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

[quietblade]

[He sips his ale, enjoying the taste and the nice, warmed feeling in his chest. Seems Cabot slipped him the good stuff, too.

Taas wonders if he should get some real alcohol later, get himself nice and drunk after a good day like this. Alayre's tipsiness makes him want to get that way himself, but that would need hard booze.

...or good wine. Looking at the Templar, he grins.]

I can't say I have. People keep their fine things away from the scary qunari.

[Wines, clothes, daughters...]

I wouldn't mind a taste.

[mythalenaste]

She nods.

"I've a clanmate who joined some time ago. I think what happened at Haven still troubles him."

[quietblade]

[He grunts slightly in reply, mulling it over inside his great horned head. Stannis had a point, but it would be hard to pull of in reality. It could cause more harm, especially to morale.]

It could work. Or people could become frightened in the wrong way rather than in the right way.

[He glances up at the main fortress again.]

It's something I could do. The Nightingale seems quite on top of things, however. If she agrees...

[Taas shrugs, grasping his axe.]

...I can take down what I'm pointed towards. Like before.

[lacere]

I'll manage. I'm sure we'll run out of ramparts eventually.

[Unless Cullen pulled out all the stops to build more in a week, but she doubts it. The Inquisition is not exactly... lucrative. This is poor when it comes to multitasking. Or raising her hazard pay.

She waits for him to finish up, and then starts towards the nearest set of stairs that don't crumble underfoot. Maybe going down she could find a way - harks back to one of their first excursions across the Hinterlands - but not up. For once, no one comes running after her with a message, particularly as they go higher and the volumes of people begin to thin. Up here, it's mostly patrols.]

Don't think I'll ever get used to seeing snow all the time. [For as much as a glance as the mountain gets. Mountains. Dwarfy. Sigh.]

[issala]

Yes, ser! I won't disappoint.

[Not this time. He would become something worthwhile.

He moves to the side to not crowd the Tranquil as they come up to them, speaking in that drone-like voice bereft of all emotion. It's a little creepy, to be honest.

Kas perks up as he hears the Templar ask his assistance, though.]

Oh, yes. I can do that!

[issala]

[He... tried.]

I know. It's just really nice to be able to eat every day and I wanna grow big. I'm not eating that much again, though! I promise!

[lacere]

She takes it, with a strong grip and a firm nod. She doesn't wink, but she might as well have with the curve to her lips.

"Scout Harding," she says in return.

[serannas]

"Yes, many farmers in Ferelden." And she loves it. She's always wanted her people to settle down so they could have their own homes and farms. "And their druffalo are huge!" she adds with a laugh.

"So you came here with a group?"

[lacere]

"That's true enough," Harding relents. "I wouldn't ask the scouts under me to take many risks, but they do. I shouldn't be surprised magecraft would be the same."

[lacere]

[Trouble depends, and she's not giving that answer away if it is. Instead, she throws him another question, one slightly less expected, perhaps.]

And what have you learned about the fortress? Anything in particular?

[mythalenaste]

Thank you. I'll see you then.

[She steps away.]

[issala]

[He blinks at that, trying to get his brain in gear.]

It's... really nice. Lots of different rooms, and some seem older than the rest, like it's been rebuilt several times and some areas have been forgotten. Really big dungeon with cells at the bottom, but half of it has fallen down the mountain.

[Kas pauses.]

Roof needs to be fixed in a lot of places. The door that goes out on the ramparts by the library has been blocked twice by people kissing... and it takes 10 and a half minutes to run from one side of the gate via the ramparts to the other side of the gate.

[The teen has no idea if any of that was even remotely useful, but hey.]

[mythalenaste]

"You're the author? Varric Tethras?"

She tries to look somewhat skeptical so her ego isn't too bruised when he laughs at her gullibility.

[mythalenaste]

"I'm not funny, I just...bounce off other peoples' jokes. Someone else has to start it first. That's what you're here for."

[mythalenaste]

In time. I was Keeper's First with my clan, and that involved trimming old Anan's toenails as often as it involved spells or leadership. Whatever job needs doing.

Were you a...? [She stops, realizing she doesn't know the term for it.] A...historian, perhaps?

