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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Despite the schism made between Templar and Mage both, there's at least one Templar who's notably been trying to ease the tension here. Dressed differently in ornate silver armor with a helmet possessing a pair of long horns, Knight-Commander could be seen randomly speaking with various mages and offering them supplies.

He isn't alone in his endeavors though. Some of the others seem to take his lead and assist where they can within the hold. Though, none of them seem so willing to help unlike this man. He stands out like a sore thumb amongst a crowd of sour faced mages but not as their oppressor.

If anything, it looks as if he's trying to befriend them. He's treating the mages like equals. Talk about an odd concept.

Beleth didn't know the different kinds of templars. As far as she was concerned, there was one type: The dangerous kind. With an extra mage in their clan, they'd been particularly wary about templars. With a twin as a mage, Beleth was particularly wary about templars. They'd have to separate her from her brother over her dead body--a stipulation she was pretty sure the templars would agree to.

It's taken some getting used to, not immediately going defensive when they were around. She'd spent a lifetime with them labeled as dangerous, deadly. Something to run away from.

A templar that was trying to befriend the mages? It was unusual enough that Beleth kept an eye on him. Was there an ulterior motive? Some other reason that he was trying to move within their ranks? She couldn't help but be suspicious. So she watched him when she was nearby, usually when she was on some perch or another, doing work that would permit her to quickly turn to it if anyone noticed the wariness.

In the end, she decided that she had taken it upon herself to make sure that the humans and her people got along, and that meant that if there was an unusual templar, she should take a few minutes to make sure he wouldn't be a problem for the mages their clan brought with them. It was easy enough to get an excuse, she just had to step in the kitchen before some shemlen threw a pitcher of water at her and barked orders. Beleth smiled sweetly, agreed, and turned around to completely ignore the order, in favor of drifting to where the templar was. She stopped to give water to others on the way, chatting about inconsequential things.

She finally wandered her way to him, offering the pitcher. There was a polite smile on her face, but her eyes were wary. "It's hot out today, ser. Would you like some water?"

It was tiring work lifting supplies and carrying crates after crates of boxes around, but the result was well worth it. The camps the mages and elves set up here were sloppy at best. No one should have to linger about in such clutter when him and his men could offer assistance. No matter how heavy the burden was, Sauveterre didn't hesitate to help. The mages still looked at him with distrust but they weren't against having a Templar assist. Some even started to view the Knight-Commander more fondly now.

Pleased with his efforts thus far, Sauveterre allowed himself to take a breather once a fellow Orlesian stepped forward to take his place. A nod was his only reply as Sauveterre hastily removed his helmet. The air felt crisp and inviting upon his damp skin. He had worked up quite the sweat earlier and needed a well deserved break. Carefully sitting upon the edge of a supply crate, Sauveterre's grey eyes drift over towards the young maid that called to him.

Water? A look of surprised gratitude lingers within his peculiar gaze. "My sincerest thanks." Sauveterre replies as he accepts the pitcher with a small smile. It doesn't take him long to notice her elven traits but he speaks nothing of it for now.

She can't pass as a city-elf servant, not with her vallaslin proud on her face, nor the way she holds herself, despite her attempts to look meek enough. But she's pretty sure there's enough Dalish around that she can just be taken as some random elf servant. She keeps her polite, accommodating smile firm, even as she glances over him.

"Of course, ser."

Well, he's not snapping at her, so there's at least that much. But it'd still be best to ask a few questions, try to figure out where he stood. If she'd have to warn her clanmates away from him. "Were you from Therinfal Redoubt, with the other templars...? I heard that's where most of the templars were, before the Inquisition came."

'A Dalish, hm?'

A knowing gleam lingers within his gaze as he regards the elf's elaborate tattoo. There's no reason a Dalish would be caught lingering around a Templar like this, especially offering a pitcher of water. So if she's not truly here of her own violition, then that means this elf might be present here on a friend's behest. The Dalish aren't fond of humans and possess very little love for Templars too. This much he knows about them since the Order certainly goes out of their way to antagonize them too.

"Nay, I wasn't there." He answers before taking a generous sip of water. Alayre has a terrible thirst upon him now. No matter how much he drinks, that thirst doesn't seem to ease much. Maybe he's dehydrated or maybe it's the lack of lyrium. It could honestly be one or the other.

"I was thousands and thousands of malms away, I believe. In the far off outskirts of Serault. As in Orlesian, traveling into Ferelden is a bit of a rarity but I have before."

