#skyholdopen

[lyrium-stained-blog]

Returned from the Hunt (open)

Fenris had just gotten back from another excursion into Orlais to deal with a problem group of the Venatori nuisance. He’d been walking all day, and could probably use a bath to get the dried blood out from under his fingernails. So, where did he go? The tavern, naturally.

He was in high spirits, though it was hard to tell by his expression. He sat down at one of the tables and was quickly greeted by a large wooden mug being set down in front of him. The Herald’s Rest had learned his favorites quickly. A smile pulled at his lips and he took the mug. So, it wasn’t his favorite wine. It was still on the house, according to the wave from the bartender.

His shoulders relaxed as he became comfortable with the surroundings. A few of the Chargers were loudly boasting stories of a recent mission. The bard was singing through it all with her lovely voice, as always. Laughter erupted somewhere upstairs. It almost felt like home.

[championofmyass-blog]

Veteran in Training | Open

The morning was crisp, cold and harsh. Garrett has risen early, a habit from living as a runaway that had now turned itself into more of a routine. Lie ins were a distant memory of a younger, lazier version of himself. How Kirkwall hadn't burnt down earlier, he had no idea, but it really should have. Garrett was already in full armour, red smeared across the bridge of his nose as he and Hugo padded down the steps towards the training grounds. Being locked up in the war room trying to plan ahead of Corypheus was a ridiculous notion that wasn't going to happen. What Hawke meant by that was that Corypheus wasn't just going to sit and wait for the Inquisition to catch up, wait for us to be ready and then attack. Playing safe was not how people won wars. Risk taking and being on the offensive was how people won wars. The training grounds held some sort of release for him. Since being stuck in the war room more often now than ever, the more desperate they had become. He hadn't seen Fenris in a few days. Hugo was getting bored of him, which hurt a little more than he cared to admit. The Mabari didnt even get excited to greet him anymore. Traitor. Garrett picked a dummy in the middle of the grounds, passing some early rising soldiers, but not many. He gripped his staff in one hand, the blade fixed on the bottom dragging through the dirt like a knife through hot butter. He took a deep breath, focusing on the pool of magic inside him. He felt his skin prickle with intensity, his hair standing on end. He grinned. Time to set shit on fire.

[thousandarrows-blog1]

Restless Rebel

One arrow. Thunk. Two. Three. Four. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Sera drew back the string of her bow, this time taking it slow, instead of releasing it in a rapid fire like the ones before. Relishing in the creak of the bow as she pointed the arrow. There was already about ten arrows sticking out of one of the hay practice targets in Skyhold's Courtyard. It wasn't enough. Sera didn't even feel any joy from the activity, it almost felt routine. Sera hated it, she was charged up, she had been for days. No amount of searching Skyhold for new treasures, sabotaging the ingredients in the kitchen, or even drawing in her journal helped assuage the restless feeling that plagued her. Maybe she could steal one of those fancy portraits that were found all over the fortress and place it on the target in front of her. Sera figured that if the target had a face, she could easily fabricate some elaborate story of just how wicked the person in the picture was and maybe then she could gladly unload a whole quiver into the portrait. She didn't take her eyes off of the target, bow still drawn back as she heard some footsteps approaching her. Sera frowned, eyebrows knitted together. “Best be some good news you're giving me, or else this arrow's gonna find a new home right between your eyes.”

[rivainiqueenoftheeasternsea-blog]

Event: A Dancing Dilemma ll Open

It had been some time since Isabela had been to a party like this. That’s not to say she hadn’t been to parties recently. Most of them had been drunken affairs with sailors who needed to learn to keep their hands to themselves, but there’d been music and laughter and fun.

She had been to parties like this before too. Back when that prig Luis was alive and she was unfortunately still married to him. She remembered those affairs. They were a fair bit less grand than what the Inquisition had thrown together, but there were still people in beautiful clothes drinking expensive alcohol and doing things (or people) they’d regret in the morning.

As a result of her past, Isabela had some grasp of how to behave at these events. She knew how to manipulate the other party goers as she pleased, when to throw a smirk, when to wink, when to feign indifference and when to tell people to shut up. There was only one part of these parties that she didn’t know about: Dancing.

That’s not to say she didn’t know how to dance. As Luis’ pet, she’d been expected to be able to be flawless on the dance floor. Really, it was the only part of those events that she hadn’t minded. The trouble was that at those, she was only allowed to dance with Luis, a carefully guarded plaything kept out of the hands of others. As a result, she had no idea how to approach others to ask them to dance.

