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

[amygdalae]

one.
[Work doesn't stop for Bruce, even after they've reached Skyhold and have started to settle down since.

The damage sustained at Haven had been immense; there were still many people left and right who needed treatment and attention, even if the worst of cases had already passed on during their tiring trek here. That alone wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, but Bruce shouldered on and continued to do his best. There was only so much he could do as one person.

(Only if he let himself use his magic.)

There were people hurt and sick everywhere, and far too little healers and surgeons as it is for everyone. Bruce doesn't quite let himself stop working, attending to anyone that requires help - and even the ones who doesn't, as long as he can see that something's wrong.

Still, if anybody needs any help, they're free to approach him; Bruce isn't going to turn them down especially when they require it.]


two.
[In a rare chance, Bruce has managed to find himself a bit of a breather in between attending to patients. But rather than using that spare time to drink or whatever else instead he can be seen sitting under a tree with a book on his lap that he's reading rather intensely.

If anyone comes close enough they can see that its actually one of the books from the library - and that it's actually something relation to the application of magic. Surely a strange choice of reading material, considering that Bruce is very much not a mage.

Feel free to say hello, or perhaps sneak up on him. Not that Bruce really appreciates surprises.]


three.
[Wildcard! Make up your own stuff or PM me so we can hash out ideas!]

1

[ombranera]

[ On the one hand, a mage would be preferable in this particular instance. The faster he is healed the easier he can rest. On the other- their attentions are turned to those less accustomed to walking around in pain. The innocent. The young. Better to give his place and the time he'd take to someone that can't bear their injury with grace.

Finding a surgeon is a bit simpler- cheaper than magic, less chance of templars wandering about all nervous. Someone calm and unassuming- if he is to be vulnerable he'd rather it be with someone he's fairly certain won't make him regret it. ]

Pardon me- [ He raps on the nearest hard surface to attract the surgeon's attention. ] Could I beg a moment of your time? Well. It may be longer than that.

[amygdalae]

[Bruce hears the sound, but he doesn't turn around just yet, being occupied with the patient in front of him. Instead he waves one hand in the vague direction of the caller telling him to wait for a minute before he goes to finish up with his current patient.]

--there. Just make sure you keep that rag on, and take the potion every two hours. You should be fine by nighttime. I'll come back and check on you after dinner.

[He gives the patient one reassuring pat on the arm before he stands up and then turns towards the caller--an elf. Well. That's not exactly common, considering how standoffish most other elves were to humans, but if one needed his help, then so be it.

Bruce takes a spare rag from his bag nearby and wipes his hands down while he addresses the elf.] What's the problem? [Everyone only ever comes to him if they need something to fix, so best to just get to the heart of the issue, as it were.]

[ombranera]

[ An elf in leather armor, no less. Well oiled and tended to but- armor. Not something many of those that aren't Dalish tend to wear but Zevran had been traveling alone and being safe is far more important than being covert.

Even so the hastily stitched slashes along one side are probably obvious once the healer finishes up with his current patient. Zevran does not mind waiting. ]

I am slightly punctured in one shoulder and slashed across the ribs. The wounds are about four hours old and I bandaged them as best I could, but... [ He shrugs- his good shoulder obviously- and begins disarming himself, creating a pile of an increasingly large number of daggers he'd had hidden on his person. ] I am no healer, as you can see. You will not be terribly scandalized if I simply strip down before you, I hope?

[amygdalae]

[Yes, armor. Bruce takes note of that quickly, and runs through a mental tally of possible scenarios. Armor more often than not usually meant 'fighter', so that helps to substantially prepare himself for what to do next.

The injuries, or at least what he sees of it so far, puts a reasonable credibility on what he has to do here.]

I'll look at them first. [He says, only blinking once to his credit at the growing pile of daggers as the elf takes them off him.

At the question, however, Bruce only gestures to a wooden stool nearby.] I can't look at your injures properly if you're covered. [That's about as close to a 'go ahead' as the elf is going to get. Bruce isn't a stranger to partial nudity, or even nudity in general - he has had to face that a lot in his time of being a surgeon.]

[ombranera]

Do try not to swoon.

[ Ah, good. Some surgeons in Antiva protested having to see that much of an elf. A human, oh no, that is normal, but an elf?

They did not tend to make as much coin as those that did the job without complaining. It seems as though this man is much the same. A blessing. Disarming himself the rest of the way takes a matter of moments, more knives, the short swords, his belt with all it's pouches, poisons, and sundry. The armor comes next and now? Now he lets some of the tension he'd been shoving down for the day ease into his posture.

Here he can be vulnerable, if only for a moment.

