I've got my kit bag, my heavy boots

[hlif]

WHO: Asher Hardie; open
WHAT: Asher arrives in Skyhold, John Cena's theme plays in the distance
WHEN: mid-late Wintermarch; feel free to just bump into him later than his arrival
WHERE: Skyhold, by the healing tents and the stables but if you want to wildcard bumping into him then go for it
NOTES: language most likely, if you'd like to assume past CR then hit me up.

The rest of the Boneflayers make for the tavern almost immediately, a collection of rogues and one annoyed mage abandoning their leader with a pouch of coin to leave Asher alone, just through the main gates of Skyhold trying to coax a tired grumpy bronto to the stables, the wagon behind it groaning with supplies. Meat, vegetables, leather, wool, some wheels of cheese, even some home-brewed ale, all packed high and lashed into the wagon, a gift of support from his family they've all been complaining about since they rumbled through the Hinterlands and up. He might be a big guy but he can't do everything himself, not when there's also a grizzled looking mabari plodding along too.

Most of the people he makes eye contact with seem to be looking away quickly, which y'know, rude but unsurprising when you're Asher's height and tend to look half-feral.

"Look if someone will just point me to the bloody kitchens so I can get rid of this I'll be grateful." Only no one is helping, please help him before someone gets punched.

Comments

[gatheringstorm]

Well, here's one person who definitely makes eye contact. The taller Vashoth mage grins broadly as she spots the big bear of a human and his mabari companion. Her pace quickens and just in case a huge horned woman doesn't stand out enough, she raises her voice. "Asher! Over here, you big hairy loser. It's about time you showed up! And your better half, of course. Who's a good boy?"

Those last question is of course directed at the mabari, as Korrin has to pet him fondly first. She's still not that interested in getting one of her own, but that's all the more reason to spoil her friends' instead. And Bronson deserves it, for putting up with Asher.

[hlif]

Bronson turns first, his one good eye homing in on Korrin before he bays once and takes off to meet her, loping along, stump of a tail wagging like his life depends on it. Asher takes the chance to tie the bronto up, ineffectual as that'll be if it decides to go on the rampage but it's the thought that counts, right?

"I'm always the better half I'll have you know." Seriously, look at him he is prime steak cooked rare, get it right Korrin. But he's grinning and moving to give her a punch in the arm then a hug once she's done with the hound because he it's damn good to see a friendly face in all this. "S'good to see you Ataash, look at you, mixed up in all of this, some of them must be shitting bricks."

[gatheringstorm]

Bronson receives all the affectionate petting and rubbing behind the ears or on his belly if he flops over. She remembers exactly what he likes, so why not reduce him to a contented pile of mush? Once Asher's within range she naturally hugs back, not having to worry about delicacy with this one.

"Oh, yeah. I love it. There's a Templar I send running every time I so much as look at him. And hey, guess what? Mal's here, too. In fact, we just came back from Kirkwall not too long ago. We should get together over drinks and tell you all about it. And then Bronson will have his buddy again."

[hlif]

What's a hug without trying to crush a few ribs in the process? Not a hug at all because that's one thing his family manages to do well. Also he's going to rub his gross beard on her face, it's for luck. No one knows well enough to argue with him on that count.

"Why were you in Kirkwall? Don't you remember that I lived there for years? The place was mad as a sack of cats before the Qunari showed up and everything I heard made it sound like it only got madder still." To think, a place was too crazy for Asher? The end of the world should've been predicted right there and then when they finally loaded up three new crewmembers and set off to less murky pastures. "Do I have to punch dearest Mal for dragging you there?"

He doesn't really need an excuse for that, it'd be a gentle punch. A love tap. If only for the sake of Jayne because Bronson doesn't really meet too many other mabari.

"How many Templars are there? Nasir scouted about, reported back about mages but you lot stick out more than Templars seeing as you've got your staves with you."

[gatheringstorm]

Dammit, Asher, she likes to breathe one in a while. With her ribs intact, preferably. She'd try to return the favor, but then that beard-rubbing distracts her and she shoves him back with a disgusted noise. Bad Asher, you know she hates that.

"We were sent to retrieve something. More than that, and we should have Mal with us, though no punching. I agreed to come along for his sake, he needed someone familiar having his back in that shithole. Besides, I'm here and intact, aren't I? Proof that a Vashoth can survive Kirkwall even after what the Qunari did."

