wardenbrosca | Open post!

Brosca waves at her party to stop; Alistair, Morrigan, Zevran, and Shale all come to a halt, while Barkspawn stays at her side cautiously.

"Passing through." It's not an especially convincing lie, given her own face tattoos and the tattooed elf, golem, and Chasind-esque wilder with her, but she doesn't really care. The group is menacing enough that most people let them pass without asking too many questions. The fact that they aren't actually stupid enough to wear their Warden armor helps.

Hafter huffs in what might have been laugh, had he been a two-legged person rather than a four-legged one. Cousland entirely agrees with him: how many times have they heard that? Sometimes even from people who take two steps then attack. But she'll hand it to the other woman, mostly it's true. Occasionally just because the group plan on attacking the nearest target once out of sight of Cousland and her retainers, but a lot of the time...

A lot of the time, there's safety in numbers and arms. And she's not interested in provoking a fight where there's none to be immediately offered.

Cousland nods, as if accepting the dwarf woman's statement entirely. Then she lifts a hand and gestures behind them. "Anything you spotted that we'd appreciate a head's up on? Darkspawn, bandits, soldiers, hordes of dogs coming this way?"

... All right, so, maybe she's not fully recovered from her previous lightheadedness.

"Nothing worth reporting." There's blood on her boots. And caked in between Shale's crystals. "Anything we saw, we... spoke to. Sternly."

She makes a kind of sturgeon face before eyeing the human. "Anything we should know about? It feels like everywhere we go, there's some world-changingly huge fuck-off problem waiting to be fixed."

Blood and mud are common ornaments now - hell, Cousland herself is never getting the stains out of her left gauntlet or her own boots - but the blood on this party looks fresher. Not newly minted, nothing that isn't dry yet, but enough to give truth to the woman's words.

"As the teryna of Highever, you have my sincere thanks for that."

It's not empty words. Cousland is tired, and it shows. Her armour might have started off being of high quality, but this many months in, it's as dented and repaired as a common footsoldier. There are circles under her eyes and a fresh scar running across her jaw down, as if someone had tried to slit her throat but missed. The fresh-faced girl who promised daddy to look after the castle and Highever has vanished.

Then, Cousland smiles. She doesn't really mean to, but she can't help it. It's been a long, hard day in a string of long, hard days, but, Maker she understands the sentiments behind that ridiculous face.

"I think we're good here. I wouldn't object if you sent me Arl Howe's head in the post, but I wouldn't call that a huge fuck-off problem."

Zora smiles, but next to her Alistair's brow furrows in thought.

"Arl Howe? You- Maker's breath, you're Clarimond Cousland!"

At that, Brosca freezes, eyes widening. "Clari... oh, shit! You're the one that got away, aren't you? Duncan mentioned you!"

Edited 2018-02-07 22:19 (UTC)

Clarimond Marica Cousland, Acting Teryna of Highever, stares at them. The smile is gone as if it'd never lit up her face, and her eyes are hard. At the mention of 'Duncan', Hafter growls a little, shifting his bulky self a little forward in a gesture as protective as if he'd thrown himself in front of her.

"He never formally recruited me," Cousland says, a trifle languidly to hide her mental cursing. Well done, Clarie, you just had to say too much. "And as I have a duty here, here's where I am."

Behind her, Kay exchanges a startled look with Ser Matilda, but the knight herself just stays at her post, her hand now on her hilt instead of her belt.

"Um," Zora began. "He never said 'Rite of Conscription' to me either, but yeah, he recruited you."

Contrary to Cousland's people, Zora's party was still apparently relaxed, if alert. Zora herself wasn't acting as if this was anything other than a semantics debate.

"The Wardens need people, desperately. If the two of us bite it..."

Cousland regards Zora for a long, cool moment, then tilts her head slightly. It isn't birdlike so much as canine, the headtilt of a confused mabari.

"Formality, to those who have duties elsewhere, is an important part of the process. That's why there's the Rite, instead of just, 'hey, you, get over here'. So, no, he never recruited me. IN fact, I distinctly recall him telling my father that he wouldn't."

There's grief in her voice, grief and old, cold anger.

"On the other hand, I do have a very nice little fleet and it's not that far to the Free Marches from here. I, as teryna, could get word to the wardens there. I believe only the Orlesian border is closed?"

