faderift | OPEN: Cloudreach Event

OPEN: Cloudreach Event

WHO: Anyone at Skyhold
WHAT: Cloudreach showers bring weird shit.
WHEN: Cloudreach 15 onward
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: For information about the illness, its effects, and its cure, please make sure to also read the OOC Post.

This high in the mountains, snowstorms are to be expected. But this one is large and lingering, hanging over the valley and the fortress for days. In Skyhold, with its eternal spring, the snow becomes rain before it hits the ground, leaving inhabitants and visitors to wade through puddles and mud in the courtyards. In the valley, snow and ice accumulate under cloud cover—and worse, when the clouds finally thin, a whole winter's accumulation of snow begins to melt in the sunlight.

Within a day, the ground is sodden and mucky enough to give the survivors of the Fallow Mire (or Ferelden in general) unpleasant flashbacks, and those who live in tents are issued additional hastily-constructed wooden pallets to raise their floors above the mud. It is worse outside the fortress: streams and rivers have overflowed their banks, rapids run twice as fast as normal, and flash flooding has made even road travel treacherous.

On Cloudreach 17 a mudslide buries the pass into Skyhold from the west, and on the 19th a sheet of snow loosened from a mountainside collapses into the shadowed passage from the east. An Inquisition supply caravan is caught in the latter, scattering wagons and goods across the hillside and leaving a dozen people and horses in need of rescue and medical care.

Healers may find themselves stretched thin, as in addition to the usual rash of blisters and sniffles that come from days of rain and flooding, an illness begins to sweep through Skyhold's ranks from around the 16th onward. It's marked first by climbing fever, then by flashes at the edges of vision—green light and jagged formations that aren't there, beings of light and shadow gathering around people or clustering in corners—and distant voices, coherent for brief moments if you're quiet and still and not trying too hard to listen.

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"So glad you agree," Dorian mutters, taking in his immediate surroundings with a disgruntled squint. Book, on the floor. Nerva, nipping at their heels. Glass of wine, probably room temperature at this point, but he leans forward enough to pick it up to inspect.

Wrinkles his nose when his stomach turns over, and he sets it down without sipping.

His room is closest, not far from the library, and he doesn't object to going there, even with Benevenuta. It's just he would really rather not move at all. He wags a finger at Nerva. "You underestimate my capacity to study under these kinds of conditions. You should have seen me during exam week." But all of this comes out a little blurrier at the edges than his usual crisp diction.

He rubs his face with his hands, and nudges Benevenuta with an elbow. C'mon, then.

A blink. A frown, and a different sort of pain in his eyes.

"Alone... still in the dark." His mouth twisted. "I don't know what to do..."

It isn't unusual to see people by the training area, but that's on a normal day. The past few days have been anything but normal. Everything is wet and soggy, and while some of the more dedicated fighters might consider this ideal practice for less-than-ideal locales, it's gotten to the point where seeing anyone outside at all is practically a cry for help.

Which, of course, explains why Hermione is outside, albeit she's using the excuse of having gathered herbs from the garden to help with healing potions as her reason for being there. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), having rounded the wrong corner and used the wrong door - had Skyhold always been this confusing to navigate? Or is she just disoriented? - she soon comes across Korrin, and she knows that this isn't exactly the ideal place for a nap.

"Korrin," she calls, approaching her friend quickly. She sets down her bag filled with the herbs she'd collected and gently reaches a hand for her shoulder, meaning to shake her awake. But then there's a sudden sensation of heat, and it's definitely not from any fever; she's at a loss for explaining just what it is until she sees the half-naked form of a woman - and oh, she recognizes that woman! - and realizes just what it is she's seeing and feeling... or rather, what Korrin is feeling. Hermione isn't-... no, that warmth is likely from either the way she's fiercely blushing or the beginnings of the same fever everyone else is currently afflicted with.

Clearing her throat and settling on decidedly less eye contact than she's used to, Hermione once again tries rousing Korrin with a little shake to her shoulder. "Korrin, wake up. We have to get you into a bed. A dry one."

Tempted as Hermione might be to try a few of her healing charms on the people who need them most, she's still too wary of her own magic to use it on other people, afraid that it might backfire horribly. So she's resigned herself to being something of a nursemaid, trying to make sure the sick are as comfortable as possible and that the healers have everything they need. If nothing else, it's kept her too busy to properly worry.

Well... most of the time.

She can see how overworked the healers are, and it's hardly any surprise. But seeing the way Anders has been straining himself and yet still finds the time to feed a cat instead of himself.... It's sweet, in its own way, but it's also worrying. Now Hermione knows how her friends had felt when she'd lock herself away in the library for virtually days on end whenever a big exam came along.