At mention of Templars, Korrin snorts and crosses her arms as she glances around. "We outnumber the Templars, but there's still too fucking many for my taste. They're reorganizing, too, which I'm not yet convinced isn't meant to undermine the mage council. By the way, I'm in that. I was too loud with my opinions, which they took as volunteering for a seat."

[aceso]

Christine's days are often spent at the healing tents in the lower courtyard, and so she has a good view of the motley crew that ventures into Skyhold with their supplies. Since none seem to need medical attention, she thinks nothing of them, really, but after a few minutes she realizes that one is trying to unload his wagon without any assistance. Surely his crew is coming back to aid him, yes?

She approaches just as he's yelling, and a barmaid on a break scurries away. Dealing with customers at the tavern is better than this! She isn't getting paid enough to get yelled at outside the tavern. Christine, meanwhile, stops nearby, but not too close. This person could probably do with a bath, after all.

"The kitchens are up that set of stairs," she says, pointing nearby. He at least came close.

[hlif]

No. No his crew are not because even given that they lived in Kirkwall together and only got out when that whole Qunari invasion thing started getting rough. They're bastards but they're his and he would rather they got drunk instead of took an opportunity to 'bump' into him with the supplies they've got. Skyhold might not take too kindly to Amalia zapping him with lightning or fire every five minutes.

He's rolling his eyes at the barmaid before looking up and wow, he scrubs the essentials as well as his hair and his beard, he's got some pride, allow him that.

"Why in Andraste's arse is the kitchen up all those bloody stairs? Have you seen this?" Dramatic as ever, he gestures wildly at the heaving wagon as the mabari huffs, maybe at him, maybe with him, who but the mabari can say. "Of all the time for those little Carta shits to finally side against me."

[aceso]

"You would need to question those who built the kitchens there, and I am afraid they are a few centuries dead, at least." She has no idea if the kitchens' position is original to the building or a later addition. Whatever the case, they are where they are and she can do nothing about it for him.

"Perhaps I can find you some help," she offers, circling around the wagon so she can check the area around the stables. Usually people are milling about, or want any excuse to quit mucking out the animal stalls. She finds a couple of people and puts on her sweet voice to ask for help. One does catch more flies with honey and all that. Soon she returns with two stablehands who are willing to help him unload his wagon. They look very interested in what he's brought, in fact.

"I could carry something light," she adds, standing at the ready. It's clear that she isn't built to haul heavy loads. "You say your group is Carta?" Because that's suspicious, but she's not going to dive too deep. Ambassador Montilyet can deal with all that.

[hlif]

"That's still not an excuse, you can repurpose anywhere you know, instead of having kitchens up the stairs, no one said I'd need to actually fling half a cow over each shoulder and hope I don't smack my head off the doorframe on the way in." Of course his mother would say it's his own fault, blah blah blah, he was joining up for prestige, not to be her mule for hire to send a wagon as a gesture of support but he's trying to be a good son for more than five minutes at a time, once every decade.

Watching her go, he sighs, letting his mabari lean on him and well, more flies with honey than vinegar is truly a thing so he flashes her one of his very rare big, sincere smiles that doesn't look as though he's about to commit murder.

"Cheers for that but me? Carta? I'm at least three times too big for Carta, no, two of the crew are ex-carta but they still call themselves that, they're usually game for everything but I think the mountain defeated them. We're mercenaries, make no mistake, soldiers of fortune, but even they cut ties with their former employers."

Kirkwall was pretty rough for all parties involved, what can you do?

[aintwejust]

"Well shit, it's like they're lett'n just anyone wander in through the gates now. Where did the standards go?" It's been awhile since he last saw this particular shade of rough and noisy, but not so long as he can't pick out exactly who's gett'n cranky in the courtyard. He and Jayne are hang'n back for the moment- well Mal's hang'n back and hold'n Jayne steady otherwise there'd be a mite less on the cart of food. Gett'n it taken care of without him eat'n a side of beef is gonna take some do'n.

[hlif]

"Pot calling the kettle black there mate, what was that one I heard about you, a Vashoth mage, and oh what was it again? Oh right, a bear? All in a cave? Be a real shame if that one started doing the rounds wouldn't it?" Mal get your arse over here so he can gently punch you, drag you into a painful hug and rub his gross beard on you.

