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Cyr stands off to the side, watching a lich, an undead noble, and Dad argue about him. He doesn’t get what the big deal is. There was an uprising. He put an end to it. What’s to tell?
“Leave?” Jim offers. “Go home?” That’s certainly an option, but really, he’s still at least a little amused by the fiasco happening on the other side of the bell room.
His ear twitches, hearing unfamiliar footsteps as the spirits sing of visitors. He turns, finding a dwarf, and an elven woman with her face covered. They don’t sing of the Necropolis in the way he’s used to hearing. Weird. Everyone sings of the Necropolis.
“Did we come at a bad time?” The dwarf asks, half amused as the strange group approaches him. “What’s going on here, anyway? Someone rile up some undead or something?”
“Something like that.” Cyr agrees. “Who are you, anyway? You’re not from here.”
“Varric Tethras, at your service.” The dwarf greets. “This is Sparrow, a friend of mine.” That doesn’t sound like a name, but then again, Cyr’s only met his fellow Necromancers, Watchers, and caretakers of the Necropolis. It’s possible that people from elsewhere would have names he thinks are weird.
“Cyrus.” He greets. “You never told me why you’re here.”
Varric smiles at him. “My friends and I are trying to stop an ancient elven god and we’re looking for people willing to help.” Gods, huh. Are they anything like the lich lords? Do gods have bones? Can he Necromancy them?
He turns back to where that groups still arguing. He’s pretty sure he catches that noble demanding he be thrown out. “Can I come? I’m pretty good at Necromancy.”
Varric looks him over, “You any good in a fight?”
Cyr smiles. “Yeah! Took down a whole undead rebellion on my own.” Jim nuzzles at his side, “Well, mostly on my own. Jim helped.” The woman behind Varric reacts oddly. Cyr blinks, wondering why.
“What do you think, Sparrow?” The elven woman shrugs. “Sure, kid, you can come.” There’s a sparkle of something in Varric’s eyes that excites Cyr. “I’m certain you’ll be a big help in the months to come.”
“Sweet. Just give me a minute to grab some stuff.” He’ll need his knife, a few potions, the snack supply Dad got him, and his armor. It should only take him a few minutes to get.
“Sure.” Varric agrees. “We’ll be waiting right here.” Cyr rushes off to gather his things, sending Jim to tell Dad where they were going. This’ll be fun!
Cyr did not like the outside. It’s cold and bright and he doesn’t know what’s all over the ground and why isn’t there a ceiling? There’s a distinct pang of something gripping his chest as he stares up and the big clear abyss above them. What is that? Why can’t he see anything up there?
“First time outside?” Varric asks with clear amusement in his tone. Cyr swallows, nodding hesitantly. “A lot of Dwarves react similarly when they first step foot on the surface. My brother was the same way a long time ago.” Varric pats him on the back. “Trust me kid, the sky might be intimidating for now, but your not going to fall into it or anything like that. Think of it like a big blue glass ceiling.”
Cyr blinks. “What’s blue?” Varric stares at him for a moment, but never actually answers his question.
Cyr shivers. Why is it so cold? The Necropolis is never like this. He wants to go home, but he also wants to see what’s out there.
Jim chirps, wrapping around him. It’s helps a bit.
“What the fuck is this shit?” Cyr complains, shivering and cold and wet. This sucks. Why does everywhere out of the Necropolis suck like this?
“It’s rain.” Sparrow states. “It’s normal.” She seems annoyed. Is it the rain? Cyr doesn’t like it either.
He takes a step and his boot sinks into the wet ground. It’s harder than it should be for him to get it out of that stupid hole. Jim wraps around him, drying him off before attaching himself to Cyr’s back and comes to rest above his head, keeping all the stupid rain off him.
Cyr doesn’t like this town. It’s dry and hot and he doesn’t like the dust and really the whole outside is just stupid. Some places are way too wet, sometimes the air becomes hard to see through, and even more places are just cold and miserable.
Cyr shivers as they rush towards Solas’ ritual. He’s really getting sick of all this ‘weather’ and ‘climate’ and ‘day/night cycles’ and he’d much rather get all this over with so he can go home.
Or at least he did until he watched that qunari taking down a spirit of pride all on his own without taking more than a few minor scratches of damage. Cyr finds himself with a steadily warming face and his eyes glued to that attractive, strong man before him.
“You guys must be the team I was told about.” The qunari looks at him. “Are you cold?” Right. Cyr had almost forgotten he was shivering because of this stupid breeze. “Here.” Moments later, he’s surrounded by the other man’s warm cloak. There’s a certain warmth blossoming in his chest that Cyr doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.
Whoever this is, Cyr thinks he might just be in love and he refuses to let them go before he finds out for sure. Maybe he could give the outside a break, even, if it has attractive men like this in it.