Dragon Age: Blessed Are They [IC]

[Ormata]

Svala An Broatha O Skydda, Far-Flung

Herald’s Rest wasn’t a lodge, that was for certain.

Svala walked in to the place, the door wide open, the smells of one food or another wandering out into the open air, the sounds of laughter like bells tolling. It wasn’t a lodge, no, not filled with smoke and the glorious smells of cooked meat, a massive pot in the middle holding one stew or another, those about drinking deep and speaking plain. No, it wasn’t a lodge, not with the open door, not with the multiple stories, not with the whispers and not with the people, but...it just might do. At least, it might do for her purposes which, frankly, were some of the most simple things in the world; Svala wanted food and drink, enough of both to satisfy one craving or another. The day had been a long one, a walking patrol near Skyhold’s borders that had ended with the greater retributions against a bear. Svala had prayed after it’s death. It did no good to piss off the gods now. Those with her had looked with some measure of concern and wonder, that the apostate might pray, that the Maker and Andraste might be displeased, yet...they had let her pray. She had killed it, after all.

Bloody work made a throat thirsty. The Avvar ignored some of the stares at her warpaint, at her garb that clearly marked her as no Fereldan, no Orlesian, nothing of the sort at all. She was savage, perhaps, in their eyes, and that made Svala somewhat pleased. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at their discomfort, at their stares and shifting in their seats. Some knew the wrath of the Avvar, the bow and axe coming down as though one of their executioner’s blades. Others simply knew that she was different and that was all that was required to make them just a little afraid. The company in Herald’s Rest was so varied, though, that in her eyes it stopped mattering. There were dwarves and Dalish, men and Quinari, and they all were in the same cause, the same war. Those who knew Avvar might have wondered where her contract ended, though, when the pledge ran out. Those who knew had some notion that even marriages were temporary among those who dwelled in the Frostback Mountains, that thing they considered so very sacred being just another passing of the wind to the painted savages. Perhaps that concerned some. It wasn’t really their concern, though, in Svala’s eyes.

She got to the bar, noting that a Quinari was there as well as the aforementioned Dalish, dwarf, things of the sort. The Dalish even had tattoos about her face, the knife-ear, like a proper old type who pranced in the forests. Svala had never had dealings with their sort, nor with the city-dwellers. She only knew of them by a trader once, in Orzammar when she’d gone there to trade. The man had two servants with him, both knife-ears, both as timid as dogs. It wasn’t a good first impression. The dwarf had tattoos as well, Svala could see them and knew instantly what they meant. Casteless. She’d spread her legs more than once, likely, wanting to fish for another. She’d seen them before at the meetings, asked what the hell it meant. Sore feelings had erupted all around for those involved.

Scale clanked as she sat herself down there and while the sword was nowhere to be found Svala’s hip was still decorated with the axes, the seax. Producing the coin purse, she fished for a gold and called-out, “Barkeep! A bottle of mead.” Flicking it out at Cabot, the man held the practiced ease enough to catch it in the air, the glint and glimmer of the coin disappearing into a pocket and four silvers tossed in return. Svala managed to catch three, the fourth clattering the bar before her. Sighing, she pocketed that as well. A bottle followed, dark as sin in the glass. Opening it, the first attack was a chug, down and down until half the thing was gone. Setting it down again, the Svala listened to the minstrel as she sang of...someone named Sera. Someone. The measure was fast and...actually nice, in a sort of Free Marches way. It lacked the impact of an Avvar song, that was damn sure, lacked the roar and vigor of the lodge that kept a place warm and cozy in the winter. That might be somewhat disappointing but, again, Herald’s Rest was no lodge. That might be just fine, in all reality.

[The Litan Imperium]

Darius Woldeau

Darius looked over at Shae after she introduced himself, the strong smell of alcohol hitting him when she spoke. "Greetings shae, I assume you're not a big drinker? Considering how...Impaired you are and how hard you've been hitting the drinks." Darius said with a light chuckle to the Dalish member of their little group. He had never interacted with one of the Dalish elves in his life, only ever seeing the city elves in his family mansion and hearing about the dalish through rumors and stories. He'd heard many things but mostly that they were feral human hating heathens. While she hadn't shown anything that branded her as much more than a lightweight, Darius would reserve judgement for later after seeing her sober.

Soon enough that Qunari mage, Keten, approached the group and greeted them in a friendly manner that betrayed the usual blunt and grim nature of most Qunari that Darius had dealt with. "Good to see you too my grey skinned friend. I'm not exactly much of a fan of whatever pisswater this establishment has, so I'll pass on the Rough Rumble. As far as how the Inquisition has treated me, it's much less extravagant than what I'm used to. I've also gotten a few cutting words from the occasional Ferelden inquisition soldier, but I've always offered them the oppurtunity for a duel to the death. Not one has accepted and all usually leave me alone afterwards. The accommodations are...serviceable, admittedly this is likely due to me being used to Chevaliers having the finest quarters in any orlesian military post. I'll certainly survive here, however I wouldn't shy away from spending a day or two in Val Royeaux and back at my family mansion." Darius was then interrupted by a nearby large women calling the barkeep for a drink.