Still, if Jayne has to be held back, Bronson will go investigate with his usual swagger, the one good ear cocked and the one good eye practically twinkling at familiar folks after all the whinging he had to deal with.

"How's it been treating you so far? Korrin mentioned you were here." Korrin also mentioned Kirkwall but he'll let that one come in time because who actually voluntarily goes to that shithole now it's been exposed as a shithole on a grand scale.

[aintwejust]

"You didn't hear shit 'bout that." From smirk'n to glower'n in half a second- that didn't happen. He don't much recall more than the hangover after and wak'n up in a mess of limbs without his pants, but it didn't happen. Shoving off the wall a bit less casual-like than he'd like, mostly cuz a Jayne hauling for all he's worth on the one hand to romp with Bronson. Better the dog than the food, Mal lets him bound over and headbutt the other dog while he stalks over his own self to do more or less the same with Asher.

But with words. So it's more civil.

"I got a respectable stand'n here and I don't need that kinda strangeness mak'n the rounds." Him and Korrin? Fine and dandy. Him and another man? Happens now and then, ain't skin off his nose. Him and Asher specifically? Man gets judged by the company he keeps, judged harder by the company in his bed. "S'fine enough. Pay's good, work's good, get t'kill demons and the like."

[hlif]

"Which one of you was it that left me the five star review again?" Answer: neither, it was an actual bear he got into a scrape with but what's life without talking shit to someone who knows him? Around another mabari, Bronson reverts back into behaving like the pup he probably never was, feet planted, backside in the air, low playful barks because time to upset the bronto with a game of chases!

Rolling his eyes, he waves the words away because he gets it, he knows, he's been the bit of rough for enough folk in the past who won't look him in the eye the next day, willing to cross the street to avoid him. Only friends actually get away with it without pissing him off. "Respectable? What, were you off clearing out some fancy place in Hightown to go set yourself up in now that the blood magic orgies are over?"

[aforethought]

If you've got to pick between fighting a short guy, and fighting a tall guy, common sense is that you always, always pick the guy who knocks his head on the ceiling standing up. So many tall guys, they don't know how to fight. They've never had to learn. Someone gets pissed enough to size them up, a second later realizes: Never you mind now, he's huge. He'd break me in half.

(A pause, please, for the obvious joke.)

Short guys, though, short guys are mean. They have to be. Always pick the tall guy, that's a policy that Melys firmly believes in. It's also one that she's considering revising under present circumstances, because this guy moved out of big several weight classes ago, and securely into huge.

Of course she's gonna stare. It's like one of those curiousity wagons, with the two-headed calves, and the jars full of what-knows-what. Is he half-Qunari, or something? Is that even possible?

"Here," Melys shoves off the rail she's been idling against. It's less that she wants to help, than that she wants an excuse to get an eyeful up close. "They're a real bitch to get to, but there's always folks hanging around. Come on with me. I can take the big guy, after."

She jerks a thumb to the Bronto. Andraste knows the Orlesians won't know what to do with one.

[hlif]

Unfortunately, sometimes the tall guys have stunningly bad anger management skills, the kind that Asher is getting close to putting on display as he gets increasingly red, looking for some bugger to just actually give him a hand. Then again, most people are inclined to scurry away from someone bellowing at them like that.

See: reasons he gets on better with his maternal grandfather and his folk than pretty much everyone else.

See: Avvar are great people.

"He's grumpy, apparently he didn't like going up a mountain of ice and snow much more than the others did, and he likes fire even less." But how else were they going to get the wheels to keep turning? Wasting precious alcohol? Outrageous! She's a decent height though, if only because he doesn't tower over her quite as much as he does with everyone else and he sighs, throwing his hands in the air because it's already been a day. "Lead on, you can lay claim to something in there if it takes your fancy, my lot made off with my money so I'll probably be a beggar before the sun sets tonight."

[aforethought]

Melys snorts, stepping aside of Bronson to coo at the bronto, scritching briefly at its bony spike of chin.

"There's a good lad," She tugs lightly at the horn, moving towards the stony steps half a coutyard away. "How many're you bringing in?"

Not regulars, or he'd know where the food was. Not nobility, if she's ever seen a lick of respectability in her life. Not much of a merchant, if he's about to throttle customers over directions. But in charge enough to get stuck with this mess.

That pretty much leaves one thing.

"Place is crawling already," She doesn't wait to spill gratitude before slinging a skin of ale over her shoulder. "Mostly unattached folks, but a real company or two. Figure y'all got fast friends."

Or a few days' worth of tavern pissing matches to butt their way through, but those get on to be one and the same.

thanks gmail for hiding this notif

[hlif]

"He's not a good lad, he's a prick is what he is. He has one job, get his arse up a mountain with minimal complaints but the amount of noise and fuss, it was like asking a baby to do it." Except a baby might be easier to deal with, he wouldn't know exactly but even Asher can coax a baby to stop screaming and to eat without losing his temper.

"Hopefully this should be the only wagon I have to escort personally," he explains with a groan because family, what a pain in the arse when they get you in the right place and you can't actually refuse them. "I'm the only one staying for the long haul up here at least, the rest, the Boneflayers? My second'll take them back down into Ferelden, maybe Redcliffe if she doesn't have them stop at the farm. Then wherever we're wanted."

After all, there's no point in making a secret of it when almost half his life has been spent with a weapon in his hand, making money from breaking skulls.

"Might know one or two people here, old friends from old jobs y'know?" If the rumour mill and his forward scout are reliable.

[judgemewhole]

James and his men had been going through their exercises when the rowdy bunch rolled in, and it was only pure discipline and James's stern gaze that kept the six of them finishing their sword (and maul, and greatsword) swings. However, even James stopped the practice to watch the singular man trying to get the bronto, and supplies, towards the stable.

He made a soft 'tch' nose and then jerked his head towards the others as he headed down the stairs, and across the courtyard to where the man was struggling. He called out, "Here, let us help you lighten the load, my friend. Troupe, take the supplies to the kitchen. Anamaria, Murtogg, take the non-pershibles to the quarter-master ... oh, wait."

He paused, looking back at the man, one corner of his mouth lifting up, "Who should they be told to thank later?"

[hlif]

"Careful with the home-brew, if anyone drops it I will take it personally," he warns, because that's an old family recipe and people should be honoured that his father thoughtfully stroked his magnificent moustache before adding it in. And when Asher says 'take it personally' it generally tends to involve his fist, a face, and a bloodied nose, the latter two not belonging to him at all.

At least he's not actually having to drag all of this stuff by himself because usually he could always count on two stout dwarves to help but no, traitors the lot of them, he has to actually make a serious effort.

"Cheers, and it's Asher, Asher Hardie of the Boneflayers even if the rest of them are all off with my coin getting drunk on the barkeep's finest. You?"

[judgemewhole]

"Oh, trust me sir, we're always careful with liquor." Anamaria called over her shoulder, hefting one barrel over her shoulder carefully, "Otherwise, we don't get to drink it."

James himself started lifting out food from the back of the wagon, handing it off one at a time to his people. He glanced over at Asher, before offering his hand, "James Norrington - Formerly of the Templar Order, now of the New Templars of the Inquisition."

It was a ... working name.

[hlif]

From somewhere deep in Asher's chest, there's a low groan that turns into a curse. Templars. Fucking Templars. Touching his stuff. He knew there would be Templars, Nasir had scouted ahead for the crew as always though getting estimates had been difficult when the mages stood out more and he'd been under strict instruction to lie low until the rest of them caught up and made plans. None of that means he has to be pleased about it, not in the least, and there's no Melisende or Liadan to get him to keep his mouth shut.

"New Templars of the Inquisition," he repeats, and though his expression remains calm, there's something like mockery in it. "So does the Chantry still have a broom up your arse, or are you doing that yourselves these days?"

The hand remains ignored - his manners, few that they are, aren't for Templars.

[unbrokenoath]

It's the mabari that catches her attention first. She swoops from wherever she'd been hanging out, completely ignoring the man to kneel down and coo over the old codger of a dog. A mastiff, not mabari but still a decent dog, lurking behind the woman, sniffing curiously at the mabari as his owner lavishes attention on it. "Look at you. Aren't you a cutie? Aren't you a cutie? Yeaaah, you are. Tough old bloke, huh? I bet the other guy looks even worse."

Eventually, she does notice that the mabari has a man next to him, and she stands up to eyeball him. She's tall for a woman, but he's even taller. Still, she seems as unbothered by his appearance as she had with his dog. In fact, after sizing him up, she gave him a cocky smirk, eyes wandering towards his cart. Particularly the ale. Though some of that cheese looked good, too.

