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

[colecomfort]

Voices beyond the Veil, drawing dreams, shaping the sights in the Fade.

I'm like them. Except I'm different, because I'm here.

[amygdalae]

[Bruce frowns, processing the words, trying to make sense of them. Beyond the Veil... if it means what he thinks it means, then--]

You're-- [He starts slowly, not wanting to draw any immediate conclusions until he knows for sure. Bruce likes being sure of things before he speaks them aloud. Not knowing is more terrifying than exciting.] --from the Fade?

[Pause. 'From the Fade'...]

Are you a demon?

[But it didn't look anything like a usual demon--was it possessing a body, then? That made the most sense, but it didn't feel quite right. There was something missing in this puzzle.]

[colecomfort]

Demons hurt people. I don't want to be like that. I want to help.

[His hand brushes against the hand of the man — the body of the man — lying between them. It's starting to go cold. Sometimes helping means pushing back against the pain. Sometimes it means letting go. He's only just starting to see the difference, but he's been learning.]

The elvhen mage — Solas — he understands... She could have explained it, too. I found and followed her from the fortress where the Templars were hiding. I came back with the ones She saved. She was bright, glimmering, glowing through the darkness...

[When he speaks about her, his voice takes on a tone of reverence, adoration. A quiet intensity, like a person in prayer.

Then, it all sags out of him.]

But... She's not here anymore. The sky closed, and the shine scattered. The light all went away.

[amygdalae]

[Bruce can't help but take a good part of Cole's words with a fair hint of suspicion. He said he didn't want to be a demon, but that meant he wasn't exactly denying it either. So, was he a demon that wanted to... help?

That's--Bruce doesn't know what to make of that. It's so hard to believe that when his life had all been ruined by something so similar but yet vastly different at the same time. The irony, of course, is noted.

But the part about her - the Herald, he assumes from what he (whatever Cole was) - has Bruce sympathizing a little. No matter what, losing somebody who could understand you when the rest of Thedas wouldn't... that was a feeling he could relate too all very well. So despite his ever-growing uncertainty about this Cole, the fear he has of Cole talking about his secret out loud, the paranoia that everyone else will see this and know--Bruce continues to speak.]

I--I'm sorry. [He says, because its the best thing he can manage right now, with how much his mind whirls at the moment.] She... deserved better. [Her life had ended all too soon, all too quickly. In the short time where she had been known to all she had brought hope, in some form or another. And to lose that hope - he knows that feeling well too, from his own personal experiences.]

[colecomfort]

[Of course, not all hope is lost. If it were, none of them would be here. Hopelessness scatters people to the winds, makes them cut the bonds that tie them together. The feeling around Skyhold may be mournful, desperate, but it is not fully despairing. A scrap of faith still remains.]

The Inquisition is still an idea. People still want it to mean something. Something like what She wanted. I think that matters. At least, it would be good if it did.

It's — hard thinking about the future. Everything starts getting slippery.

[amygdalae]

[Bruce certainly hopes that something will still continue. The Inquisition has done good, in the time that its been around, and in times like these a group such as them will truly be beneficial. Hope is what people out there needs most, now.]

The future is always hard to think about. [Because of how uncertain it is. Bruce knows that, because he faces that everyday. Every night wondering what tomorrow will bring. Wondering how long it takes until he has to leave this place. When he will ever find a place that he can actually stay.

The last, he knows, will probably never happen.]

[colecomfort]

[Ah — and there's something. It won't make everything better — the man's troubles are too deep-set to be patched up with a few words — but it may help a little.]

So many here just want somewhere to belong. Holding out hands, huddling against the cold. They need us to reach out, too. I can brush and be forgotten, leave the warmth without the memory. But people are different. Sometimes, holding means being held.

[There's a beat, a short one, and Cole looks to one side — this time, toward the stairs that lead up to the upper courtyard.]

I should go. There's so much to do...

[Then, he's gone. It's hard to say how it happens: he doesn't wink away from sight, nor does he fade away. It's more like... something slips, and then he simply isn't there.

Bruce will find, in the following days, that his memory of the conversation is a bit slippery as well. Cloudy. As if he's recalling something from a dream. He may have to assertively remind himself that it wasn't one. But he will remember.]