Resting against a wall, she watched the dancers with slightly envious eyes. None would ask her to dance, of course. She was a fearsome pirate as far as they knew, no matter how stunning she appeared to be. So, she resigned herself to watch, mentally kicking herself at the jealousy she felt. It was ridiculous, really.

[lyrium-stained-blog]

{Event: Breathing Room} [Open]

ooc;; short note that this is occurring after the events of Proper Introductions. Since that thread only just got started, I’m going to avoid mentioning it until I know more about what happens there.

Only a few minutes following his time with the Inquisitor, Fenris was again assaulted with unwanted questions and comments from strangers. Asking him why he left Kirkwall; wondering if he was still friends with the Champion; commenting on his hair, his ears, his bare feet. The final straw came when some giddy Orlesean woman asked,

“Do they hurt?”

and then proceeding to place her gloved hand on Fenris’ arm. He swatted her hand away, eliciting a gasp from the others around him. “Not anymore,” he stated, hoping it would end the onslaught. It did, but not without the whispers starting as soon as they thought he couldn’t hear.

“The Champion has poor tastes in friends.” “He might be handsome if he didn’t scowl so much.” “They really are beautiful. What a waste on someone so sour.”

The last comment Fenris overheard was the one that did him in. He clenched his fists and suppressed his rising anger long enough to step out into the courtyard. The sudden cold air sweeping up under his mask and running down his arms brought him back down almost immediately. He took a deep breath as he leaned his hands on the low wall that circled the garden. To think, the party wasn’t even halfway over.

[rivainiqueenoftheeasternsea-blog]

Admiral’s Rest

The warm, hearty sound of Skyhold’s tavern was comforting to Isabela. In her time as a pirate, she’d been to many small taverns, and in Kirkwall she’d spent most of her time at the Hanged Man. As a result, the smell of stale ale and the sounds of drunken laughter always managed to help her feel at ease.

Isabela still couldn’t quite figure out why she’d let herself be dragged into this. If she were to be totally honest with herself, it was because some serious shit was happening and she wanted to help in some way. Of course, she was never honest with herself. So, she sat there leaning back in her chair with her feet on the table and taking a long draught of her ale.

She let out a small sigh as she put her ale back on the table, rocking in her chair. She had half a mind to go find and harass Varric, if only for some company. Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching where she sat, and she turned with an eyebrow raised to see who it was.

[arcaneadvising-blog]

[ Contemplation ]

Morrigan laid a hand flat on the eluvian she kept in her room. It was quiet now, its surface rippled and dull. She gave a click of her tongue and backed away to look at it in its entirety. Her reflection was distorted and barely visible in the surface. It didn’t double as a working mirror, though the few that had caught glimpses of the eluvian thought that’s exactly what it was.

“They must think me vain,” Morrigan snorted and turned on a heel to leave the room.

Kieran had found his way out of the garden again, of course. The boy never remained in one place for more than an hour it seemed. Skyhold proved to be extremely large; few places were restricted to him, unlike the Winter Palace. Excessive wandering would draw attention and maybe even questions of his parentage; questions Morrigan would prefer to avoid. Her boy would rather explore than study. Much like his father in that respect, she thought. 

The garden was always quiet despite being anything but empty. Someone was always picking at the herbs growing in the corners, or retrieving water from the well at the center. Some simply came to have an hour or two of peace. Morrigan wrung her hands as she stepped through the stone archway to retrieve Kieran’s books. She should search for him before he got into something he shouldn’t...At least, that’s what she intended before spotting a face she didn’t usually see here.

[lyrium-stained-blog]

{Arrival}

Towering arched gates passed over head while smooth, cold stone passed under his feet. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the very nature of Skyhold made Fenris feel small. His eyes followed the curve of the entryway up as he followed the small group of agents in. One of them, a human woman, hung injured off the shoulder of another scout. It had been happenstance that he’d saved her upon encountering the same small camp of Venatori that the Inquisition agents had been ambushed by. And when Fenris had asked short questions about the Inquisition, he hadn’t expected to be brought here.

The courtyard was bustling with activity. Off to one side was a make-shift infirmary, where the wounded agent was promptly taken. Another agent from the group leading him asked him to wait there, so someone could go find someone with higher authority to come meet him. Fenris made a noise in the back of his throat that was disgruntled, but affirmative.

Turning about, he let himself get a good look, not without the occasional quick glance back over his shoulder. He surveyed Orlesian nobility in their impractical dress, a scattering of Dalish elves--”Surprising,” he muttered to himself--soldiers, servants. A wide mix of people from all over Southern Thedas. As he heard purposeful footsteps approaching, he spun back around to face whoever came.