faderift | We come from the land of the ice and snow

We come from the land of the ice and snow

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Courtyard, a short while after the announcement about the Herald.

"Andraste's Ass," Varric all but shouted as he swanned down the steps from the Great Hall. The casual blasphemy was enough to startle the guards and a good handful of the templars. Everyone else just jumped because he was shouting, which was just as good, really. "I haven't seen a party this strained since the year Hawke booked a magician for Meredith's birthday!"

There was scattered, startled, choked laughter at that, but mostly just silence. Several of the templars were more than slightly horrified that he'd made a joke that tasteless involving--not one, but two--dead, (in)famous people, and there were a good number of bystanders who weren't sure if it was offensive or if Varric, by virtue of being Varric Tethras, was allowed to make jokes about the late Champion. The mages didn't even flinch, of course, because mages never do, but he had everyone else's attention for the moment and waved his hands as he stopped at the first landing.

"If we're all going to get friendly in the courtyard, there really should be more alcohol," he chided loudly. "Maker knows, if anyone was staring at me as hard as you're eyeing the new people, I'd demand they buy me a pint."

As good-natured as his (loud) ribbing was, it seemed to get the point across. The tight crowd that had formed started to disburse (somewhat awkwardly, but with appreciable speed) and the more respectable people got back to being respectable. Sure, they may have slowed down as they went about their work, and they were all terrible at staring covertly, but at least they weren't a loud noise and a scream away from trampling everyone to death.

Of course, there were always people who couldn't be cajoled (shamed) into doing the right thing (not being nosy assholes), so a crowd remained, but they were much less impenetrable than they had been a few minutes ago. Varric ignored the remaining gawkers and regarded the gaggle of bizarre folks they'd dragged in from Haven. He sighed heavily as he walked the rest of the way down to the courtyard.

When he finally got down to their level, he addressed them all, as a group: "Alright, since you're not from around here and I have a soft spot for hard-luck cases, anyone who wants a drink at the tavern up those stairs? It's on me."

The way he motioned to himself was a touch overblown but, then again, so was everything he'd done in the last few minutes.

"Seeing as I'm basically shouting this, you probably won't need my name so much as a general description, but I'm Varric Tethras." It wasn't his most eloquent introduction, but it would do. He paused and shot the lot of them a glare. "Now, if any of you actually are demons waiting to murder us all in our sleep, try to wait at least until I've got the betting pool set up.

"There's enough things that want to murder us in our sleep, we might as well make a game of it, and ruining that after I went and bought you a round? That's just rude."

He leveled a look at the lot of them, the way he feigned seriousness was only mostly transparent.

"Alright, who has questions and would prefer not to ask the glowering people in full plate armor?"

Varric was a big personality, he liked dramatics and was often far kinder to people than he played at, but this was a bit much, even for him. The jokes were too loud, too crass, and this whole show had been more confrontational than Varric generally preferred. If asked, he wouldn't have an answer as to why he had abruptly decided to do something this idiotic, but the reality was actually very simple.

The Herald's corpse had been found.

They'd just found the body of the last person who had that sort of mark; she had been a good person, an honest to the Maker good person and, briefly, Varric's friend. Then, because the world hated heroes and good people, she died a heroic death and he could either sit around and think about that or he could get drunk and stand up for these people. The Herald hadn't asked to be marked like that and neither had any of them, there was no sense in giving them shit, not that Varric could see. Demons or no, it was obvious that mark was a death sentence; one way or another these people were screwed and Varric wasn't going to let them get kicked around in the meanwhile, not if he could help them.

Tavern - Later in the evening.
(Varric will be drinking and telling loud and increasingly outrageous stories that are, by literally everyone's reckoning, entirely comprised of lies. Feel free to run into him here as well.)

Edited (Silly me, word order error.) 2015-10-26 08:11 (UTC)

"You're so full of it. That couldn't possibly have happened." But by Korrin's tired and less-than-sober smirk, she didn't really care. After returning from Haven, she'd already had a hefty dose of reality, and so fantastic lies were preferable at this point. Less headache-inducing, too.

She raised her empty mug to signal another refill, then slouched back in her seat. "Go on, though. It's not fair to leave us hanging like that." As long as Varric continued telling ridiculous tales, he'd remain her favorite person in the tavern for now.

"I'm telling you," Varric insisted, loudly and exuberantly, "the whole lot of them started dancing! Like it was the Orlesian ballet! Snapping their fingers, high kicks, the whole production!"