Slowly approaching him and trying not to get distracted by the cat in question, Hermione gently settles a hand on his shoulder. "When was the last time you've eaten? Or slept?" Never mind that she can't really remember the last time she'd done either, but if she's beginning to feel the toll of whatever illness it is that's going around, it must be that much worse for him.

Ariadne nodded slightly. In truth, she'd mostly gone unnoticed, aside from a few terse questions here and there. Which was just as well. She didn't need any attention. Especially not when she was sure, deep in her heart, that somehow, her Alastrian background had spared her the disease. Even if she was forced into a Human body, for now.

And, really, the attention needed to be on the patients, anyway. At least, that's what she'd decided.

"I only wish there were more I could do," she sighed. Which was true enough, at least.

The shake to her shoulder causes Korrin to stir, roused from the dream that begins to fade. She opens her eyes, though their usual sharp focus is absent, and it takes a moment for her to realize that her company. Her brow furrows. "Hermione...? I don't remember falling asleep."

There's no denying she must have at some point, though, and she reluctantly, carefully nods. "Alright. I might need help standing, but I'll try to make that as little as possible." It takes a moment's concentration, but she then pushes herself to stand. The sudden movement has he lightheaded, and she immediately wobbles.

Korrin smiles weakly at that preference, approving. "A woman after my own heart. Explosions are fun." That and zapping things. Korrin's magic isn't subtle, by any stretch. The noise and dramatics of elemental spells are hard to resist, at least for her.

She sighs at the latter news, not especially hopeful to begin with but still eager for some release. "Vashedan. I'll just power through it, then. But thanks for trying, and whatever you can do." She's not ungrateful, just weary of all this.

The cheek kiss prompts a brief smirk from Korrin, who might have given in to more amusement at Sam's reaction if she had the energy. As it is, she relaxes a bit at that promise to at least try, casting a grateful look to his spirit companion. And then she reluctantly nods, hating to admit it but it's easier to do so with a friend than just a healer. "I might. If I start wobbling just steady me. I'd hate to tip over and all on anyone."

"I call dibs on any tying to the bedframe," Bull adds with a smirk towards Adelaide, before reaching to scoop Dorian up off of the floor. Trying to move actually helped in that regard, letting one arm slip against his back to keep him steady, the other gathering his legs up under the crook of his knee.

And up they go. A more dignified method than the original plan to sling him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but he's fairly certain that might end in nausea and all the results that follow. So he'll try delicacy here, at least for the time being.

"Let's get you upstairs, big guy."

In a dim sense, she recognizes that he can tell she sees the demon, that it's making him uncomfortable, maybe more aware of the demon himself. She does her best, then, to focus, to bring her attention back to him.

"It felt like one." When she looks away this time, it's involuntary, a part of trying to remember, to gather up the threads of what she saw. She closes her eyes. "It was — bloody. A battle. Not in the Hinterlands, I think."

"I don't sleep." He assists in gathering up the notes, though he doesn't know the order they ought to be in. The few stray papers he picks up get offered back to Anders. "I used to think I was supposed to, but it wasn't like that. It was darker — like disappearing for a while."

"The sick are louder than the others," he admits. "Louder, but less clear. A wave rushing toward the shoreline. I can see their dreams."

It had been overwhelming at first, before he'd realized what was happening. Knowing hasn't made it any more pleasant, but at least he can prepare himself before getting close again.

To Fortitude: "I'm here because I want to be. This is where I can help."

"But you're not a mage."

He sounds more confused than anything else — confused as to why she thinks she ought to be something other than what she is.

"Why are we here?" How did she end up so far from her clan in the first place?

It's a silly thing to be embarrassed over, and Hermione resolves to forget all about it, especially if she ever wants to look Korrin in the eye again. Luckily, the other woman stands well more than a head taller than her, so she has a perfectly viable excuse to avoid eye contact if she really wants to. Which she shouldn't. Because it's just silly.

"Come on," she grunts, doing her best to help tug Korrin up to her feet. Once she's standing, Hermione wraps an arm around her waist as well as she can, doing her best to keep the both of them upright. "Where do you usually sleep? If it's too far, I'll just take you to the healing tents instead."

Cole shifted from one foot to the other, arms crossed. Considering.

"I don't know. I don't remember what it was like on the other side — pulling and shaping, instead of being pulled."

His attention wandered as he lifted his head, his senses casting about for a sign of where to go next. But until something caught...