Darius turned around and saw the woman, who seemed to rival Cunoan in terms of incivility in terms of appearence. Darius simply took a stab in the dark and assumed she wasn't from any sort of city. Darius simply turned back around towards his group. "I suppose the Inquisition will let anyone in it seems." Darius said in tone that certainly didn't hide his disdain.

When his attention was back towards those he knew, he simply looked for something to occupy himself. He took his magic horn out of one of his belt pouches and began polishing it with a rag from the same pouch.

[Nakarisaune]

Otho Arazda

Otho definitely wasn’t jealous. That wasn’t it. It was anger that bubbled up within her. Natalie sounded so patronising. Like any human who couldn’t understand. She ordered another drink, though she didn’t really need it any more, and her coin purse was running low. Fine. She could probably convince Cabot for a discount, later, if she needed to. She’d persuaded bartenders back in Orzammar. It wasn’t so hard. She took a long drink and felt the fire in her chest.

It had been better up here, that was true. People called her “dwarf” up here, not “brand”. People would sell her armor and weapons, she didn’t have to steal them. Her son had opened his eyes to the sky, in a world where he could be anyone, and his sweet round cheeks had been bare of anything but freckles. Until that moment she’d never truly given up on going back to Orzammar. Suddenly she felt hot tears start to prickle in her eyes, so she stopped thinking of her son and thought hard about Orzammar. The darkness and the warmth and the safety, like a womb that sometimes hated what it bore. She could call it unfair, if she wanted, even though she usually didn’t, cause it was what the Stone decided. Didn’t give some surface human the right to look down on it.

She took another sip. The tankard didn’t quite meet her lips right, and some splashed down her chin. Okay, she was getting past the usual background level of drunkness now. She put it down, harder than intended, and looked sideways at Natalie. What she really, really wanted to do was pick her pocket. That wasn’t a good idea. Neither was a fight but that was harder to resist. “That sounds terrible, even worse than how I used to live,” her tone was bitter pretending to be sweet. “It must have been difficult. Banquets and wine. I imagine it’s boring always knowing that you’ll get to eat, and getting to dress up in pretty dresses and armor. Having to watch people die -” she said this with a flourish, laughed, and took another drink, “you know, people will pay to see that in Orzammar. Well, people who have castes. And coin. Aren’t you lucky.” Okay, she was getting angrier than she should be. That called for more drink, and for ignoring Natalie for a bit so she didn’t get in trouble.

She turned, smiling again, to Cunoan and Darius. Well, mostly Cunoan, cause the bitterness at Natalie was going to spill over to Darius if he kept being all pompous with his introductions. It was only then that she noticed the elf who’d been staring at her was still here, along with a knight enchanter, and a tall wild-looking woman. “Hey. I’m Otho,” she said to them, not really to any of them in particular, but with a particularly curious glance at the tall savage one, “and you seem to have better taste in drinks than the Orlesians so I think we’ll get on. Who’re you?”

[Ormata]

Svala An Broatha O Skydda, Far-Flung

"I suppose the Inquisition will let anyone in it seems."

Svala eyed the man who spoke, the man who’d looked at her strange as though she was something wrong, something different. Lowlanders had no sense of respect, that was more than certain, and were always more than willing to open their mouth with ignorance. He didn’t know her, didn’t know her path or where she came from. Likewise, she did not know him of course yet she knew more than enough from his style of dress, of speech, of manner. He reminded her of a Chevalier, a bastard man on a bastard horse with no balls, no brains, and a wish to try to use both. He was a child and acted as such. Her mouth turned into a grimace at the thought.

How dare he. How dare he, he to try to judge her without knowing what she had tried to do. The Lady in the Sky, she bled and bled and bled, bled demons and devils and that which came to her in death, bled them on the ground for she had the wound and could not close it. Svala wanted it closed, wanted to heal the goddess, wanted to heal the land, and she’d brought more than three hundred total down from the Frostback Mountains to try and attempt the feat. She’d wanted it closed and, as such, wanted to aid any who was making that feat possible. They had come down from the mountain on the journey and, for all the trouble, Svala had had the honor to watch her son beheaded, her husband gutted, and children thrown into the treetops like toys. She had had the honor to watch all she knew and all she loved wasted away and then, then to top it all off, had the honor to watch her comrades kill themselves for fear of the red crystal.

