faderift | [Open] The man is non-stop

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[Open] The man is non-stop

WHO: James Norrington and YOU
WHAT: The routine of a Templar
WHEN: Covering all of Cloudreach
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Warnings for dry sarcasm, complete Chantry boyishness, and of course, icky Templars

Training Grounds

It would be easy to find Norrington here - as each day he goes through platoons of the Inquisition's soldiers, training them on how to fight demons and abominations. More often than not, he is running through drills along with his people, and other Templars. A few times, however, he will have brought out charcoal sketches that he has done himself - rather good ones - of demons and where their particular weaknesses are.

There is rumor that he is going to begin sessions on abominations soon, as well...

Courtyard

Every afternoon, Norrington sits at his desk (really an old door that has been put atop two barrels and a chair he had one of the carpenters make), with a stack of correspondence. Most letters bear a Templar seal, and they are being sent to Montesimmard, as well as to various chantries all over Thedas. Some however, are marked with his own personal seal, JLN, and those are all sent to Tantervale.

The only time the pen stops writing is when people come up to him to ask him questions, put forth concerns, or just complain about something Templar related. There, he puts the pen down, and can be seen discussing the matter in varying states of calm -- and annoyance.

The Tavern

Surprise, surprise, one of the Chantry boys actually does spend most of his evenings in said tavern, but don't get your hopes up. Most evenings he sits at a table on the second floor - sometimes with his people but sometimes alone. With him always now are books - not just books about the Chantry, but books on elven culture (what few he has been able to sneak out underneath the scholars). There are books on dwarves, on the Qunari and those who have broken away. There is even a thick volume on Tevinter, past history to recently. Sometimes he is simply reading with a glass of wine. Othertimes, he's taking notes.

Why? No one has yet to ask.

Wildcard
Choose your own adventure, or ping me at OneStarkWren if you want your own thread.

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Kain practically lives on the training grounds, and lately there's been no exception. Sometimes he's working on his usual moves, jumping impossibly high and slashing through the air with his lance. But lately, he's also practicing some new moves. Kain is usually a fierce combatant, but his training lately shows an even more aggressive style than usual. Which... really says something.

When he pauses for a break to catch his breath, he notices Norrington nearby. Curious about the sketches he sees, Kain approaches. "Those are some gruesome-looking beasts..."

Ale is hardly the reason Merrill tends to go to the tavern, either -- it's the bard, the stories, the company that draws her in. The lower level today, however, has gotten a bit boisterous, and so Merrill retreats up to the second level, bare feet quite against the floorboards. The man reading is glanced at, and Merrill very nearly passes him by before she realizes what he's reading.

"Oh! I was looking for that one!"

It's one of the books on elven culture, one that has yet to be taken to task under anonymous editing. Whether that means it is accurate or simply hasn't been gotten to yet is debatable, but Merrill certainly seems pleased to know that the book exists.

Norrington is taking the time to get the equipment he has been using polished up and then put back on the armor and weapon stands. He's left the sketches out while he checks the weapons for any nicks he will need to run over to the blacksmith, so he doesn't hear Kain coming up until he hears the other man speak.

He raises his head, glancing over a Kain with a nod of familiarity, before he nods at the sketches, "Those are all the different kinds of demons you might face, coming out of the rifts. Feel free to take a closer look -- I have a feeling that might be of considerable use to all of you Rifters."

James himself was reading carefully, and this was one of the books that he was taking notes from. A frown, as he looked up from his studies to find a Dalish woman that he didn't recognize standing before him, but she seemed pleased -- at least to see the book.

He held it up, then offered a small nod in turn. "Once I am finished with it, my lady, I shall be pleased to let you have it."

Now this ought to be a really useful use of his downtime in between fighting. Kain's expression turns all the more curious and he takes one of the sketches in hand to start glancing it over more closely. He hasn't really just sat down and studied them, but he's been meaning to. It's only good tactics to know your enemy, after all.

"Thank you... I've been meaning to learn more of this world's most dangerous fiends... Did you compile and draw all of this yourself?"

Norrington finishes checking the one blade, hangs up, and moves onto a mace one of the soldiers had wanted to try out. He glances up at Kain, and nods with a quiet understanding.

"I did. I have been hunting demons and blood mages for ... well, seventeen years now. I thought it high time I complied all of my information for the use of the Inquisition." He pauses, thoughtful, "Would it help yourself and the other Rifters to have a session in how to counter demons?"

