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it takes strength to live this way
WHO: Iron Bull and OPEN
WHAT: General summary of events during the end of the month. Drinking, fighting, more drinking, maybe a little flirting.
WHEN: Mid-to-late Wintermarch
WHERE: All over the damn place. Mostly the tavern and sparring ring, though.
NOTES: n/a
WHAT: General summary of events during the end of the month. Drinking, fighting, more drinking, maybe a little flirting.
WHEN: Mid-to-late Wintermarch
WHERE: All over the damn place. Mostly the tavern and sparring ring, though.
NOTES: n/a
He was starting to feel a little restless. By now, the boss would have taken them all out on some exploit or another, and even if he was glad to be at Skyhold again? Sitting idle could grate on the nerves a bit.
The best way to counter that seemed to be throwing down in the training ring just outside the tavern, taking on all comers as well as training those that seemed of a mind to ask. Cullen had most of his people following their own regime, but if they wanted a swing at something else? He wouldn’t refuse them. Not everyone fought like a templar.
The rest of the time, Bull made himself easy to find. Easy to avoid, too, if that was the preference of some. And he knew it was, from the glimpsed he’d gotten of the Vashoth inside the keep. But it was no hardship holding court inside the comfort of the tavern, indulging heavily in drinks and working his way down the menu of available meals and snacks.
It was business as usual, for the most part. Even if he did feel a little more restless than usual. Had to find a way to get out, hit something that really had it coming.
Or find someone to pass the evening with. That might help.
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He doesn’t want to be snapped in half like a wishbone.
Asher feints, as if he might step forward then turn but he ducks low at the last second, left foot leading to bring him in closer and under, axe out. If he’d timed it right in a battle, there would be a quiet gasp or a scream depending on where one of Liadan’s arrows ended up. If he fucks the timing up then it’s his head, his neck, his shoulder at best and he’s learned this one the hard way but he’d been caught badly in the back when he was younger and starting out; just because he can’t see the scar doesn’t mean he’s forgotten that it’s there or how he got it.
Usually he’d be cheeky with a carta brother because the swing is about their head height, a careful poke before the other one would come wading in and he’s got the worst sort of judgement: Ferelden, Avvar, Reaver, toddler with a large weapon and zero impulse control so he stops the swing short but aims for the shove instead, grin on his face the whole time.
no subject
Bull breaks and falls back a few steps, grinning right back at him. Alright, color him impressed. It's obvious he's not used to training someone of Bull's size, but he's improvising. Learning. Now he wants to push him, see how far that instinct of his will take him. Call him curious.
This time he takes a charge him, setting down his shoulder and rushing back towards him, axe held low and level to push him back across the training ring.
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Still, being charged brings back a few older memories of the Kirkwall days, prompting a bitten-off curse of 'fuck me' that's less the invitation it generally is.
The charge gets him and he goes backward before he manages to get his heels dug in because it's been a few years since he last had to fight guys this side and the Wounded Coast could be fairly forgiving when you knew it well enough. Besides, there are things you do in a fight you don't do in sparring, dirty tricks and for a change, Asher'll err on the side of caution so he doesn't get his arse kicked in completely.
So back he goes, attempting to duck out at the last second, a jump to the side but there's really not the room to do it gracefully, but still, an attempt is made.