It burned her. How dare he. The red crystal in Svala’s own wound, a cut across her leg that still shone yet held nothing of the sort, that taint that refused to leave, it burned into her and rage flashed in her eyes. How dare the bastard who did not understand what it was like to keep on cutting and cutting and cutting at a beast and not have it die, to chop into it over and over and have it still writhe in one’s hands. They’d attempted a shield wall during the battle, a stalwart defense that even a Chevalier charge would have trouble to break, and the Red Templar came anyways. Monsters smote themselves on the shields before shattering of their own will. Shards cut into eyes and arms and drove men mad with pain, pain before a Red Templar broke the line and the slaughter truly began. He did not know what it was like to see an arm still clutching at a shield, to hear the women scream and claw while being torn apart like mere meat by beasts who did not deserve a name. It burned her.

How dare he.

“That sounds terrible, even worse than how I used to live,” her tone was bitter pretending to be sweet. “It must have been difficult. Banquets and wine. I imagine it’s boring always knowing that you’ll get to eat, and getting to dress up in pretty dresses and armor. Having to watch people die - you know, people will pay to see that in Orzammar. Well, people who have castes. And coin. Aren’t you lucky.”

“Hey. I’m Otho … and you seem to have better taste in drinks than the Orlesians so I think we’ll get on. Who’re you?”

The dwarf’s words fell on deaf ears. A hand, still wrapped about the knuckles in a bandage, wrapped about the seax at her belt, and a harsh stare coupled with harsh words. The voice was quieter than one might expect yet filled with rage all the same. It was an unbridled rage, one that surpassed the need for mere noise and reached instead to a more primal level, a level that might come before a battle, a killing, an execution, death in general. The hand drew tight about the handle of the short blade, an easy motion enough for blood to be shed.

“I suppose they do, Nug Humper. My son’s, my clan’s memory won’t be disgraced by your damn tongue; you’ve no right to speak. Nor breathe, I imagine.”

[The Litan Imperium]

Darius Woldeau

Almost like a dog hearing its master bringing food, Darius' head snapped from his group to woman behind him. His bloodstone mask hiding a face of pure and unadulterated rage. How dare this savage call him such a thing!? He was a chevalier! And he would not have his honor insulted by such an uncivilized being, but this didn't mean that he had to lose his temper.

"Nug humper? How very eloquent, and very typical of one of your kind, Avvar. I've dealt with your people before, specifically when they decide to squat and pilfer game from the land of orlesian nobility, including my own family. And every time I've dealt with them, there were no survivors." Darius' face of anger at her original comment soon changed to an expression of smugness with a arrogant grin. "Perhaps your son was one of the several backwoods mountain savages I've put down. Makers knows which one of course, all you savages look the same." Darius then got up from his chair and approached the avvar woman, but still maintaining 2 to 3 feet distance from her. "You'll excuse me if I don't get too close, I've no desire to catch any insects or parasites that may be nesting on you."

"In the future, I would suggest you refrain from insulting a chevalier in such a manner again. I know plenty of my brothers and sisters who've killed peasants for less than what you did, and I know I have as well." Darius then looked down at her hand grabbing what seemed to be the handle of a blade, and another grin spread across his face. "Oh, I see what it is you desire. You want blood, specifically you want my blood because of what I said. Well then, I'll gladly oblige you that one very foolish wish. Any true chevalier would never turn down one's  wish for a test of arms, no matter how foolish or uncivilized the one who requests such a thing may be. But I will give you this one warning, I was trained by Ser Mariotte who is the finest instructor at the Academie. Rest assured you will not come out of this duel unscathed or victorious. If this what you truly want, then I can grab my blade from the blacksmith and I can give a lesson in Orlesian conflict resolution."

[Ormata]

Svala An Broatha O Skydda, Far-Flung

“My son gave his life for your cause. He is dead, his spirit adrift for the Lady in the Sky is too weak to take his body. Your cause, the cause to close that wound in the Lady in the Sky, has taken this and now you wish to take his honor? To slander his name? I won't have it.”

Her anger did not subside. A savage glare drove into the Chevalier, eyes like daggers, and the wrapped hand drew tighter still. The mouth stayed taut, restrained in volume but not in passion, and Svalla's body drew just a little to the ground once she dismounted her chair. One might compare her to a bear, the manner of her back, the outstretched and ready hands eager to rend a bloody chunk. Those eyes still stared. It was quite easy to see that she wanted him dead, wanted to carve him and gut him, to make a wreath of entrails and a crown of intestines.

“For once we came down from the mountain, for once we thought that we might be a part of a greater world. When I led the clan down from our lands, no war was declared, no hate in our hearts. When we found the plains, we found the damn Red Templars and I saw what the voices in the sky promised. We came down from safety to help and I have been repaid in blood and bones, in children ripped in two and good, young men throwing themselves from the high walls in fear of the red crystal found within them, poisoning their blood.”

Tears of rage trickled down from her eyes as a hand and arm shot up, pointing out the window into the vast mists, and Svala's voice built still. “My son and others still lay out there, on the mountaintop, for the Lady in the Sky is too weak to take him. Lowlander, you've no right to slander the boy's name, nor the wives who died screaming on the shield wall, nor the others who died in your damn bloody cause. I don't give a shit for your teacher, no, you'll die all the fucking same.”