"I can point you towards the kitchen, no problem. But you know, if you wanted to lighten the load right now." She jerked her head towards the cart. "I'm sure that I can lend a hand with that. Just out of the goodness of my heart, of course." Because Kaisa is the sort of kind, generous soul who will be there to eat your food and drink your alcohol whenever the need arises, and sometimes past that.

[hlif]

Sometimes ignoring a man like Asher is a smart plan: make eye contact and he'll pay attention, look at him too long and he'll have a hand on his weapons, but let your eyes slide past him - rare given the size of him and the volume - and honestly he'll let you do your thing. Talk to his dog though and his face breaks into the kind of soppy grin strangers don't think him capable of but man and dog, a more honest love will never be found. And honestly, he's just as quick to crouch down to a less imposing height with a hand outstretched for the dog behind the woman saying hi to his, patiently waiting to see if it'll come over to him.

Asher never rushes a dog, you don't do that when you've pulled a dog out a fighting pit and bonded with it.

"If you're willing to help," unlike some bastards he could name, "then you can grab a share of whatever you please, I can vouch for all of it seeing as it's come from my family. All for the Inquisition, courtesy of the Hardie Holdings."

Dad'd probably want him to do some namedropping.

"Who's your friend back there, doesn't look quite like what I'm used to with old Bronson here."

[unbrokenoath]

The dog raises his nose, gives a few sniffs Asher's way, then strides on over, and favors the man by licking the outstretched hand. A vicious beast of a wardog, no doubt. Kaisa just snorts, looking amused, and completely unwilling to try correcting the behavior. Instead, she turns her attention to the task at hand, gesturing off down the courtyard.

"Yonder over there, if you pass by the barn to the left, you'll see a set of stairs. Right up them is the kitchens. I'll help you haul the cart there and get the food--Your family made all of this? Nice.--up the stairs, no problem." Particularly if she's being paid in homemade alcohol. The Wardens should consider a similar set up, honestly. And the Inquisition.

At the mention of the mastiff, she grinned down at him, patting his head affectionately. "This guy? Name's Puppy," She waited the customary moment after his name, to let it sink in that yes, the dog was named Puppy, and followed it up with the customary explanation. "I gave him a real name, honest. Some heroic Warden name, but so many people just called him Puppy anyway," Including her. "That he just started responding to it. Figured he knew what he was, and left well enough alone. He's no mabari, obviously. But he's a good 'un. Got him free 'cause his mom was a purebred and his dad was an enterprising mutt that managed to hop the fence."

She sauntered to the cart, putting a hand on it and getting ready to help him push, though she took a moment to look Asher up and down, and shoot him a smirk. "If you ask me, being particularly enterprising about getting what you want is just as good of a trait to pass on as any."

[hlif]

The most vicious because that sort of bravery deserves behind the ear scratches, Asher uncaring of getting slobber everywhere because whatever, he's been covered in much worse in his life. Maybe he'll finally bathe instead of just scrubbing some snow on his face the way he'd done on the journey.

"Everyone except me? Farmers or involved in farming-related things. I chose the interesting life where I'm not shoving my hand up a cow's arse to earn my living." Alas dear brothers, you will share the joy and splendour of that job as Asher goes about hacking off heads and limbs with swords and axes, covered in blood and screaming. "But fair is fair, even I was taught that much so once we've unloaded you can take a share and I can tell my parents honestly that their gifts were very much appreciated."

Puppy is still better than some of what Asher's heard in his time. Biscuits was pretty memorable for something that wasn't a little ratty Orlesian thing. "I don't know if Bronson here even had a name before I found him, I didn't let his 'owner' talk long enough to find out, preferred feeding the bastard his teeth instead." There aren't honestly that many things that really set Asher off but hurting an animal you're not going to hunt for food, or hurting them just for your own twisted enjoyment? That's low and disgusting. "But most of the time I think people think he's called lad or old boy. A dog's a dog, if you're good to it then it's going to be loyal and love you and keep you warm when it's cold, you only worry about breeding when it's a horse so you know not to get one that spooks when a twig snaps."

With a grunt, he gives the cart a shove, ignoring the complaining noise from the bronto because guess who isn't taking it back home again and doesn't care if it's even grumpier than before? This guy. "This world? Gives you nothing for free unless you know exactly where opporunity lies," he agrees, giving her a smile that actually looks like a smile instead of a prelude to violence.