O2 ♚ I'M A LONG TIME TRAVELER HERE

[slaveking]

WHO: Character(s)
WHAT: Several Rifters and native drop-ins congregate at the Tavern as advertised via messenger crystal.
WHEN: Late January (forward-dated for recentmost app approvals!)
WHERE: The Tavern, private room
NOTES: OOC plotting here! Feel free to treat this like a general mingle log, but I will be making empty starters below for specific topics for group threads/conversation. An infodump/glossary link may also be pending from Araceli/Church.

It's past dinner time. This provides a reasonable excuse to drink only out of the ale pitchers set up for the expected guest, although there's a little bread and salt pork set up on the one bench along the wall. Dozens of chairs and a few less tables are loosely organized into groups. There's no dais or marked center for the room, the bar room version of the principles of the Arthurian round table, all being equal in the private room. Which, granted, is only as private as the public announcement and common courtesy might enforce. In other words, that can't be a real expectation.

However, the other Tavern workers are watching the door and main floor discreetly, multi-tasking with running the usual evening business. It's not so different from any other night, not even for the involuntary immigrants gathering on the second level. Drink, talk, and get to know.

Comments

[slaveking]

"Did he?" Marcel cocks his head. He supposes that makes sense; even back in his world, Templar was a rank and set of duties more than a defining axis of one's soul. Still, mages seem defined by their talent-- more than they want to be, sometimes, and it had sort of made sense to him that Templars and the couple of things he'd heard about their special abilities are similarly locked in. "I didn't know that was an option," he notes. "But that's good to know.

"The kind of man he is, among other things." After a moment, deeper thought clears from his face. He clearly arrives at some decision inside of himself. Marcel Gerard is always looking to the next step. Right here and now, though--

He motions around the room. "Is Araceli the only Rifter you've gotten to know?" he asks. "Run into any trouble with us yet? The demon rep has a few of us on edge, which is mostly ironic because we fought some real ones when we fell outta the sky. I have to wonder if anybody's been contributing to the bad name, intentionally or otherwise."

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin leans back and tilts her head, giving that some thought. "I'm not aware of any rifters making it worse for the others at large, intentionally or not. Not yet, anyway. And I've come to know a few others; I've been out on missions with Kain and Jamie, both capable guys. Others I know less well, but I haven't had issues with them.

As long as they're willing to help and do anything to rend the Veil into an even worse state than it already is, I'm fine with them as is. That rep will go away, given some time. People aren't wrong to fear the Fade and what comes out of it, at least demon-wise, but the more they see you fight demons and seal the rifts, the more they'll turn their attention to what really matters."

[slaveking]

That makes perfect sense to Marcel, the rationale that the horned woman gives him. And he doesn't know Jamie well yet, but that certainly sounds just like him. "Long as we don't get underfoot," he answers, grinning lopsidedly, his teeth bright against his face. "I really hope a lot of people share your attitude. I mean, sounds like enough of the Inquisition does. Guess we're lucky you all were the ones who picked us up."

Out of the bog, in his case. Horrible.

"Anyone you think we should talk to, besides Rutherford? Or just one day show up, ready to work?"

[gatheringstorm]

"Scout Harding." That's said automatically, with no hesitation. If there's anyone more capable of sorting people out and sending them where they need to be, Korrin hasn't met them. "She's the lead scout, answering to Sister Leliana, the spymaster. Granted, she's not always in Skyhold thanks to scouting, but she often returns for supplies before heading out again. She knows everything about the areas under the Inquisition's protection, and a good deal about those beyond it.

[slaveking]

Marcel considers this, and then nods his head. Scout sounds rather aptly named, unless that's actually a title. He opens his mouth to ask, then decides privately that that seems a little foolish. He'll figure it out on his own. What's a vampire good for, if not to stumble over a pitfall of pointless pride here or there? "I'll write both of them," he says. "With some of the more common questions and concerns." Spymaster. He'll file that one away for later, too.

"Have you and Araceli been out to the field together?"

[gatheringstorm]

"A few times, yes. Mostly in the Fallow Mire, which wins first place for places I never want to revisit. Araceli's light on her feet, a vital trait to have in a land where stepping in water even briefly triggers the attention of undead. And she's promised to join me in Emprise du Lion, which is a complete mess. We'll be there a while, but the Inquisition is needed badly there."

Korrin's lips thin, remembering quite well what she left behind. It's in her dreams every night.

[slaveking]

Marcel's expression sobers slightly when she describes Fallow Mire—he does remember, and then again when she names Emprise du Lion. He knows exactly nothing about that particular nation, even whether or not it counts as a nation at all, or some smaller geographic body or denomination of peoples. The most he'd heard about it is that it is unpleasantly cold.. "Whether or not you mean to, seems like the relationship between you and Araceli's kinda like the symbol for the potential between Rifters and not," he notes. "Makes me glad I'm on your side."

[gatheringstorm]

That last part gets an amused snort out of Korrin, glad to turn focus away from the horrors she's seen. "Fuck symbols. Of course I didn't mean to; I'd never think of it in that fashion. That sort of nonsense is reserved for Orlais and their Grand Game. I do as I please, politics be damned."

[slaveking]

"I'm not sure where I'd be were it not for politics," Marcel says, grinning, wry, probably not referring to anything that's ever happened in Thedas. "But I'll drink to that. Or you and Araceli, as you prefer. Toast?" He glances down at the table before her, unsure if she's been indulging herself or not this evening-- he wasn't much paying attention to the scent of her breath, and she does cut a rather sobering figure, if not necessarily a sober one.

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin makes note of that politics comment but doesn't inquire further. It's less a slight against him and more that she's up to her horns in politics anyway. Hearing about even more is overkill, at this point. And though mellow, Korrin is more or less entirely sober. It'll take more than typical human fare to get her intoxicated. So, she lifts her glass. "Both are definitely acceptable."