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

[rathercommon]

[ She jumps, a little squeak of surprise loosing itself from her throat. The book nearly tumbles from her hands; she scrambles to gather it up again before it falls, and ends up hugging it to her chest. Her heart's hammering. She'd had a mindset that she was doing something forbidden and illicit; that was the problem. And so she was primed to be afraid, and then when he'd moved so very silently -

Was he actually moving silently, Kitty? Or were you just that absorbed? Honestly, to think that it's your wits that have kept you alive this long...

Her face is pink, shading towards red, as she looks up at the boy. Mage. He's obviously a mage. And, by the faint hand-me-down shabbiness of his robes (to say nothing of his accent), not a mage of the sort she's used to. Fereldan, probably. Not someone to be scared of. Someone to feel compassion towards. ]

Um.

[ She lowers it from her chest to look at the title again. The book is large, and makes her just look smaller. ]

Yeah, I guess - [ She gestures vaguely upwards. Then, recovering a little, she cracks a tentative smile. ] I was just wondering if there wasn't something in here to make them less loud.

[fullmoon]

There might be.

[ He doesn't move closer. The jumping and squeaking probably have little to nothing to do with his Circle robes or the staff peeking over his shoulder, but it's still jumping and squeaking--and blushing--so he stays where he is, towering over her from a slightly-more-than-conversational distance with both hands safely on his books.

But he looks a little entertained, anyway. ]

They're quiet at night. If we blocked the windows during the day we might be able to confuse them. [ The Spymaster would never allow it. ] Or they might go mad.

[rathercommon]

Oh, no. No way.

[ The boy is sort of quiet, and sort of unassuming. His manner is thoughtful. He seems clever. That last part brings Kitty's guard up just a bit, because clever boys are dangerous boys. But the first few things kindle just the slightest curl of fondness, which works to counteract that caution. Enough that she smiles a little more genuinely. ]

First, I am not going to take part in anything that would drive poor innocent creatures crazy. Or anything that would be cruel towards them at all. And second, I'm definitely not doing anything that would make the Spymaster hunt me down and hurl me over the battlements in vengeance.

[fullmoon]

[ He cannot hold both hands up because they are busy with his books, but his wincing smile is one that would accompany the gesture well, if he could make it. ]

You would have my permission to pin it on me, if we did something like that. Which we won't. Because cruelty toward animals.

[ And other reasons. All very valid. Still, he looks up when the birds start squawking particularly loudly--some sort of bird-scuffle from the sound of it--and there's still something considering in the corners of his eyes when he looks back down at her.

His friends might still be up for it.

I'm Remus.

[rathercommon]

Kitty.

[ She shifts the book in her hands, wondering what sorts of things you're supposed to do when meeting a mage. Or a Ferelden. Or just a boy. Where she's from, there were always such clear rules for what you were supposed to do, all of them hinging on your caste versus their caste - a servant knew how she was supposed to greet a noble versus how she was supposed to greet a merchant. It was horrible, but at least it was clear. She's been on the surface three years now and she has yet to really figure out how you're supposed to get acquainted. ]

I have to say, you look like you're still plotting something, Mr. Which-We-Won't.