lips, humming slightly as he lowers it. "Fine taste, and fine spirits they have here. I suppose there's good money in keeping an army... well lubricated, as it were."

"Best not to wonder too hard on what could have been, anyway. That, I tend to find is true." But he suspects that Metaari is right about that; for as much curiosity as Fate has had about the Qun, he's never had any desire to pursue that further. After all, nothing about their treatment of mages sounds endearing in the slightest.

Twisted Fate chuckles. "Without decent morale, we'd be even worse off. Well lubricated indeed." His brow lifts with a grin. "But it seems like you'll fit in well here, Metaari. You won't find any shortage of work. That, I can say."

Metaari is particularly fond of the tales of their mouths getting sewn shut. It's a good time for everyone, clearly.

The compliment (even if it isn't strictly one, he's going to take it as it is) makes him grin and he shrugs a bit. "I certainly hope so. It's what I'm here for, after all. I haven't had steady work in a while. I'm starting to feel a little bit useless." Only partially true. "I can only rescue so many cats from trees for little old ladies before I lose my mind."

Ellie had met Metaari during their travels. At first it had been convenient to travel with someone so large but by the time they got to Skyhold, Ellie had come to actually like the big guy.

She also is pretty impressed by the sight of the castle. They end up parting ways while getting assigned for work, given that they had different skill sets that makes sense.

Later, she runs into him again while seeking out where she's going to sleep. "Hey you," she says to him, a half grin on her face. "So what do you think? Worth the trouble?"

It'd been an interesting trip, but having a partner to climb the mountain with had made the trek significantly less tedious. More than one occasion found him literally paving a way through the snow for her to be able to follow along behind him, but it all worked out in the end. Amicable parting once they arrived, and a part of him hoped that they'd run into each other during their work with the Inquisition.

He's by the tent he's set up for himself, enjoying the warmth of the crackling fire, when he hears her. Metaari lifts his head and returns her grin, sitting up straighter as she approaches. There's a gesture toward one of the other logs set around the fire as a makeshift bench, inviting her to sit. "So far, so good. Haven't found any reason to not stick around. You?"

"The same," she answers, which is really saying a lot for her. She knows that he doesn't really know her well enough to understand that, but it still feels heavy in her chest.

She moves to sit down and then shifts to pull out some rations from her back. After unwrapping them, she offers him some. "They seem to have a pretty good handle on what they're doing, even if their Herald bit it."

Probably not the most reverent way to talk about that, but she assumed that Metaari wouldn't take her too seriously.

He doesn't, either. Honestly, he finds the whole Herald thing a bit ridiculous anyway, but he'll never be caught saying that out loud. He takes the bit of ration from her with a slight nod before biting into it, his eyes on the fire. Metaari lets out a breath as he lifts his arms into the air over his head with a stretch.

"They're certainly organized, though I guess their leaders have a fair amount of experience between them. I still don't think I've decided on who to talk to first. What do you think? Soldier or scout? Or the wild card third option, 'put me wherever you need me'?"

"I'm really a 'wherever I'm needed' kind of girl," she admitted. That really had more to do with her lack of commitment than anything, but she was trying not to be too obvious about it. "What about you?"

Metaari nods at that. It sounds like the best course of action, really. It might not be the most exciting thing in the world, but it's certainly the most useful. "That sounds about right. I've noticed that there are a lot of repairs to be made to the hold. I may not be a mason, but I could help them haul the stone around. I'm sure a few more hands won't be turned away."

"You might as well put those big muscles to good use," she teased. With anyone else it might have been flirting, but Ellie just sounded impressed more than anything, like she was rooting on a friend or her favorite knight.

"Oh, you know it." He lifts one of his arms and flexes, patting the muscle beneath the leather with his other hand. "I'll make sure to go at it shirtless, too. Just for the added swooning." Metaari grins and stretches his legs out in front of him, pointing them toward the low fire that still burned.

Oh look, another qunari! Taas smiles a little at the newcomer, looking up from the axe he was sharpening near the archery range. "Depends on what job you're looking for. Soldier, scout, building?" They all had different people in charge, after all. The warrior pegged this guy for a soldier, though. Tall as fuck, almost an inch or so to him, and that was pretty impressive.

