faderift | 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.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

the mountains are calling

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject