But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more!

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran and any on the road!
WHAT: Walking, drinking, dancing, dirty songs and poetry while hiking to Skyhold. Perhaps a stop in a tavern or two along the way.
WHEN: The course of several days on the road.
WHERE: The Road to Skyhold, Skyhold itself
NOTES: Zev is a walking content warning coarse language, innuendo, drinking

Strange how after a solid year of hiking over hill and dale, through Imperial Highways and muddy side tracks he'd sworn to never do so again no matter the company or the cause. And yet here was Zevran yet again on foot (an elf with a horse attracted too much attention in the area) walking the long way to Skyhold with the odd thumb out for any passing caravan- provided they were not bandits. Company he did not mind. Burglary? Less so. From what little he'd heard of the events at Haven and his concern for a country that had been, for all to brief a time, a home of sorts, Zevran made his merry way along the road to this fortress rumored to be the best option for a strategic regroup. Perhaps he would meet someone familiar, perhaps he might offer his services.

The options were many. As were the songs that he would use to amuse himself, strumming a worn, well sanded lute while he walked. Now and then snatches of Antivan would curl through the air, lilting and easy and- to anyone that understood? Absolutely filthy.

"Le mie gambe sono avvolte intorno a voi collo,
Il tuo cazzo nella mia strada, spinte e agitare!
Ero a letto , ma ora sono in questo petto .
Cosa stai mi dà grande piacere!"

So on and so forth from one tavern to the next on the long trek, if coaxed and if it would see him fed or paid, he would play a few of the softer, more romantic tunes he knew. But for the most part? Smut. Quite a bit of smut. It wasn't as though anyone truly understood him all that often.

His actual arrival was a little less Merry, he had to give one thing to wandering bandits. When they coordinate well enough for a solid ambush and attack en masse? It wasn't the simplest fight to handle alone. Escaping unscathed wasn't entirely possible but he had managed to find a group of either merchants or refugees or a mix of both, he wasn't all that certain, to walk with for the last streatch. One even deigned to allow him to ride the last leg in- provided he rode on the back of the cart and entertained them. As such Zevran's arrival was marked with his voice crackling out past laughter.

"'But yes, she asks, what is the difference?' and I tell her-

'The difference is in where you put the cucumber.'"

Comments

[slipshot]

It wasn't that he was on duty, exactly. More that he was just curious, with all the arrivals to Skyhold, so he'd positioned himself on the bridge to watch as they were brought in. The laughter caught his attention. It wasn't something he'd heard much of, the last few days. Everyone had been very grim, since Haven. So when he heard it he slipped from his seat on the stone wall and padded his way over to the cart, his bow over his shoulder, to see who it belonged to.

He smiled when he saw it was an elf.

"I think I either missed a lot, without hearing the context of that joke, or absolutely nothing at all."

[mythalenaste]

Pel has never heard that accent before, and when the laughter rises, she drifts toward it. She is surprised to see the entertainer is an elf. She didn't think an elf could become popular among shems. She halts some distance away, setting a bucket of water down at her feet and listening.

[ombranera]

Having arrived his use of the cart was at it's limit- he could impose no longer. With one last warm grin and clap on the shoulder to the kind merchant that assisted him he hopped off the bench. The twinge in his ribs had gotten somewhat more bearable and there ought to be a healer here, but like most things this came second to turning that smile upon who it was that addressed him next. Never let them see you sweat, Zevran, all that.

"Ah, well. It is the end of quite a long story I am afraid. It would take some time to tell again- though..." He tapped his chin, eyes darting up and down the length of his target. "I cannot say I would mind spending that much time in your company."

[ombranera]

Cries for another go around and- well. As they permitted him to remain without charging him for their food or the use of their cart he cannot very well tell them no, can he? He can't. A man passes him his lute and he begins to strum- no real song but simple backing for the first barrage of dirty limericks.

"There was a Young Man from Kent
Whose Rod was so long it bent.
So to save himself trouble
He bent it in double,
And instead of coming -- he went!" Zevran finishes with a little flourish to another wave of laughter.

[slipshot]

Gavin gave an answering grin that gave absolutely no indication of whether he recognized the flirting or was completely oblivious to it.

"Well, if you've come to join the Inquisition, I suspect we'll have plenty of time. It's nice to see one of the people, though, and nicer to hear a laugh or two. I'll warn you that laughter has been hard to come by, lately."