"Good to see another around here. The people need another heavy lifter to help toss scout elves after they fall on you." Another chuckle, and he stands up, hoisting the axe over a shoulder and holding out his other hand in greeting. "I'm Taashath. Nice to meet you."

Metaari lets out a small bark of laughter as he approaches, his eyes flitting briefly toward the range before he looks back again, landing an appreciative glance to the axe. A little heavy handed and on the nose, but he knows how to appreciate the front line fighters. "Well, I am rather fond of tossing elves around for a bit of fun."

He stops a few feet short and lifts a hand in greeting. "See, that's the best part of me: I'm a good fit no matter the job they need done. Unless they're looking for someone to crawl through some small spaces. They may need to look elsewhere for that."

Taas keeps and eye on the other qunari's lips, smiling again when he reads what the guy is saying. The Tal-Vashoth mock-scoffs a bit and shrugs. "You only get stuck once, right?" Tapping his horns, he then grins again.

"You look like you'd fit in anywhere, too. The Commander is in the tower over there," he points up towards the ramparts and the tower that acted as Cullen's office. "...if he's not off doing training or in the War Room. I don't know where the head scout woman is, but the Commander is the better bet. Him, or any of his officers."

"True enough. You learn quickly what holes are too small."

Wait. No... no, he's going to let that statement go.

His gaze follows the various directions given to him, staring up at the tower indicated, and he nods. He puts the location in the back of his mind, filing it away for later; it'll probably be where he heads once he's ready. For now, though, he'd rather get to know the people who are fighting alongside this Inquisition. The leaders are important, sure, but the driving force are the troops.

Metaari brings his gaze back again, offering the man an easy smile. "Metaari, by the way. Apologies for skipping on that earlier. What is it you do for the Inquisition, Taashath?"

Taas barks a laugh at that, grinning at the other qunari. He definitely appreciated that little quip, and he's still chuckling a bit while Metaari took in his instructions.

"Metaari. A good name." Vashoth, probably. It made sense.

He takes another gander at the new qunari, measuring him up a bit. Big muscular dude, but with medium armor and a bow. So strong and agile. Could be a fun fight, if it ever came to that.

He's happy to see that the guy looked at him when he spoke, though. Less of a chance to miss anything.

"Me? I'm the token muscle around here. Guarding people on missions, killing what needs to be killed." He shrugs. "I spar with the troops so they can get some steam off, and do some instructing."

After a moment's pause he finally decides to settle himself in, rather than stay standing for much longer. He wanted to get to getting work and all, but this seemed a bit more fun at the moment. Besides, he's never gotten much opportunity to talk to other qunari. There weren't many in his company.

"Got it. So now I know who to look for when I need someone to stand behind. You're probably about the only one that could block me, anyway." He grins as he unslings his bow to set it on the ground beside him before he leans back on his hands, his legs stretched out in front of him. "How are they, anyway? The troops, I mean. I feel like I saw a lot of untested hands on my way through the camp."

"That's always an issue for us, isn't it? Don't worry, I'll have your back and front. In battle." Another laugh, and he gives the other qunari a bit of space so he could join him, happy to have a chat as long as Metaari was still facing him. The guy looked close in age as well, and that was a plus.

The teen boy was a hassle already.

"They're doing pretty well. Some are rugged veterans, some are basic soldiers, some are just pilgrims and farmers ready to fight. The guidance they get from the commander is impressive, though, and they're improving fast. It just happens to be a steady trickle of new blood." A shrug. "Same with the scouts."

Dammit, why were all the other qunari do damn tall? At 5'9", Kas barely reached Metaari to the armpits, even with his tiny stubby horns. Still, it was another one to join their weird little kith they were building around here, so he should probably say hi or something.

The teen pulls back his bow and sheathes the arrow he was pulling to hit the dummy, looking somewhere between confused and irritated. Which, in all honesty, might be his standard expression.

Pulling back his scout hood, he gives Metaari a look and then shrugs. "Head Scout Harding is somewhere... unless you want the Commander."

Oh, man, look at this one. Metaari is momentarily taken aback, but a second's hesitation is all it takes for him to get over the size of the young qunari in front of him and he smiles, lifting his hands in front of him. "Don't let me interrupt your practice. Please, continue."

Metaari steps around him, standing next to him in line with another dummy. He eyes it for a moment before glancing back again. "I'm guessing you went to Harding."