If there is one thing Merrill has faith in down to her core, it's that her friends would help her if anyone decided to attack her simply for being. Whether James is broadcasting the fact that he's a Templar at the moment or not, Merrill figures that she has nothing to fear by his existence. This feeling is only amplified when he's polite, when he calls her my lady, and Merrill giggles.

"I don't mind waiting, so don't rush on my account! I just hope it's accurate -- so many of them aren't, you know."

Or maybe he doesn't know. Most people don't seem to care.

Sooner or later James was going to sit down and explain that just because the armor all looked the same, it didn't mean the person inside was. Still, by just acting in a humane way, he was hoping that point was being made.

Either way, the woman looked about as dangerous as a kitten. She giggled, for Maker's sake. He gave her a slightly warmer smile, before he cleared his throat.

"Well honestly, I really wouldn't know ... I've taken some notes, if you'd like to read them. See if they have things on the right track. I have a few Dalish friends who are trying to teach me more."

What better source to learn than from someone with direct experience? In Kain's opinion, that sort of thing is always better than just getting the information secondhand somehow. He curiously looks over one of the sketches and the description written nearby. Its weaknesses are especially well-detailed.

"Yes. That's a good use of your knowledge. This will be incredibly useful to us rifters... or to anyone else who hasn't faced demons all that much before. I had no idea there were so many varieties, either..."

All of them hideous-looking things, too.

There were very few here with more experience, Norrington would wager. He glances at the sketches, then back at Kain, before nodding his head and putting the mace back up on the weapon rack. Dusting off his hands, he turned to the other man.

"I would be pleased to teach you all. Please feel free to pass the word around to your fellow rifters - let them know I will teach all of them the ins and outs of demons." A delicate pause. "Not ...abominations at this time, however. I am waiting for the current political climate to calm."

Much as he wanted to. Hmmmmph.

"There's so much to learn, too, and some clans do things differently."

Merrill immediately latches on to the knowledge that he is trying to learn, that he considers members of the Dalish his friends, very nearly launching into full-on babble mode.

"I'd be more than happy to look! Better to learn early, right? And then if it is wrong, you'll know to ask when you read other books by that person."

Or, if it's wrong enough, never read books by that other person ever again unless it's to look for whatever correction she and Ellana have put in.

"Really? I did not know that."

Now that was something new he did not know. That clans had different practices. They truly were like small moving countries - or rather like the moving Free Marches.

He gave her his notebook, along with a pen, before he looked around, "Would you like something to eat, or drink, my lady?"

“I’ll be certain to spread the word, in that case. The more informed we all are, the better. Then we can at least act tactically against them.” All in all, he hasn’t been able to do that here yet. Some creatures out there are easy enough to deal with, familiar in ways. Demons have seemed like a whole other story.

Kain idly traces a finger along one of the images. “I cannot blame you for staying well away from that topic, for now. Looks like there’s plenty to deal with in the meantime, regarding demons.” He sighs. “One would hope that things will calm in time.” As much as he’s staying as clear as he can from this world’s politics, they’re hard to miss hearing about.

The training grounds are hardly a place where Gwenaëlle is going to find occupation - but she isn't really looking for it when she goes there, sort of incidentally in her explorations. It is conveniently placed, presumably for the sake of those who use it, between many other things; she didn't set out to be there, but having arrived, she doesn't immediately set out not to be. There are worse ways of passing the time than observing the warriors at their work, after all, and - she stays well out of the way.

Even without the mask (abandoned within an hour of seeing that Vivienne does not wear hers, holding court upon her balcony with a smile that Gwenaëlle has no doubt is mask enough alone), she is Orlesian to her fingertips at a glance; her dress is darker and plainer in patterns than is the current trend, but skillfully made from fine fabric, and stylish besides making her a little dark cloud among the puff pastries that are her peers. The pendant she wears draws the eye - but more to the new, angry scarring that rises from her neckline than just what her corset has hoisted heavenward. Her expression is hard to read - a little stormy, maybe, but it doesn't seem particularly directed.

When the opportunity arises, she takes it to ask -

"May I look at your sketches, ser?"

"Oh, I am confident that they will. The world keeps turning, after all, and we must turn with them." Norrington folded his hands behind him as he looked at the sketches again, his gaze pensive.

"Sooner or later, Corypheus will raise his undoubably ugly head again and we'll have to come together to stop him - or the entire world will die."

Norrington was finishing running one or two troops through the finer points of sword handling. The young woman standing there, looking at his sketches, was not the sort he would consider interested in such things -- but then again she looked like nobility. Nobility often had ... odd tastes about such things, he supposed.