“I, Thane of Skydda, Svala An Broatha O Skydda, swear this by blood. Your head is mine, Lowlander.”

[Free States of Agnosicstan]

Shaethari

Shae was, blatantly, quite drunk. As such, she didn't really follow the exchange between the two, her eyes glancing over as a tall, broad and frankly intimidating Shemlin woman squared up with a masked, short one. Wait, no, she knew the short one! That was...What did he call himself again? Eh, she didn't care all that much. It looked like he was about to be paste on the ground, after all. She watched the rapidly-escalating argument, the short Shemlin talking about his teacher, the tall one talking about her clan and family.

Clan and family. That was something Shae could understand. Even drunk as she was, she listened in harder. She frowned, sympathetic, as she heard the woman go on. Heard the challenge she made, and figured...Yeah, she was probably justified. Shae swallowed a little, looking between the two with a soft frown on her features, before attempting to stand up a little. It would be entertaining to watch this guy get smooshed into a pile of paste!

She...promptly under-estimated her own balance, stumbled and nearly fell, catching herself on the side of the bar and giving a little laugh, but doing her best to suppress it. You could cut the tension like a knife. Shae would fix that, clearing her throat a little before she, finally, started speaking.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" She began, chanting it a little.

[The Litan Imperium]

Darius Woldeau

Darius simply stood motionless as Svala was growing visibly more enraged at him and spoke more of her dead son and those she knew killed by red templars. Her screaming and tears further relaying to him the intensity of her anger and offense at his previous statements. Until finally she closed with two statements that truly earned his attention.  "I don't give a shit for your teacher, no, you'll die all the fucking same.” and “I, Thane of Skydda, Svala An Broatha O Skydda, swear this by blood. Your head is mine, Lowlander.” Both of which got his attention for two different reasons. The first because Darius interpreted it as a direct insult to Him, Ser Mariotte, the Academie, and the knighthood as a whole. The second because it confirmed what Darius originally thought, she wants a duel and Darius would happily give her one. Once she finished speaking of both the death of her son and her people, a slight chuckle could be heard from Darius which grew into a full laugh behind his mask.

"You speak of me dishonoring your pitiful son's memory and sacrifice, yet here you are doing what you condemn me for doing. Insulting both my instructor but also the Academie, and as a result insulting the honor of all my brothers and sisters. Such a transgression will not be allowed or ingnored. If it's blood that you want, then by the honor of the Academie Des Chevaliers I'll give you blood, though won't garauntee that it won't your own blood." Darius rather proudly stated before stepping up to her, leaving only a few inches between them. "And do not think I'm intimidated by an uncivilized bear such as you. I've faced down foes twice as big and three times as strong and intimidating than you. The Academie certainly teaches smaller people such as me how to deal with a lumbering oaf such as you" Darius Taunted while adding a grin to his last sentence.

Darius suddenly heard that drunken elf cheering for the two of them two fight. "Somehow I doubt this will likley not be as much of a spectacle as one may hope." Darius then looked back towards Svala. "May I go retreive my equipment from the smithy, as if I actually cared what your response was."

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Natalie Rochette

It took some effort, but Natalie opted to just not bother responding to Otho. From the tone of her voice, and her response in general, really, to the way she'd gulped down that reeking substance she considered a drink before speaking, it was evident that the Dwarf was far too angry. Indeed, she appeared to be making an effort on proving true the line of thought that anything that wasn't Orlesian was unrefined, uncivilized, and altogether not worth bothering with at all. Instead, she drank from her wine once again, this time draining her glass of its contents. It made sense, she supposed. From the description Otho had given her, and the way Dwarves in general seemed to act, Dwarven society was at least as despicable as that of the Fereldan Dog-Lords, if not more. She thought for a brief moment on how she could take a jab at the other, but that line of thought was swiftly interrupted by something far, far more urgent.

Another savage-looking woman had entered the Herald's Rest and approached the bar and, naturally, Darius had managed to practically come to blows - at least verbally, for the moment - with the woman within the blink of an eye. That was unlikely to last, however, and the Avvar's hand immediately seemed to move for one of those axes of hers. This, then, was going to be an absolute headache, and someone would have to do something to put a stop to this before things could get any worse. The Dalish Elf that sat nearby wasn't making things any better. The opposite, really. As it was, the two appeared to be opting for a duel, likely wishing the other party to die in it. No, no, that wouldn't do. It appeared that nobody was going to intervene, and so it'd fall onto her to do so. Infighting among the Inquisition's ranks was the exact opposite of what the organisation needed, which meant that someone had to do something - and so it was that, with a huff and a muttered "Maker", Natalie pushed herself away from the counter to try and intervene.

