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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.

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Sauveterre notices the mage's surprise but he doesn't wish to speak upon it. For too long the Templar have fulfilled the role of the villain. Even before Meredith and her misguided crusade that plunged them into such darkness; the Order has been plagued with tyrants and murderers. A dangerous combination of faith and fear lead his brothers astray and down the path if villainy. It's a bitter draught for Sauveterre to swallow but it's the truth.

"What can you do to alter it? Surely there's other spells that could assist you." If the other isn't a novice, then Sauveterre suspects that the mage is intermediate at best.

"From what little I know, some mages try to focus their power to something...external, much like the staff you have, before casting."

Edited 2015-10-19 01:28 (UTC)

"There's nothing wrong with my concentration. My target isn't the issue." Waving a hand at the dummy Sam smiled as a sheen of blue magic surrounded it then faded. Only a slight discoloration proved that the barrier was there.

"Course a stationary target is much easier to deal with." Sam chuckles, idly tapping at the straw. "At this point it's just practice. It's just a matter of increasing my magical stamina and being able pull the magic in the area to do most of the work, rather than taxing my own."

He smiles at the man then, obviously having forgotten he was talking to a Templar. The thought lessens his smile but he doesn't let it falter. "If you don't mind me saying so... you aren't like some of the other Templars I've met."

A barrier? Sauveterre's gaze is somewhat alit with awe now. He's seen mages cast barriers before in the past but never quite like this. Usually a mage would create a temporary barrier around themselves to protect themselves from harm not others. This is why the Templar looks mildly surprised. He had the young mage all wrong apparently.

"Your magical stamina? Ah, yes. I do believe I understand." Sauveterre replies before turning his gaze away from the dummy again. His grey eyes lingers upon the young mage again but this time with a hint of mirth.

"Is that so?"

There's something about the gaze that makes Sam still. Perhaps it was the coloring of his eyes? Nervously, Sam brings his free hand up to rub at his neck. He forgets his comment for a moment.

"Ah... yes. I'm a bit more used to... less friendly conversation. At least before the Inquisition." There's a pause. "Have you been with us long or... are you just visiting?" Sam doesn't remember seeing this particular man before.

Grey eyes are uncommon for any race but they're indeed grey. Much like the metallic shine of a sword or dagger, Sauveterre eyes the mage intently knowing that the youth is a tad unnerved. He's not certain what to make of the mage but so far Sauveterre finds him to be a decent distraction from the rest of Skyhold.

"Nay, I came here upon a friend's behest. Joining the Inquisition was our last resort now that the Order has become chaos." He turns away from the mage and lets out a disgruntle sigh. His discontent is clearly written across his face.

"We only just arrived, him alone and I with fifteen strong hailing from Pharos Tower."

Sam nods, seeming a bit more at ease at knowing that the Templar had only recently arrived. If they had been working together for a period of time and Sam hadn't noticed him before? This would be rather awkward.

"Pharos Tower," he repeats the name and tilts his head just a bit, taking note of the distress in the other's voice. "Can't say I know of it. What part of Orlais is it in?"

The remnants of a smile touches Sauveterre's lips as he speaks of Pharos. The Templar's heart swells with pride as he thinks back to the comrades he once knew. While his memories of were dimmed by the shadow of the war, Sauveterre could never forget the beauty of Pharos. That is something that the war could never take from him.

"Nestled deep within the forests near the marquisate of Serault lies the Lonely Lighthouse West of the Sea, I speak of Pharos. Previously created by the hands of the Tevinter, Pharos was the one of the few artifacts left unsullied by modern hands. It was both home and prison both but some of us Templar strived to do good by our Circle." There's a slight haunted look in his gaze as he speaks. It's almost as it pains him to reminisce.

"Pharos hasn't fallen but it is empty of all that once brought me joy."

He can feel a smile creeping up on his lips as he listens to the Templar. He is so... expressive with how he talks about Pharos. It is something Sam is not familiar with his own circle. He could say nice things about it, but is faltered to the grand image the man was painting.

It is probably because of that, that he feels a dull ache in the way the happiness seems to just die off in the man's eyes. And his last words make the once proud tower sound like a graveyard.

"I'm truly sorry to hear that."

There is silence for a moment before Sam shifts his weight.

"You said there were others that came with you? Are they roaming around as well?"

The silence is welcomed.

There's not a moment in the day that Sauveterre's thoughts don't linger within the halls of once beautiful Pharos. His thoughts often stray at times to a happier memory only to be dimmed by the silhouettes of the dead. This is why he's sometimes hesitant to speak of his tower.

The mage's next question transports him from the past and returns him to the present. A full blown smile appears upon the Knight-Commander's lips.

"Indeed. Many of them seem to have taken a fondness for assisting with the rebuilding of Skyhold while others take on guard duty. I have yet to speak with Commander Rutherford but soon I shall find out from him what he'll need in terms of our support."

The smile is infectious and Sam finds himself returning it. At the mention of the Commander, Sam laughs lightly.

"Ah, the Commander. I'm afraid he has a lot under his belt. If you're not worried about formalities too much I might suggest trying to catch him during the mornings. He's particular about seeing to the troops himself. That's all I know though. Can't say I've spoken to him myself save maybe a few words here and there."

