faderift | Got no credit and I got no fear

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Got no credit and I got no fear

WHO: Sera ~~Mai Bhalsych of Korse~~ and OPEN
WHAT: Sera comes back to Skyhold
WHEN: Last few weeks of Drakonis
WHERE: All over Skyhold
NOTES: If you'd like a personalized starter or have any questions, feel free to contact me via PM or at

thepenguinred

Herald's Rest

While her room's been mysteriously stolen by a mysterious shiteface, the tavern is still Sera's home in Skyhold. Drinking, playing cards, trying to avoid the weirdly intense gaze of the lady bard, Sera can be found doing them all now that she's finally back. As the night goes on the cheating becomes more flagrant and the stories louder, accompanied by wider and more dramatic arm flailing and occasional reenactments. Eventually, she tells the Tale Of The Time Cassandra Punched a Bear's Heart Out And It Got All Over The Herald's Clothes And I Laughed Then Shot Other Bears With Arrows. During her demonstration of the punch, she throws her hand back a little too hard and fast, hitting someone or knocking a drink over. But dealing with that has to wait until the story's done.

Out and About

Sera hadn't spent much time in the old fortress since she'd had to go off on Very Important Jenny Business (Possibly Involving Fire Ants and Honey), so it's time to get to know the place by the back of her hand again before starting up her services to the local community. Every hidden passage and unlocked (and unoccupied locked) room gets poked and prodded as the week goes on. All expect for one very specific room where she knows Creepy Cole likes to linger in, like some stupid ghost of the attic. Unless there's a juicy conversation to be overheard, she doesn't bother with stealth, just walking in and up to anything and anyone that strikes her. Anyone looking particularly servant-like will be getting chatted up whether the like it or not, along with most everyone else she comes across.

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"I do not do much of that anymore, to be honest." He likes being himself instead of an idea. It fits him better.

"Good. Makes my skin itchy thinking of it."

Hiding who you were. Blegh. Hit a little too close to home from years and years ago for her not to make another face at it.

"Bad for the souly bits. But maybe you could let Ms. Chripy Bird bard in on that bit."

"There is also the most novel thought of all- telling her to quit. Or I could tell her it is not so fine a thing as she might think it to be." That may or may not result in a more refined version of the ballad- but while the work was being done perhaps they might have a break.

"Do what you like. I'll just be here. Away from the weird."

It may be creepy, but it wasn't actually hurting anyone. Sera can bitch, but not actually go and try to stop someone's fun. But she really, really, can bitch.

"Surprised you don't have some following creepin' up on us, yourself."

"People know what it is they have when it comes to me." He shrugs. "Fun for a night and little more. There are no misconceptions."

After all- it does not count if it is done with him. That is the rumor and it is more than enough to satisfy his need for privacy and partners with no expectations.

"Whatever gets you goin', suppose."

A one shouldered shrug as all this talk of the bard and things makes her wave for another round with the other hand. Drinking solved almost as many problems as it caused.

"Better way to spend time then fretting over when the end'll come like half these bastards."

"With the great roar of a dragon and several speeches as to how this is the end we all deserve, I'm certain. It is one thing to face a foe that is more a force of nature than anything else. Slap a person on top of it with ideas and pride? I am less concerned about the end. People are fallible, people bleed. Crazy people? Make bigger mistakes than most by assuming they cannot be killed." He is not overly worried about Corypheous.

"Right. Those were a lot of works to call him a mad-shite."

Ah, more ale. She takes a nice pull from it and grins.

"Cory-dick and lying lies. No way he's what he says."

"Even if he is one of the old magisters turned darkspawn- he is a mage and a darkspawn. Both can be killed." Maker knows he has taken his blade to plenty. "Face down an Archdemon and ancient fade walking magisters is slightly less intimidating. It can be done. It has been done."

"No, no, no. He can't be. That- if he's right, he saw the seat of the Maker and all? Seat needs a butt. So. Maker: real. All of that: real. Really real, real as Cory-face. So he's just some stupid, lying darkshite. Has to be."

There's a sudden intensity to her voice, drinking paused. It's serious, all this. The terrifying idea that the Chantry isn't just all stories told by people.

"And the old gods are real as well." He'd seen the Archdemon. A blighted dragon is one thing- but there was anger in that creature's eyes. There was hate. There was something that passed through it and Alistair to Kieran. Something that made the boy odd. Something other. "And they can be killed. If they can be killed? So too can Corypiccilo."

"That's not- I don't care about killing!"

She wasn't in her room. People yelling in the tavern, nothing new. Especially not Sera. But this wasn't...it wasn't public talk. She slouched back down a little.

"Most anything can get killed. If you've got arrows enough. But all the Chantry talk- the Maker. All of it. That being hard and real's just...nothing?"

"Ah." An argument of faith. Being had by a Red Jenny and an Assassin.

This is a joke somewhere in the world.