He waved the soldiers off on their duties, before going to approach the young woman. He folded his arms behind him, going to stand near her. "Certainly, if you like. However I am not sure what interest a young lady in the anatomy of demons."

"A practical one."

She keeps her gaze on the sketch, rather than looking up from it as she makes her remark - restraining the temptation to make it a more sharply dry one than the demurely neutral thing that she voices. He seems to be a man of rank among the Templars, an institution she admires in a way that is becoming increasingly less abstract; she has no intention of setting him on the back foot with sass straight out of the gate.

Maybe later, when she's gauged better whether he'll tolerate it or not. Some men find a lady's edges charming. (Some of them do in a way that even isn't irritatingly patronizing, but she tolerates the condescension if it means they laugh tolerantly at a remark from her they'd draw swords over from someone they actually consider an equal.)

It isn't pleasant to study these sketches, but she steels herself not to just drop it and make her excuses; bites the corner of her lip and catalogues what she sees. Commits it to memory. Knowledge is power. And it's probably the only kind Gwenaëlle is going to get around here, so she'd best make the most of what opportunities she finds.

"Have you fought a very many of them?"

Switching to another demon sketch, Kain critically studies the new one. As he eyes it, he finds himself thinking about how he personally would approach it with his particular skills. Already, he's getting a sense that no two demons are alike, that they'll all require different strategies to defeat.

"Undoubtedly. Is there much known about Corypheus' weaknesses at all? He's been fought before, right?"

"Part of being so divided, I suppose. And you can only go over so much once every ten years -- and things are lost, or changed, even now."

Their past trickles through their fingers like sand. Even one different word can change a story, a part of spoken history.

Notebook in hand, Merrill is just about to start reading while standing up before he asks about food. "Oh- um. I suppose I should, it is about that time of day, isn't it? What do they have tonight?"

"Is that right?"

Is Norrington's response, as his green eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and one corner of his mouth lifted as he came closer to his own drawings. He gave the young woman a sharp, focused look, before he nodded up at the board.

"Well, I cannot fault you for common sense, then. It is always smarter to know one's enemy."

A pause, at her question, before he looked at the board and stated simply. "I have been fighting these creatures for well over fifteen years, now. I have slain every single kind of demon there can be, and I have the scars to prove it. Thousands of times over, it seems, so it is probably only hundreds."

James looked over his own work, his green eyes narrowing as he looked at two of the demons that seemed to come regularly out of the rifts these days. They were attracting more and more dangerous creatures, these days.

"He has been fought before ... but to find out how they defeated him, you would have to speak with one of those who traveled with the Champion of Kirkwall." His tone is a mixture of respect, and aggravation.

"Huh ... sounds like something the Templar Order should be doing. Meeting up every year, discuss changes, that sort of thing." It actually wasn't a bad idea, all things considered. Perhaps if each cell had more contact with one another, they would have seen the corruption a lot sooner.

He gives her a thoughtful look. "I am given to understand your culture is slipping away from you ... but it doesn't seem that way. Your people seem to be keeping it alive in all kinds of ways, just not one way."

He lifted his hand, to bring over one of the barmaids, thinking, "Some sort of stew, with bread and cheese. There might be fruit, depending on the deliveries. I know the wine is excellent though."

"Hundreds," she repeats, trying to imagine - she'd rather not, really. As much as she theoretically enjoys the concept of able men and women enacting violence, it still stirs the memory of her own cauterised flesh, the distant realisation that the screaming she could hear was her own, the blind terror of not knowing if anyone was coming for her. People are dying all across Thedas; how close she'd come to being just one more casualty of the sky torn open.

She glances up at him, sidelong, her hands clasped together as she'd leaned forward for a better look at the sketches. "It's terribly reassuring, having such experienced individuals here."

Nodding, Kain glances at the drawing for another moment, before returning his gaze toward James. He's pretty sure he'd seen a demon like that among the ones he'd fought in the Western Approach. That had really been his first encounter with such creatures.

"I'll keep that in mind... but it sounds like there's something more to it? Have they not shared the whole story of that battle?" Or so he can assume, but there could be some other reason for the bit of aggravation in his tone.

James lets his own gaze shift through the various demons once more, before finding Kain's gaze on him. He gives the other man a crooked smirk.

"On the contrary - there are hundred of versions - all based on people who are not them, who might have heard the story in some pub or are just horribly cribbing from Master Tethras's book. I have yet to hear a blow by blow of the tale, though. Or who precisely was in it, for that matter."

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[Open] The man is non-stop

Training Grounds

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