"That's correct, milady," Ser Matilda puts in. She's a woman twice her lady's age, and twice her size, but the deference isn't mocking in the slightest. A smidge, what are you planning now, but not mocking.

"There," Cousland says with a smile. "That could be arranged."

Edited 2018-02-07 23:16 (UTC)

Zora's eyes widen almost comically; she looks a bit like a bewildered person whose dreams are all coming true at once.

"Great shitting Stone, are you serious?" Behind her, Zevran gives a strangled cough that's meant to hide his laughter. "Holy- I mean- yes! I- yes. That- that'd be fine. You can stay here. That's fine. Why don't we talk? I think we should talk."

The words trip out of her like a stumbling rain of frantic almost-panic; the thought of real, actual Wardens coming to help is almost more than she can stand. On the one hand, this quest of theirs has been quite... something, and she's already grown enormously as a person since she left Orzammar. On the other hand, sodding fuck do they need Wardens.

Well, that was.... suspiciously easy. Cousland eyes the woman, and then her party to assess their expressions and reactions. The blond elf is laughing, and trying to hide it, which does more than the warden's own stage-performance shook in convincing her that this, actually, genuine.

She can work with this.

"I'm serious," she begins, then stops as the babbling keeps on going. Behind her, Kay snorts softly to himself in amusement.

"I think we should talk, too." She means it. Despite her digging in her heels about being a warden herself, she knows they are important, needed. She's killed enough darkspawn over the past months to know that. "Your people can either pitch in and help with the clean-up, or find something to drink at the barn. There's a loft we can use to have some privacy."

Hafter knocks into her, and she risks looking down at him. "Not you, silly, you're coming, too," she tells him, and the dog's tail wags twice in approval.

Zora can't help but smile at the dog, to which Barkspawn also relaxes, stepping forward and giving the other mabari a cautious sniff.

"Yeah, sure- we'll help out. Um, she probably won't," with a thumb jerked towards Morrigan, who crossed her arms and glared. "But the rest of us will. Oh, and that-" with a gesture to Shale, who was eyeballing the dogs. "-is Shale. Don't call her golem. If you ask nicely, she might help."

Here, Zora leaned in with a conspiratorial stage-whisper. "She's pretty good at lifting things."

"Really? How astounding," Cousland stage-whispers back before straightening and fixing the golem, Shale, with a genteel smile.

"Shale, would you be-" a pause as she hunts for the right word, "willing to help us move the wheat bushels? The faster everything is on wagons or inside, the faster we can-"

"Humph," says Shale. A little startled, Cousland eyes her and widens her smile hopefully.

"Um, yes, any help would be appreciated, thank you. And to the rest of you. If anyone asks, just say I sent you. And," this is directed at the wilder witch, "as I said, there's food and drink in that barn there."

It's not a feast, nor a celebration. But harvest time does mean food is on hand for hungry soldiers, even if their lady commander is strict on not eating people out of house and home.

Hoping she hadn't angered the hulking, sapient statue, Cousland looks quickly back at the warden. "If you'd follow me, Warden... uh, what was your name?"

"Brosca," she answered warily, shooting Shale a be nice look.

The golem sighed heavily. "Fine, yes, I shall do what it wants. It needs me to lift heavy things, yes? That its soft meaty bodies cannot manage? How shocking."

Zora said nothing, watching the other woman's. Even Morrigan held her tongue for the moment; seeing people's reactions to Shale was always too good.

Edited 2018-02-08 00:47 (UTC)

Dealing with golems, particularly with golems who were, well, like this, full of sass and dryness, had not part of Clarimond Cousland's deportment training. As excellent a hostess as her mother had been, not even Eleanor Mac Eanraig had conceived of this situation. And Cousland's eyes are a little wide around the edges.

There's another pause. A heartbeat, as she thinks. Hafter, picking up on his mistress's confusion, stops sniffing Barkspawn curiously to assess the situation.

"We would all be very grateful," Cousland says finally. "And I'm sure, if you found it fitting, we could gather some water to help clean your crystals."

"I suppose its offer is adequate," the golem allows, and Cousland lets out a very shallow breath in relief.

"I'm glad. All right, Warden Brosca, if you'd follow me?"

