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

[arlathvhen]

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.

[equanimiti]

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."

[arlathvhen]

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.

[equanimiti]

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."

[arlathvhen]

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.