To say that Tabris was unhappy about being here would be both a gross understatement and a vast simplification of her current emotions. The tavern is nice, as far as taverns goes. She'd seen a lot of similar ones, and this one is at least in the top half of them. It looks clean, the bartender hasn't called her any slurs, and no one looks like a neon alien that's staring at her like she's the zoo animal here.
But she was supposed to be in...not here. Wherever Shepard's stupid portal was supposed to take her. Somewhere that wasn't Panem or Thedas. Which... this place was, she supposed, but it was distinctly medieval, like Thedas, and not like what Shepard had described at all. And her powers were still missing.
But it wasn't all bad. She'd accepted whatever weird shit the bartender gave her, eager to either get trashed or murdered or whatever else could happen. Instead, she watched her shadow fling itself away from her, with an eagerness that was, quite frankly, rather insulting, and promptly start hurling shadow candles, shadow chairs, and making a variety of fascinating and rude gestures.
She watches it with a detached air of amusement, watching the shadow of the candle go flying, and is glad that shadows can't start fires. "Well, paint my ass and call me an Orlesian. I thought I'd seen everything."
ii. quest board
It had been a hot minute since she'd had to do these, but she remembered the format pretty easily. People put up notes about their issues, you solve them, and you get paid. Easy as.
Except, it's not easy as. There's one thing that Tabris is missing, that she had, back in the old days. Which leaves her squinting at the quest board, eyes slowly going over the requests, until she gets bored and turns to the nearest person, and points at one of the quests at random.
"Hey. Do you want to go on this quest with me? Think we can do it?"
iii. the market.
"Look, it's simple. I want an axe, but I need it to be big. Really, really big. As big as I am." Helpfully, Tabris puts a hand up next to her head. It's not tall for a person, though it's a bit tall for an axe. The Grey Ward merchant seems to think so, at least, as they don't seem to have anything that meets that requirement, nor do they see the need to be able to do so.
"I--Listen, you never know what might happen. Bad shit goes down all the damn time. Didn't y'all just have a whole issue where shit went down? What you're gonna want, when that happens, is a big ass axe. Or at least, you're gonna want me to have a big ass axe, because then I can hit all the issues with it."
Warden Commander Revas Tabris | Dragon Age (CRAU from The Games) | Undecided
To say that Tabris was unhappy about being here would be both a gross understatement and a vast simplification of her current emotions. The tavern is nice, as far as taverns goes. She'd seen a lot of similar ones, and this one is at least in the top half of them. It looks clean, the bartender hasn't called her any slurs, and no one looks like a neon alien that's staring at her like she's the zoo animal here.
But she was supposed to be in...not here. Wherever Shepard's stupid portal was supposed to take her. Somewhere that wasn't Panem or Thedas. Which... this place was, she supposed, but it was distinctly medieval, like Thedas, and not like what Shepard had described at all. And her powers were still missing.
But it wasn't all bad. She'd accepted whatever weird shit the bartender gave her, eager to either get trashed or murdered or whatever else could happen. Instead, she watched her shadow fling itself away from her, with an eagerness that was, quite frankly, rather insulting, and promptly start hurling shadow candles, shadow chairs, and making a variety of fascinating and rude gestures.
She watches it with a detached air of amusement, watching the shadow of the candle go flying, and is glad that shadows can't start fires. "Well, paint my ass and call me an Orlesian. I thought I'd seen everything."
ii. quest board
It had been a hot minute since she'd had to do these, but she remembered the format pretty easily. People put up notes about their issues, you solve them, and you get paid. Easy as.
Except, it's not easy as. There's one thing that Tabris is missing, that she had, back in the old days. Which leaves her squinting at the quest board, eyes slowly going over the requests, until she gets bored and turns to the nearest person, and points at one of the quests at random.
"Hey. Do you want to go on this quest with me? Think we can do it?"
iii. the market.
"Look, it's simple. I want an axe, but I need it to be big. Really, really big. As big as I am." Helpfully, Tabris puts a hand up next to her head. It's not tall for a person, though it's a bit tall for an axe. The Grey Ward merchant seems to think so, at least, as they don't seem to have anything that meets that requirement, nor do they see the need to be able to do so.
"I--Listen, you never know what might happen. Bad shit goes down all the damn time. Didn't y'all just have a whole issue where shit went down? What you're gonna want, when that happens, is a big ass axe. Or at least, you're gonna want me to have a big ass axe, because then I can hit all the issues with it."