Despite his words, Gavin seemed in quite a pleasant mood, and he scanned Zevran for himself. "Been on the road a while?"

[ombranera]

Best to double down to be certain. "Oh? Does that include one on one sessions where someone might inquisite me?"

That word shouldn't have so much innuendo, not enough vowels to really drag across like a proper seduction requires but Zevran was nothing if not game for a challenge.

"Ah well. If I might earn my ride in joy rather than coin? More the better for all involved. I am glad we arrived when we did, I am nearly out of dirty limericks."

[mythalenaste]

She doesn't really get the joke, at least not the last two words--maybe city folk get it? But she's drawn to the mirth. It's nice to be around laughter in this place.

When the crowd has dispersed at last, she approaches him, still carrying her water. She is intrigued by this peculiar elf.

"Where did you learn those stories?" she asks.

[slipshot]

The grin slid up his lips just a little further and he chuckled. "I'd like to think we could be a little more creative than that," he quipped back.

"Dirty limericks? Alright, I'm in. I'll trade you two for a pint of ale, and a welcome tour to the castle, if you'd like one."

[ombranera]

"Ah, here and there. Some taverns, some marches, more than a few brothels." Whores become bored as much as anyone else, after all. More frequently if his memory serves. He gives another little strum of the lute, picking out a tune. "Would you care for a song?

[ombranera]

Ah, there they were. Excellent. "How creative? I am an elf of the world after all, I have seen and done many things."

And people, but that would go without saying.

"As you wish." He spread his hands and made a half bow- normally he would go for the full court sweep but his ribs were not quite cooperating. Done all with a smile he snapped back up, cleared his throat, and began.

"There was a young lady named Claire
Who possessed a magnificent pair;
Or that's what I thought
'Til I saw one get caught
On a thorn, and begin to lose air."

[slipshot]

"Well, I'm sure as a pair of worldly elves, we could figure out something entertaining."

He couldn't help it - he laughed. He had been about to try to play it cool - to chuckle, at the moment, with a sly glance, but he ended up laughing, instead. A deep, honest, laugh - the kind that one really only could do out of relief of being able to laugh at all. He managed to pull it down into an almost giggling chuckle, before motioning for Zevran to follow him.

"Come on, then. The pub's this way. Creators-- Going to take me ten minutes to get that image out of my head."

[ombranera]

Playing the pretty fool was often the safest way to learn more of his new surroundings, to peg targets and assets and who he might be more or less around as needed. The rules were different when engaging with elves but it seemed to be proving true. Well humored, clever, and somewhat weary.

Most would be.

"That one is a true story." Some of them were, some of them weren't. The funniest ones tended to be true. Something about the truth being stranger than fiction. "She was attempting to smuggle lyrium powder by strapping it to her bosom underneath the false chest. I may have been heartbroken."

[slipshot]

Gavin really didn't need to play the fool. Luck had more to do with him being alive than anything else. He was all too willing to take Zevran just as he appeared.

People were often better if you took them how they wanted to be, rather than what they were, anyway. (If that made any sense at all.)

"That sounds like it could have gone horrifyingly badly," Gavin remarked with a lopsided grin. "Not a bad idea for smuggling, I suppose, though I'm afraid it wouldn't work if I tried it..."

[ombranera]

"Provided you don't mind traveling as a fat elf? It could be done." Though finding one of THOSE was a rare thing. They did not pack it on quite so well as most humans- nor were they ever fed so well as to have the fat to spare. "Mmm. Perhaps if you did not mind dressing as a woman for the entirety of the trip? Most humans can't quite tell until we begin speaking, I've noticed."

[mythalenaste]

"I have to--"

Wait. No she doesn't. There isn't a single thing she actually has to do. She was carrying water to wash up the room she's sleeping in, but that can wait the space of a song. She doesn't have anything to do after that. For the whole day, almost. This place is weird.

So she sets the bucket down and settles on the ground to listen.

On the road somewhere

[dreadinquisitor]

It was at once a thrilling journey, farther than Maxwell had ever gone and full of new sights, and he knew with every step he was closer to a nebulous future. Wondrous in it's pure potential and uncertainty.

It was, at the same time, exhausting; for much the same reasons.

