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Jul. 27th, 2016 02:56 pmWell that had been some shit.
Bull contemplated the heavy pewter mug in front of him, listening to the sounds of the tavern. Skyhold was abuzz since they had returned from their latest mission, one that involved discovering an entire temple of ancient elves, and Corypheus's true origins. One that set another stone in the path forward, whatever it would look like.
He hadn't seen Dorian since they got back, and it occurred to him to go looking for the Vint. Maybe there had been rumors and suspicions all along that Corypheus had once been a magister, but to know it for sure must have been a blow. He had a feeling Dorian, in all his researching, might have been hoping to find out it was just a rumor, that Tevinter had not set the world on a path toward doom. It wasn't something he wanted to spend much time thinking about, either. So far the Inquisition had kept the darkness at bay. Maybe they really would defeat it.
He had letters to write, too. The Ben-Hassrath were waiting for his report, and sending one from the field had been too much of a chore; he felt too heavy, too tired, and both of those were dangerous. They were faint whispers of something he'd once felt in Seheron. Ever since the Chargers died something had settled in him: he was Qunari, he was Hissrad, and that was all, whatever else he might do.
Another look around the tavern. Sera was about to fall over and the Inquisitor was looking grave. Still no Dorian. Maybe finding him would give an excuse to sort out their heads. Or to just get out of them for a while.
Alright, a few more drinks and if Dorian still hadn't appeared, then he'd go root him out.
Unfortunately, a few more drinks put him on the floor.
Bull groaned quietly. His head felt like the inside of a temple bell and his body stiff from passing out on the floor. He came to slowly, listening, smelling. He... was not in the tavern. Had someone (several of them) managed to drag him somewhere else? He opened his eye, trying to get a look around without moving too much. Eventually he grunted, forcing himself into a sitting position. No, this was not the tavern,a nd not anywhere that looked or felt familiar.
He rubbed his head, itched the root of one horn. Alright. He could handle this.
Bull contemplated the heavy pewter mug in front of him, listening to the sounds of the tavern. Skyhold was abuzz since they had returned from their latest mission, one that involved discovering an entire temple of ancient elves, and Corypheus's true origins. One that set another stone in the path forward, whatever it would look like.
He hadn't seen Dorian since they got back, and it occurred to him to go looking for the Vint. Maybe there had been rumors and suspicions all along that Corypheus had once been a magister, but to know it for sure must have been a blow. He had a feeling Dorian, in all his researching, might have been hoping to find out it was just a rumor, that Tevinter had not set the world on a path toward doom. It wasn't something he wanted to spend much time thinking about, either. So far the Inquisition had kept the darkness at bay. Maybe they really would defeat it.
He had letters to write, too. The Ben-Hassrath were waiting for his report, and sending one from the field had been too much of a chore; he felt too heavy, too tired, and both of those were dangerous. They were faint whispers of something he'd once felt in Seheron. Ever since the Chargers died something had settled in him: he was Qunari, he was Hissrad, and that was all, whatever else he might do.
Another look around the tavern. Sera was about to fall over and the Inquisitor was looking grave. Still no Dorian. Maybe finding him would give an excuse to sort out their heads. Or to just get out of them for a while.
Alright, a few more drinks and if Dorian still hadn't appeared, then he'd go root him out.
Unfortunately, a few more drinks put him on the floor.
Bull groaned quietly. His head felt like the inside of a temple bell and his body stiff from passing out on the floor. He came to slowly, listening, smelling. He... was not in the tavern. Had someone (several of them) managed to drag him somewhere else? He opened his eye, trying to get a look around without moving too much. Eventually he grunted, forcing himself into a sitting position. No, this was not the tavern,a nd not anywhere that looked or felt familiar.
He rubbed his head, itched the root of one horn. Alright. He could handle this.