Quickly, before anything else pops up to spin her tired mind into trying to handle it, Cousland turns on her heel and strides back towards the farm's buildings. Hopefully she handled that correctly. Her father spoke a golem owned by a mage during the Rebellion, but he hadn't mentioned anything about a personality. Or discussion about soft, meaty bodies, which frankly is just disturbing.

Ugh, meat. She's get rather sick of the smell of it.

She leads Brosca to the barn, and then climbs up into the loft. Hafter navigates the slanted ladder with the grudging ease of a wardog who has had to spend a fair amount of time with ladders, but still finds them ridiculous. There are hay bales up in the loft, but also a table, a small chest, and tossed blankets and furs around. Cousland herself just sits down, heavily, on a bale covered with sheepskin and rests her head back against a beam.

"There's really only the two of you left, after Ostagar?"

"Be happy to. Shale, be nice, please, and no pigeon-crushing in front of children. You three, go with her to remind people to say please." Shale goes off with some of the villagers, with Sten, Leliana, and Wynne tagging along as variably helpful go-betweens. Zevran, Morrigan, and Alistair accompany Zoralin to follow their new ally.

The biggest problem is Barkspawn's difficulty with the ladder. Zora helps him up with some coaxing (using his ridiculous-ass name out loud once or twice) and they all settle in relatively comfortably. Hell, hay bales and blankets are a damn sight better than the cold-ass ground under their thin bedrolls and tents.

Once settled, Zoralin considers the teyrna's question solemnly, Alistair bowing his head in grief and anger. "Yep. The king had the rest of the Wardens out on the front lines. We were lighting a beacon when Loghain fucked off."

Only half aware of what she's doing, Cousland strokes Hafter's big head on her thigh and turns over Brosca's words in her head. She's trying to tease out the meaning, the implications. Oh, she'd heard some of this already, from refugees and deserting soldiers who'd either come home or wound up in her territory. But this, this is worse than what she'd imagined.

All the wardens, gone. Except for the two in front of her. All of them. None, none held in reserve in case the others died. It hadn't been a last, desperate battle, it'd been chosen and decided and damn Cailan to oblivion. She'd been infatuated with him when younger, just before and just after he'd been king. He'd been golden and glamorous, slap you on the back and call for another tankard of ale to celebrate whatever little thing you'd done. Then she'd grown, and found that he hadn't. Now, she doesn't really know what to say without running her mouth.

Why had Cailan done that? Why had Duncan allowed it? Why, oh why had Loghain wanted this to happen?

"I'd heard about the beacon," is what she finally manages. "You did well, from what I heard. Did..."

She has to ask. She has to.

"Did any of you hear of Fergus Cousland? My brother? He went with our main forces before-" before Howe killed us all. "We haven't heard from him since."

Alistair, voice still clouded with his grief, briefly lifts his head. "He might have been on patrol. But there were a lot of nobles in camp..."

He didn't need to finish. To them, Fergus would have just been one more noble amongst the rest. Why keep track of him? Unless Duncan had wanted to tell him of what happened, but after how the man had forced her father to give her up, she doesn't think that well of the man.

Cousland presses her lips together and nods. "Thank you. Shit. I'd thought there was more of you out there all this time."

Edited 2018-02-08 02:20 (UTC)

Barkspawn lays his huge head in her lap for Zora to stroke. "So you get why we're desperate."

Morrigan pipes up, voicing the unspoken thought in the room. "This king of yours sounds like a blasted fool, and the calamity may well lay on his detached head as well as this man Loghain's."

Alistair and Zora both shoot her looks at that, but Brosca doesn't disagree. Cailan was a damned fool. Nobody underestimates the darkspawn and lives. "That nug-licker in Denerim sent a sodding Crow after us."

Behind them, Zevran waves helpfully.

"He was my king." This is said to Morrigan, but blandly. A statement of fact. Any stress on the word 'was' is, clearly, entirely the figment of the listener's imagination, and most certainly does not count as agreement to the insult. Clearly.

Cousland looks again at Zevran, and his helpful wave makes her smirk, just a little. "Well, at least he's a pretty Crow. It doesn't do to be assassinated by ugly people. Uh," moving on.

