- Posts
- 5
Summer at Skyhold was still quite cool, but the weather was at least nice enough for sitting out in the garden without the need for the litany of layers Hart required to brave the cold of autumn and winter. He wasn't sure if he would ever fully acclimate to the unforgiving southern climes. Here it was drafty or wet or cold or muddy. Many seasons existed solely in shades of white and brown and grey; unpleasant colors all. Nevarra had cold and rain--though mostly relegated to the seasons in which the belonged--but it was the mud that truly got to Hart; getting all over everything and making paths an utter nightmare to walk. Hart could count the number of truly nice days--at least by his own northern-based standards--this area of the world saw annually on one hand. And yet, it had ever so slowly begun to feel like home.
The gardens, especially, had become a source of comfort and satisfaction for him. His own hands had cultivated some of the herbs that now grew here; from seeds to the point where they were plucked out of the ground for potions and poultices. He had always thought his primary business was death, but he had found it oddly calming to spend time tending to plants and learning about their properties. And if nothing else, they provided a welcome distraction when he needed to get away from whatever research he was doing at the given time. He did love his books, but even he reached a point at which the lines started to blur together.
He found himself a bench to sit on that caught the sun, and reached into his pocket to collect Tarsus. The little skeletal creature had been curled up in there since mid-morning; perfectly content. It was easier that way. Quite a few people at Skyhold were unsettled by him; both because he was a rat and because he was skeletal. Necromancy was not well understood in the south, it seemed. Yet another thing that had been a shift for Hart. In Nevarra, Mortalitasi were revered. Here, people either avoided him or asked so many questions it made his head spin. And they had all sorts of notions about what actually went on in Nevarra.
Then again, the south had only just begun to accept mages as beings that deserved freedom. So, he supposed he could not be altogether surprised. It was an awfully uncivilized place he had decided to call home, it seemed. But at least the Inquisitor had created a little bastion for people of all creeds to gather and work towards common goals. Hart felt useful here. Not constantly in the shadow of his own shortcomings. He liked that.
He watched as Tarsus began to play in a flower bed. The spirit animating the little bones was always curious about the world around it. Watching him discover ever more beauty in the world warmed Hart's heart like nothing else could. Though he could do without the collection of strange odds and ends the rat his around Hart's room. He had no idea where his little friend even got half of them. Stolen, probably. Anything caught his fancy and his tiny little hands could carry was fair game. It was always such an assortment of things, too. A shiny bead. A pebble. A tarnished ring. Seeds. Bits of fabric and lace. Once--to Hart's utter mortification--Tarsus had even returned with someone's undergarments. Retunring those had been... awkward.
The gardens, especially, had become a source of comfort and satisfaction for him. His own hands had cultivated some of the herbs that now grew here; from seeds to the point where they were plucked out of the ground for potions and poultices. He had always thought his primary business was death, but he had found it oddly calming to spend time tending to plants and learning about their properties. And if nothing else, they provided a welcome distraction when he needed to get away from whatever research he was doing at the given time. He did love his books, but even he reached a point at which the lines started to blur together.
He found himself a bench to sit on that caught the sun, and reached into his pocket to collect Tarsus. The little skeletal creature had been curled up in there since mid-morning; perfectly content. It was easier that way. Quite a few people at Skyhold were unsettled by him; both because he was a rat and because he was skeletal. Necromancy was not well understood in the south, it seemed. Yet another thing that had been a shift for Hart. In Nevarra, Mortalitasi were revered. Here, people either avoided him or asked so many questions it made his head spin. And they had all sorts of notions about what actually went on in Nevarra.
Then again, the south had only just begun to accept mages as beings that deserved freedom. So, he supposed he could not be altogether surprised. It was an awfully uncivilized place he had decided to call home, it seemed. But at least the Inquisitor had created a little bastion for people of all creeds to gather and work towards common goals. Hart felt useful here. Not constantly in the shadow of his own shortcomings. He liked that.
He watched as Tarsus began to play in a flower bed. The spirit animating the little bones was always curious about the world around it. Watching him discover ever more beauty in the world warmed Hart's heart like nothing else could. Though he could do without the collection of strange odds and ends the rat his around Hart's room. He had no idea where his little friend even got half of them. Stolen, probably. Anything caught his fancy and his tiny little hands could carry was fair game. It was always such an assortment of things, too. A shiny bead. A pebble. A tarnished ring. Seeds. Bits of fabric and lace. Once--to Hart's utter mortification--Tarsus had even returned with someone's undergarments. Retunring those had been... awkward.
Last edited: