WHO: Siorus + You; Bastien & Byerly & Benedict & Vega WHAT: Warden intro, dinner party. WHEN: Spring 9:50 WHERE: Various NOTES: Catch-all for some open and closed stuff.
Siorus considers her—and her armor—for several seconds more than such a basic question warrants before he gives half a shake of his head, chin jerking to one side. "I just got here," doesn't mean no. Only a caveat. "They told me I could set up a tent anywhere I found room."
And while he's been here a few nights, he hasn't done that yet. On the clear nights he's been happy to look up at the clouds and patches of stars between them. On the wet ones, a simple thing for a bird to shelter in a nook.
Then he probably doesn't know what befell the Gallows, and she won't trouble him with it. "Right then," Teren concludes, looks around, gives a little sigh, and unceremoniously drops her pack to the ground. This is as good a place as any.
The time he thought the Wardens might send someone after him, that's now long past. It mostly ended with Clarel. And any lingering paranoia proved fruitless over the years. He hasn't been horribly hard to find. The old Wardens who came to the Legion of the Dead, if nothing else, had some opportunity to send a message back if it were important. If someone meant to punish him, they'd have done it already.
But it's kind of awkward, you know?
He says, "I'm one too," with a jerk toward her chest plate. "A Warden. Kind of. I don't figure you're here for me, but just so you don't feel lied to if it comes up later."
The sound Teren makes in response is akin to a grunt, but with an interrogative bend at the end: ah, are you, interesting, etc. She almost smiles, a wry amusement in her more-open eye before it's overtaken by something else, and her expression goes flat again-- she's not here for him or anyone else.
"How long?" she asks instead, leaning one hip against the debris.
Shit timing, he doesn't say. That'd imply that the timing was an accident. In his view it wasn't. More mages for their insane plan. Was she there, at Adamant? He doesn't remember her. But every face there was a new one, equally resented, and then he was gone. So she might have been.
Only to mop up the blood after the fact, but the shrewd glance she offers suggests Teren is thinking along similar lines: there were the Wardens who ignored the false Calling, and there were The Other Ones.
"Missed the Blight, then," she observes, "always reassuring." Not that she didn't nearly miss it herself, but then, if she hadn't, she likely wouldn't still be here.
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And while he's been here a few nights, he hasn't done that yet. On the clear nights he's been happy to look up at the clouds and patches of stars between them. On the wet ones, a simple thing for a bird to shelter in a nook.
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"Right then," Teren concludes, looks around, gives a little sigh, and unceremoniously drops her pack to the ground. This is as good a place as any.
"Shit timing." To both of them.
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The time he thought the Wardens might send someone after him, that's now long past. It mostly ended with Clarel. And any lingering paranoia proved fruitless over the years. He hasn't been horribly hard to find. The old Wardens who came to the Legion of the Dead, if nothing else, had some opportunity to send a message back if it were important. If someone meant to punish him, they'd have done it already.
But it's kind of awkward, you know?
He says, "I'm one too," with a jerk toward her chest plate. "A Warden. Kind of. I don't figure you're here for me, but just so you don't feel lied to if it comes up later."
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"How long?" she asks instead, leaning one hip against the debris.
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Shit timing, he doesn't say. That'd imply that the timing was an accident. In his view it wasn't. More mages for their insane plan. Was she there, at Adamant? He doesn't remember her. But every face there was a new one, equally resented, and then he was gone. So she might have been.
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"Missed the Blight, then," she observes, "always reassuring." Not that she didn't nearly miss it herself, but then, if she hadn't, she likely wouldn't still be here.
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"I am from the Wilds. I didn't miss anything."
He comes down from his perch on the ruined wall carefully, crouching and using his hands for balance.
"Where were you?"
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"Here," Teren replies languidly, "or. Skyhold. Caught up with this rotten lot, a fair few of us denying the False Calling."