"If I might," she stated, rather than asked, as she moved forward, positioning herself between the two. "Let's not fight. We're not here to fight each other, let alone to the death. That's not why anyone goes to this tavern in the middle of nowhere, let alone to the Inquisition. We came here because there's a bunch of slave-driving fanatical cultists from Tevinter, and Templars with crystals-for-brains out there doing the work for some Darkspawn freak fashioning himself a god and - need I remind you - a massive hole in the sky - not to go kill one another in duels because we cannot help insult one another. You two start fighting, and next I know the nearest templar thinks he should fight the closest mage. Then the nearest Fereldan dog-lord thinks he ought to teach some Chasind some manners. Then a foppish Marquis decides he ought to teach his neighbour a lesson, and before you can even blink the entire place is in tatters and we're all mining rocks for Vints while red lyrium takes over our bodies."

She kept her hands raised as she looked behind the two, a displeased expression on her face, nevertheless ready to reach for the blade hanging from her hip as soon as it'd be required. "Avvar, I do not know you, but perhaps it would be best to not insult people at first sight," she stated, before turning her head towards Darius," "And Darius, I know that they do the exact opposite of beating empathy into you at the Academie, but if you could please try and find some, rather than... whatever this display is..." She snorted, displeased. "Now, is there any way we can resolve this without violence...?" Natalie shot a quick glance away from the two towards the bartender Cabot, hoping he could offer some relief, but was unable to wait for a response for the Dwarf, her gaze quickly returning towards the Avvar and Orlesian that were about to come to serious blows.

[The Litan Imperium]

Darius Woldeau

Darius was fully ready to grab his armor and sword from the blacksmith and settle this dispute the way chevaliers had always done so. But before he could retrieve those items, Natalie stepped in to break up the disagreement. Her words about the purpose of both them , and the inquisition as a whole, was to stop several entities that posed a threat to the whole world. While he saw her description of a cascading breakdown of the Inquisition as a result of him putting down this savage woman as rather exaggerated, he still saw some truth to her words. Had others in the Inquisition seen him cut Svala down, there'd be a breakdown in camaraderie and cooperation between the in the Inquisition who hailed from conflicting parties. Then she moved on to addressing the two of them directly. She told Svala to refrain insulting others at first sight, granted Darius had cast the first, albeit indirect and somewhat unintentional, insult. She then told him to at least try and find some empathy, her understanding that the Academie did a rather poor job of teach things such as empathy and sympathy. Though Darius knew very well the danger and the threat of the red templars and could certainly empathize on that matter, he chose not to.

When Natalie proposed the two of them find some way to resolve this situation non violently, Darius certainly saw the logic in her words. Killing Svala here would be a very poor decision tactically, it would be better to simply let her live in order to make herself useful during a future mission for the group. And who knows? Maybe she'll be too slow and catch a fatal cut from a Venatori or red templar. . Despite Natalie having never earned her Yellow feather, her understanding of the Academie and it's teachings to the Chevaliers would have certainly earned her one.

"I certainly see your logic Natalie, though I assume you are aware how paramount both honor and defending one's honor when insulted or challenged is for our order. Nonetheless, I'll refrain from putting this savage down as she could be...Useful during future endeavors for the Inquisition. And I suppose my original statement could have somehow been interpreted as an underhanded insult, granted it was more of an observation." Darius uttered the last sentence in a snide tone while rolling his eyes before redirect himself towards Svala. "How about we agree to these terms. I won't speak or interact with you unless it is of tactical importance or is of the utmost urgency and all my potential contacts are exhausted or unavailable. I expect you to do the same, and I could care less what dirty or trying-to-be-intimidating looks you give me or obnoxious insults you cast upon me. Just bear in mind, it would be both hypocritical and futile to try and maintain any kind of moral high ground should you wish to partake in either of those activities."

Darius felt he should do something to make this look sincere, granted he truly didn't care and would be content with a duel to the death, and took his bloodstone mask off and revealed his face that only Cunoan saw, albeit accidentally. Upon placing it on the counter, Darius revealed both his face and the one feature he always tried to hide. His face had a few small scars and deep brown eyes, but the most noteworthy feature was the large port wine stain birthmark on the left half of his face. The large mark making half his face look almost purple, and was one of the main reasons he wore that mask. Darius then removed one of his gloves and extended a hand towards Svala. "I assume such terms are adequate?"

[Ormata]

Svala An Broatha O Skydda, Far-Flung

"I certainly see your logic Natalie, though I assume you are aware how paramount both honor and defending one's honor when insulted or challenged is for our order. Nonetheless, I'll refrain from putting this savage down as she could be...Useful during future endeavors for the Inquisition. And I suppose my original statement could have somehow been interpreted as an underhanded insult, granted it was more of an observation. How about we agree to these terms. I won't speak or interact with you unless it is of tactical importance or is of the utmost urgency and all my potential contacts are exhausted or unavailable. I expect you to do the same, and I could care less what dirty or trying-to-be-intimidating looks you give me or obnoxious insults you cast upon me. Just bear in mind, it would be both hypocritical and futile to try and maintain any kind of moral high ground should you wish to partake in either of those activities."