She won't take the pitcher from him, not until either he hands it back, or irritates her enough to make her leave. So Alayre can drink as much as he wishes--More than she let anyone else drink, certainly. When he mentions where he's from, she glances off to the side, a small wrinkle between her brows. She knows little of Serault outside of it being in Orlais. But just being an Orlesian templar is bad enough, for the Dalish have little love of Orlais.

"That is far, from both the other templars, and here. I wasn't aware that there were templars that didn't go to Val Royeaux with the rest of them. I mean--aside from the ones in the Hinterlands." Now, those templars had been even more of a menace than usual. Her tone, however, was light, and politely curious. Trying to get him to keep talking about himself. She wasn't sure whether him being away from the others was a good thing or not--She supposed it would depend on the reason.

Eventually he does hand back the pitcher to the elf. Sauveterre is a tad fatigued at best but he picks up on her line of questioning quickly. The girl is trying to pick his brain apparently. She's clearly trying to learn as much about him as possible so she could probably warn her a clan. A subtle but devious tactic. Alayre doesn't seem to mind the interrogation.

"My tower annexed themselves to magistrate out of their fondness for seclusion. Only on the rarest occasions we would come north." It's a frustrating truth. The Knight-Commander of his time as just a fledgling Templar was a stickler for keeping all business about Pharos secretive for the most part. Of course the new recruits would be trained else in Orlais before being sent off. However, Pharos was often left to their own devices.

"Like others, I joined the Order in my youth or rather, I was given to them as a child. Orphans have little choice."

Annexed themselves to magistrate? She has no idea what that means, though it sounds rather suspiciously like magister, of which no good ever came from. Did they align with a magister??? No, they were mages...

She spent a few moments contemplating this complex equation in her head, before she realized that he was still talking. Shit, she was supposed to be listening to him, and she had let her mind wander off. Focus. An orphan shoved into the Order? They did that? It made sense, from a practical perspective. If the chantry had to expend the resources to raise a child, they would make sure to get the full use of the child once they grew up.

His information didn't do much to help figure out what she wanted to know, besides that.

"...So you didn't participate in that whole...war thing...?" She asked, blinking with a confused air, and gesturing off towards the mages. That thing.

A slight smirk briefly appears upon his weathered face. It would seem that the Dalish know very little about the Order and even less about their practices. He figures that the elf knows nothing of what transpired during the war besides the rumors told from the lips of scorned mages. It makes sense but it also makes his mood become a tad bitter.

"When war happened upon my tower, I answered with steel." He admits in direct admission. If she must question him for the sake of her clan, then she'll certainly get the truth directly from his lips. "Many died during the war, Mage and Templar both. My tower was undersiege by those demanding freedom and former Chantry brothers screaming for blood. I slew both sides down with a small group of survivors when the renegades soon became abominations hellbent for destruction." A brief moment of silence passed between them before he says the following.

"I suppose that makes me more of a 'killer' than a 'hero' in the eyes of some. Though, war itself is never so glamorous unless in the eye of the victor." His smile has faded.

"A shame that I view myself as the loser to that war along with the Order itself. Much more than blood was shed that day. Trust was forever lost."

In Beleth's opinion, she knew enough about Templars. She knew that they were dangerous, how to avoid them, and how to speak to them when she saw them in villages. She knew how to tell who they were, out of armor. She knew that they would hurt her brother. As for the war itself--Shemlen business.

She listened to his tale intently, though her face remained politely neutral. It remained so as he explained what had happened, how the war had effected him, and what he had done. Abominations. She wondered how fewer abominations there would be, if people didn't try so hard to hurt the mages that they felt they had no other choice. But she didn't know the mages--They could have simply been the bad sort, maddened with lust for power.

The information is interesting. She still isn't sure what to make of the man, but his words, and the way that he says them, allays her fears enough that she is sure he isn't an immediate danger. Whether or not he is a good person is a question that, like most people, is impossible to answer with such a brief meeting. But she's assured that he won't be attempting to murder her clanmates while they eat breakfast.

"The greatest myth of war is that there are any winners." She told him quietly, taking her pitcher, and hoisting it on her hip. "But I have to get back to my duties, ser. I'm so sorry to be nattering at you like that." Perhaps another time, she'll try to get a better picture of the man. For now, she feels relieved that at least a few of the templars aren't sword-happy idiots.

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Skyhold

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