Skyhold

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone & everyone
WHAT: Open post for business as usual around Skyhold
WHEN: The first couple weeks of Harvestmere, 9:41 (aka October)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Please mark any necessary content warnings in thread subject lines. Also, make sure to check out the other log posts already made!

Far from the glamorous adventurous world-saving people signed up for, most of the hustle and bustle in Skyhold at present is cleaning. The Great Hall is a disaster, and crews are assigned to haul out the cracked and rotting planks fallen from the wide-open roof, and tear down the vines covering the walls. Ivy encrusts the main staircase outside and many of the fortress walls and is cleared in section while other groups assess or begin shoring up the stonework as it's revealed. There are scaffolding to build, materials to sort, crates to unload, tents to stitch together or set-up, and on and on and on, endless mundane chores vital to the survival of the organization.

When not hard at work, people cluster around fires across the courtyards. Many mingle freely, going about their business, running errands and messages, planning scouting missions, tallying up supplies, distributing or playing with the sending crystals that were found in a basement vault and which a group of mages have just today finished preparing for use. Once a good number have been passed around and the first Inquisition-wide transmission made messages start being broadcast; maybe you can help someone out.

The rebel mages and renegade templars mainly keep to themselves at opposite sides of the complex given the choice. Mages assist with healing and research and bicker amongst themselves about their options and their fate. Templars help train recruits in swordforms and basic combat techniques or spar with the more advanced and bicker amongst themselves about their options and their fate. Despite having all pledged themselves to the Inquisition, they still feel like separate factions and tension between them is palpable wherever they cross paths.

Like at meals, or the communal message board in the courtyard, or at the Herald's Rest. The mess hall/tavern is so new it still smells of sawdust, and its stock has been limited to one type of strong ale until today, when a shipment of West Hill brandy has finally arrived. The mood in the place is convivial in celebration of that, but there's still plenty of muttering, especially as the night drags on and the discontented get further into their cups.

Comments

[mythalenaste]

It's the end of a day. The night has only begun, but Pel isn't up for much socializing. She's exhausted. So after letting him drink for a bit, she walks up to nudge him.

"Walk me back to my quarters?"

[mythalenaste]

"So I did." A sip from her cup. "I don't know how people have the energy to stay up late drinking when there's so much to be done."

It's her way of saying she's exhausted.

[mythalenaste]

That's really good thinking. [Pel isn't a healer, beyond very minor healing magic and basic first aid.] May I borrow it when you're finished?

[equanimiti]

"An assassin?" Sauveterre has been likened to such in the past but never fondly. The Knight-Commander does seem a tad taken back by that statement but not offended. He seen briefly how assassins fight before and he sees the strategy in their abruptness. Perhaps he's subtly is trying to mimic them in technique in his two-fold swords style.

It certainly seems like it, honestly.

"Are you being true?" The Templar asks as he walks back towards the wooden dummy. He glances at the elf briefly before unsheathing both swords in sleek unison.

Sauveterre then hastily swings the smaller blade, The Melody Moon, forward to slash at the dummy's alleged throat before using the larger Iceblade to run it through. The faint hints of frost dusts over the practice dummy now that the crystallized edge of his sword has touched it. The elf can tell that the larger sword is enchanted.

[samahl]

"They don't sleep, I believe," Cyril replies. "Though if you think it's time for you to sleep I'll happily escort you to your quarters."

[theonly]

"I would like to barge into his office and demand a meeting at this moment, but what good would it serve us?" It is odd to be the one with the cooler head, even though he can feel the anger burning hot still. "I will go and ask him for a meeting with us as soon as possible. If we go and demand, we seem no different than those that do not acknowledge what little order this Inquisition has."

What is right, what is proper, he thinks on these things if only because he will not have his message be drowned out in the politics of any game that anyone wishes to play. "But do not think that I will allow myself to be beaten down by anyone. If he denies it, then... we shall think of what our next move shall be." A beat. "Your silver may yet prove of more worth than my iron. But we shall see. We are dealing with another Ferelden."

[amygdalae]

[Well, even if it isn't his fault, Bruce can't help but feel a bit guilty nonetheless. He has no liking for the Templars, but he could tell that whoever he was asking for had to be somebody important to him. He wouldn't have asked otherwise.

He keeps a note to look for such groups at the very least, giving a glance to his slowly boiling pot at the question.]

A little. [He admits that much at the very least.] But mostly to make my potions in peace. The noise sometimes breaks my focus.

[amygdalae]

Of course. [It's not like the book is his, anyway; he just borrowed it from the library for his own perusal.] I should be done by tomorrow, so I'll pass it to you then.

