We come from the land of the ice and snow

[faderifting]

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: Thedas' strange new guests are delivered to Skyhold
WHEN: 25 Harvestmere (October)
WHERE: Skyhold main gate & courtyard
NOTES: This is Part I of a two-part intro event, Part II will be posted tomorrow.

A long uphill tromp through the snowy mountains ends at Skyhold, the distant fortress finally before them in all its tumble-down glory. There is time to admire the drop into the river gorge far below as they cross the only bridge into the castle; it is briefly backed up with traffic, several carts bearing supplies and visitors stalled as the portcullis is raised. Those coming to help catalog and unload the shipment and greet the guests, or otherwise present near the front courtyard, will find themselves witness to a far more interesting arrival.

Guards at the gate carry the word quickly, and more gather, though they make no move to imprison the strange people who fell out of a rift. They just line the perimeter and keep a close watch. Perhaps this adds a level of tension to this first encounter, but it also reassures the many who are unsettled by the uncertain turn of events and keeps in check those who might attack first and ask questions later. Others will no doubt soften the Inquisition's first impression, offering food, information, and other assistance.

Medical attention is available in the tented-encircled corner of the courtyard where the wounded from Haven are still treated. The quartermaster's assistant is called upon to provide spare odds and ends of clothing to those in need, and to issue blankets for all, though they are left to fend for themselves to find places to sleep.

Any mage willing to help is called in to do so and a cluster forms in one side of the courtyard to examine the rifters. They are objects of curiosity in general, but the marks on their hands are of particular interest, resembling smaller slivers of the Herald's famous mark. Despite their best efforts, no mage will be able to provide any real insight after this initial assessment. What the rifters and their marks are is a question they cannot answer today.

But one question is answered: in the midst of all the commotion, another Inquisition agent arrives from Haven, rushing in red-faced to announce that the Herald's body has finally been found.


OOC

It will be decided (partly for OOC reasons, admittedly) that the rifters will not be imprisoned at this point, but they will be watched carefully, and the guards are on alert for any strange behavior by people with glowing hands or strange attire. And of course, their freedom can be revoked at any time if they're deemed a danger. Though there are some OOC considerations at play here, you're welcome to ICly lobby for more or less freedom for the rifters, and things may change based on IC action/consensus.

Also: Part II, aka the log for the funeral/wake/etc. event, will go up tomorrow!

Comments

Zevran | OTA

[ombranera]

The Tavern

And here is the strange twist he's expected. Nothing like holes in the sky spilling demons isn't strange but the fates, he's noticed, tend to leave a bit of flair for those supposedly hopeless moments. Rescue by a witch of the wilds, mercy at the hand of a mark, armies ready despite their troubles. With the tensions high and the Herald gone, Zevran has been waiting for some new knot in the thread of this particular tale. People that fell through the rifts, or so the rumor went? Fits that neatly.

Zevran keeps to the tavern initially, the commotion surrounding the newcomers would pass and they would likely wander to somewhere they might find a meal, a pint, or information. In most any country he knows of that would be the Tavern. Most equally savvy individuals should likely thing the same. In the corner he picks at his lute, spinning light, pleasant stories or singing songs, trading out with whomever else might wish to have the spotlight. Should someone look particularly bedraggled he sidles up with a pint and a smile, promising nothing more than curious company. "You look as though you could use this, yes?"


The Stables

Later after the crowds have dispersed and he has grown tired of quite so much performing and questioning about his travels he slips away to the stable, seeking somewhere quiet where he might work on winding springs for traps or grinding poisons for his weapons. It is a delicate task best done somewhere he won't be disturbed- at this time of night? He cannot think of a better place than the hayloft. Until the hour is late the likelihood of being interrupted seems slim.

Wildcard

[ Hit me up with whatever you like! ]

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin's had a drink by now, but one isn't enough, not for what she's been through. As one of those returning from Haven, she's had to answer her fair share of questions by now, at least outside the tavern. In it, she's been quieter than usual, exhausted but not willing to crash until she's had at least some time to relax.

Upon realizing she has company, the Vashoth mage glances up with a weary but accepting smile. "You have no idea how much I need that right now, but yes. Thank you."

