Zoralin Brosca (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wardenbrosca) wrote2018-02-06 09:55 pm
wardenbrosca) wrote2018-02-06 09:55 pm
Open post!
Open to pretty much anything! I can noodle around with AUs, too. I love me some AUdling.
Open to pretty much anything! I can noodle around with AUs, too. I love me some AUdling.
The skirmishes are getting easier and harder. Easier because she and her followers are more experienced than when the Blight started, because they were able to learn from their mistakes and build up enough allies and systems to recruit more people, to establish watchers and warnings, to at least get some training in. She's holding a significant portion of the Coastlands now, and there are safe areas, there are still farms untouched by civil war and darkspawn.
But it's harder than before, too. It's harvest time, and they need every morsel of food they can get. The flood of refugees from the south has only ever increased as the months have rolled on, and while some continue fleeing into the Free Marches most stay. They need space, food, and Cousland can't lose any of the ground she's gained otherwise she and her people are going to be... Well, they are going to be in trouble. Which she knows. She knows her history, and she's been reading up on it even more whenever she visits a friendly castle or fortress, or grabs a fleeing scholar. Blights last years. Blights devastate everything. Blights kill millions of people. Blights involve a lot of calling stalemates victories because the alternative is giving up.
Cousland's exhausted. Her twentieth birthday had been spent digging trenches and laying in stakes as defences for a little farming hamlet who technically gave their allegiance to a bann fighting for Loghain the Usurper. She hadn't asked for loyalty in exchange, just for neutrality and to please, let her help. So far, they'd been good to their word and it is from them that she'd received the warning for today's darkspawn raid.
(At least that is working, her growing network of warnings and messengers on fast ponies.)
It'd been a hard raid, to the point where in her post-fighting light-headedness she's wondering if she could petition anyone to call it a battle. Just a little battle. Later, it can be an historical footnote, but today it'd felt like a hard-worn victory and Maker only knows that they all need more of them. The Battle of Lily's Hill has a charming ring to it. Maybe she'll declare it so later, just to give everyone something to smile at while they rise their tankards and try and forget the stench of burning darkspawn. Cousland isn't sure if burning is the right course of action, but she has long since reasoned that it cannot hurt. Darkspawn are tainted and fire cleanses.
The rising smoke and smell from the pyres are distracting, and her exhaustion doesn't help, and if it wasn't for Hafter by her side, she might have missed Silk's appearance. As it is, she's struggling to sit up on the hay bale when the elf rushes up to her.
"My lady! My lady, a party is approaching. Four, maybe five. Armed and armoured. One's a- a moving statue."
Cousland blinks.
"A golem?" she asks, once she comprehends.
Silk makes a face and nods. "Aye, that's the name. Lead by a dwarf, too. Has a marbari."
"A dwarf, you say? Hmm. All right, Silk, give everyone a head's up, perimeter first, but I want everyone gathering in that wheat to stay there unless it's serious. Understood?"
Silk bobs her head and dashes off with the confident speed of someone wears a noble's colours and isn't afraid to use them. Cousland doesn't watch her go; she's too busy thinking. Curse it, is this the wardens? Ordinarily, she'd be glad to see them - any fool could see that the treason charge was trumped up, and wardens are what is needed when a Blight is going on. But she remembers that blighted Duncan forcing a promise from her dying father, and there's an element of dread settling into her bones. But she hasn't gotten this far without running away without tactics, so as Hafter warbles and grumbles to himself by her side, Cousland hauls herself up to her feet, slings her shield over her back, and walks out towards the King's Highway to greet the party.
She's not alone, for Kay and Ser Matilda peel off to flank her and keep watch, and she has Hafter by her side, but she feels alone. Tired and alone.
Hopefully, none of that shows when she lifts her hand and raises her voice.
"Ho there! Care to state your business?" Carefully, there's no challenge there. It's dangerous time, and a woman has a right to ask who armoured people are when they approach. Particularly a woman with a sword and a mabari.
But it's harder than before, too. It's harvest time, and they need every morsel of food they can get. The flood of refugees from the south has only ever increased as the months have rolled on, and while some continue fleeing into the Free Marches most stay. They need space, food, and Cousland can't lose any of the ground she's gained otherwise she and her people are going to be... Well, they are going to be in trouble. Which she knows. She knows her history, and she's been reading up on it even more whenever she visits a friendly castle or fortress, or grabs a fleeing scholar. Blights last years. Blights devastate everything. Blights kill millions of people. Blights involve a lot of calling stalemates victories because the alternative is giving up.