He's so jelly, Metaari. Even Korrin is taller, and she's a girl!

The newcomer's words about not interrupting makes the teen remember what he was doing, and he quickly fixes his stance and draws the arrow again, aiming. Keeping one eye on Metaari as the man moves to stand in the next row, he then focuses on the target. "Yeah. Didn't know what I could do, but I wanted to do something. I could kinda do daggers but most scouts use bows so now I'm training for that."

He lets the arrow fly, hitting the dummy's arm. Frowning, Kas draws another and tries to not feel embarrassed. He's an underweight and tiny qunari, he had to fight for his little pride after all. (In all honesty, he was doing good for just a month and a half of training.)

"Where are you from? You sound Riviani." Was this guy from home?

There's a small smile on Metaari's face as he pulls his sunbow from around his body, the wood delicate looking in his hand. An arrow is removed from his quiver and he glances sideways toward the younger boy before looking back down his lane again. "Try to keep your head centered. Tipping it forward or back will send your arrow off wrong."

He lifts his bow and knocks his arrow and takes a steady breath before drawing back the string. The moment it touches against his nose he releases, firing the arrow off to pierce the dummy where an eye would be.

"And yes. I was born in Rivain, at least, though I've spent more time traveling through most of Thedas than I have there. I assume you are as well, then?"

Pardon him, he's staring at that bow like it's made of gold, and the teen's face is a mask of awe as Metaari shoots the dummy. Slowly closing his mouth to not catch flies, Kas pulls another arrow from his quiver, knocking it into his horn nubs and nearly falling over when the bottom of the bow hit his gangly knees.

Trying to not look like more of a mess, the little qunari runs a hand through his messy white hair and does his best to ignore the fact that he just looked more accident-prone than a whole herd of druffalo.

"Y-yeah, I'm from Rivain. Used to be in the kith Nehraa Anaan. D'you know it?" The kith didn't actually exist, but that was another issue altogether.

A small, slightly amused smile crosses his face at that and Metaari tilts his head, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "A bow of the right size may help some, as well." To say the very least. Actually, that was usually step one.

The question makes him shrug and he shakes his head, his hands lifted. He only vaguely even knows what the word means, and that's thanks to a few Tal-Vashoth who cycled through his company and tried to teach him qunlat. "Not at all. I didn't stick around Rivain for long, if that's where you were stayed."

"Where did you get that? It's amazing!" Weapons were always a great way to get the teen's attention, and he was slowly drifting from shanks to bows being his favorite things. (Which might mostly have to do with his new scout status.)

Hearing Metaari saying he didn't know his kith, Kas looks a little disappointed, but shrugs. "Yeah, I was born there. Stayed most of my childhood in the kith, then I went to Ferelden."

Maxwell was neither a mage nor a templar, and as such had no reason to get mixed up in the respective councils. It was absolutely fine by him - so long as they didn't decide the best course was start hurling magic and swords at each other again - as the abomination left enough destruction in its wake to keep him busy. Hoping to earn a little extra coin to try and replace some of his burned belongings, he was sitting along the archery range, sharpening arrows for some fellow archers who were to willing pay him for the work.

Stroking the edges of one over a whetstone, intent on the work, he didn't realize immediately that was someone was speaking.

When he did, he turned, and then looked up with a blink - and up and up.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, offering a friendly, sheepish smile. "Were you speaking to me?"

Metaari rubs the back of his neck with a bit of a sheepish grin. He hadn't quite realized that the man was so involved in his work, though he should have been able to figure it out; he knows the feeling well, after all. There was nothing quite like working on an arrow.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to break your concentration." He steps closer before dropping down to the ground to take a seat, one leg stretched out in front of him. "I was asking directions but, as it turns out, I'm a bit tired of walking around this place for the time being." Metaari finally holds out a hand with an easy smile. "The name's Metaari."

Maxwell's mouth twitched, eyebrows cocking slightly as Metaari summarily plopped down beside him.

"Well," he chuckled pleasantly, "I suppose it worked out then."

He shifted the arrow to the same hand as the whetstone and reached with the other to meet Metaari's. "Maxwell. And don't worry, it looks intimidating, but a few dozen times across the courtyard and it gets a lot easier."

