faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Samouel and Anyone
WHAT: Doing odd jobs around Skyhold, and everyday life stuff.
WHEN: Anytime during the first two weeks
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Anything and everything can happen. Prose or brackets welcomed

There was always something to be done around Skyhold, which was perfect because without having any missions to go on, Sam would have probably slowly gone insane. As it were Sam threw himself more into his practices.

On most days Sam busied himself with dedicating his time to his magic. Mornings often found him in the library picking out a book and later taking it to the dining hall to read as he ate his food, or finding a secluded spot in what was being turned into a garden. Always to himself, invested in the pages, and trying to be out of the way of everyone.

Afternoons he took to actually practicing his magic. A good part of the time he would offer any aid he was capable of doing down at the tents where they cared for the injured and sick. He wasn't nearly as skilled as the more practiced healers who had trained most of their lives in the Circle, but he made up for it with determination. Or if he seemed to just be in the way, Sam found himself testing out spells on the practice dummies behind the Herald's Rest.

The other days that Sam didn't dedicate to magic, he dedicated to manual labor and honing the skills his father taught him. It was also a way to make a few coins here and there. While he did spend some amount of time helping with the stables, Sam primary kept himself to the forges housed behind the tavern. It was hot, rough work, but it didn't both him in the least. It reminded him of things before the Conclave, or even the Blight. Didn't hurt that it was warm and he got a fair workout in the process.

Evenings Sam always found himself at the Herald's Rest. He never drank, except maybe once in a while when Cabot pressed that he try the new "special" of the day or a friendly suggestion by another was made. For the most part he simply just spent time in the tavern because there wasn't anywhere else to go. Especially on those nights that sleep either would not come to him or he just didn't want to face his dreams.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's at that moment that Sam remembers something Zevran said. He's not sure if Master Harritt would be like that, but the thought does worry him that just because Nahariel is an Elf - and Dalish - that she would be mistreated. "If for any reason he doesn't, feel free to come back to me regardless. The two of us could work out some kind of exchange I'm sure."

She stopped and turned back on her way out, "I'd like that in either case. I don't make the blades themselves; I do ornamentation, engraving, carving. Normally our craft stays with the Clans, but... I don't really think any of this is normal."

Sam grins, the thought of learning some of the craft from someone else's culture obviously exciting to him. "I would not be offended if you didn't want to show me anything. I don't want to make you uncomfortable going against your or your Clan's beliefs. I was mainly thinking you could do some chores for me for buying the silver and doing the base work."