[Open] The man is non-stop

[judgemewhole]

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.

Comments

Training Grounds

[dragoon_pride]

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..."

tavern;

[chainlightning]

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.

[trouvaille]

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?"