Snippet #2713116

Oliver was suddenly aware of the offensive sunlight filtering in through his window. The knight grunted, shutting his journal and placing the lid back on his ink well. He leaned back in his chair, the old-oak creaking slightly as he raised his bare hands up to rub at his eyes before finally scooting away from the desk and exiting his room.

As usual, the air in Skyhold was cold, due to altitude, and it crept through the stonework, but luckily the knight was wearing a long sleeve shirt with a leather long coat, and soon enough he would be in the much more warm dining hall.
Ser Oliver was snapped from his daydream about ale and eggs by two Inquisition troops snapping a crisp salute, to which he half-assed returned.
He was never much for formalities. An unfortunate aspect of knighthood or nobility. He sure as hell wasn't born for this, but he definitely earned his title through blood and sweat.
Morgen, if you're watching. I hope you're proud of me, he thought to himself, barely noticing two more guards opening the twin doors to the dining hall. He nodded to both of them before passing by and taking a seat somewhat closer to the Inquisitors "throne". The knight didn't have much of an appetite, but he went straight for the growler filled with some kind of ale on the table, pouring a tankard and sitting back in his chair, simply observing as the Hall began to fill.

Sure has been one hell of a time, he thought passively as he took a gulp from the tankard.