When Adrasteia arrives at the Grey Wardens' office, she will find it already occupied by a scrawny hawk of a woman seated in one of the chairs opposite a desk. Her head is angled to get a proper look at the new paint job on the walls, a little twist of amusement at the corner of her mouth, though it fades when she turns to meet eyes with Adrasteia and offer her a formal nod.
"Warden Adrasteia," she greets, unfolding herself to rise from the chair and roll her shoulders in a stretch.
"Warden von Skraedder." Adrasteia folds her hands in front of her and nods respectfully, mage's staff at her back. You never know when you might need the thing. She doesn't know the other Warden's history with Riftwatch well enough to gather whether or not the new paint job was a good idea to mention but she'd have seen it anyway.
"I went on the second expedition to the Temple of Dumat and I've been to the Crossroads in recent months, so I have some sense of what is going on."
If there's any issue with the paint job, Teren makes no indication of it-- instead, that little smirk returns when Adrasteia nods so primly, and there may be warmth in the way the older woman looks at her.
"Glad someone does." She sits back down, formalities out of the way, and bends forward to rest her elbows atop her thighs, thin hands clasped. "What'd you find in the Temple? Will it help us here?"
"To prepare us for the worst, perhaps." The door behind her is shut. The window as well, since it's threatening to rain. Still, Adrasteia pitches her voice a little more quietly as she continues to speak. "There is a... False Calling coming through the Rift in the Temple of Dumat."
Adrasteia isn't sure it is a false calling, exactly. She knows that being too close to the Rift in her head sounded and felt like garnering the attention of something older and greater and more evil than she can comprehend. That there are two of those tained places in the Crossroads worries her deeply.
The ominous concept of a Blight forthcoming on the tail end of this war keeps her up at night.
"Warden Ellis went to the Anderfels to learn more, though I don't know how successful he was."
"Fuck." Teren's expression becomes solemn once again, and she sighs, dropping her head forward to rub the back of her neck.
"S'pose one false Calling weren't enough, but if it's isolated, that's something. And it's good we know." She nods, taking in the rest. "Glad our lot haven't fucked off altogether, then. We'll sort it out."
She angles her head to look at the desk on the far wall, her mind seeming to wander for several long moments, but she reins it back to look at Adrasteia once more. "How long've you been in the ranks?"
Adrasteia doesn't point out that there aren't many of them here, to begin with. That she doesn't know what happened to Warden Vance Digiorno, or where Warden Alistair has gotten off to. She just nods, instead, and takes a sharp breath in through her nose.
"Too long. Twelve years now?" She shakes her head. "I was seventeen, so... yes, later this year. Twelve."
"It was that, or die a Blighted death, as far as I understood it. I wasn't looking forward to the latter." Maybe it speaks to the sort of person Adrasteia has always been, but it hadn't, before this moment of Teren's question and that expression simultaneously, occurred to her that she was too young to make that decision. "My husband was dead, along with the people we'd been traveling with. Options didn't seem thick on the ground at the time."
"You took a chance at life," she concludes, "and I'm glad of it, but a pity it is the decision was all but made for you."
She's begun to idly pick at one of her fingernails with a little knife-- has it always been in her hand?-- her posture otherwise docile, conversational.
"You've made the most of it, then?" She angles her head toward Adrasteia, prompting further elaboration, should she choose to do so.
There's little to be said about the deicions of Warden Alphonse and whether or not they gave Adrasteia the room to make her own good choices that day, or at least that's how she feels about it now.
"I suppose I did. I stayed at Warden Alphonse's side through a trek to the Deep Roads and mapping passageways there, and onward into Southern Orlais to deal with whatever came up over the years. When the False Calling and Adamant happened, we were on separate sides of the issue; I left on my own, and he died there."
She gives a little shrug. It's the digestable version of her life as a Grey Warden, but it's accurate. If Teren knows of Alphonse she'd know this much: Adrasteia's cheerful nature would have been an affront to him, on many levels.
To say they didn't get along would be putting it mildly.
"Alphonse," Teren repeats, and makes a face. The name rings an unpleasant bell, and though she didn't spend all that much time around the man, the thought of him having conducted her Joining is not exceptionally appealing.
"Good riddance to bad rubbish," she mutters, "we've had our run-ins with that lot more than once, though they've been quieter of late." Referring, of course, to the Wardens who sided with Clarel and never backed down.
"Or perhaps I'm out of touch, but fuck it. I've been in Champrovent, training up my own little ducklings. Now they're off south and I'm back here, it's better that way." She seems to get lost in thought for a moment, cleaning under her nail with the tip of the knife, but comes back soon enough.
"Who's in charge here then, you or Ellis? Or have you done away with all that?" She nudges her head toward one of the desks.
"I think most of them have joined up with the Tevinter side." It's unfortunate, and Adrasteia doesn't like it, but she's seen familiar faces on the enemies' side before today, so.
She shakes her head a little. "We've done away with it. I've taken on the role of Morale Officer, here; Ellis has no interest in leadership from any direction, I think. Though if you wished to be in charge I don't think either of us would fight you on that."
This results in a barking laugh that precedes a "fuck no," as Teren visibly recoils. "Got saddled with it last time round, and I shan't be in any hurry to pick it up again. I'm certain if Barty were here he'd have a whole treatise for you on chain of command and all that rot, but he's not."
