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((Guardian, 9:41; at sea between Jader and Val Royeaux))
‘Herald of Andraste’ was a grand-sounding title, and at first glance, its bearer was no less impressive, from her height to her broad shoulders to her horns, which, while not as large as Gideon’s, were still formidable. But if Sati Adaar believed all of the breathless rumors being spread about her, whether the Maker’s chosen or a heretic leading the gullible astray, she gave no hint of it.
Quiet and serious, she largely kept her mouth shut and her eyes open as the dark haired Nevarran woman attempted to renegotiate the bargain that Celeste had struck with Varric, evidently operating on the assumption that they should be donating their services to aid the noble cause of the Inquisition. Which was all well and good, except that paying jobs were few and far between these days, and she never knew when she was going to have to take on a boatload of terrified people to get them away from demons and keep them fed until she could drop them off somewhere safe. And it wasn’t as though she were gouging them on the price; passage for four on a voyage that barely took sunrise to sunset and shaved better than a week off the journey overland wasn’t going to break anybody’s budget, but it still took a bit of haggling before a fee was agreed on and the Herald, Varric, Cassandra Sodding Pentaghast and a bald elven apostate with odd taste in fashion accessories boarded and they cast off.
The elf - Solas, as he had solemnly introduced himself (Varric called him Chuckles)- almost immediately vanished into one of the two cabins they had paid for. Princess Grumpy-ass strode the deck scowling, while Varric stationed himself in the galley, as far from the ocean as he could get. Celeste had resigned herself to a long day’s sail when Sati had upchucked half an hour under way, but there had been no recurrences, and she kept to the rail, her pensive gaze on the horizon and her hands holding only slightly more tightly than normal to the wood.
“Been at sea often?” Celeste asked as she approached. The seas were good and the winds favorable; she’d turned the helm over to Dax once they were at sea. Gideon hung back; coiling rope in the shade of the fo’c’sle. He’d taken Varric’s warnings against flirting to heart, but he was curious, and Celeste couldn’t blame him. She could count the number of female Tal-Vashoth she’d seen on one hand with fingers left over, and never up close. And none of the others had sported a glowing green … whatever on one hand.
‘Herald of Andraste’ was a grand-sounding title, and at first glance, its bearer was no less impressive, from her height to her broad shoulders to her horns, which, while not as large as Gideon’s, were still formidable. But if Sati Adaar believed all of the breathless rumors being spread about her, whether the Maker’s chosen or a heretic leading the gullible astray, she gave no hint of it.
Quiet and serious, she largely kept her mouth shut and her eyes open as the dark haired Nevarran woman attempted to renegotiate the bargain that Celeste had struck with Varric, evidently operating on the assumption that they should be donating their services to aid the noble cause of the Inquisition. Which was all well and good, except that paying jobs were few and far between these days, and she never knew when she was going to have to take on a boatload of terrified people to get them away from demons and keep them fed until she could drop them off somewhere safe. And it wasn’t as though she were gouging them on the price; passage for four on a voyage that barely took sunrise to sunset and shaved better than a week off the journey overland wasn’t going to break anybody’s budget, but it still took a bit of haggling before a fee was agreed on and the Herald, Varric, Cassandra Sodding Pentaghast and a bald elven apostate with odd taste in fashion accessories boarded and they cast off.
The elf - Solas, as he had solemnly introduced himself (Varric called him Chuckles)- almost immediately vanished into one of the two cabins they had paid for. Princess Grumpy-ass strode the deck scowling, while Varric stationed himself in the galley, as far from the ocean as he could get. Celeste had resigned herself to a long day’s sail when Sati had upchucked half an hour under way, but there had been no recurrences, and she kept to the rail, her pensive gaze on the horizon and her hands holding only slightly more tightly than normal to the wood.
“Been at sea often?” Celeste asked as she approached. The seas were good and the winds favorable; she’d turned the helm over to Dax once they were at sea. Gideon hung back; coiling rope in the shade of the fo’c’sle. He’d taken Varric’s warnings against flirting to heart, but he was curious, and Celeste couldn’t blame him. She could count the number of female Tal-Vashoth she’d seen on one hand with fingers left over, and never up close. And none of the others had sported a glowing green … whatever on one hand.