"Like I said, I'm more than happy to help you send a message to the Free Marches. I control most of the northern coastline now, and I do have ships. If we use one of my aunt's crew, I can guarantee that they'll land, and come back with whomever they find." It's always the coming back which is the trick, but the Mac Eanraig's are a stubborn, loyal clan.

"A sentiment we share, my golden-haired teyrna," Zevran smiles, face suddenly radiating like a tiny damned sun. Zora shoots him a small glance of down, boy before they move on.

"How long will it take?" She and Alistair scoot in a little, eager to get down to brass tacks. "We don't have very long before the horde starts closing in on Denerim, and we're still gathering forces for a proper army."

That makes her smirk widen, and for a moment she looks more like the Clarimond of old, the flirtatious young lady who joked about having multiple husbands with her Antivan sister-in-law.

Then it's gone. Back to serious matters, not the charming dance of seduction and fun. Although, Maker, she misses it. Now when she flirts, it's to charm alliances and resources out of her nobles and merchants without ever, actually, promising her hand.

"It depends on where the nearest wardens are," she says, eyes a little distant as she mentally views the map of Waking Sea and its surrounds. "Potentially a month, maybe a little more. Maybe less." Inwardly, she's wishing she'd run into this group earlier. She could have had the wardens here by now.

"I might be able to get send a message to Jader, as well, but if the Orlesian wardens haven't made themselves heard by now... " Well, her first thought is that they were cowards who weren't doing their damn duty. Her second:

"I'm not sure if they want to break the closed border, even if sneaking in a smuggler's way."

Alistair and Cousland talk for a while about Wardens, about logistics, and where to send the message to. Meanwhile, Morrigan, Zevran, and Zora break into some apples they'd picked earlier that day from an abandoned farmhold.

Eventually, once it seems that the people who actually KNOW things are done talking, Zora holds an apple out: shiny-green, ripe, and perfect.

"Everything all figured out?"

Brosca's party weren't the only ones to have gotten bored. Eventually, Hafter slid off his chosen bale to sit before Brosca and stare at her. And at the apple. And at Brosca again. And at the apple. There are giant puppy eyes, conveying just how little he'd been fed in his entire life and how he is wasting away in this dark, cruel, foodless world.

Leaving the all-too-familiar looking Alistair to write the message at the little table, Cousland nods at Brosca and then lifts her hands in a 'catch' position.

"It is. Once Warden Alistair has finished writing, I'll send it off straight away."

Zoralin tossed the apple to Cousland but couldn't help laughing at Hafter's plight- especially with Barkspawn right next to him, mirroring the hound's obvious suffering.

"Alright, you great sodding oafs, alright, fine." Zora pulled a small dagger from her topknot (her last-resort weapon, as it were), just dull enough to not harm her hair, and sliced off a piece for each mabari. "Here. Hey, hey- gentle... good boy." Repeat for Barkspawn.

Before she knew it, the slender dwarf girl had two enormous mabari on top of her, licking her and nosing at her while she sputtered and protested.

Cousland laughs. She can't help it. She's battleweary and frightened, and the big wardogs are acting like wonderful, eager little puppies. She laughs, a true honest laugh, and it's a sound that hasn't been heard in months. Certainly, Hafter is overjoyed to hear it, and immediately leaps off Brosca to launch himself at his mistress, giving her a sloppy lick.

"Ew, thank you, pup," she says in mock-disapproval. "Don't smother the warden, it's impolite."

Impolite it might have been, but it's a moment of niceness. She wonders how old Brosca is: no older than her self, she's sure.

For the record, Brosca is younger than Cousland. She's younger than everyone in the party, and frequently wonders why the hell she's leading a bunch of grown-ass adults older than her. Forgetting, as always, that she is also technically a grown-ass adult.

Right now, she doesn't feel like it. Barkspawn is on top of her, licking at her tattoos as if he could lick them off, and his breath smells like blood and apples. She roughs his ears, scratching at his head almost aggressively, just the way he likes it. Eventually she does have to get up (hoisting herself up on Barkspawn's collar) and return to the conversation at hand.

"So I guess I should ask you if you've seen any knights of Redcliffe around."

Open post!

five person party because f u bioware

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the rest of the party members have appeared from nowhere

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gratuitous dog tag

dogs are never gratuitous. this is ferelden!

she's going native

join us, zora, we have puppies

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