faderift | Skyhold

Skyhold

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.

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It wasn't like Gorse missed the admiring gaze, exactly, he was very observant when it came to people. He just ... had no idea what it meant, having no context to file it under from previous experience. Sooner or later he'd learn.

He took the offered waterskin with a disarmingly friendly smile and a "Thank you kindly," before he took a long drink from it and passed it back to Zevran. Work was always better when you had a friend to do it with, and the important thing was Zevran didn't seem to have an instant wariness at seeing Gorse's horns. He didn't look scared at all, actually, and while Gorse was good at calming fears it was pleasant to not have to open every meeting with that.

"I'm always glad to help," Gorse said, stretching out sore muscles for a moment before getting onto his knees next to where Zevran was working, careful to give enough space that he wouldn't accidentally smack the elf with his horns. That'd be a sore way for a hello to go. "'Sides, little extra dirt never hurt no one. The name's Gorse, what's yours?"

"oh maker..." So many muscles. So many gorgeous muscles. And that smile. Zevran suddenly has an appreciation for what everyone that meets him must endure. Truly there is no preparing for this much gorgeousness. It is truly awe inspiring- where to begin? The jaw? The throat?

Needless to say Zevran very much wants to climb this Qunari like a tree but- alas- it would probably have to wait until after his arm has mended.

How sad. He may cry.

"Zevran Aranai." He manages to recover his composure enough to smile, grimacing a bit at the tension in his bad shoulder. He'll need to massage it later. "At your service, Gorse."

"Right pleasure to meet you, Zevran." Gorse said pleasantly, though his brows furrowed a bit with concern at Zevran's slight grimace. Concern was rather Gorse's nature, he could hardly help it.

Unstoppable force versus immovable object was a go. Gorse never met a person he wasn't determined to make friends with.

"Now - it's totally alright if you don't wanna talk 'bout it, but I'd be remiss if I didn't ask what's wrong." Gorse wasn't a healer, but he did know how to whip together a few poultices and he'd seen elfroot growing in the debris that with what was in his pack he could make something quick to ease pain if it was bothering Zevran. Some of the things in here when mixed up could be pretty dangerous, after all.

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." Honestly he wasn't certain Gorse was getting the better end of the deal- he was dressed and bandaged under his shirt, ointment on his shoulder blessedly not seeping through the cotton to assult their senses.

Bruce had better be right about it's properties.

"Oh, that? I was injured on the road here and saw myself to a surgeon shortly after I arrived. The wound is patched but my shoulder does ache somewhat from holding my arm still. I am not to do anything too strenuous with it." Which was frustrating on so many levels, let him tell you Gorse. He would. At length.

Gorse gave Zevran a truly sympathetic look.

"Fell off the roof when I was little," he explained, pointing to the broken horn. "Didn't break my leg but it was a near thing, had to stay off it for weeks. I was goin' stir crazy by the time I could walk around again." Not being able to use an arm would probably yield the same result. Gorse was used to working with his hands.

"Surgeons here are miracle workers though, I'm sure you'll be better in no time at all." Gorse had a way of sounding completely confidant regarding things he actually had no proof of, but he'd heard everyone speak highly of the ones with the Inquisition and he'd never seen anything to contradict it. "I could mix you somethin' up for the achin' though iffin you want. There's elfroot here and I got some other dried herbs in my pack. Won't do much different for the healin' itself but it won't leave you foggy headed neither."

"Most would offer some tale of valor, like headbutting a dragon, for that." Falling out of a tree though- as a child? Seemed terribly normal, taking a bit of the 'oh maker I want him in me' luster off. Not MUCH. But. Enough for Zevran to focus on the conversation. Qunari children-

He'd never seen one. Not many outside of the Qun have most likely.

"Bruce was quite skilled and patient with me when I expressed my concerns. Enough so to apply a particularly...pungent ointment under the bandage for my shoulder. I would not recommend unbinding it. The smell was worse than an ogre's breath." And he knew that much from extensive experience. They did so love grabbing elves by the feet and shaking them about. Better shaken than squished. "A massage would do the trick, but doing so on myself would be a touch awkward."

Gorse did kind of have that effect on people. All the sexuality of a three week old kitten.

It wasn't that he didn't find Zevran attractive, certainly he did, it was just in the abstract way that comes with no knowledge of what to do about it. He lived on a farm he knew where babies came from but... he lived on a farm surrounded by relations.

Gorse had never been taken out of the package so to speak.

By himself or anyone else.

And he was an exceptionally friendly and helpful person by nature, so...

"I could do that for ya if you don't mind. I know some people got a thing about not likin' others touchin' them though." The offer was perfectly sincere, so was the possibility that Zevran might not want to be touched and the respect for that.

Gorse clearly had to be new around here.

...There was absolutely no innuendo in that whatsoever. Not even a little. Not a lick.

How- how did one so casually offer to handle a massage in all due kindness and compassion without so much as an eyebrow waggle or seductive draw? Now that the bright shine of 'Andraste preserve me, that NECK' is also somewhat lessened- a very particular sense of Zevran's was speaking to him.

This.

This was a virgin.

Maker's breath, was it Satinalia already?

"No, no, by all means. Touch me however you like, whenever you like."

"Promise I'll be gentle, you let me know if it hurts too bad, okay?"

While that could almost certainly have been an innuendo from anyone else, it continued to be the same unwavering sincerity and concern of before.

