WHO: Yngvi, Tavin, Iris; open WHAT: Stuff, things WHEN: Wintermarch WHERE: In and around Kirkwall NOTES: Grab me on plurk/discord if you want something specific that's not there. Action brackets or prose, either is fine.
i; Trapmaking should, in theory, be confined to a sensible sort of space where all the various components – small, fiddly, invariably sharp once you get to the assemly stage of the game – don't have the opportunity to get lost the way they do when you've taken up residence in the courtyard. But it's a dry spot and Yngvi has too many nugs about, fully capable of trodding on or attempting to eat pins and screws and what have you.
So the courtyard. Something with cruel and wicked teeth when it's done, Yngvi in the centre of the chaos spiralling out about him.
ii; Lowtown's markets have always been the bread and butter for any sort of thief to learn how to pick a mark or ply their trade and if you grew up here and made it, you probably know everyone. Probably know how to run your errands just so.
But it's Lowtown at night, all packed up, just the drunks and the rowdy staggering home or on to pastures murkier still (or wetter, never know what you'll fish up in Kirkwall do you) when Yngvi has rounded a corner. Or maybe you're about to because there's noise. Enough to be intriguing in that oh I really shouldn't but I'm a nosy bastard so I'm going to until there's a hand on your sleeve.
"Reckon you should leave off if you want all your bits intact." Look down. To the left. Down more. Hey hi he's here.
i; To say it's been a while is charitable. Putting it mildly. The thing is that Tavin's not some entirely defenseless idiot but when you've got the coin for it and you're recording what's going on, you don't always need to be the one with the weapons. Hence why the bow in his hands doesn't look like it's seen much use in the past year if it's seen any at all beyond someone confirming yes that's the bow for you.
Still, he's here now, Riftwatch, and there's a space to practice.
And he's not terrible just—
He thought he was better? No he definitely was. A while back. (When were the wyverns? He can't remember, it's hardly important.) But he goes through it all, aim, draw, release—
There are a lot of arrows to go collect, point and laugh, give him some pointers, or maybe it's time for him to stop because sometimes you just make it worse for yourself in the end.
ii; Officially Tavin doesn't have a space but if there's something you get good at when you're in the state of semi-perpetual researcher and never quite taking up that full scholarly position because that would mean too little time doing fieldwork and far too much time arguing with stodgy old men (most of them Orlesian), then you just sort of. Find a space. Which is what Tavin's done. Multiple times. Moving whenever he has to because you don't do all the work he gets up to in the privacy of your bedroom unless there's no other option.
Unfortunately without students, when you're elbow deep in innards, there's no one to assist and Cedric might want to but only with his mouth and that's the opposite of helping at this stage so Tavin heaves a sigh and leans in the direction of the open door as much as he dares.
i; Orlais had little to say about Kirkwall that was kind, at least not in the Chantry where Iris became Sister Héloïse, a Revered Mother who shook her head and said more than perhaps was wise about impressionable girls. There's much of Kirkwall to explore and outside of a few trips and a quick errand with another Sister, Iris hasn't done much alone yet, settling in the Gallows, finding her way about quietly and sticking to places she knows.
Basket in her arms with food and coin because better to let the people choose – there'd be wine if it was home but belts are tightened here and she's too new to chance it – she's milling about through Lowtown and the Docks mostly, stopping when and where she will from early in the morning to late in the evening, a trip back to the Gallows to refill the basket.
Just a small Sister in Chantry robes walking about Kirkwall actually doing her duties because some people have to pick up the slack.
ii; exploring. Which is why Iris is maybe puttering around the library. Or watching anyone who might be training in the courtyard. Maybe she's in the stables talking to the horses and peering dubiously at some of the stranger mounts that might be lurking.
Or she's just poking around. With something that might make her look busy because you can't grow up in a Chantry without learning how to look busy lest some Mother or Sister or Brother or even a Templar stick you with chores or think you need to recite this verse or that. Sorry if it's your office or workspace she's just tried to have a peek in.