Cousland's exhausted. Her twentieth birthday had been spent digging trenches and laying in stakes as defences for a little farming hamlet who technically gave their allegiance to a bann fighting for Loghain the Usurper. She hadn't asked for loyalty in exchange, just for neutrality and to please, let her help. So far, they'd been good to their word and it is from them that she'd received the warning for today's darkspawn raid.
(At least that is working, her growing network of warnings and messengers on fast ponies.)
It'd been a hard raid, to the point where in her post-fighting light-headedness she's wondering if she could petition anyone to call it a battle. Just a little battle. Later, it can be an historical footnote, but today it'd felt like a hard-worn victory and Maker only knows that they all need more of them. The Battle of Lily's Hill has a charming ring to it. Maybe she'll declare it so later, just to give everyone something to smile at while they rise their tankards and try and forget the stench of burning darkspawn. Cousland isn't sure if burning is the right course of action, but she has long since reasoned that it cannot hurt. Darkspawn are tainted and fire cleanses.
The rising smoke and smell from the pyres are distracting, and her exhaustion doesn't help, and if it wasn't for Hafter by her side, she might have missed Silk's appearance. As it is, she's struggling to sit up on the hay bale when the elf rushes up to her.
"My lady! My lady, a party is approaching. Four, maybe five. Armed and armoured. One's a- a moving statue."
Cousland blinks.
"A golem?" she asks, once she comprehends.
Silk makes a face and nods. "Aye, that's the name. Lead by a dwarf, too. Has a marbari."
"A dwarf, you say? Hmm. All right, Silk, give everyone a head's up, perimeter first, but I want everyone gathering in that wheat to stay there unless it's serious. Understood?"
Silk bobs her head and dashes off with the confident speed of someone wears a noble's colours and isn't afraid to use them. Cousland doesn't watch her go; she's too busy thinking. Curse it, is this the wardens? Ordinarily, she'd be glad to see them - any fool could see that the treason charge was trumped up, and wardens are what is needed when a Blight is going on. But she remembers that blighted Duncan forcing a promise from her dying father, and there's an element of dread settling into her bones. But she hasn't gotten this far without running away without tactics, so as Hafter warbles and grumbles to himself by her side, Cousland hauls herself up to her feet, slings her shield over her back, and walks out towards the King's Highway to greet the party.
She's not alone, for Kay and Ser Matilda peel off to flank her and keep watch, and she has Hafter by her side, but she feels alone. Tired and alone.
Hopefully, none of that shows when she lifts her hand and raises her voice.
"Ho there! Care to state your business?" Carefully, there's no challenge there. It's dangerous time, and a woman has a right to ask who armoured people are when they approach. Particularly a woman with a sword and a mabari.
Edited 2018-02-07 04:58 (UTC)
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.
"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.
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."
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."
[alistair's giving them one night's rest after the Ritual Tower before they go take Griffon Wing's Keep. sounds like the perfect time to ~chat~!]
There's a lot of hustle and bustle that night, and a LOT of Zora ordering the freed mage-Wardens around like scullery maids, which lifts her spirits considerably. People set up camp, somehow food happens, and still the Champion and the Hero haven't crossed paths.
After dinner, just before sunset, Zora sets Barkspawn to the job of mage-sitting. To her surprise, the Champion's mabari joins him, and Zora smirkingly leaves the mage-Wardens sitting on a log with two large war-hounds glaring at them.
She finds the woman at the edge of camp, watching the Western Approach's spectacular sunset.
"Ten years outta Orzammar and I still can't get over seeing that every night." Zora leans against the other side of the same ruined pillar. "Zoralin Brosca."
Pause. She realizes the obviousness of what she just said. Introducing herself to a Ferelden? So the dwarf sarcastically adds, "Hero of Ferelden. Nice to meet you."
There's a lot of hustle and bustle that night, and a LOT of Zora ordering the freed mage-Wardens around like scullery maids, which lifts her spirits considerably. People set up camp, somehow food happens, and still the Champion and the Hero haven't crossed paths.
After dinner, just before sunset, Zora sets Barkspawn to the job of mage-sitting. To her surprise, the Champion's mabari joins him, and Zora smirkingly leaves the mage-Wardens sitting on a log with two large war-hounds glaring at them.
She finds the woman at the edge of camp, watching the Western Approach's spectacular sunset.