[ombranera]

"I think perhaps we should drink and not discuss it." Sometimes not going over the mad thing from the day is the best way to handle it- especially if one has been grilled for answers for hours already. No need for interrogation here, just a pint and a smile and a ready ear for whatever it is Korrin feels like sharing.

[gatheringstorm]

That provokes a low chuckle as she shakes her head. "You'd have every right, you know, given how much I asked about the Blight earlier. In the interests of fairness, you could ask anything you like in turn." But the lack of a question barrage is somewhat refreshing, even as Korrin wouldn't object to sharing what she knows.

[ombranera]

"You have had a long day of being questioned. If I continue to be awash with curiosity? I shall know who it is I need to speak to." For now they drink, they dine, they rest. Korrin at least has certainly earned the right.

[gatheringstorm]

"Fair enough." Korrin raises her pint, then takes a long sip. "Though I should warn you; I might pass out on you if you insist on keeping me company. Not that this stuff is strong enough for that, but it won't be for lack of trying." Her drinking is usually social, rarely done to excess but right now she's lacking restraint as well as energy.

Tavern

[noleechesneeded]

There are enough healers at Skyhold that not all hands need to be at the tents at all times. It's perfectly feasible for one to take leave for a meal before returning. That doesn't stop him from feeling slightly guilty about it, thinking that if he's taking a break he ought to be checking on River...though they have a few allies in Skyhold willing to look after her for a little while he really should be doing it himself...

With all that on his mind, it's no wonder that someone can take one look at him and decide that he could use a drink.

Simon blinks up from the meal he'd been letting grow cold, surprise clear on his face. He looks at the offered pint next and part of him is a little tempted...but Simon looks up at the elf with an apologetic smile instead.

"I might...but they need me back at the tents soon," he says. "Ale can help patients, but it's not very good for the healers."

Tavern

[ombranera]

"It is but a single glass, that with your meal? Should not have so great an effect on you- especially as it's Fereldan." Drinks with a kick aren't exactly something that they are known for. The wines are...wine, the ales are ale, and it is all perfectly serviceable but it is no great hammer with which to whack oneself upside the head. Zevran offers this man, this healer one of his more appreciative smiles- hello fair skin and soft hands- and nudges the pint once more. Just the once, he'll not force the issue.

"Even you deserve a moment's rest. They will not begrudge you a moment's relaxation, would they?"

[noleechesneeded]

The elf certainly is thoughtful...and he does bring up a good point about the drink not being all that potent, considering where it came from. Simon's smile shifts into a faint grin as he tilts his head, quietly conceding that point. It would be rude to decline, he decides. The generous stranger went out of his way to spend his coin already, after all.

"They probably won't," he admits. "But again, I might."

All the same he reaches to take the pint from him, lifting it for a moment in thanks before taking a drink. It's...well, it's drinkable at least. Bitter and warm and Simon does everything in his power not to grimace too hard as he swallows.

"...later, however," he finishes with a slight clear of his throat. "Thank you...I'm Simon, by the way. And you?"

Introducing himself without fear of recognition is a habit he's still re-learning. He's sort of proud of himself for not letting his name go unoffered for too long this time.

[ombranera]

"Ah, the self flagellation of a devoted healer." He crackles a soft laugh, resting his chin in his hand as he watches the internal debate all but raging in Simon's eyes. To drink or not to drink, that is the question. He has half a mind to make a joke about it not being poisoned- but then it is Fereldan ale so who knows but it seems that the mind is made up without any further coaxing. To drink! Huzzah!

It of course offers him a rather dashing image of the man swallowing and my that's a lovely throat, and collar, and jaw. And...everything. Mmm.

"Zevran Arainai, at your most humble service." What said services might be, well. Who can say? Zevran. At length. In great, sordid detail- but that is for later. Now is for sipping his own ale with a crook of a grin and blatantly admiring Simon. "I do not think I have seen you in here all that often. The healing tents keep you busy, yes?"