To illustrate his point, and because such things seem like grand ideas when one is three sheets to the wind, Varric all but threw both of his arms out and did a haphazard (but fairly elegant, considering he was a dwarf) pirouette. Once he had finished it, he dove seamlessly back into his story and, just as seamlessly, hefted his tankard again.

"We couldn't believe it either," he assured the Qunari. "Honestly, if we hadn't had Broody and Choir-boy along, they would have tried to get us to join in."

"I've never seen Hawke go so pale, and when one of them tripped over her staff? They went down like a house of cards in a stiff breeze, just whoosh--" He swiped his hand across the table and made an ill advised sound effect to accompany the motion. "I'll never be able to take Hightown gangs seriously again--not that I did before, they're from Hightown, but that was just ridiculous!"

Korrin had just received her refill in time for Varric to continue, barely having a moment for a sip before she nearly chokes and snorts it back out. Thanks, Varric. She can't help but burst out laughing at his pirouette, unable to to have more from her mug for fear of choking on that as well.

It takes a bit for her to regain her breath, and she has to straighten up from her comfortable slouch to do it. Her body protests, but that's as much due to finally sitting down after a long day of trekking as anything else. The smirk is quick to return to her lips, though.

"That would almost be worth the trip to Kirkwall, just to see that in action." You know, if it was true. Which...nah, Korrin's not that drunk, but who cares? A story's a story. "But fine, an ending like that serves a free ale or whatever else you want. Fair's fair." And she gestures to the bartender to get him whatever he wants, on her.

The longer that Jamie hung around the courtyard, the more it'd become evident to him that whatever was going on here, a lot of people were on edge. it hadn't made him nervous, not entirely, but it had made him wonder if it'd be such a good idea to ask the questions he wanted to after all. When the rather short man (or at least shorter than he was, although he wasn't tall by any stretch of the imagination) came down with the offer of a drink, the distraction from the staring was welcome enough that he didn't waste any time in following him into the tavern, settling down in a seat and not thinking too much about why Varric had decided now was a good time to get to know the strangers.

At least he seemed willing to answer questions, something he wasn't all that sure some of the others were willing to do. And while he had a lot of them, he opted to go with the one that was the most immediate on his mind, figuring that it was one of the easier ones to answer - and also the one that would determine whether or not he'd even get a chance to figure out what was going on with the rest of it.

"Jamie McCrimmon. And, aye, I've a question. One a scale of one to I should just put my arms up now and have done with it, how likely do you think it'll be the lot of us'll be put under arrest?" After a second or so, he let the corners of his mouth turn up a bit as he added a touch dryly, "Unless there's a betting pool on that one, too."

Varric laughed, sharp and deep, at the question. As far as first questions went, it was a pretty good one, and he couldn't help but approve of the indignation in this guy's tone.

"No pool on that one," Varric told him easily and had Cabot pour him a pint of watered down ale and another for Jamie. "I don't take bets when the odds are less than four to one."

"I wouldn't worry about it, though," Varric said and handed the human a mug. "Arresting people is a local past-time in these parts. I've been arrested at least three times. The real trick is doing something to deserve it first."

There was a snort at that, because when it came down to it he wasn't surprised at all. Not about the lack of a pool - although the odds were good to know - but because hearing that was something that was all too familiar to him

"Oh, aye, glad to know that things don't change much between worlds, then."

Apparently it was the same when it came to the ale - but right about now he'd take it, watered or no, and he lifted the mug in a toast to his benefactor. A a slightly lopsided smile appeared as well a moment or two later, one that was actually noticeable, rather than the tiny-looking thing that had turned up earlier.

"So what sorts of things would you say are ones where it's not deserved, then? Figure I should maybe see just if it's going to be exactly like home, then, or only a little bit like it."

"Not deserved?" Varric asked, a surprised lilt in his tone. "Well, personally, I've been evading charges for writing a popular book that everyone liked. You sass the wrong Seeker and--here we are--in the middle of nowhere on an adventure."

He shrugged noncommittally. It wasn't as if this were the oddest thing he'd ever done, true, but it was certainly up there.

"You'd think it'd count as time served at this point, but I digress. You're not going to deal with that sort of thing...unless you're a writer and you make friends with a Hero or two."

Varric took a swig off his own pint and tried not to grimace too obviously.

