faderift | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It may very well be the end of the world, my friend. The weaker links will not break the chain so much as shatter the rest of us. I help you fight a little better and you keep me from being killed somewhere down the line- such is the way of things." Still. Drinks would be quite nice.

And it does not do to be impolite to templars. That's asking for trouble further down the line. "Well if you are offering it would be terribly rude to say no. Lead on!"

A chuckle leaves Alayre leads the way to the tavern. Despite not being overly fond of ale or mead, he still finds the tavern to be quite relaxing.

Most of the people who haunt there are young and sturdy adventurers with an air of danger about them. While not many of these people are particularly friendly, Alayre managed to engage a few conversations or two with the sellswords who usually sit towards the corner of the tavern. They typically keep him abreast to any news regarding renegades who stray to close to Skyhold.

"I do not believe I caught your name. Are you...new to these parts?" He asks in hopes of making smalltalk. His gift for conversation is sometimes frowned upon by others.

Following along for a free drink is easy enough and something Zevran does without further commentary. When a human in armor bids an elf follow- well. The elf knows well enough to follow.

The Tavern is as bustling as the day Zevran arrived, mercenaries and soldiers and templars to one side- elves and mages to another. This could only end well for everyone.

"Ah, how rude. Zevran Arainai of Antiva City, at your service. I have only recently arrived in Skyhold."

This certainly doesn't bode well.

A frown touches the corners of Alayre's lips once all eyes are on them. He could almost feel the weight of their stares upon his armor. They're undoubtedly sizing him up as he approaches the bar in a even stride. These drunkards always do.

"Zevran, hm?" Something about that name sounds oddly familiar to him but he doesn't know why. Maybe he heard the name once before in passing. "Tis a pleasure to have your service, good ser. I can tell you're here at Skyhold in hopes of riding out this storm alongside the Inquisition. That is commendable."

Sauveterre glances to the barkeep and orders a mug of mead for himself turning to Zevran again. "Ale or mead? I'm not too certain what an Antivan would prefer."

"Mhmm." The name managed to buy them a little space- and even a few smiles. He's been in here when he could, telling tales and playing his lute. Those that knew him as help to a hero hoped for more answers, those that knew him as a bard hoped for a new joke. It seemed to make it easier to breathe, if only for a moment.

"Less riding out and more lending my skills. I have been through a similar sort of storm and know my way about the rigging, as it were." He settles in his chair with a smile for the barmaid and the nearest group.

All is well. Worry not.

"Brandy- and what they have here is actually quite lovely."

The Knight-Commander knew something was up once the barkeep told them that the drinks were on the house. Sauveterre arches his brow a little in confusion before gazing down at the elf again. He almost wants to ask what's this is all about but Alayre decides not too. The name "Zevran" seems all too familiar to him but he can't seem to remember why.

This is starting to bug him a tad.

"Then brandy it is." He says with a chuckle when he absently caught the gaze of a barmaid. The woman was less looking at him and eying his elven companion instead. Alayre arches his brows further and turns to Zevran.

"If I do dare say, you...have many admirers here."

"Well I am a terribly pretty elf." He grins, feigning innocence as his glass of brandy was brought over. "And I may spend my evenings here playing music to ease the tensions a bit."

Lean. Sip.

"Or tell tales of the Fifth Blight and the Hero of Ferelden."

Just as Alayre reaches for his glass of mead, the elf finally drops the act and tells truth. "You're--" A sharp gasp escapes him and Alayre almost spills his mug in shock. He stares at Zevran with his brows arched high and his grey eyes wide in astonishment.

"I knew the name sound familiar." The Knight-Commander whispers quietly in a mild state of shock. Talk about being in good fortunes.

"Mhmm...?" Ah, there it was. It's starting to become a familiar look. Odd, but- interesting none the less. "So you have heard of me! Wonderful."

The Knight-Commander nods slowly in confirmation. Just how could he not remember that name? Everyone in Thedas were muttering about the Hero of the Fifth Blight and his stalwart companions. He knew long ago that the hero had allies of every race and background by his side when the Blight threatened to consume the realm. Even those hailing from his tower of Pharos knew about the heroes who nearly sacrificed all for the sake of a greater good.

"Indeed, I have. I'm honored, truly." He says with a faint smile now that he regained his composure. Sauveterre finally takes a sip of his mead and a hum of approval is heard. It seems like the barkeep brought out the good stuff.

"Now I see why you've come all the way here to Skyhold."

"Now that is a new one. Honored- ah. It's been some time since people have made a fuss. But here? At the potential ending of the world? Suddenly old heroes or friends of heroes bear remembering." It would make assassination attempts after this difficult- but it would also make killing him difficult for the Crows.

Skyhold

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