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“Anyway, here’s what’s left of the Chargers. A lot of ‘em went looking for stronger drinks.” Iron Bull said, leaning back on the crate he’d chosen for a seat, looking over at the group.
Herah Adaar had seen some of them before; from the day on the Storm Coast that had led Bull to join the Inquisition, or from the times since then when she’d come to the tavern to talk to her fellow Qunari. She’d spoken to Krem before, several times, but the rest had never stayed still long enough for her to talk to.
“We’ve got Rocky and Skinner there.” A hooded dwarf looked up from his tankard, and a lithe tanned elf nodded to the Inquisitor. “And over there is Stitches, Dalish and Grim.” A pale, blonde elf and a human barely looked up from a chess game, and the man sitting with his back against the crate the board rested on raised his hand in greeting. Iron Bull paused and looked round at the group again searchingly. “Oh, and that’s Stag in the corner.” Another elf, dark-skinned and with a tankard raised to his lips, was leant against a beam half-hidden in shadows. “Crazy bunch of assholes, but they’re mine.”
Herah nodded, looking over each of the Chargers as they were introduced, and then turned to Stitches.
“I take it you’re the company healer?” She asked, and the human surfaced from his chess game with a pawn in one hand.
“Yes. First time I ever picked up a sword was when the Blight hit Ferelden. Never put it back down.”
“He makes a potion that’ll put you right back on your feet after even the toughest fight. It tastes terrible, though.” Bull added.
Stitches rolled his eyes, and set the pawn back down on the board.
“That’s because it’s a poultice , ser. You’re not supposed to drink it.” He explained with a weary sigh, as if they’d been over this already. A quiet chuckle rippled through the group, Krem grinning openly, and Herah found herself smiling.
“So, Dalish?” Herah asked, and the other participant looked up from the chess game just as she knocked over one of Stitches’ knights. “Why aren’t you with your clan?”
“Our Keeper thought I should see the world a little.” The blonde explained with a casual shrug, the candlelight making her skin seem even paler, letting her green facial tattoos stand out.
“The Dalish don’t have templars, so they can’t have too many mages in a clan at once.”
Dalish looked faintly offended by that remark.
“Now, ser, you know I’m not a mage. That’d make me an apostate.” She grinned, catlike.
“You carry a staff, Dalish.” Bull pointed out, resting one hand on his knee. The elf smirked.
“It’s a bow .”
“A bow with a giant glowing crystal on the tip?” Krem interjected, raising one eyebrow.
“Yes.” Dalish nodded, glancing down as Stitches made his move, knocking over her remaining castle. “It’s for aiming. Old elven trick, you wouldn’t understand.”
She and Krem exchanged what could have been a glare.
“Rocky, were you born on the surface or are you from Orzammar?”
The dwarf looked up again when the female Qunari said his name, and he frowned in thought.
“Orzammar, but I got exiled. Stupid noble crap. Also, I… Accidentally blew up a bit of the Shaperate.” He explained, looking away sheepishly.
“Rocky’s one of our best sappers. He can take down enemy fortifications faster than a golem.”
“I’m also working on my own version of Qunari blackpowder.” That drew a raised eyebrow of disbelief from Herah. “I’ve almost got it.” Rocky added, looking at Iron Bull, who shook his head.
“Yeah... You really don’t.”
Trying not to let Rocky wallow in his disappointment for too long, Herah turned to the elf sitting closest to her. Skinner.
“How’d you join the Chargers?”
The elf looked at her properly, and her lips pressed briefly into a thin line.
“Killed some people.” Skinner answered bluntly, with a strong Orlesian accent rather than the usual lyrical accent Herah had heard so far from elves - Solas and Sera excluded.
“She didn’t take kindly to the nobles testing out their new weapons on the elves in her alienage.” Iron Bull added.
“Bull took me in, and now I get paid to kill shems .” Skinner gave the one-eyed Qunari a dry grin.
“This is actually really good behaviour for her. She’s not marking her territory or anything.”