"Ten years outta Orzammar and I still can't get over seeing that every night." Zora leans against the other side of the same ruined pillar. "Zoralin Brosca."
Pause. She realizes the obviousness of what she just said. Introducing herself to a Ferelden? So the dwarf sarcastically adds, "Hero of Ferelden. Nice to meet you."
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."
"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!"
"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)
Hawke doesn't want to be here. It hasn't been obvious, except to those who know her, which means Varric. But she's been alone for the past few years, and she's out of the habit of being surrounded by lots of people. She's even more out of the habit of being surrounded by people who actually know who she is, and that's just how she wants it.
Fortunately it's easier to keep a low profile with the Hero of Ferelden and her friends wandering around being...heroic. No unsung heroes, these, and the Inquisition's minstrels have brought out all the songs to prove it.
She's glad. It makes it easier for one scarred woman and her dog to blend in to the back a little. Or a lot.
But of course there are those who know damn well who she is, and it's no surprise when Zoralin Brosca, both famous and infamous (like Hawke herself, come to that), eventually seeks her out. Hawke barely flicks her gaze away from the sunset to see who's joined her. "Sorry," she drawls. "I'm afraid I've never heard of you."
The ironic grin makes the comment funny instead of insultingly stupid, hopefully.
Fortunately it's easier to keep a low profile with the Hero of Ferelden and her friends wandering around being...heroic. No unsung heroes, these, and the Inquisition's minstrels have brought out all the songs to prove it.
She's glad. It makes it easier for one scarred woman and her dog to blend in to the back a little. Or a lot.
But of course there are those who know damn well who she is, and it's no surprise when Zoralin Brosca, both famous and infamous (like Hawke herself, come to that), eventually seeks her out. Hawke barely flicks her gaze away from the sunset to see who's joined her. "Sorry," she drawls. "I'm afraid I've never heard of you."
The ironic grin makes the comment funny instead of insultingly stupid, hopefully.
Zora snorts unattractively and starts cleaning her nails with the tiny dagger normally nestled in her topknot. It's just dull enough to not accidentally cut her hair, making for a great toothpick or nail-cleaner-thing.
"Y'know, the book made me think you'd be eight feet tall and glowing. Or... covered in gravy."
"Y'know, the book made me think you'd be eight feet tall and glowing. Or... covered in gravy."
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.
"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.
Hawke does chuckle at that. As will Varric, when she tells him later. "The songs made me think you'd be ten foot tall, able to juggle ten swords at once while also throwing six at darkspawn, and riding on a rabid bronto while screaming war cries at the top of your lungs." She gives Zoralin a brief but obvious once-over. "I'm disappointed. You look like you could only juggle eight swords."
"Don't worry," she snarks. "My tits juggle the other two."
Damn, Zora likes her already. At least something from the bloody book was true- the wit.
Damn, Zora likes her already. At least something from the bloody book was true- the wit.
"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..."
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..."
"Right, I should have guessed that. Obvious, really."
Hawke straightens up, sighs a little, rolls one shoulder. Maker, she's getting older. These days she can feel it. She juts her chin towards the sunset. "I can't say much for the desert, but I'll give it this: that sunset is pretty blighted glorious." Brief pause. "Bodahn told me a bit about you, of course. And Sandal, Sandal was particularly eloquent."
Enchantment all the way. And spiky. Hawke was pretty sure that hadn't been referring to the weaponry.
Hawke straightens up, sighs a little, rolls one shoulder. Maker, she's getting older. These days she can feel it. She juts her chin towards the sunset. "I can't say much for the desert, but I'll give it this: that sunset is pretty blighted glorious." Brief pause. "Bodahn told me a bit about you, of course. And Sandal, Sandal was particularly eloquent."
Enchantment all the way. And spiky. Hawke was pretty sure that hadn't been referring to the weaponry.
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."
"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)
"Bodahn told me all about you, too," Zora replies, pausing her nail-cleaning regimen to appreciate the sunset. "We still correspond, actually."
Which makes for a great segue into a fucking terrible conversation. She sighs, expression tightening visibly.
"Which actually- there's something I need to- a few somethings I need to tell you." Another sigh, and she kicks a small pebble a little too intensely, as if the small rock had somehow offended her. Then she blows a stray hair out of her eyes and meets the human's gaze tersely. "I knew where they were. Not the whole time, but almost."
Which makes for a great segue into a fucking terrible conversation. She sighs, expression tightening visibly.