[noleechesneeded]

"Mm, the Circle had required classes on it, as a matter of fact," Simon joked back with a small grin, turning the mug slightly as he set it back down on the table. Even though he grinned about it Simon didn't seem to actually mind the idea. That magic was meant to serve man, and all that, was something that Simon fully believed.

How closely Zevran was examining him didn't quite catch Simon's notice. The elf just seemed very friendly, and there was nothing wrong with that. At worst he probably just wanted to make nice with some of the people who might someday be mending his wounds, but Simon tried to think better of folk than that, especially if they were here with the Inquisition.

"Zevran, it's nice to meet you," he said, grin softening as he remembered his manners. "And yes, they do...among other things."

Simon took another drink rather than elaborate unprompted.

TAVERN~ (Because they have yet to actually install a brothel in Skyhold)

[easternseaqueen]

"Absolutely."

Isabela wasn't ever one to turn down a drink. Especially not from a dear friend. She downs most of it in a single swig.

"Mmm. Much better." She nods approvingly.

"So, now, what's that song you were just singing? Was that a Fereldan tune?"

GIVE IT TIME

[ombranera]

"What, the chorus about dogs did not give it away?" He sips from his own tankard, appreciating the long line of her throat, the spot where her throat met her collarbones, her bosom- all of her, more or less as she drank her ale.

Marvelous woman, Isabella.

Between these two, they could probably turn one into a profitable business venture.

[easternseaqueen]

"And the mud. Can't forget about that. And the cold. But you're quite right in that we need to expand the musical horizons of this place."

With that, she starts humming an old Rivaini pirate chanty.

So much work and so little time

[ombranera]

"And the abominable excuse for stew." Or perhaps that is just Alistair's stew. Still, the thought is set aside in favor of plucking out a harmony to the hum once he's able to place it.

"Is this the one with the goose and the saucy cabin boy?"

Maybe Varric can offer his expertise.

[easternseaqueen]

"You know it!" she laughs. And before long, she's leading a most rousing version of it. ...did it always have those particularly off-color verses? Well, it does now.

Because the Tavern is the closet thing to a club Dante is going to get

[thedevilson]

Not that he was one to get lost in thought, but Dante was engrossed in a book when Zevran approached him, pint in hand. Not that he was reading the words so much as looking at the pictures, because well...he didn't understand the language, but he did get bored very quickly standing around. So books...with pictures!

"Gimme a break, I don't look that bad," understatement of the year, he looked as though he'd been rolling around in demon entrails...which wasn't too far from the truth. He'd lost count of his kill score before he even knew he was keeping one. It didn't help that he'd been hiking through these mountains for how long? Dante wasn't a mountain critter, he certainly wasn't a nature boy, and then there were those whose weariness inspired his sympathy, veiled thinly by his indifferent attitude. He carried them around in spite of himself...but no, he didn't look too bad considering.

"Well...only if you insist," because who was Dante to turn down a drink?

No UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ, sorry friend

[ombranera]

"You look as though you rolled around in Darkspawn blood. Take the tankard." He insisted, and settled across from this man rather than next to him. The smell was one thing- and he'd just washed this vest. No need to get it mucked up so early in the night. As far as he was concerned all of the newcomers looked bedraggled- what little he'd heard of them falling through the fade was curious enough but he somewhat doubted the truth of it.

The world was strange and the fade stranger still, but all that came of it were demons and spirits, yes? Demons were not quite so...human, when they slipped through. Spirits did not drink.

Damn, he'll miss that ad the strippers, and the pole dancing and and and

[thedevilson]

"What? I don't look pretty like this?" Though to be honest he did take a few minutes to find and discover that there was no indoor plumbing. So much for taking a shower and trying to get this shit out of his clothing, this was his favorite shirt. Slapping the book closed he moved it aside, the tankard taking its place soon enough, after all a drink was a drink and he downed it like it was water.

"I'd like to see how fabulous you'd look," Dante said it with a roguish grin, clearly not one to be taken too seriously.

He will have to make do, alas.

[ombranera]

"Well..." Zevran propped his chin in his hand to give the man a thorough once over, from the tips of his hair to the soles of his boots. Not bad for a human. Not thoroughly gorgeous while covered in gore and viscera, but the eyes could be nice. Perhaps.