"It is not nothing but- you can look at it, you can hold it in your hand and let it overwhelm you with questions. Or you can set it aside and focus on the matter at hand. There is a thing that needs killing. I will worry about the seat of the Maker, the Maker, and the Chantry after he is dead." A beat. "Also I was with the Warden when they found the Temple of Sacred Ashes, walked through The Guardian's Gauntlet and saw the vase with Andraste's ashes within myself. This is...less distressing for me as I've had to think on it once before- and I decided then what I decide now. Kill the thing that needs to die- worry about the rest later."

"You've had a lifetime since then. Didn't think on it once?"

Ten years for a twenty year old (ish) was a lifetime, even if this does mean she's calling her old twice in almost so many minutes. But if someone's wrestled with this before, she's wanting to hear that it's all lies and they could go back to how it had been, thank you.

"A few times, yes. If it is true, every last story? Then it does not change much for me. I work as I do, I live how I like, and when the end comes? It comes. I sing the chant a little more often than I did before but that is all." Making more of it takes effort. "That is how I chose to consider it. For me? It works. It need not be what you do."

"And when those stories have the end of the world in them? Them being real? No worries there?"

It was an easy philosophy he had- one she used a bunch when it came to social order and such. But to just shrug off that the Chant's bits on the end of it all were real? Harder.

"I do not think I will live so long as to see the end of the world. Assassins rarely live to see twenty, let alone forty." And here he is, inching up on the latter. "Predicting the future is not something mages or dreamwalkers can do for the future is ever changing. Twelve years ago I could not think of any one event that would lead me here, let alone the whole of them. A world might end- one where elves were immortal and had their magics, one where Tevinter's empire spanned the continent. But simply because A world ended- does not mean the whole of it is destroyed. It is changed. That is how I look to those tales. Change in a way they could not hope to understand."

"You shoulda gone into the Chantry. You talk as pretty as them. Book says a magister broke the Golden City. Maybe it's a story that...means something else than what it sounds." Allegory. She's aiming for allegory. "But here's the real flesh and blood and...ugh, so much blood man, back from the Maker's empty chair. The end of the world ain't so un-understood as all you're saying now. Maybe."

She ran one hand through her hair, scratching hard at the back of her head before giving an aggravated growl.

"Bah! Just let me stick things with arrows, yeah? Shouldn't all be this big."

"I was for a very short while. And then I killed my mark and escaped- I think that is still on my wanted Notice in Antiva." Ah, memories.

"I never thought I would look back upon 'hoarde of Darkspawn climbing out of the Deep Roads to sweep across thedas unless you and nine other people of differing backgrounds and opinions get your shit together to raise an army and stop it' with wistful nostalgia." Oh, and the dragon. "Here? We've got an army. We've got more than nine people. And we have a single mad idiot that thinks he can sweep in and take over the world."

Same shit, different decade, more or less.

"If you have a mark, you can make the job work. We have a mark. The rest? Is making the job work."

"'Till the world ends."

It's just grumbling now. She doesn't even lift her head as she takes a long drink of ale. Meaning that she she finally looks up a little, there's a ring of ale around her mouth from more or less shoving her face in it.

"But I've got arrows. You've got...holy sister killing? Things? Best be enough. Please let it be enough..."

"I am the Ombra Nera, the most feared assassin in all of Antiva and some of Orlais- and a quarter of Fereldan. If it bleeds? I can kill it. So- I have that. We have the Wardens, mages, templars, an army, Madame de Fer, The Iron Bull, Dorian, and so on and so on. It will be enough." Of that he is certain. As someone must be.

"You, ah. Have a mustache." He gestures to his own face where the ring of foam sits on her mouth.

"What's that mean? Ombah Near-ah?"

The rest she'll let be for now- Dorian had always seemed better at waving his tool in people's faces than killing other magisters, but who knew. People surprise you. For now she'll focus on sticking her tongue out as far as she can in an attempt to lick the circle off her own face while waiting for the translation.

"Ohmbrra Nerah, you almost had it. It means 'Black Shadow'. The Crows have never claimed to be terribly creative but that is what they call me now that I have taken to killing them instead of the other way around." He settles back with his brandy, mind somewhat made up.

This one he is going to keep.

It is the same thought he had with Alistair a decade ago, how odd is that?

"Just like powerful folks. Can't call something what it is straight and plain. Like...how 'bout 'crow killer?' Make sure all the little people know to be really...huh. Something. Scared out of their minds or cheering on, yeah? Depending."

Sera will never know she has been compared to Alistair, and will never have to deal with sheer confusion that would bring. For now, she's more interested to see if she can touch the tip of her tongue to her nose, now she has it out.

"Cheering on, generally. The Crows select their recruits from orphanages, brothels, or simply families that are so destitute that selling a child is the only hope they have. Most of them? End up dead before the first year of training is over. I hamstring the Crows? These children live. Whether or not they live well is out of my hands; but they live. Many know this and are grateful for it." When he is in Antiva, when he is known? Coin and drink alike flow like water.

"...you know if you can push your lower jaw out a bit, it makes reaching the tip of your nose simpler?"

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I am so pleased she's having this chat with zev

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