"I assume such terms are adequate?"

“I’ll…” the statement was paused, paused and paused as Svala swallowed the honor and pride. Of course he was baiting her, of course he was snidely insulting and cowardly insinuating. It’s what an Orlesian did out of impulse and nature, it was their way to be the rodent that screams as though it’s a bear, to think itself on a far higher pedestal than anything else. It was their way, their damned way, and yet Svala’s mind was drawn back to her first husband. Dead for he dared to fish, that was how he went, dead for he dared to fish in a river where there were fish. I’ve killed many for far less, isn’t that what he had said? Isn’t that what he had done? He’d tried to claim her son as a kill, as though it was a mere token of honor that he was willing to toss-about with little care. He’d tried to...hatred and hate, that’s all he’d tried to do, that’s all he did. It was in their nature to not understand and not care.

Perhaps he might be useful...perhaps. Perhaps as a shield, perhaps as a body to stack in the high walls when nothing else could be done. Perhaps as another footsoldier, save for one who thought he was far better. Perhaps, though, the Orlesian’s words that such duels would incite more and more, perhaps those words were right. Svala had come to aid them, to close that wound...perhaps battling for the honor of the dead would give their deaths no meaning, would take away the potential for the cause to succeed, and then where would it all be? Fighting for honor to merely rob them of their purpose in death, that was...that was dishonorable, most certainly so, in all ways, and that was unacceptable in all things. It couldn’t be allowed. It wouldn’t be allowed.

“I will not spill blood. But...not for your sake, “ she pointed at the man, “but for yours,” the hand drifted to the woman. “For your sake, for the Herald’s sake, for the Inquisition’s sake. For my sons and daughters, I swear to spill no blood save for the enemy’s, regardless of their...words. Their stink. Their tongues. To hold no duels and stab no backs. I swear to hold honor in this for as long as I stay with your cause, until the wound in the Lady in the Sky is closed and every putrid Red Templar and Venatorii is dead and gutted. I swear this by Forth, Mountain-Father, by Hakkon Wintersbreath, by Sigfrost.”

With that, she took the outstretched hand, shook once, and sat back down to her drink.

[The Litan Imperium]

Darius Woldeau

Darius slyly sneered and snickered at Svala's words and single handshake. How adorable, pulling the "I'm not doing this for you" routine that he had seen  in many theatrical performances. Personally Darius couldn't give a damn about her doing this for him, her dead savage of son, Natalie, or the Inquisition. So long as she kept her blade towards the enemy and away from Darius' back in some cowardly fashion, I don't really give a damn what her reasoning is for accepting this deal. But once the threats to all of Thedas are dealt with, I see that this is properly dealt with. "Whatever aids you sleeping at night Beautiful Darius said in a mocking tone, specifically the last word.

Darius personally thought she wouldn't keep to her promise. Darius affirmed to himself that if she ever did decide to make an attempt on him, he'd cut her down like the savage Fereldan dog that she was. Even still, there was a small part of him that was willing to give a chance to prove whether or not she was capable of keeping to her word.

Darius then donned his bloodstone mask before returning to his seat with the group he originally sat with. He then turned to Shae, who still seemed rather inebriated. "My apologies my Dalish acquaintance, normally I'd be more that willing to provide a duel for an audience. But Natalie raises several good points as to why that would be less than ideal." Darius then turned towards the dwarven bartender behind the counter. "Cabot, if I'm correct? A mug of your best mead, I could use something reasonably sweet right now." Darius dropped five crowns on the counter which the dwarf took before putting a mug under a barrel with a spigot. Liquid poured out and filled the mug which cabot placed in front of Darius. "Keep the change." Darius said before lifting the mug and taking a rather large swig. The mead was sweeter than he was used to, but he could tolerate it.

After taking a second swig, Darius directed himself towards Natalie. "I realize that it wasn't an apology, but for now we have something that could considered vaguely in the realm of peace. I trust that this is at least satisfactory."

[Theyra]

Keten Jarul

That was something that Keten did not expect to see today. A fight almost broke out in a tavern between Darius and some women. Bar fights were not new to him, heck he had been in a few. Being drunk helped with the pain sometimes and helped to cause said fights. He elected to stay out of it at first and continue to drink when the women started to exchange words with Darius. Waiting for the ones that heard to how life with the Inquisition has been treating them. For Keten things were good under the Inquisition, it was them that gave him a better purpose. Better then to simply live and die for gold for an everchanging amount of buyers. If the world was not in peril with the Tears and now the ancient darkspawn showing up and the Inquisition being formed to save the day. He does not know where he would be right now. Maybe still with the Blades or maybe helping out with the mages in the Mage-Templar war. That is something to think about though things took a turn in the tavern.