"Basically, the heavier the armor and the scowlier the person wearing it? Talk less, salute more, and absolutely do not try to lighten the mood. They really hate that. Also knock-knock jokes, straight out."

"Can't say as I'm much of a writer, no."

Or a reader, for that matter, although he knew how now, which would normally be an improvement. Whether he'd be able to read the books here, however, he had no idea. Maybe he'd have to go see about that at some point.

A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he brought his own pint to his lips, but when he actually took a large enough swig to taste the ale it slipped away, replaced with his own attempt to suppress the grimace that came along with the rather visible swallow - and then a slightly different look a moment or two later as he wound up having to clear his throat.

"I'll ah, keep it in mind, though. In case I do happen to need it at some point. Take it puns are probably right out too with those Seeker types, then? Whatever a Seeker is, anyway."

Edited 2015-11-12 03:04 (UTC)

[Isabela is rather on the periphery, hearing Varric spinning his stories. Oh, it's been a while since she's seen her old friend. It's also been a while since she's seen him this out of sorts.

Fortunately, if anyone is good at distraction, it's her.]

Varric, I've heard that story sixteen times, and I swear it gets taller every time. If you don't have demons dancing the remigold in the next version, I'll be terribly disappointed.

[She puts down a drink in front of him.]

Thought you could use that.

[He'd known he was drunk somewhere around the third pint. Cabot's ale was more water than alcohol, but Varric was determined to have a go of it. He was well on his way to getting truly pissed, an ideal state of being considering local affairs, when he had to stop and take stock of the situation.

That was a smaller glass of something stronger, either the brandy or some of Iron Bull's Qunari rotgut, and the person who had delivered it was Isabela. He stared for a moment longer.]

I...have not had enough to drink that I've started hallucinating buxom pirates. [Varric decided, aloud, and a wide grin split his face.] Rivaini! You're here too? Shit, everyone's coming out of the woodwork lately, aren't they?

[But wait, she'd critiqued his story and he'd lost his place.]

And the next version will have the dragon dancing the remigold, thank you. Maker knows it was more graceful than any demons ever were.

Well, you know me, Varric. If it involves a chance for gold or giggles, I'm there. And this place seems like it might offer at least one of those.

Especially if I get to hear stories about dancing dragons.

Speaking of, I don't think I've gotten a copy of your latest book, Varric. We'll have to fix that.

[ She likes his stories. They bloom and unfurl from little seedlings of truth, ugly things made grand and pretty again in the retelling. It's hard to say when exactly she slipped in, bare feet against the dirty wooden floor, tucking into a corner near the dwarf and his audience.

She could listen from up high, but she knows that spot is taken. Maybe later, when quiet is what she wants. The distraction from the usual cacophony is nice, better when she has one very strong, vibrant voice to follow.

Simon told her to stay out of trouble. Surely there's no harm in this. He doesn't even know she's there, not yet anyway. ]

[Varric was really letting loose and enjoying himself; it was a terrible plan, and more than a little half baked, but he had limited options. Today was shit, the next few days would probably be shit, and he had no intention of sobering up until he absolutely had to. He certainly wasn't going to sober up for the funeral or the wake, and if he could forget they were happening until they were over, he'd consider this bender to be a roaring success.

As it was, the night was getting on and his crowd of free-drinking, jubilant listeners were egging him into grander and grander stories. He'd just told the one about a troop of trained bears that some smuggler accidentally released into Lowtown. He had spared no detail as he recounted how Aveline and Hawke had to herd the creatures (tiny little hats and all) into a stolen, gaudy, makeshift tent made out of some Orlesian merchant's evening gown. The descriptions had a few people in stitches, but the sound effects really sold it. Everyone was laughing by the time he finished (one guy was crying and hunched over the table, he was laughing so hard) and Varric felt good.

He felt happy.]

[ It was a marvelous story, in truth. She found herself smiling, laughing along, buoyed by the rhythm of his words, the upbeat tempo, the soothing tone that still managed to sound rough and craggy and warm all at once. It was a grand tale, and maybe exaggerated in places, but as tales went it was still magnificent for all of that.

She was still hugging her legs and beaming quietly over her kneecaps as the tale drew to a close. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

We come from the land of the ice and snow

Varric Tethras | OTA - Rifters especially

Tavern

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Courtyard

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Tavern

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Tavern

Gosh, sorry this is late and I hope this works.

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