The elf rolled her eyes, and went back to her drink rather than rise to the taunt.
“Grim, what’s your story?” Herah asked, leaning back slightly in the seat.
The blond man merely grunted.
“Grim doesn’t talk much.” Bull explained. “I’m pretty sure he’s the lost king of some small country, or a chieftain. Something like that.”
Grim nodded once in confirmation, and grunted again.
Herah looked round at the group, and then remembered the final member who’d almost tucked himself away out of sight behind the beam.
“Stag, wasn’t it?”
The elf looked up, one eyebrow raised, and he nodded slowly. From the tattoos on his forehead, he seemed to be Dalish as well, but they were of a design that Herah hadn’t seen before, symmetrical and twisting around each other, a faint black streak that went down his nose.
“What about you?” The Inquisitor asked.
“Stumbled across the group while I was on a hunt out in the Hinterlands, and I didn’t have anything else to take up my time anymore, so I joined up. Besides, someone still owes me a deer.” The elf shrugged, and went back to his drink.
“Still bitter about that, are you?” Krem asked, turning so he could look over his shoulder at the other.
“Stag’s perhaps the best archer I’ve seen. Can put an arrow through a man’s throat from halfway up a hill, for one thing.” Bull commented, ignoring the snort of derision from the corner.
“If he wants to bed me, he only has to ask.” The elf mumbled quietly, and Skinner ducked her head to hide a smirk.
Herah tore her gaze from the final member of the Chargers, and looked back at Bull.
“You really take in anyone, don’t you?” She mused, nodding in approval.
“Anyone who can carry their weight in a fight.” Bull shrugged, muscles rippling.
“And who can put up with your bullshit, chief.” Krem added helpfully, leaning back in his chair.
Rocky led the group in a sudden outburst of song that threatened to drown out the bard standing by the fireplace, and Iron Bull laughed.
“Thanks for coming by, boss. Glad you could meet some of my team.” He said over the noise and laughter as Herah got up to take her leave.
“My pleasure.” The Inquisitor replied, heading out of the tavern. She’d only walked a few paces towards the stairs up to Skyhold when she grew aware that someone was following her. Turning and looking down, she saw it was Stag, tankard left behind.
“Oh, hello.”
“So, you’re the Inquisitor?” The elf asked, brushing dust from his leather armour. “Seems everyone calls you the Herald of Andraste.”
“I’m not a fan of it.” The Qunari shrugged, even as she remembered what Blackwall had told her the other day about the people needing something to cling to, even if it was just a pretense.
“Titles are titles, sometimes it’s best to ignore them and put up with the attention.” He waved a hand dismissively.
“So… You’re Dalish? You don’t sound like some of the other elves I’ve met.”
The black-haired man nodded, and Herah noticed that his hair was tightly braided and tied up, that there were a few hints of grey at his temples despite how young he looked.
“Things are a little different in the Brecilian Forest. And I haven’t seen my clan in a very long time.” He admitted, leaning his weight on one leg. “What about you? You’re Qunari... Not a Ben-Hassrath like Bull, are you?”
“Would a Ben-Hassrath agent really allow themselves to get this involved in the fate of the world?” Herah countered, folding her arms.
“Hm. Not one of the Sten, either. Pity, I knew one once, never found out what happened to him when we all parted ways.” Stag frowned to himself slightly, as if in disappointment.
“I wasn’t raised under the Qun. I used to be a mercenary leader.” She admitted.
“Ah, so Tal-Vashoth?”
“Why are you so curious?”
Stag shrugged, looking up at the grey-skinned, horned woman in front of him. Sharp, almost unnaturally grey eyes met vivid green.
“Just trying to be friendly, Creators know there are enough bastards running around already.” He answered casually, turning to go back into the tavern. “A word of advice, though? The whole, ‘saving the world and defeating a terrible evil’ thing? Don’t let it get to you too much. It’s not worth the stress, trust me.” Stag added, walking off on silent feet back into the tavern and leaving the Inquisitor with a confused frown and the sense that Stag knew far more than he was willing to tell.