"But they don't see what they need." It would be more helpful if they did. Cole knew that not all dreams were helpful. They could show blood, pain, fear, darkness — the inside of a cupboard, and footsteps on the stairs.

It's more effort than she'd like, remaining upright while her head is swimming, but with Hermione's help she's at least able to manage that. She sighs, knowing she should head to the healing tents but not really wanting to. "It's farther than I can probably manage, or that I'd put you through without help. Healing tents, it is. I don't suppse you know any spells that get spirits to shut up?"

Something is clearly wrong. Bruce is instantly up the moment she leans forward, going over to her side. He doesn't reach out to try and touch and handle her, but he does stay close.

"Are you alright, Seeker Pentaghast?" ...he's pretty sure she will say 'yes', but he has to ask anyway. And it'll help him to better gauge exactly what is wrong with her.

He's fine.

In fact: "I'm fine," he announces, which might have been slightly less suspicious if anyone had asked. Instead he presents the fact to Teren unsolicited, like a soldier giving a report. Or like a dog presenting something it dug up and is proud of. Maybe more like that. And as proof, he doesn't dart his eyes toward the glimmer of green and movement at the edge of his vision before it vanishes, closing off under the weight of even his minimal peripheral attention.

Really, he is fine. Mild fever, mild weirdness. He's flushed because he flushes easily. His head hasn't swum in hours.

"We need more firewood," he says, continuing his unsolicited status reports, "so I'm going to go do that. If you want to take a walk."

Cade is skeptical, but he nods with a quiet "of course", pushing the wheelbarrow to a place it will be mostly out of the rain but still not in the way. Then he traipses over to Mia, slicking his wet curls back with one hand. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"
He's seen her look on a lot of people recently. At least it doesn't seem to have been killing them, not yet, but it's frightening all the same.

He looked over at her, his gaze musing on her. It was admirable, this stranger in a strange place. Why couldn't the elf woman be like this? Willing to help out while she could, do what she can for the innocent people here.

"I understand. I wish I knew how to help more. We can only do what we can."

As soon as Korrin mentions that it's further than she can manage, Hermione is already gently nudging her in the direction of the healing tents, having grabbed her bag up off the floor and being mindless of the occasional plants that fall out of it. "With the way my magic has been acting, I'd really rather not try my hand at any healing spells unless things get desperate. For now, I can get you settled and see if there are any ready-made potions or tonics that will help you feel a little better so you can rest."

"Careful, Cassandra," A calm voice came from behind her, fingers reaching out to press carefully between her shoulder blades as he came up around her.

"You should be resting."

At some point Alistair realizes—or decides, anyway, without narrative truth implied—that Leliana may never speak to him again, of her own accord. In the scheme of things it hasn't been very long since they spoke, compared to the preceding decade of near silence, but the intentionality makes it feel longer. And the fact that she's right there, tower in view from the camp at all hours of the day. And the fact that even Morrigan is tolerating him. Obviously something is wrong with the world, given the rifts and demons and glimpses through the Veil, but this is a wrong he can do something about. Or a wrong he can repeatedly and futilely attempt to do something about until he dies. One or the other.

Anyway: he goes to the rookery. He's fevered but not fainting, nothing he hasn't walked across countries with before, save the spirity bits. The walk to the fortress soaked through his clothes, but he's been here for hours now, including several by a fire with a book, and he's reasonably presentable when he crests the stairs and finds

birds.

Birds and an altar, a few hovering scouts, and no Leliana. But perhaps the sag of his shoulders (all that courage, built up for nothing) is pitiful, or perhaps the scouts know who he is well enough to know it's a very personal sag, not the sag of a stranger with a question for the spymaster, because one of them says, "Garden," helpfully, and Alistair ducks out through a door and weaves around walkways in the rain until he spots her from upstairs. He sees the spirits first, bright light and colors hovering near her darker form, but they dissipate when they have his attention. It's creepy, but it's becoming tolerable. He leans over the low wall to watch for a moment.

"Leliana," he calls, after that moment, "if you don't talk to me I'm going to go back inside and drip on something important."

Like medium-important. He wouldn't drip on anything vital to the war effort.

His gaze made her feel a little self-conscious, although she couldn't say why. She just wondered what, exactly, he was seeing.

That was always the way it was for her. She liked to imagine, though, that this new body of hers somehow matched the illusion that she used to exude. Because, in that way, she was still herself.

At least a little bit.

She shrugged. "Just don't forget to take care of yourself," she said. "You're no good to anyone if you get sick or exhausted or both."

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OPEN: Cloudreach Event

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Training area

Healing tents

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Camp Shady Fucker

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Great Hall

later days.

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