Leaning a bit more weight onto his staff, Sam lets himself cross his legs and take on a more relaxed pose.

"It is good to hear that you're all fitting in. The help is appreciated. Skyhold is marvelous, but... kind of a dump to a point." He chuckles at that.

From how the mage has described Cullen, Sauveterre doesn't feel as apprehensive as before about meeting him. It seems that the Commander is a good man despite being an former Templar but something about that ex-Templar thing bothers him. Just how could any man put aside his oath to the Chantry like that and claim renegade?

A pensive look lingers in those odd grey eyes. Speaking with Cullen has become more imperative. "I shall keep your suggestion within my thoughts." He replies quietly. "Any man who cares for his men so is worthy to be a commander. Tis a silent miracle that he's nothing like Meredith." Just that woman's name makes him ill at ease sometimes.

"Skyhold may not live up to its ancestral name now but someday, it shall once more."

Edited 2015-10-19 14:12 (UTC)

Sam nods solemnly at that. He cannot comment on Kirkwall very much though since he's only heard stories. Much of which were not very pleasant.

"I'm sure it will. There are many fine men and women putting a lot of work into putting it back together. A bit cooler than a lot of us would probably like though."

"It shall simply take time before everything is restored to it's former glory." Sauveterre replies with a slight frown. He cannot wait until all these scaffoldings are all gone for good. It is his wish to see the Skyhold as a beacon of strength much how he once viewed Pharos. This would ease some of the worries that still plague him since the rebellion.

"Ah, I forget myself!" The Templar has a revelation of some kind as he eyes the mage again. "The time for introductions has long passed and at my own fault at that. I am Knight-Commander Alayre Sauveterre." He smiles again and bows graciously with a hint of mirth upon his face.

"Pray forgive my lack of manners."

Sam's eyes widen with pleasant surprise when the man mentions introductions. It's much like himself when he's forgotten to give his name. Considering the pleasant talk they were having he doesn't mind to exchange the pleasantries.

Course the title Knight-Commander does startle him. Not so much to go running for the hills, but once again Sam finds himself tensing up. He had assumed the fine armor was simply because he was Orlesian, not because of rank. Sam hadn't considered that he ranked so high with how friendly he had been with him.

And then Sauveterre is bowing to him, which throws Sam for another loop. He is very unaccustomed to this kind of treatment.

"Ah..." he says dumbly when the Knight-Commander looks up at him. Sam chuckles then rubs the back of his head. "Samouel. Ah, Samouel Gareth." As a side note he bows as well, but not as grand as Sauveterre. "A pleasure."

Sauveterre straightens his posture again and smiles pleasantly. He hasn't meant to startle the mage at all by admitting his name and title both. He could've forgone title and name all together but then he would've felt like was hiding his status out of shame. There's nothing for Alayre to be ashamed of. He's a good man who earned this title through blood, sweat and many tears.

"The pleasure is all mind, Samouel. Please do not feel the need to call me by title. You are no Templar and not a soldier. Simply 'Alayre' shall do. I rarely hear my given name anymore these days."

He hadn't even considered calling the man by his title. It felt... it would have felt the same as it was in the Circle. Granted it was an important title, and Sam was sure Alayre had earned it for good reason. Still, this was the Inquisition now, the only ones with titles were any of the advisers.

"Alayre, then." He smiles lightly. "Sam should do. Faster and easier to say."

"Very well, Sam." Only an cultured Orlesian could make such a simple nickname sound fancy. Alayre doesn't mean to do so on purpose but that accent of his is thick much like others hailing west of Orlais.

"I believe I've interrupted your practice long enough. Feel free to continue with your spellcasting without my looming presence." He truly doesn't mean to make Sam feel on edge. The Templar simply wanted to watch out of personal interest if nothing else.

Sam suddenly feels like he had butchered Alayre's name based off how... good his sounds coming from the Templar. Accents. He was finding himself being lured in by them lately.

"Ah, don't think you interrupted much. As you probably saw I can easily get lost in a task without realizing my surroundings." Sam smiles at that then frowns slightly, bringing a hand up to rub at his chin. "I should probably work on that..."

He shrugs a moment later. "I needed the break to be honest. The conversation was most pleasant." He smiles to show that even though he was a bit on edge he wasn't all that bothered. "I'm sure we'll be running into each other quite a bit, Alayre. I look forward to working with you." With that Sam holds out a hand for the other man to shake. Did Orlesians shake hands?

By the way the Orlesian quizzically blinks his eyes at the outstretched hand, apparently the answer is "No". However, his surprise fades into a pleased smile once he accepts. He gives the mage a gentle squeeze and a light shake. Despite his hands currently encased by the thick leathers of his gloves, Sam could probably feel the untold strength within the Templar's grasp.

It's strong like iron and oddly cold much like ice.

"Likewise, Sam. May the day be fair to you and your own." He replies earnestly before deciding to take his leave.

His hand slips free effortlessly as he turns away. As he retreats into the depths of Skyfold, Sauveterre places that ornate helmet back on. It would seem that Orlesians have a fondness for masks after all.

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