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

[el_tybs]

Sam frowns at how easily Cyril dismisses himself, but before he can say anything Cyril says something that makes Sam stop. It's the past tense phrasing that gets him first. And then there is that word.

Ah. That was what he was sensing.

Somehow when Cyril had simply disappeared after that night it had not bothered him. It seemed like a sure thing. He had been right.

But now the Elf was sitting here and talking to him. Like something was coming back. Hopeful. He was wrong. An odd but familiar feeling.

"Friends," he repeats the word slowly, and then Sam grins and chuckles.

He's good at that.

"I would really like that. Cyril. I take it that this drink is on you then?"

[samahl]

Cyril watches him and waits for the reaction. Then he's grinning and laughing and Cyril lets out a soft breath.

"I suppose so," he says, amused. "I should probably get one for myself too."

[el_tybs]

Sam doesn't miss the breath Cryil lets out. "Or you could just have mine." Sam chuckles and pushes the mug in Cyril's direction.

He doesn't think he could handle drinking right now.

[samahl]

Cyril takes the drink and sips at it a bit, though he's careful not to take too much of it.

"When did you join the Inquisition?" he asks, curious to catch up.

[el_tybs]

The smile quickly loses it's mirth, and he turns in his chair to lean on the counter. He'll chalk it up to current events and the subject.

"The Conclave?" He shrugs. "I wanted to get out of the Cirlce so much. I just happened to have a real need to ditch the Templars and the meeting to go and see the town nearby." Sam gives a huff and looks down at nothing in particular. "They probably were so mad. I can only imagine what they would have done with me if... things didn't happen."

[samahl]

Cyril frowns as well. "Did you... did you lose people? In the explosion?" He knew it was a personal question, but he couldn't imagine what that would be like.

[el_tybs]

"A few mages and templars from Ostwick Circle. No one I had a personal connection to." He sighs and rolls the shoulder he had fallen on, the soreness finally grabbing his attention because he needed to think about something else.

"A lot of people died that day."

[samahl]

Cyril leans a little closer and puts an arm around Sam, rubbing his shoulders and neck for a moment. He only really knows how to give comfort in a physical sort of way and the touch his meant to help relax Sam.

He pulls back again before speaking. "And yet others survived. Many of them are here, trying to put the world back in order."

[el_tybs]

Sam tenses at first at the contact then forces himself to relax. Not so much because of surprise, but because he doesn't trust himself with physical contact at the moment. It's too close.

When Cyril pulls away, Sam turns his head back towards the Elf. "Yeah." A pause. He doesn't comment about losing the Herald. "A lot of trying. And more showing up everyday."

[samahl]

Cyril takes the hint from the tension and then moves to tuck his arm closer and holds the cup with both hands. "A group from my Clan came as well," he said. "There were six of us at once."

He offers Sam an encouraging but muted smile. "What do you think of our chances?"

[el_tybs]

Sam sighs, noting how Cyril seems to try stick to his own personal space. He's not being fair to the Elf. It isn't Cyril's fault.

Leaning over he gives Cyril a nudge in the side, offering his own smile. "Six Dalish elves in Skyhold? Say your chances are pretty good."

[samahl]

He chuckles a bit. "I'd hope so. There are a handful of others here too," he points out. "Perhaps we'll solve all of the world's problems before you humans realize what's happening."

[el_tybs]

"If you're capable of doing that then I'm rightly cross that you haven't figured it out yet. I'm tired of all these problems."

Sam wave Cabot down and manages to get the Dwarf to grab him a mug of water.

[samahl]

"A fair point," Cyril says with some thought. "If you were at the Conclave, that means you survived the destruction of Haven. If it's as terrible as they say, I'm sorry that you had to see that, Sam."

[el_tybs]

Sam gives a shrug at that, twisting the mug between his hands when he receives it. "I'm getting over it. I'm good at that."

He takes a drink from his mug then raises a brow at Cyril. "Things aren't going to get better. And the Inquisition is at the middle of it. You going to be okay?"

[samahl]

"Oh yeah," he says. "It's not as if the bad things were going to stay here, you know. I'd rather face it head on than wait for it to over take my Clan. They're not warriors. They're people. We came here to protect them."

[el_tybs]

Sam shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. "That... was not what I was meaning."

He sighs and tries to think of a better way to say it. "We're all here to protect people. I just meant... I've already seen a lot of ugly things. It's good to have a friend here, but I'd hate to see anything happen to you."

[samahl]

Cyril considers that for a moment. "I feel the same about you," he says finally. "Now that I know you're here, but considering you've managed so far I'd imagine that you can take care of yourself."

Even despite the fact that he's the type to fall out of his chair.

[el_tybs]

Sam raises a brow. He has a feeling Cyril is thinking something that goes against what he just said. "Ah huh." He waits for a moment then gives another shrug.

"I chalk it up to dumb luck." He laughs lightly at that.

[samahl]

"Don't cut yourself short," Cyril explained, smiling a bit at the sound of Sam's laugh. "Luck is a good thing to have on your side."

[el_tybs]

At that, Sam looks at his hand as if considering something. After a moment he flexes it then puts it back down on the counter. Looking back at Cyril he smiles. "Even if it's dumb?"

[samahl]

"Dumb can be charming," Cyril counters, amused.

[el_tybs]

Sam takes a drink to hide the blush that is returning. "I've never heard dumb luck being called charming."

[samahl]

"Perhaps you've not met very many open minded men and women," Cyril points out. He tilts his head a bit, enjoying the sight of the blush.

[el_tybs]

"Afraid not. Not many consider being a Mage lucky." The words are out before Sam can think about them. He stops drinking when he does realize what he's said and rolls his eyes. He's failing at turning the conversation to happier conversation.

His head is obviously not screwed in right at the moment.