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.

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"No, it will happen. Get enough humans in ill humor together and it's a certainty. Toss in dwarves, elves, and Qunari? It'll happen all the sooner. All of them and mages, and templars from all over thedas? I am surprised it has not happened just yet. Honestly we are one angry fool from it happening." One idiot, that was all it ever took. Most of the elves knew well enough to not be that idiot, as did the dwarves. The Qunari were intimidating enough to be left be.

Zevran's money was on a human or a templar overstepping their boundaries. Then? Then there would be blood in the water and the entire Inquisition soured. Damage control after would take months that they did not have.

It was a horrible time for Hawke and Jonas to be missing- or even Alistair. Zevran did not have the patience for preventing such a thing, only seeing it coming.

"You give yourself too little credit, Bella."

"When are humans not in ill humor." The grouchy observation slips out of her lips before she even thinks about it, and there's a moment of tension where her eyes do a quick scan of the area, making sure no humans had actually heard that. But they were too busy to worry about two elves chatting, and Beleth relaxed slightly, once she was sure she wouldn't have a second dagger in a dozen minutes brandished at her. And she called Zevran jumpy.

"There are plenty of angry fools here. They're angry, and scared, and their hope is gone." She glances around at the other people busy working, her eyes picking out those who look particularly cross or stressed. She can't read a room like Zevran can, but there's at least the beginning of skill, and she lets herself speak as her mind wanders down that path. "They want to fight. When it happens, it'll start as something dumb."

But she pulls herself back to the present--she doubts that Zevran wanted to hear her navel examination. So she just stares at him a moment, then looks markedly confused, tilting her head like a baffled puppy. "...Thank you, but my name is Beleth...?" Markedly close, though.

Finding the objective threats and being mindful of her exits while not being too terribly overt that she is doing so. Zevran is pleased that not all the Dalish he's run into thus far lack the necessary survival skills. A little more instruction and she could be mindful while appearing to not look at all and that? Will keep humans at east long enough for her to plan her exit rather than being merely mindful of it and-

No. He is no Crow Master, picking and choosing who and how to teach. He puts the thought aside.

"Bella, it is Antivan for beautiful woman, and you are." Quite, in the lithe, slightly wild way of most Dalish with a wary edge he can certainly appreciate more than most. Paranoia has never been quite so sexy.

Beleth looked more perplexed by the compliment than bashful, eyes darting left, then right, as if wondering if someone else had walked up and Zevran started speaking to them without notice. With no one else around, she turned back to him, tilting her head. He called her beautiful? She had to resist apologizing for his poor sight--It'd be rude.

"Well--Thank you. Uh. You're, ah...from Antiva, then?" Let's change the subject to something that doesn't involve people calling her weird and alarming things. "You're a long way from home. Did you come here just to help the Inqusition...?" A man from Antiva who was skilled at using daggers...No, Beleth, it's rude to assume, and probably racist.

"Zevran Arainai of Antiva City, yes." He may as well become accustomed to introducing himself as such, if not tacking on 'yes THAT Zevran' at the end. But the odds of her knowing-

Well.

The elves did tend to be the ones that remembered him. Tricky. "I came to offer my skills, which are many. And you have done the same?"

She knew of the Hero of Ferelden. How many nobles came to the Dalish, no matter the clan, to give aid, and ask for it in return? His companions were much more vague. There was a slight frown on her face at the name, because she knew that she'd heard it, at some point, somewhere. But it had been ten years since the blight, and she was a different person than the gangly teenager she'd been when it had all gone down.

"Yes, that's right," She finally says, deciding to ask Pel about the name later. She was always better with that kind of thing (she was better at everything, really). "My clan sent a handful of us. Most of the Dalish here are one of us--I think there's another with the Chargers, but that's it." She's certainly gotten enough comments on it. Everyone seems surprised by the sudden arrival of a crowd of Dalish, and they aren't surprised about it. It makes her nervous, but...everyone's been friendly. So far.

"It is almost like old times. Now all we need are golems marching about to complete the picture." Dalish, mages, and golems oh my. The Inquisition will be well filled with talented and dangerous folk- if they did not kill one another first. Getting the hold into proper shape would do much for the morale he supposed.

"It is a rare thing for one of the people to involve themselves in affair such as this, let alone a group. We are glad to have you."

"Old times? What old times required gol--" If Zevran listened closely, he could probably hear the gears turning, and the sudden clunk with they arrived at the inevitable conclusion. Old times. Golems. An Antivan elf named Zevran. Holy shit. And of course, the inevitable aghast look and wide eyes when she reached that conclusion.

She nearly fell on top of one of the Hero of Ferelden's companions.

"Oh--You're--! Oh, Sylaise preserve me. I am so sorry for not recognizing you...!" And then she quickly ducks her head at him in about as close as she's ever going to get to bowing to anyone. "But, um. Well. We help out when things get serious. This is pretty serious....We think, at least."

At first these moments of gradual recognition had been strange- but by now? They were thoroughly amusing. He crossed his arms and leaned oh so casually against the trunk of the tree that Beleth had jumped from earlier, watching the gears turn. Like a little ticking clock they wound to the precise thought to give her who she was and-

Ah there it was.

The bowing was a nice touch and he shouldn't laugh- but he cannot help it. "Ah, well. Most do not, mm? Being a recognizable assassin tends to be bad for business. All is forgiven."

Skyhold

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