heaven, a gateway, a hope

[byblow]

WHO: Grey Wardens & You
WHAT: A daring and not at all ragtag group of Grey Wardens has walked all the way across Orlais to inform the Inquisition--just in case it hadn't already realized on its own--that everything is terrible.
WHEN: Harvestmere 22
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: This post has: (1) A single group "we just got here, we're freezing, who is in charge, what do you mean you haven't decided yet" starter that we'd like to keep to one chronological thread. (2) Open starters for individual Wardens set later in the day/week.

OOC Note: Regarding the first starter--threadjack away! Anyone is welcome to wander onto the scene to see what's going on and wander back out at their leisure, to fall silent for a while, etc. No tagging order. But let slower taggers get a word in edgewise!

Comments

[byblow]

[ Him, restless? Yes, obviously. He's here rather than asleep somewhere, for one thing. Smelly, though? How dare you. He's never been smelly in his life.

Fortunately, he cannot read minds. ]

Mm, food, [ he agrees. ] What a blessing. Walls I didn't make out of snow. Personal space. But that won't last if you lot keep taking in everyone who turns up at the door looking scraggly and pathetic.

[amygdalae]

[Bruce can easily agree about food and walls not made from snow, having experienced similar situations himself. When you're by yourself, constantly on the run... its hard to have much in the way of anything.

Still, at the next part there's something of a pained, sympathetic look.]

Well, we can't exactly turn them away after all the walking they must have had to do to get here. [Considering how isolated Skyhold is from almost everything else.]

[byblow]

Oh, I wasn't serious. [ Alistair doesn't sound offended by the assumption that he was; someone who doesn't know him has no way to know his heart is a bottomless pit of compassion for all things except darkspawn and Loghain Mac Tir. ] I'm as scraggly and pathetic as anyone.

[ He leans against the wall, making himself comfortable. If Bruce was hoping to be rid of him soon, too bad. ]

What do you do around here?

[amygdalae]

Aren't we all?

[Scraggly and pathetic, he means. Regardless of who they are or what they are, they're all here because they can't be alone - not in the usual sense. The Breach and now Corypehus threatened all of Thedas. No amount of running or being valiant was going to help them. The only hope they had of accomplishing anything at all was working together.

Doesn't make dealing with anything easier, though.

Bruce bites down a sigh and glances briefly at the sky again, towards the mountains in the distance. Had he trekked across here before, when he was running away? Perhaps. He had been to so many places now sometimes it all seemed to blend together.]

I do my best to help out as a surgeon. [He says eventually.] There's already enough people who need help just within these walls.

[So many hurt, injured and dying. The work never truly ends, not really.]

[byblow]

[ Alistair Approves (+5). ]

So I've noticed. [ He felt a little guilty, turning up here with more problems to be solved when many from Haven were still sporting injuries. ] Nothing like darkspawn and dragons to keep your sort popular.

i just literally imagined a cutscene just for the +5 to happen on screen

[amygdalae]

[Bruce lets out a small laugh.] I think we've all had enough popularity going on for a while.

[Especially if this popularity brings dragons and darkspawn to their doorstep. They certainly could do with less of that.]

necessary tbh

[byblow]

Give it ten years and you'll wish you could have it back.

[ Or: no, you won't. Alistair wouldn't really wish for a return of the Blight or any of its destruction, and he wishes people would stop asking him about Cousland and archdemon-battles altogether. But for the Order's sake, if not his own, he'd like it if people had slightly longer memories. Maybe fifteen years before the resentment and name-calling resumed. ]

faderift: the rp of imaginary da cutscenes

[amygdalae]

I'm not one for being famous myself, personally.

[Because in a way he already is, and Bruce would very much rather not. He very much prefers sticking below and be unknown to everyone else. And of course, everyone is kind of done with Blights and demons and all that fun stuff, especially after this.]

[byblow]

Oh, but it's wonderful. There's nothing better than that moment of regret and resentment on someone's face when they truly realize you're not what they expected.

[ That's sarcasm. For the record. ]

What was your name? I'll ask that bard to write a song about you.

[amygdalae]

[Despite himself Bruce lets out a small little snort at the words, in a way kind of understanding where the other is getting at. Even if Bruce's own brand of 'famous' is more of 'infamous'.]

I, ah--Bruce. [He gives a pause.] And you need to do that on my account.

[He's perfectly fine not needing to have anybody write songs about him.]

[byblow]

I bet more things rhyme with Bruce than with Alistair.

[ Of course he doesn't need to. He wants to. He ignores that part. ]

Spruce. Truce. Loose. You'll be immortalized in verse by the end of the week.

[amygdalae]

I'm not too sure how I'll feel about being rhymed with 'loose'.

[Because a loose man he is not. He is also not any of the other words that has just been said.]

But there's nothing about me being worth immortalized in verse. I'm perfectly fine in not being known through a bard's song.