He piles his effects to one side neatly and sits on the stool, stripping off the long shirt he'd worn for warmth with a great deal of care. Honestly? It may have been better to cut it off for the wincing at the stretch- and for Zevran to wince? Is no small thing. True to his word there are hastily applied bandages interrupting the flow of black lines traced into his skin in a winding expanse, bound about his ribs, around one shoulder Unbinding them would come next, but a moment to breathe seems reasonable. ]

[amygdalae]

[As the elf undresses himself Bruce rummages through his kit, getting out the necessary items. More likely than not he would have to redo the stitches, and that's never a pleasant experience.

Once he's taken out his equipment and laid them out Bruce turns his attention back to the elf, who's gotten out of his upper armor and clothes and true to his word, looks rather battered up.]

Where did you get these injuries? [He asks as eyes the bandages. They were a little too tightly bound, but he knows from experience that it was probably for the best. He'd have to do them properly later when he was done with the wound.]

1

[colecomfort]

[They're left and right at first, but as the days go on, the injured and ill are gathered into little pockets, areas where they can stay to be readily tended to.

There is a man here whose condition has been worsening since the arrival. Though he made it all the way from Haven despite his injuries, he is now pale and shaking. He sleeps fitfully, and moans more than he speaks.

While Bruce is tending to another patient, he may look up and see a figure crouched by the side of the delirious man. This does not particularly look like a healer — he's dressed in rags and a wide-brimmed hat, with a dagger strapped to his side.

He is holding the man's hand. A moment passes, and he leans down, seems to whisper something in the man's ear.

The man sighs. His moaning stops. He goes still.]

cooooooooooole

[amygdalae]

[There are always the cases where nothing will work, where all they can do is wait for death to come. Bruce tries to not focus on that when he tends to them and tries to make their final hours as peaceful as possible. There's not much he can do besides making them comfortable, but he does his best anyway. It's all he can give them. He's seen too many dead and dying in his life already.

He doesn't notice the strange figure at first, focused as he is on his patient, but when he looks up its all he can notice. The strange figure looks quite out of place from the rest, and that hat...

He can think about the hat later.

Bruce slowly stands up and walks towards him, eyes wary and cautious, uncertain on how to react. The man he was talking to would be passing soon enough, so why was he--

It all happens at once. The man sighs, stops, and then goes still, and Bruce doesn't need to guess what happened. The shock still sets in, just a little, more about the strange figure than the man's passing.

After a beat he turns his gaze to the stranger, and his voice is somewhat wary while he asks.] What did you do?

i am jazzed about this cr jsyk

[colecomfort]

[The young man doesn't look up. Before he answers, he lets go of the hand he was holding, allowing it to fall gently to the blanket underneath.]

He knew he was dying, but he was afraid. [His voice drops a tone, the words flowing as if they belong to someone else:] Little blue dress stained with blood, coughing until she couldn't breathe. So light when she left.

I told him she was waiting, and the fear went away.

i am so excited as well omg

[amygdalae]

[Humans, strangely, always knew when they were to die. Bruce's seen it himself many times before, and he's even experienced it himself as well.

Though sometimes, he wishes he actually could have died. But that's neither here nor there.

He purses his lips at the words, understanding, but uncertain on how to respond. He's heard whispers of the strange boy with strange words, but hadn't ever seen him until now. At least, if this is the one in question.]

I... [He starts, pausing for a moment to decide how to go on. If anything, at least he helped this dying man - who had very honestly needed some comfort. And in a way he had gotten that, which was better than anything else Bruce himself could have done. There was only so much he could do in terms of the physical.] Thank you, I suppose. At least he had some peace before he passed on.

[His words probably don't mean much - he can't speak for the dead, after all - but he thinks at least that knowledge is a comfort, of sorts.]

[colecomfort]

[Somewhere in the midst of that, his head tilts to one side — as if tipping his ear toward a sound of uncertain origin. His fingers worry along the scraggly blades of grass at the edge of the blanket.]

He needed the peace. The fear was holding him still.

[They're all afraid. Almost everyone here, in one way or another. Afraid, mournful, uncertain. For now, that fear seems to hold them together, but it could become pain. That's why he stays. Even though she's gone.]

[amygdalae]

[It was impossible to ignore the atmosphere around Skyhold. The loss of the Herald was a profound thing that could be felt by everyone, especially with the uncertain future looming close by. The Breach may be sealed, but there were still rifts everywhere, not to mention...

The guilt claws at him again, the possibility of what could have changed if he didn't keep all the other parts of him a secret. Maybe he could have helped but--no. He'd probably only bring more pain than comfort. That's all he's ever managed to accomplish with that. Being like this, not touching all those other parts--its safer that way.]