[mythalenaste]

...Can you blame me?

[She goes red to the tips of her ears, but she is completely unapologetic.]

[hugeinorlais]

That couldn't possibly be the whole rumor...could it? He waited for a beat but, no, she appeared to be done talking. Varric was perplexed but cautiously optimistic. Was that all this was about? That nobody could believe he was...himself?

"If that's what they're saying, yes..." he repeated slowly with a nod and, all at once, he snapped out of his hesitation and mild paranoia. Without even a pause, he continued, "Seriously, though? Is the portrait on the back really that bad?"

He turned from the elf and reached into a box alongside the table. For lack of a more elegant solution, he'd taken to keeping extra supplies in a small crate next to him. He was running low on paper but the book he'd stuffed in alongside it all was taking up the space admirably. There was a rustle as he pulled said book out and the whole box tumbled into hopeless disarray.

It was just a copy of Hard in Hightown. It wasn't a special edition or anything, but it was pristine, and Varric flipped it over to stare at the author portrait on the back. He looked back at the elf and held up the book alongside his face.

"I thought it was a good likeness," Varric said. There was no accusation in his tone, he clearly wasn't upset with her at all, but he shot the book a serious, assessing look. "I'm going to have to get a new one done, aren't I? Shit."

[mythalenaste]

"No--it is. It's very good." Now she looks backward. Backwater. Ignorant. She flushes faintly and frowns. Dammit. "I didn't have a book of my own to keep, so I never knew what you looked like."

She glances longingly at the book. He'd expect gold for it, and she had none. Everyone wants gold here, instead of bartering.

[dalishious]

In Merrick's case, it was that he simply had to be alone; he's more efficient that way. When guarding their borders he could mount a quick sneak attack, unless he and Cyril planned to outwit the humans and steal from them. And of course, he preferred being by himself. It's good to get away from the judgment of other people, or the anxieties he feels when around them. Being around so many people now is going to take some serious getting used to.

"I wouldn't have come here without Cyril," he tells her while they work on the tent together. "And if course Gavin would join. He never misses an opportunity to make a fool of himself. Pel and Beleth were a surprise, though."

[kremdelacreme]

"Everyone is still a little shaken. Can't blame them, it was a damned massacre. We tried to get people out quick as we could, but...well."

Krem is still troubled by it too. He's just got a better poker face about it most of the time.

[hugeinorlais]

Well. Now he looked like an ass, didn't he?

He certainly felt like one.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Varric's smile was apologetic as he lowered the...self-indulgent portrait of himself surrounded by beautiful women. He nearly winced as he realized just how that must have looked...especially to a shy, Dalish fan who'd...come up to his table. To see if he really was...you know...

The author.

She was blushing and fidgeting. If someone had embarrassed Daisy this badly, he'd probably have punched them in the teeth. She wasn't Daisy, of course, but he wasn't usually the asshole in these situations, either.

"You know what, I've got a box of spares," Varric said amiably and held the book out to her. True, he'd brought this one in here to give to someone else, but he could snag another. Skyhold didn't need a crate of them on hold and it wasn't like he was going to sell them himself. He paid people (more than he wanted to, in fact) to do exactly that.

"This one's all yours, I'll even sign it if you want."

[dalishious]

"Could I really stop you from giving them?" was his reply, giving Cyril a roguish half-smile. As usual, being near his brother was like a warm embrace on a frigid day--comforting while it lasted but even colder when they let go.

[dalishious]

"You like this kind of stuff," he teased her in his own way--completely deadpan, rude in the ears of someone else. "Busy work."

[dalishious]

Merrick wastes no time. He takes the proffered food and sits down on the ground to start wolfing it down. He eats like a dog, sharp incisors tearing at the bread he'd been given.

He had no idea how hungry he was until now. Since the fight, there have been tight knots in his throat and stomach, as if twine had wrapped around them.

[dalishious]

Merrick shrugs, balancing on the back legs of his chair, head falling against the wall behind him. The pipe smokes between his teeth, the soothing scent of tobacco surrounding him.

"I don't care what the Chantry says," he says plainly. "Sisters, mothers, clerics, whatever. They're all useless."