With this revelation, she seems to relax. "Having said that, if neither of you is in charge of acquisitions and quartermastering, I'll pick it up again. It's nice to have some things to ourselves."
"Neither of us has done much by way of any visible or real organization on any level, I'm afraid." Too busy being involved with the people, she figures, and now they're nearly the last standing Warden members currently on the Gallows. "We've one horse between us, unless you've another." Beyond that? The floor is yours, Teren. Adrasteia isn't going to fight you about it.
"Not to worry," Teren says with a wave of her hand, "and I've got a horse, so yours needn't trouble itself with a third rider."
With all that sorted, a brief silence falls between them, Teren focusing on her nails and her little knife, waiting to see if Adrasteia says any more. When she doesn't, Teren glances up at her.
"Should you need any part of your uniform mended, by the by, I'm happy to do so." Generously assuming this person would be happy to do anything, but if she says so, then it must be possible.
Adrasteia blinks in her surprise, nodding immediately thereafter. "I will remember that." She's not a bad had at mending herself, but for Teren to offer could mean some sense of camaraderie exists within the other woman, and Adrasteia is not about to wave that away.
"You're definitely welcome to the office's key," the elf says, searching through her pockets until she finds it and hands it over. "I spend most of my time in the Morale Officer's office across the way, as it is."
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"Warden Adrasteia," she greets, unfolding herself to rise from the chair and roll her shoulders in a stretch.
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"I went on the second expedition to the Temple of Dumat and I've been to the Crossroads in recent months, so I have some sense of what is going on."
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"Glad someone does." She sits back down, formalities out of the way, and bends forward to rest her elbows atop her thighs, thin hands clasped. "What'd you find in the Temple? Will it help us here?"
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Adrasteia isn't sure it is a false calling, exactly. She knows that being too close to the Rift in her head sounded and felt like garnering the attention of something older and greater and more evil than she can comprehend. That there are two of those tained places in the Crossroads worries her deeply.
The ominous concept of a Blight forthcoming on the tail end of this war keeps her up at night.
"Warden Ellis went to the Anderfels to learn more, though I don't know how successful he was."
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Teren's expression becomes solemn once again, and she sighs, dropping her head forward to rub the back of her neck.
"S'pose one false Calling weren't enough, but if it's isolated, that's something. And it's good we know." She nods, taking in the rest. "Glad our lot haven't fucked off altogether, then. We'll sort it out."
She angles her head to look at the desk on the far wall, her mind seeming to wander for several long moments, but she reins it back to look at Adrasteia once more.
"How long've you been in the ranks?"
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"Too long. Twelve years now?" She shakes her head. "I was seventeen, so... yes, later this year. Twelve."
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"Was it by choice?"
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"You took a chance at life," she concludes, "and I'm glad of it, but a pity it is the decision was all but made for you."
She's begun to idly pick at one of her fingernails with a little knife-- has it always been in her hand?-- her posture otherwise docile, conversational.
"You've made the most of it, then?" She angles her head toward Adrasteia, prompting further elaboration, should she choose to do so.
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"I suppose I did. I stayed at Warden Alphonse's side through a trek to the Deep Roads and mapping passageways there, and onward into Southern Orlais to deal with whatever came up over the years. When the False Calling and Adamant happened, we were on separate sides of the issue; I left on my own, and he died there."
She gives a little shrug. It's the digestable version of her life as a Grey Warden, but it's accurate. If Teren knows of Alphonse she'd know this much: Adrasteia's cheerful nature would have been an affront to him, on many levels.
To say they didn't get along would be putting it mildly.
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"Good riddance to bad rubbish," she mutters, "we've had our run-ins with that lot more than once, though they've been quieter of late." Referring, of course, to the Wardens who sided with Clarel and never backed down.
"Or perhaps I'm out of touch, but fuck it. I've been in Champrovent, training up my own little ducklings. Now they're off south and I'm back here, it's better that way."
She seems to get lost in thought for a moment, cleaning under her nail with the tip of the knife, but comes back soon enough.
"Who's in charge here then, you or Ellis? Or have you done away with all that?" She nudges her head toward one of the desks.
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She shakes her head a little. "We've done away with it. I've taken on the role of Morale Officer, here; Ellis has no interest in leadership from any direction, I think. Though if you wished to be in charge I don't think either of us would fight you on that."
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"Got saddled with it last time round, and I shan't be in any hurry to pick it up again. I'm certain if Barty were here he'd have a whole treatise for you on chain of command and all that rot, but he's not."
With this revelation, she seems to relax. "Having said that, if neither of you is in charge of acquisitions and quartermastering, I'll pick it up again. It's nice to have some things to ourselves."
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With all that sorted, a brief silence falls between them, Teren focusing on her nails and her little knife, waiting to see if Adrasteia says any more. When she doesn't, Teren glances up at her.
"Should you need any part of your uniform mended, by the by, I'm happy to do so." Generously assuming this person would be happy to do anything, but if she says so, then it must be possible.
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"You're definitely welcome to the office's key," the elf says, searching through her pockets until she finds it and hands it over. "I spend most of my time in the Morale Officer's office across the way, as it is."
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Dull things like ledgers and inventories that, were they to be stolen, would not be missed.