Gorse still had some dirt on his hands so he wiped them off on his pants first before scooting to kneel behind Zevran and very carefully work at the muscles of his shoulder, watching for any sign of pain so he wouldn't hurt his new friend.

Still no innuendo. How was Gorse even real?

"By all means-oh." Certainly the flesh was tense and tender- but the care in those large, fine hands? Was more than enough to have him slowly melting backward in a puddle of happy elf. "Maker's breath..."

While he was initially a little worried since Zevran was (comparatively) so small and fragile, Gorse was quite relieved that it seemed to be going well. Gorse's hands were firm but gentle, Zevran might not be as delicate as a baby bird but that didn't mean he didn't deserve the care of one.

"Feelin' any better?" He asked after a little bit, continuing to support Zevran if that's what he needed.

The last bit of the uncomfortable tension is long since massaged loose, but having this attention on him is- well. A little new and quite enjoyable. "Mmhmm..."

He may or may not be in a daze from the endorphins. And warmth. Qunari all seem to be terribly warm. "Marvelous."

Gorse was perfectly fine playing body pillow for the injured - he'd done it enough times for little siblings. He liked being trusted enough for people to be relaxed around, especially out in the big wide world where his kind apparently inspired fear on first look. It ran counter to his gentle and friendly nature.

Basically he wasn't going to move Zevran unless the elf managed to fall asleep on him. Then, like, he'd probably try to find a bed for him so he wouldn't get a sore neck or something.

He was here for a reason, wasn't he? The...poisons. the patch for them. Right. With great reluctance he reached up and patted Gorse's hand. "If you continue I fear I may fall asleep on you and that? Would be terribly rude."

"I been someone's pillow enough times, I don't mind." Gorse said with great sincerity - his default tone really. Even so, he let go of Zevran, moving back to work on pulling the weeds from the ground. "I can finish up here if you wanna go get some sleep. You should really take it easy if you're injured, there will be weeds enough left when you feel better."

"No, no. I need to see this finished so I remember where I have planted my seeds. And remember to mark this off accordingly." What goes here is not for poultices or stew pots, no Ser.

"Whatcha planting?" Gorse asked, because, well. Plants were his jam, so of course he was interested. Also it was just polite and pleasant to make conversation with new friends.

Which they were now. Friends.

"Well. Deathroot, for one, Nightshade, hemlock and a few other such..unpleasant things. I need to be certain no one else tries to plant anything around them, or that anyone else tries to tend to them lest they hurt themselves." Getting killed on a poison that's not even made yet? Terrible.

"Oh," Huh. Those seemed dangerous, and Gorse almost warned Zev of that except it seemed like Zevran already knew? Well, he probably knew the proper precautions to take then.

The idea that they were dangerous was the point hadn't actually crossed Gorse's mind. He'd probably need to be told. He knew poisons were a thing it just wasn't a conclusion he ever jumped to, being the docile sort by nature.

"You could put little wooden grower posts around them and circle them with twine to keep 'em set apart?"

"Ah- I should have thought of that. Usually by the time I work with them they are already grown. I am not all that certain I will be able to coax these to life but better someone that knows the risks than a gardener that thinks them lovely. I shall have to fetch some as soon as the area is cleared and we've daylight again." Simple Gardening techniques aren't all that useful to Crows. He's played at being a gardener before, certainly, but learned nothing.

"I'm sure you can manage, they ain't hard to grow if you know what you're doin'. I can also keep an eye on them. Mama said I could make anythin' grow." He didn't want to be pushy of course, he just genuinely liked to help people and Zevran happened to need help with things he enjoyed. Zevran was also fun to talk to.

"Have you worked with such dangerous plants before? I wouldn't want you to become ill." Maker why must this qunari be so-

endearing? Adorable. These are not words for Qunari. Fearsome, massive, massively fearsome, fearsomely gorgeous. Adorable. Charming. Endearing. What has the world come to?

"If you wish to help, Gorse, I will be happy to accept. But- do be careful? I know Qunari are more sturdy than the rest of us but enough deathroot can kill a dragon, or so the saying goes."

"Aw, that's awful sweet of you to worry, but I promise I know what I'm doin'." There was no sarcasm or condescension in his voice, he genuinely thought it was sweet of Zevran to be concerned about him. He was already clearing out space around where Zev was working so that there'd be no mistaking the plans for others, a nice little cleared buffer zone. Gorse was really happiest when he was playing in the dirt. "There were these big plants that'd grow tall as a person back home, beautiful little white flowers on 'em - one touch and sunlight and bam, you got a burn worse than acid. Had a scar from one of those for years."

He's never been called sweet before- there's. Is he supposed to say something back? Are there words he should be speaking? Zevran Arainai, sweet. Isabella would laugh if she heard it. He still could not quite believe that had come from Gorse but- perhaps it is something in him that makes him see Zevran as such? "And- ah. Where is home exactly? That sounds marvelous and terrible."

"It ain't everywhere, we mostly keep it under control but sometimes - well, it's a weed, so it does what it wants." Gorse explained. Additionally, the saying about the burned hand learning best was true, Gorse never made a mistake with hurtful plants again.

"Home is in Ferelden, way way south. Pretty much neck deep in Chasind territory, but they're real nice once you get to know 'em." Also most importantly, the actual people in control of Ferelden have no desire to go anywhere near it for those reasons. Secluded, out of the way, impossible to find without a guide and surrounded by neighbors who has a rule hated all strangers.

In short, it was perfect for a group of people trying to escape their homeland and wanting desperately to not be found.

THAT ICON.

glad you like!

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