When it was clear that Daris and the women were to fight to maybe death. Keten was alarmed and preferred that someone does not die in the tavern. He was going to try and end in but, Natalie was first to defuse the situation. If Natalie did not succeed with ending the near fight, well one idea came to mind if words did not work. Keten is good with frost magic and he is used to trapping his enemies in place before striking. What is better to stop them from fighting than to freeze them in place until they agree to end things peacefully. Keten was glad that it did not have to come to that. They were on the same side and maybe he should keep his distance from this Avvar. The first thing she does after ordering a drink was to start a fight with Darius. If she was willing to start a fight that fast after seeing someone, perhaps it was best to not talk to her. He took the last sip of his drink and now he was feeling drunk. After what happened with Darius and the Avvar, he was done with drinking today. Keten got from his seat and before he left the tavern, he whispered to Natalie, "Nice job stopping those two boss". He then spoke to the group, "Now if anyone needs me, I will be.... somewhere that is green in the keep". With that, he left the tavern and walked to the garden.

[Tyrrhenis]

Willis Chalk

The young marcher lord sat and watched what he believed to be an impending fight quickly brew. He had recently come here, previously having done little more than help guard the crossroads near Redcliff from rogue templars and mages. Now however he had free time to spend enjoying some drinks, being as there were evidently more than enough common soldiers to watch places like the crossroads. He couldn't help feeling a little guilty hoping for a good fight between the two near the bar. Nothing came of it, and with what that woman Natalie had said while disrupting the fight before it even began, Willis honestly had to say he backed her point wholeheartedly. That wasn't to say he didn't feel a little more inclined to agree with the Avvar woman in her obvious anger at the Orlesian man. To make such a remark regarding her son as he had was more than a little low of a blow.

Still Willis wasn't about to go diving headlong into an argument between two strangers in the tavern, instead he felt more inclined to try and strike up a conversation with someone. In fact his first choice would have been the Qunari man, he had lived in Rivain for a time, and many Qunari, both those under the Qun, and living as Tal-Vashoth were common. Several even frequented his wife's shop before they had returned to Ansburg.


Willis distracted himself slightly with the brooding thoughts about wishing he had never returned to Ansburg. As he did so he sadly drank through his mug far quicker than intended and decided perhaps he should slow his pace and actually find someone to get to know. Maker knows how long he would be here before getting an assignment, hopefully one where he feels actually useful for once and not just another warm body.


Deciding to buy a drink for the woman actually responsible for preventing the debacle of a duel from ocurring in the middle of the tavern paying for a pair of mugs he stepped forward and offered one to the Orlesian woman hoping she accepted the offer of camraderie.

"Well done in keeping everyone in check, how the hell our well meaning bunch of rag tags are to properly make a difference I wouldn't know." He offered her cup with a friendly smile, though it did look a little goofy on the oversized human man.

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Natalie Rochette

And with that, the situation seemed to be rapidly deescalating, thank the Maker. She kept a close eye on Darius and the Avvar as the two... well, they didn't come to terms, as it were, but at least they agreed on not killing one another here and now, or for as long as the Inquisition's foes were out and about. The Avvar made it clear that she was doing this for her sake rather than that of Darius, and for that of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste. This suited the Orlesian just fine, and she gave a slight nod in response to it. Darius and Svala shook hands, and that seemed to be the end of that, snide remarks aside.

"It'll have to do," she responded to Darius, simply. A less hostile reconciliation would've been preferable, but this was far better than the alternative, at least. The Qunari, Keten, approached her - albeit briefly - to voice his approval before disappearing for apparently for quite literally greener pastures. Skyhold's garden, presumably, even if it wasn't in the best of states last time she'd seen it. With things quieting down, the Orlesian let out a light sigh in relief as she made to move back towards her spot by the bar counter, but found herself stopped in her tracks by a large man holding out a mug for her. While its contents seemed to not exactly be the thing she'd usually drink - or want to drink for that matter - she accepted it nevertheless. "Thank you," she responded, bowing her head slightly as she moved back to her spot, mug in hand.

"Well done in keeping everyone in check, how the hell our well meaning bunch of rag tags are to properly make a difference I wouldn't know." She shrugged at the comment, taking a drink - trying her best, and managing to, not pull a face at its taste. "Stranger things have happened throughout history, I am very certain," she responded. "Who knows? Maybe the people 'round here will be the ones to put an end to that Elder One himself. A dragon, mayhaps? Or both? Who knows. We did alright in Nevarra, at least." With another shrug, she took another drink from the mug. A mistake, even though she didn't show it - truly horrid, the stuff was! Natalie idly stared out in front of herself, longing for some proper wine.

[The Litan Imperium]

Darius Woldeau

After he finished saying his piece to Natalie, Darius also returned to his mug. He continued to drink from his mug of mead before he looked out the window to his right and saw an elf that he assumed to be a courier, the large satchel and him moving with a purpose being enough for him to make that assumption. He had several writings he needed brought to his family in Val Royeaux. Now would certainly be the best time to have these sent. He thought to himself before finishing his drink and walking out the door. As he was walking outside, he saw Keten making his way through the courtyard. Likely going towards the "somewhere that is green in the keep" he was referring to earlier.