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yngvi
Trapmaking should, in theory, be confined to a sensible sort of space where all the various components – small, fiddly, invariably sharp once you get to the assemly stage of the game – don't have the opportunity to get lost the way they do when you've taken up residence in the courtyard. But it's a dry spot and Yngvi has too many nugs about, fully capable of trodding on or attempting to eat pins and screws and what have you.
So the courtyard. Something with cruel and wicked teeth when it's done, Yngvi in the centre of the chaos spiralling out about him.
ii;
Lowtown's markets have always been the bread and butter for any sort of thief to learn how to pick a mark or ply their trade and if you grew up here and made it, you probably know everyone. Probably know how to run your errands just so.
But it's Lowtown at night, all packed up, just the drunks and the rowdy staggering home or on to pastures murkier still (or wetter, never know what you'll fish up in Kirkwall do you) when Yngvi has rounded a corner. Or maybe you're about to because there's noise. Enough to be intriguing in that oh I really shouldn't but I'm a nosy bastard so I'm going to until there's a hand on your sleeve.
"Reckon you should leave off if you want all your bits intact." Look down. To the left. Down more. Hey hi he's here.
iii;
[wildcard]
tavin
To say it's been a while is charitable. Putting it mildly. The thing is that Tavin's not some entirely defenseless idiot but when you've got the coin for it and you're recording what's going on, you don't always need to be the one with the weapons. Hence why the bow in his hands doesn't look like it's seen much use in the past year if it's seen any at all beyond someone confirming yes that's the bow for you.
Still, he's here now, Riftwatch, and there's a space to practice.
And he's not terrible just—
He thought he was better? No he definitely was. A while back. (When were the wyverns? He can't remember, it's hardly important.) But he goes through it all, aim, draw, release—
There are a lot of arrows to go collect, point and laugh, give him some pointers, or maybe it's time for him to stop because sometimes you just make it worse for yourself in the end.
ii;
Officially Tavin doesn't have a space but if there's something you get good at when you're in the state of semi-perpetual researcher and never quite taking up that full scholarly position because that would mean too little time doing fieldwork and far too much time arguing with stodgy old men (most of them Orlesian), then you just sort of. Find a space. Which is what Tavin's done. Multiple times. Moving whenever he has to because you don't do all the work he gets up to in the privacy of your bedroom unless there's no other option.
Unfortunately without students, when you're elbow deep in innards, there's no one to assist and Cedric might want to but only with his mouth and that's the opposite of helping at this stage so Tavin heaves a sigh and leans in the direction of the open door as much as he dares.
"A little help! Only a moment of your time!"
iii;
[wildcard]
Iris/Sister Héloïse
Orlais had little to say about Kirkwall that was kind, at least not in the Chantry where Iris became Sister Héloïse, a Revered Mother who shook her head and said more than perhaps was wise about impressionable girls. There's much of Kirkwall to explore and outside of a few trips and a quick errand with another Sister, Iris hasn't done much alone yet, settling in the Gallows, finding her way about quietly and sticking to places she knows.
Basket in her arms with food and coin because better to let the people choose – there'd be wine if it was home but belts are tightened here and she's too new to chance it – she's milling about through Lowtown and the Docks mostly, stopping when and where she will from early in the morning to late in the evening, a trip back to the Gallows to refill the basket.
Just a small Sister in Chantry robes walking about Kirkwall actually doing her duties because some people have to pick up the slack.
ii;
exploring. Which is why Iris is maybe puttering around the library. Or watching anyone who might be training in the courtyard. Maybe she's in the stables talking to the horses and peering dubiously at some of the stranger mounts that might be lurking.
Or she's just poking around. With something that might make her look busy because you can't grow up in a Chantry without learning how to look busy lest some Mother or Sister or Brother or even a Templar stick you with chores or think you need to recite this verse or that. Sorry if it's your office or workspace she's just tried to have a peek in.
Judging, maybe, depending on the décor.
iii;
[wildcard]