howtoactfereldan: (blessed are the peacekeepers)
Normally by this time of year there's been at least one storm coming in from the Waking Sea that breaks the humidity -- but no, Kirkwall is unseasonably humid. Because of course it is.

At any rate, that's why Cullen isn't wearing as much plate as he ought. That, and he's in the yard, out of sight of any civilians.

It helps him be faster, he tells himself. Mostly it's just miserable, and he's quite looking forward to plunging his head in a nearby rain barrel.

(It doesn't help that Cullen is currently losing handily. Though if truth be told -- and he'd never admit it -- it feels good to lose like this, winded as he is, muscles burning as they are.)
howtoactfereldan: (Default)
Cullen is a little surprised how easy it is to obtain a room -- and one that meets their current needs so well, at that.

A little hearth crackles merrily by the door, and don't think Cullen misses the toasting forks leaning against the wall next to the poker. Two beds are sectioned off from the rest of the room by a few standing screens -- not so good as a wall of stone or wood, but better than he'd hoped. A small table and chairs sit near an oriel window with a padded bench in front of it, suitable for reading, or thinking, or any number of quiet pursuits.

It will do. It will more than do.

Cullen thinks all of this, of course, trailing in after Liranan. He did promise that Liranan could unlock the door with his very own key.
howtoactfereldan: (judge me whole)
There's a large rock by the inlet. Cullen likes it -- likes sitting in the shadow of it, resting his head back against it, looking at the sky and the water and trying to get his mind to quiet. Sometimes it even works.

Here in Milliways the sun is setting; it's the middle of the night in Kirkwall. Cullen appreciates the option to sit in sunlight.

Yesterday -- today -- whatever -- it was long. Bad. Aid from Starkhaven was supposed to arrive, but they got held up on the road, and so it was Cullen and a patrol who found the dead children --

-- but he's not going to think about that. He's going to watch the light play on the water, feel the welcoming stone against his back, and if his eyes drift closed -- there's little harm, yes?
howtoactfereldan: (should they set themselves against me)
He will not face Ysalwen in templar plate.

Cullen isn't entirely sure about this whole 'sword instruction for arcane warriors' enterprise, but that's the one thing he is entirely positive about: he will not face one of his former charges like this in the uniform of the Order.

What this means is that after much dithering and fretting -- too much, he tells himself sternly; it's a simple problem, with a simple solution -- he produces simple black leather armor, a purely functional cuirass, and plain pauldrons, vambraces, and greaves.

The goal is to only be the regular, average kind of threatening.

Whatever his goals, Cullen is standing out back looking at the lake in the company of two practice swords, a wooden shield, a slim book with a plain cover, and a jug of switchel at his feet. He is frowning, as though the lake has offended him.
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