"Hey! You, Elf! I've several documents that need brought to Val Royeaux." Darius had his writings rolled up and placed in a small pouch. They were mostly letters to several family members, namely his parents and two of his siblings. His youngest brother, Arthur, who is an aspiring Chevalier and one who greatly looks up to Darius. As well as his 3rd sister, Ophelia, who is a member of the Orlesian grey wardens and the only one of his sisters who relates to considering she left to become a warden while attending the Academie. The other document in the pouch, as well as the only that wasnt a letter to family, was a commission for a new weapon. Specifically a polearm to replace his sword and buckler that he admittedly was less skilled with. Darius handed the courier the pouch as well as four royals. "Deliver these letters to the Woldeau manor, I trust that this payment will be sufficient to get this to my family?"

"O-of course Ser, I'll see to it that they reach your family as soon as possible." The elf stammered out after taking both the pouch and coin. Darius waved him off and returned back to Herald's rest, him planning to get another mug of mead. Upon reaching the bar, Darius saw Natalie conversing with large brute of a man whose accent gave him away as Fereldan. After his...less than pleasant interaction with that avvar woman, Darius could do with some civilized interaction even if it was with a Fereldan. Darius approached the two of them, and figured he should limit himself to one flashy greeting per day.

"I do not believe we have met, stranger." Darius said in a voice that opposed his usual condescending and arrogant tone. "I'm sure you heard my name prior to this but I'd prefer to formally introduce myself to you, rather than you simply know my name by hearing it uttered in less than ideal circumstances. I am Ser Darius Clemont Woldeau, Chevalier normally in service to the Empress and currently on assignment with the Inquisition. I assume you only recently joined the Inquisition?" Darius then directed his attention towards Natalie. "Also Natalie, would you like for me to regale with the much more interesting and fabricated version of the story as to how I came into possession with my crossbow that I mention prior to us entering the Necropolis?"

[Tyrrhenis]

Willis Chalk

Willis smiled a friendly smile at Natalie took a couple drinks from the mug, he had a bit of a feeling it didn't quite fit her palette but she didn't show any dislike of the drink so perhaps he had biased impressions about those of 'finer' stock than himself. He wouldn't begrudge her either way honestly, he could no longer really afford anything better than what amounted to decent swill. The sort of stuff made for dulling your mind to relax rather than actually enjoying. That was largely the whole point of drinking if one asked him though, forget troubling things like regrets, or demons, or holes in the sky. At least for a time.

"Who knows? Maybe the people 'round here will be the ones to put an end to the Elder One himself. A dragon mayhaps? Or both? Who knows. We did alright in Nevarra, at least." That interested Willis. Sounded far more important than bland guard duty at the already secured crossroads that he had been doing prior to his time at skyhold. He wasn't one to get a swelled head typically, but still he couldn't help his abilities were better utilized doing whatever it was Natalie and her fellows of rag tags as he had chosen to nickname them.

"Hmm, what exactly was it you all got into up there? Sounds far more interesting than slapping around the occasional stray templar or rogue mage that strayed to close to the hinterland roads." Willis voiced his hope on hearing a story on what others in the inquisition had actually gotten to do since joining.

After asking that though the Orlesian man from earlier approached and politely introduced himself.

"I do not believe we have met, stranger. I'm sure you heard my name prior to this but I'd prefer to formally introduce myself to you, rather than you simply know my name by hearing it uttered in less than ideal circumstances. I am Ser Darius Clemont Woldeau, Chevalier normally in service to the Empress and currently on assignment with the Inquisition. I assume you only recently joined the Inquisition?" The last Chalk was surprised by the change in tone, but he quickly smiled a warm smile to the man before him. He couldn't begrudge someone of having bad blood with others. He knew perfectly well that if someone based their opinion of him off his interaction with members of the Maynard family back in Ansburg, well he would be easily dubbed a savage himself just as Darius had called the woman from earlier.

"A pleasure Ser, I'm Lord Willis Chalk formerly of Ansburg, currently of, well I guess currently of the inquisition." Willis's smile faltered a moment remembering the trials that had led him to join the inquisition in the first place. His free hand drifted up to the cord bearing the two wedding bands wrapped around his neck. "I suppose I am new compared to you all, though I joined shortly before the move to skyhold, I was lucky to be stationed near Redcliff when everyone was forced to move to skyhold. Far less important work than whatever it was you got into up in Nevarra I am sure. What's this about a Necropolis?" Willis couldn't help but be intrigued. He had never been to Nevarra but he had heard stories, a lot of folk balked at such thoughts as a city of graves, but as with many things Willis was more intrigued than he was frightened of such a thing.