Metaari gives his hand a firm shake before he drops it back down to his side again with a short bark of a laugh. "True enough, that. As if the exercise climbing the mountain isn't enough, after that is the back and forth. Not to mention the stairs."

He cants his head to the side a little before tipping it toward the arrow with a curious glance. "A fletcher? Or are you just good with your hands?"

"There are a lot of those, even more hidden inside," Maxwell laughed, taking his hand back and returning it to the arrow, shifting it and the stone back into their comfortable positions. "But it makes every quick trip into an adventure, so one can't complain too much."

He began to stroke the arrowhead over the stone again, almost absently - well honed muscle memory - until the question actually had him think about it. He looked down at them, pausing, and rolled his shoulders genially.

"A bit of both, perhaps. I'm an archer, myself, but I also went through artificer training."

Edited 2015-12-27 15:21 (UTC)

An exaggerated groan leaves him at the announcement of even more stairs being inside the keep itself, but he grins all the same. Well, it's one way to stay in shape, that's for sure. Maybe he can go toss hay bales around the stables for the rest of his workout.

His eyebrows lift at that, genuinely surprised. "You, too? We should compare contraptions some time, then. I can whip up an almost textbook trip wire-explosive combo on the fly. Bit of a point of pride for me, actually." Actually, he probably wouldn't make a terrible scout, come to think of it. Not nearly as entertaining for him, though. "Nothing like picking up new ideas from someone, though."

Maxwell's eyebrows jumped, face lighting in surprise and pleasure. It wasn't often he came across a fellow lover of the trade.

"Me too," he grinned. "I don't have my sketchbook on me, but any time, I'd be happy to talk shop. Mines are a favorite of mine - I like the colors." The rainbow came with a flush of pride of being able to bottle them all so well, and watching them go off in such a nice cascade. "But the bread and butter is really detail work--"

He set down the arrow and stone, and reached for his bow, leaning against his far side. Pulling it up into his lap, he turned it out to show Metaari the work he'd done.

The bow was pale wood, with statement detailing on the limbs in sweeping, smooth lines, like feathers. More work was in progress, delicate filigree started on one side, waiting for its mirror on the other.

He's almost eager to see the bow, the moment he sees Maxwell reach for it. This is something he can imagine everyone can understand to some degree: others of their ilk comparing daggers, for instance, or front-line warriors discussing the materials their armor is made from. Craftsmanship is the same across all interests, and sharing the experience with those of a like mind is unique.

A low whistle escapes Metaari as his eyes roam across the bow, taking in the careful details, set in place by a steady hand. He nods slightly, glancing up with a grin. "Absolutely beautiful. I haven't the delicate touch for work like this myself, but I have nothing but admiration for those who do."

He unslings his own bow from around his body, significantly less intricate but polished and tended to just as lovingly. The wood looks delicate, like it would snap in half in the qunari's hands, but it was deceptively sturdy with a rune set in the grip. "A crafter from the company I was in did mine for me."

Maxwell was no less interested, watching with bright eyes as Metaari unslung his bow and held it out.

"Incredible," he grinned, resisting the urge to reach out and find out if it felt as smooth and polished as it looked. "Look at the striations in that wood."

Even without fine, delicate engraving, Metaari's bow was just as unique for the veins running through the timber - and Maxwell had such a fondness for the natural wood.

"And rune work! I haven't quite worked up the courage to attempt crafting one on my own yet," he admitted with a low chuckle. He raised his eyebrows at Metaari curiously, "Fire?"

The enthusiasm is infectious. He nods at the question, his fingers lightly tracing over the run. "Mm. We had someone in our company for a while who was well practiced in runes and he offered to do it for me. Said that fire would suit me the best. I can't say that I disagree."

If he had been a mage, he most likely would have focused on that. There was nothing quite like throwing things into chaos with a little flame.

"I imagine they've someone around here that could set runes for you, or teach you how. I have no patience for the work myself."

"Oh, I'm sure there is - or will be if there isn't yet," Maxwell said with an easy, unconcerned smile. "The Inquisition grows by the day, with people arriving from far and wide."

As Metaari himself was proof of.

It was both a good sign for the Inquisition and its goals, and for the individuals within like himself. There were a lot of opportunities to learn.

He slanted Metaari a hopeful look, "So, how about a demonstration?"

He gestured to the targets set nearby.

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the mountains are calling

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