Jacob rubbed his forehead and groaned, promising himself that he would never drink another drop. He once again tried to concentrate on the duty rosters pinned on the wall, wondering what the red headed harpy had put him down for this time. He hated this job, the endless patrols, the reports, everything. He would never be here if it hadn't been for one night of stupidity. He had dreams, dreams of tutelage by one of the worlds greatest scholars, travel high and low, from Val Royeaux to Weisshaupt, from Denerim to Minrathous...dreams of delving deep into the Deep Roads to study the creatures within, and even of travelling to Rivain and studying the Qun. All this was denied him now, instead of Darkspawn, he dealt with smugglers, instead of studying the mysteries of the Qun, he listened to the familiar story of petty thieves.
He sighed heavily, as he found his name on the roster. Once again he was to patrol the coast, Maker only knows what he was expected to find there. He had thought the new Captain would go easier on him, both being from Ferelden and all, but that was not the case, "Jacob, stop lazing about and find a sword! The rest of your patrol is nearly ready to leave," the Harpies voice carried over and he groaned loudly. Muttering under his breath he shuffled over to the nearest rack, picking up the first sword he identified, and slotted it into its scabbard.
Turning slowly he dusted down the front of his armour in vain, hoping that she wouldn't notice its poor condition and approached the Guard Captain, coming to a stop a couple of feet short, "Captain, Jacob Pryer reporting for duty, ma'am!" he said pulling himself to his full height, a full head taller than Avelline, and saluting. He looked a mess, his sleeves of mail rolled up rust accumulating on the metal, and stains covering his tabard. His unkept brown hair cascaded down to his shoulders, and three day stubble was plastered across his face. That could not disguise, however, his well defined jaw, and piercing green eyes.
Cautiously he let his eyes wonder to the Captain's companions. He instantly recognized Varric, from the games he often partook in down at the Hanged Man. Abandoning all sense of decorum in front of his superior he spoke, "Varric, I believe you still owe me ten gold coins..." he smirked readily, thinking of the juice he could buy himself with said coins, already forgetting the promise he made to himself earlier. His eyes then wandered over to a face many now recognized, a fellow Ferelden, and a fairly regular visitor to the barracks, though the first time he'd ever been close enough to speak to her. This was his chance to learn something, anything, to break up the drudgery of his life.
"Serah Hawke!! I was wondering...I mean...I would love to....I mean...Darkspawn...is it true you have seen them? even killed them?" His face lit up with excitement as he bumbled over the words, struggling to find the right ones to convey his thirst, ignoring the glare of Aveline and the bemused smile on the Dwarf's face as he did so.