There was no turning back now. He'd burned his bridges behind him, and even if he'd wanted to rebuild them, he wouldn't have had the coin now to return.

Taking a couple of the ones he had left, he bought himself a plate of dinner at a tavern and found a seat for himself not far from the bard. He listened as he chewed, head half-cocked curiously. He didn't recognize the words, but the way the elven serving girl snickered as the tune finished, he knew he was missing some sort of joke.

"At the risk of ruining the aura of mystery, can I ask what it means?" he asked.

[nofury]

"And there goes my appetite."

It's pure dry sarcasm rather than real disgust. Really,Maria would actually come close to killing for a nice, fresh vegetable right now among these barely tamed, frozen mountains. But it's an appropriately non-desperate welcome committee response to the merchants. She's in full Templar plate, but like everyone else in this place it's more a practical hangover (who throws out good armor?) than a representation of current loyalties. A year ago she would have been searching the cart for rogue apostates. Now she's just here to help unload. Including the mildly injured elf inside of it.

"Trouble on the road?"

[ombranera]

"Perhaps something a bit softer, yes?" She hadn't been laughing with the rest- and a mark like that? Dalish. The more overt and crude poems tend to go either over their head or under their skin in an unfun way for everyone involved. So Antivan love poetry it is, sung in an easy baritone.

"Io non chiedermi se ti amo,
perché quella domanda mi offende,
se potessi mettere i soldi sulla valuta
per fare una torre di tutto ciò che sento,
credo me venire al cielo."

[ombranera]

In this part of the world? Not many know Antivan. And those that did tended to not mind the content or the tone- Antivans were lovers, were wanderers, adventurers. The further from home they were? The more likely they were either a noble at work or a rogue of some sort. Nobles didn't take time in the taverns Zevran stopped in so, fellow rogues and lovers enjoyed the music well enough.

Picking a little tune to buy himself a moment to sip his ale, Zevran turned enough to face the rather curious face of his audience. "Well...It loses some of the beauty in it's translation but- it was a tale of a nobleman that was quite taken with a maid and invited her to bed, only to end up taken himself."

[ombranera]

"Perhaps something sweeter and less saucy next time, yes?" He can do sweet. On occasion. If pressed. For now he slides himself out of the back of the cart, hand on the side to keep himself from landing badly. The cut he'd patched before he'd met up with the merchants but he is most certainly feeling the lack of some sort of potion or proper healer's touch now.

"You should see the other man." A beat- but templars are not often known for their humor. "Bandits. I took care of it- they should not be troubling anyone else on the road anytime soon."

[nofury]

She leans back, just enough to give the other travelers a once over. Yup. Not a scratch beyond the occasional menacing splinter or blister among them. Interesting. Despite the observation, she's still got a job to do. Maria dives into the unpacking process as she responds.

"And all by yourself. Remind me not to haggle for anything on this cart. You must be a terror in the marketplace."

[ombranera]

"Ah, I am with them but I am not with them, so to speak. They found me after the bandits and gave me a ride the rest of the way." For which he paid in terrible jokes and poetry. Commerce!

He can walk away, find that healer- or throw in and get a feel for those that are here and what they mean to do. So. Unpacking alongside the templar it is! "I had heard this Inquisition may be in need of someone of my skills?"

[serannas]

Ellana was intrigued by the song the elf played at the tavern, having heard it from outside. The tune seemed to draw her in and she sat at a table across from where Zevran was set up, just watching with her chin in her hand. It was good to hear new music, even if she didn't understand the words. The Dalish had few songs written in elven, and most were about sorrow and loss, so not the cheeriest of tunes. She wondered what the words to this man's song were.

Once the song ended, she and others clapped for him, and she decided to get a drink. Since she would be passing him on the way to the bar, she said, "That was beautiful. What is it called?"

[ombranera]

"Per amore di un seno perfact- or in the common tongue," He gave another little strum of his lute before turning a wide grin to his new audience. "For the love of a perfect bosom. Much in life can be made easier if you possess one, or so I have been told. I have another that is an ode to a well formed hindquarters that is quite catchy if I do say so myself, and one for lips."

[serannas]

"Oh." She didn't know he was singing about that. But she supposed it was a love song, and had to be sweet, didn't it? In any case, no one would be singing that song to her and her rather small chest.

"What language is that?" she asked, wondering if it was a popular song where he was from.