Hard not to imagine anybody not being afraid. [Of the future, of dying, of so many unknown things. Never knowing was always terrifying.] But everyone's just focusing on getting better now... after that, I suppose there will be questions.

[Like what will happen to the Inquisition, and how they will deal with the rifts. And for Bruce himself, how many more people will be injured and hurt. It would be a lie to say there wouldn't be any.]

2

[mythalenaste]

[Pel hasn't had time to scour the library for personal reading, but a book about magic definitely catches her attention. She starts to approach, then hesitates, keeping some distance.]

Where did you find that? [she asks.]

[amygdalae]

[Bruce glances up at the voice, taking a moment before he realizes that he's being spoken to. It's a bit hard to assume stuff when the speaker is kind of distant from you.]

In the library. [He responds, then pauses for a second to glance down at the book and back to the speaker--and elf, he quickly discerns.] Did you need it? I can pass it over.

[mythalenaste]

No, I--

[She ventures a little closer.]

I'm curious. I don't see many mages here actually studying magic, just using it.

[amygdalae]

[Oh. Well.

Bruce winces quite a bit internally, but out the outside he only puts on a tiny little smile, looking somewhat bemused.]

Oh, no, I--I'm not a mage. [Pause.] I'm just a surgeon.

[mythalenaste]

Nonetheless. [She approaches at last. Healers are usually okay.] How do you find the book?

[amygdalae]

[Well, at least things seem to be... okay? At least he hopes that's the case.]

It's quite enlightening. Some of the methods described here look very useful for the mages who can use these spells. [Another pause.] Perhaps if there are some who can do this, then I can hopefully try to work with them to better benefit the patients.

[slipshot]

[It was his own fault.

Sure, he was banged up really bad - bruised everywhere, and he was starting to suspect a rib might be broken - but it was his own fault. He'd plummeted nearly three stories, and the only reason he was still alive was because there happened to be a Qunari available as a cushion.

It isn't the first time he's ended up having to sheepishly find the healers. He was accident prone, so he was something of a regular. But that didn't mean he didn't feel embarrassed whenever he did so.

He'd be fine, but the ache in his sides as he walked had him dreaming about elfroot. Hence why he ended up here now, shuffling in to give a little wave and a sheepish smile to Bruce as he approached.]

Ah - hey. Please tell me that we have something in the way of healing potions left.

[amygdalae]

[Gavin was more or less a regular with the healers now. Which is, of course, why almost none of the other healers want to attend to him and all the injuries he had gotten from some ridiculous scrape or another.

Bruce, however, has never said no to somebody when they obviously needed some patching. No matter how ridiculous the injury came from.

So when the elf bobbled around the area, Bruce didn't really need to guess what had happened. He finishes up with his current patient and gathers his supplies, bringing them with him as he walks over to Gavin. Even from a distance he can see the multitude of bruises on him, and the smile on Bruce's face goes wry once he's close enough.]

The healing potions are for people who need a bit more than just a bit of patching up. [Bruce is already pulling in a nearby stool, gesturing for Gavin to sit as he puts down his bag and starts to get out the usual things.] So, what's the story this time round?

[slipshot]

[He took the seat easily, feet curling up around the stool rather than planting on the ground, already reaching down to pull up his shirt to show Bruce the massive bruises around his ribs.]

Well uh - See, I was just trying to feed the Ravens some scraps, and I kind of... fell. Down. For a while. But I'm alright! A Qunari broke my fall.

[After realising how that might have sounded, he laughed and flushed with embarrassment.]

Who is also fine too, I promise. No one dead. But I - ah - I'm quite sore.

[amygdalae]

[Bruce is pretty sure that a Qunari can take a lot more than an elf falling onto it, but its nice to be reassured all the same. Still, he sighs a little at the bruises that he can see, the exasperation audible even if Bruce tries not to voice it out directly.]

If you weren't sore with bruises like these, I would have been amazed. [He carefully reaches out and places a hand against Gavin's ribs, trying to keep his touch gentle, wary of the bruises.] Do you have any difficultly breathing?

[slipshot]

[He winced, visibly, but the was still smiling helplessly at Bruce.]

No, no I would have come faster if I had. But it does hurt a right - [A pause as he tried to work out a translation, and then gave up and merely said:] It does hurt a lot. Especially if I sleep on the right side.

[He looked down and poked the lowest rib on his right, and then winced again.]

I thought a small fracture, maybe... Or the bruises are just as bad on the inside as on the outside.

[Super eloquent.]

[amygdalae]

[The attempt at smiling is appreciated, at least.]

Only if you lie down on your right, you said? [He asks, as he moves his hand over to said side, and only pauses for a moment before he applies some pressure onto it.]

Tell me how badly it hurts from one to ten, one being a little and ten for a lot.