II. OPEN.

[glandival]

WHO: Sabine and potential best friends. (No.)
WHAT: Having arrived at Skyhold a couple weeks back, Sabine continues to settle in.
WHEN: The end of Haring, the beginning of Wintermarch.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: A couple of prompts below, but let me know if you'd like to do something specific or wish to hash out ideas in plurk or PM.

(BELOW) THE COURTYARD;

[ Busy work cures Sabine of idle hands, sitting nearer the stock of weapons than the actual sparring grounds, although she has a good vantage of the latter. She sits unceremoniously on the ground, her legs clad in simple leggings and in a comfortable configuration of half crossed, one knee up and bent. Work, today, constitutes of the crafting of arrows. A bundle of sticks -- straightened from their natural bend, already stripped of its bark -- is gathered to her left, and she uses a knife to work one end. Feather halves, to line against it, and fibrous string to bind it in place.

It's fiddly, but in this setting, not unnecessary. Conversations drift over her head, and she goes mainly ignored. Her ears mark her as one of the people, especially prominent with her wild hair kept barely tame in a thick braid down her back. Her hands are practiced enough that she doesn't need to watch all the time what she's doing; her eyes dart to the people coming and going around her, the training of recruits across the courtyard, and anything else of interest. ]

(ABOVE) THE BATTLEMENTS;

[ She isn't much of a drinker, but she is Orlesian, and when one wishes to climb the battlements and then climb even more up onto the slanting, frankly dangerous rooftops of Skyhold just to watch the sun go down, you should take some wine.

Somehow, Sabine's managed to get to her perch despite the thick woollen skirt that now drapes about her, and a cutting, cold wind tugs at her hair let free. She has a wineskin in hand, and she takes a generous mouthful of it, which has her jerk back, turn her head, and spit it out again in a steady, mouth-warmed stream down onto the battlements to her side. Ergh. She never thought she'd be picky about her wine, until she drank Fereldan.

Oh well.

Bracing herself, her second swig is just as deep, but gets swallowed this time. Above her, the sky fades from deeper blue, to truer black. ]

(AMONGST) THE MERCHANTS;

[ The market trade growing within the Inquisition is just that -- growing. A sampling of Orlesian and Fereldan wares, from gathered herbs to colourful blankets, to old swords with the dents carelessly banged out of them to a fine old antique shield that still has some sturdy left to it. Practical things, but not always.

All of Sabine's arrows go to the Inquisition, but she has other services she might provide. She doesn't have her own cart, but she does have a blanket, spread out in front of her while she works, displaying little wooden trinkets -- as simple as loose, colourful beads with tiny carvings through to complex designs, such as bracelets carved to spiral thrice around the wrist, or smooth polished wooden earrings that hook into place and nestle behind the ear. Anklets, bracelets, rings of any imagining, all made of wood, of different tones and colours. Most are unpainted, but some have a touch of colour.

Her bare feet are flat against the packed earth as she works on whatever will go on sale next, little carving knife in hand, wood bits to her other side. She doesn't spruik her wares, remaining silent instead, but is quick to make eye contact whenever someone wanderers nearer, as frankly appraising of them as they may be of her work. ]

Comments

[foxsays]

[Twenty crowns seems more than fair to her, when something is made by hand, materials bought or sourced too.]

I'm sure she will love it, unexpected gifts are always the best gifts anyway and perhaps I will come for something for myself too. [When she's fleeced more soldiers out of coin.] Korrin's away right, somewhere colder than here. [Not that she can really imagine a cold like that but if an entire river has frozen then it has to be colder than Skyhold.] Emprise du Lion, she's been away for a while. [And she most likely butchered that because Orlesian is proving to be something of a challenge for her.]

[[ooc: no worries, life gets that way sometimes!]]

[glandival]

[ Sabine's brow furrows at that name, as if it niggles some memory of hers, but maybe she's overheard it a few times in Skyhold without thinking. No, she's been thoughtful in her time in Skyhold, so it's likely not an accident.

Which isn't better. Maybe someone is here who knows her.

But this source of tension only plays out on her face for as long as Araceli is talking, shoving it aside forcibly as she goes to pick up the pouch she uses for her earned coin, unbuttoning it. ]

I have heard utterings of Emprise du Lion. Do you know the business the Inquisition has there? [ After a beat, she adds; ] I am new.

[foxsays]

The river is frozen so supplies I would assume are a nightmare. I have never laid eyes upon this place myself though, so I cannot be certain of that. There were rumours of a sort of Templar, people being captured, a lot of dark things. [Any hesitation is less because she doesn't wish to say and more because she doesn't fully understand all of it; the place is unfamiliar but everything moves faster over water, and the Templar talk goes right over her head.] I'm still sort of new, there's much to learn here, hopefully that will point you in the right direction without me confusing the issue at all.

[For instance, she still hasn't actually asked what lyrium is in the first place.]

[glandival]

[ It'd be easy to dismiss that as an echo of her own status; people come through the Skyhold gates next to every day, if slowing to a trickle with the diminishing of war between Templar and mage. But the glow, like reflection off water, is one of quasi-familiarity, and Sabine tips her head as she chases the reflection of it with a glance. ]

I've never visited. But it is a region of my country, when so much I have heard of the Inquisition comes from Ferelden so far. I'm interested about where this war is going. Perhaps it will take me home again.

[foxsays]

[When her hand annoys her enough at odd moments - too much bright light early in the morning, casting strange shadows if she's trying to sneak somewhere to lift a few coins - she tries to make as little a show of it as possible when she tucks it into her pocket again. If there are questions, and often there are, she'll answer them but it might not stop being weird.]

Is it war? [An honest question, with no true fear about being thought of as simple because war is a more clean-cut matter usually, or it at least appears that way.] I thought a war would have more fighting, less waiting for someone to make a move. How did you hear of the Inquisition then? I left Skyhold once, I don't know what others say about it or how well anything is really known.

[She knows from soldiers and scouts, but they're going to have a bias anyway so it doesn't hurt to get more perspective.]