"Which actually- there's something I need to- a few somethings I need to tell you." Another sigh, and she kicks a small pebble a little too intensely, as if the small rock had somehow offended her. Then she blows a stray hair out of her eyes and meets the human's gaze tersely. "I knew where they were. Not the whole time, but almost."
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.
"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.
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.
Hawke looks a little nonplussed. "Bodahn and Sandal? I wasn't aware that was--"
Her voice trails off as the copper drops. This isn't about Bodahn and Sandal. It's about who else's location Zora would have known about. The other acquaintance they have--had--in common.
By the time she speaks again, Hawke's face is blank. "Well. This should be good."
For a value of good meaning impressively shit, obviously.
Her voice trails off as the copper drops. This isn't about Bodahn and Sandal. It's about who else's location Zora would have known about. The other acquaintance they have--had--in common.
By the time she speaks again, Hawke's face is blank. "Well. This should be good."
For a value of good meaning impressively shit, obviously.
Acquaintances. Zora said them on purpose.
Her gaze turns away, towards the ground. "Bodahn said they moved in with you. Anders was- happy. I could've gone into Kirkwall and pulled them out, I should've, I should've helped them, but I thought..."
She shakes her head sadly. "He told me once that all he ever wanted was a warm bed, a pretty girl, and the right to shoot lightning at fools."
There you have it, Hawke. The Warden-Commander left Anders and Justice alone because of you. Because she thought you were making them happy.
"Anyway. I caught up with them last year."
Her gaze turns away, towards the ground. "Bodahn said they moved in with you. Anders was- happy. I could've gone into Kirkwall and pulled them out, I should've, I should've helped them, but I thought..."
She shakes her head sadly. "He told me once that all he ever wanted was a warm bed, a pretty girl, and the right to shoot lightning at fools."
There you have it, Hawke. The Warden-Commander left Anders and Justice alone because of you. Because she thought you were making them happy.
"Anyway. I caught up with them last year."
Edited 2018-02-08 00:14 (UTC)
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."
"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."
Hawke doesn't think of Anders and Justice as them, not least because Anders himself was always so adamant that there was no division anymore, they were intertwined. To her mind it was both true and inaccurate. And, these days, moot.
Or not.
She doesn't move. She stares back at the sunset. It's a nice sunset. Maybe that will help. "How bad was he?"
Or not.
She doesn't move. She stares back at the sunset. It's a nice sunset. Maybe that will help. "How bad was he?"
"Them." It's almost snapped, almost sighed. "They were... a fucking mess. You don't... you really don't want to know."
Judging by the haunting, hunted look in her eyes, Hawke really doesn't. From Anders' conversations about Zora, they had been friends. The woman who once annulled a Circle had seemed interested in what he had to say, and had been changing her mind about magic in general. They'd gotten on like a house on fire, wit and wiles melding seamlessly. Zora was a loyal commander who took personal responsibility in the well-being of her men. The situation with the Wardens only broke down when Zora left for Orzammar.
"Anders... wanted you to have something."
Zoralin reached into her cloak and produced a small pouch, a battered leather thing that had very clearly endured a lot of travel, and looked very old. She picked through it, pulling a couple things out- a dwarven coin with a hole bored through it, a magically preserved rose, an earring, a shoelace, a small crystal. Finally, she pulled out something carefully wrapped in cloth, and put all the other keepsakes back in. The Warden handed it to Hawke without looking at her, leaving the other woman to unwrap it.
A Tevinter Chantry amulet.
Judging by the haunting, hunted look in her eyes, Hawke really doesn't. From Anders' conversations about Zora, they had been friends. The woman who once annulled a Circle had seemed interested in what he had to say, and had been changing her mind about magic in general. They'd gotten on like a house on fire, wit and wiles melding seamlessly. Zora was a loyal commander who took personal responsibility in the well-being of her men. The situation with the Wardens only broke down when Zora left for Orzammar.
"Anders... wanted you to have something."
Zoralin reached into her cloak and produced a small pouch, a battered leather thing that had very clearly endured a lot of travel, and looked very old. She picked through it, pulling a couple things out- a dwarven coin with a hole bored through it, a magically preserved rose, an earring, a shoelace, a small crystal. Finally, she pulled out something carefully wrapped in cloth, and put all the other keepsakes back in. The Warden handed it to Hawke without looking at her, leaving the other woman to unwrap it.
A Tevinter Chantry amulet.
"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?"
"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?"
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