[el_tybs]

"I know OF her. And I've seen her. I just didn't know her personally. She was from the Free Marches I believe." From afar she seemed like a decent person. Pretty. But that was all.

[samahl]

"So I've heard. I don't know much about human families there. I wonder if hers misses her?" he says it thoughtfully, wondering exactly how much human nobles care for one another.

[equanimiti]

"I would have their oppressors brought to trial and reformed." Sauveterre answers earnestly. He knows too well about the bad blood between Mage and Templar, and he wants the nonsense to end by any means necessary.

"If my offer for reform is rebuked, then they will be stripped of their creed and sword both. I will not suffer them and nor shall others." There's some fire behind his words and it's quite refreshing.

"...Forgive me. I do forget myself upon such a topic."

[ombranera]

"Can you think of any other sort of fighter that would have use of such tactics?" Brigands did not often want that much blood on their hands, Knights fought defensively, honorably.

Well.

Relatively speaking in the larger scheme of things.

Assassins seek to end the fight before it begins.

"Your form is a little tense- a holdover I think from attempting to use the building blocks of what most Templars use and adjusting it to suit your needs. It makes your off hand a touch stiff- which is appropriate when using a shield but less so with a second blade. Tell me, do you swim?"

[el_tybs]

Sam shakes his head and leans back a bit. "I would hope so? I can't say for sure. I don't know how nobility works." Come to think of it he should probably see when things settled down if he could send a raven out.

[samahl]

Cyril is quiet as he thinks for a moment. He leans back a bit as well and looks up. "There may not be people let to remember her if we fail," he says after a moment. There is something very raw and honest in his voice as he says it. "It puts things into perspective, doesn't it?"

[el_tybs]

Sam looks to Cyril for a moment. Shaking his head he looks up at the stars, taking in a deep breath then letting it go in a quick huff. "Nothing like your own mortality staring you in the face."

[equanimiti]

[A pair of grey eyes settles upon the dainty figure of the brunette who spoke to him. He glances at her notebook briefly before looking towards the mentioned shelves lined with dozens of books.]

Never a dull moment. [The Templar scoffs before begrudgingly doing as told. Sauveterre is quite obedient unlike some others.] Shall we begin with the top row? They all seem to be codex that reference our realm's history.

[theonly]

Fair enough. Sometimes, I think they're just talking to fill up silence.

[ He decides to rest against the stone to look out to the courtyard. ] I have no more questions for you, but have no desire to relinquish this space. Allow us to enjoy the quiet that will come next.

[ A beat. ] Unless you have questions for me?

[samahl]

"Nothing like facing your mortality to make you realize that right now, in this moment, you are alive. Not everyone can say that," Cyril points out. He looks back at Sam and gives him a smile. "Best to make the most of it."

[colecomfort]

Voices beyond the Veil, drawing dreams, shaping the sights in the Fade.

I'm like them. Except I'm different, because I'm here.

[el_tybs]

"Yeah... I suppose..." his words are a bit distant as he lets his eyes continue to trace the stars mentally. There's a joke... or something he could say, but it feels too soon. Titling his head a bit to look at Cyril from the corner of his eye, he smiles too.

[amygdalae]

[Bruce frowns, processing the words, trying to make sense of them. Beyond the Veil... if it means what he thinks it means, then--]

You're-- [He starts slowly, not wanting to draw any immediate conclusions until he knows for sure. Bruce likes being sure of things before he speaks them aloud. Not knowing is more terrifying than exciting.] --from the Fade?

[Pause. 'From the Fade'...]

Are you a demon?

[But it didn't look anything like a usual demon--was it possessing a body, then? That made the most sense, but it didn't feel quite right. There was something missing in this puzzle.]

[amygdalae]

Ah--no. I have none.

[Well he does have some, but Bruce knows better than to ask. He doesn't think the Templar will want to answer anyway, and he doesn't want to raise any suspicions if he asks anything that sounded too strange.

And besides, as long as he doesn't really do anything towards him, Bruce is fine with things as they are. They can just enjoy their space and silence in peace.]

[samahl]

Cyril widens his smile a bit. "So what's something you've wanted to do before your death?"

[dalishious]

Merrick let out a soft, derisive laugh. "If only," he muttered, throwing back more liquor. He set his glass down and reached for the dagger, fingers brushing over Cyril's as he tugged it free.

"Human drink tastes terrible," he remarked. He didn't seem particularly bothered, though; he wasn't exactly imbibing for the taste.

[samahl]

Cyril pulled his hand back as Merrick took his dagger back. He considered the drink that Merrick was consuming. "That hasn't stopped you from drinking.... how many today?"