ombranera | Open RP Post

Everything was easier, in the Fade. It always was. It was an escape, and he knew that - an escape he had taken for thousands of years, and one he needed to put behind him... But he still could not fully resist. Not when he needed to rest. Not at night, when all of Skyhold was asleep.

So he walked, the Fade-mirror halls of Skyhold, breathing deeply as he touched the stone.

As he slipped into the dreams of those that shared its roof.

Everything has pretty much blown over, and for the most part, everyone has forgotten what happened in Emprise. Even Beleth has been overly forgiving, moreso than Cade can comprehend, and with the Inquisition moving on, he has more or less slipped through the cracks once again.
Now he doesn't even have drills and patrols to occupy his time, still forbidden from carrying weapons or going into any kind of combat scenario. He works for the Seeker during the day, and spends his idle evenings either wandering the battlements (not patrolling, just walking, he tells himself) and occasionally sequestering himself in one of the empty towers with a candle and a book, passing the time in total solitude and without the judging eyes of those around him.

Apart from Aleron, there isn't a soul he talks to. It's better this way, withdrawn from the people who were beginning to know him, avoiding contact with those he wronged and from those he might wrong in the future.
It's either this or walk off into the mountains, or step off the edge of a tower, just disappear without causing any more fuss. Sometimes he longs for that, but the Maker frowns on those who waste themselves.

At present he is curled up in one of the aforementioned towers, a wool blanket over his shoulders and some stupid book in his hands, a thing for which he has no interest but which is here to pass the time until it's time to go to sleep.

It helps, he thinks, that he had grown up a ways away from the lights and noise of the city and around a dad who didn't do much for kicks other than hunt or fish or get drunk at poker games. Fire-building without matches and learning to set rudimentary traps are just the sort of things he and Nick had fun with as kids what feels like a lifetime ago, neither of them thinking they'd ever really need to. But few ever do.

Zevran's not like any survivor he's ever met; he doesn't just scrape his way from one day to the next out here, he thrives. But Luke, knowing what little he does about him, realizes it isn't all that surprising. After all, Zev's been a survivor from before the dead refused to stay dead - and he never had the luxury of fire-building and learning to set rudimentary traps just for shits and giggles.

It's thanks to one of his traps that they've got themselves some squirrel for dinner, which means they can save the last couple cans of green beans in his backpack for a rainier day. It's risky building a fire in the hearth of the cabin they've been hunkering down in the past week, but fuck it -- it's their first taste of meat in a while and he's willing to wait for it to cook over a dim flame even if it's fucking torture sitting close enough to watch it crackle and drip with glistening fat.

"Look, I hate to be that guy, but... is it done yet? 'cause it's smellin' plenty done to me."

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