Without the gore and viscera.

"Me? I would be utterly ravishing. You could use a little work. And a bath."

[thedevilson]

Dante knew exactly what the well implied, but his eyebrows shot up expectantly anyway over the rim of the mug, challenging the words he was just waiting to hear.

"Ravishing? I call bullshit," Nobody could come out of that mess completely unscathed, granted Dante put himself a little closer to it than some had, what with his drag and slash methods of fighting. Still, that was besides the point, "I tried looking for a bath, but indoor plumbing's impossible."

He's been spoiled. Is there another way?

[foxsays]

Despite the allure of getting so drunk she might forget about everything that's happened, getting hammered in an unfamiliar place where she's not exactly the most trusted sort is a bad idea. With just enough light to see where she's going, she scrambles up the battlements, the sleek shadow of a fox following her from below, racing to the very end where all she can see are mountains.

She hates them already, or the snow at least, they probably echoed with her groaning like a dying whale in protest at having to trudge up them for hours and hours, teeth chattering so hard she was sure she'd lose them. There's an angry mutter of something to do with mountains and casting certain aspersions about whatever parentage a mountain might bave that ends in a very definite and very rude parting curse before a muffled thump on the roof and then footsteps followed by a softer thump on the roof of the stables.

Ignoring the disgruntled snorting from the horse she disturbed, she spies the window and gets halfway in before she actually takes a proper look.

"Evening, señor, my apologies." After all, even if your arse is hanging out a window you still have to have manners. "I didn't mean to intrude. Well, not on you. Or your horses."

[ombranera]

Feet on the rooftop, swearing about the cold? Zevran has half a mind to extinguish his light and brace for ambush- but no Crow would let themselves be heard thus. Unless they were becoming all the more sloppy in their desperation, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Still reasonably wary he tucks a knife along one palm as he turns to peer out the window. Or rather at the woman hanging in the window.

With that skin and accent? She could very well be Antivan. Which more than explains the hopping about on rooftops and the swearing about the cold- no Antivan truly cared to be thus chilled. Snow? Is right out.

She is lovely and she is being quite polite, he relaxes just a touch to offer a smile in kind. "Intrude away- it is a good deal more warm in here than it is outside. Even if it smells of horse."

[foxsays]

"Araceli Bonaventura y Castell, at your service." The bow comes a moment later, once she's swung herself through the window with more grace than might have been expected given the noise she'd just been making. Raising a hand in apology, she turns to the window to lean out and whistle through her teeth, a quiet yip answering her. "My companion," she explains with a smirk, "he'll worry if I just disappear without letting him know."

It doesn't quite cover the start she has when she gets a good look at him though, that lurching tug of home before she catches sight of the ears. More like he's from one of the places people assumed she was from when she was in the tavern. Still, it's so close to familiar that it makes her smile as she takes a seat.

"Oh Rajani, I can't believe she can love any beast that smells about as bad as the fish market past noon in the height of summer." It's surely universal, the fond but pitying tone of someone who has a friend with some quaint but very hopeless trait such as a love of horses. "I thought I'd lose toes tramping up here, I had to count them twice to be sure but then that might have been the brandy by that point." And of course the climb might have ruined her good boots too just to add insult to injury. "I can't believe anyone thought coming to a cold place like this was a plan, I just want to steal every blanket and curl up until it all melts."

[ombranera]

Even the name smacks of Antiva City, it twists something warm and wistful in his chest. One of his cellmates looked much like her- died horribly in a fall, poor thing, but they'd stuck together fairly well until she'd slipped. The lean and yip give him a moment to shake off nostalgia and sentiment- and offers a moment to admire the very fine lines of the rest of her. Lovely woman indeed, with a-

What was that sound?

A companion of some sort. Animal companion. Odd.

"Zevran Arainai, at yours. Please come and sit- I've blankets and Brandy both." Something to warm the body and warm the soul so far from home- and if her startlement is anything to go by? She is very far from home. He can relate. The misery of those used to warmer climes forced into the frigid south. "I am not certain what could be worse, a fish market or a tannery- and still either is more tolerable than a stables full to bursting."