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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She hunches into herself almost instantly. She's been 'helped' before, with the best of intentions, and her skin still crawls at the memory.

"Blind and numb, scrabbling in the dark. Everything goes gray and slipping away. I don't..." She shakes her head, her eyes going a little wider as she edges back. "Don't make it quiet. It's worse. It's so much worse."

She has to use a nearby bench to help herself up to her feet, and for a few moments, she looks over at the nearby gazebo and seriously debates the merits of simply sitting there and building a small fire until this uncomfortable feeling passes. But even as Hermione once again tries to convince herself that she certainly isn't sick, no matter what her body tries to tell her, she hears someone calling out to her. Or, at least, it has to be her, since no one else seems to be foolish enough to actually be out in this weather. Except for whoever that is that seems to have some sort of torch some ways away from her.

The flames and her lightheadedness don't do much to help her see who it is, and she doesn't recognize the voice right away. But she doesn't imagine anyone in Skyhold means her harm, and so she very carefully starts to move towards the figure, not quite managing to walk in a straight line.

"Sam?" she asks after getting close enough to be reasonably sure she recognizes him. "Is that you?"

"Well, on your stomach wouldn't be particularly comfortable or effective, so I'll owe the healers a pillow or two. I can live with that."

Hermione can be painfully stubborn when the situation calls for it - or even when it doesn't call for it, really - and so she only shakes her head, carefully making a turn and hoping that Korrin will let her know if they're accidentally going the wrong way. "I'll be fine. I've spent months camping out in damp weather; I like to think I've built up an immunity to most things by now."

"Pulled the curtain back...like skin scraped and peeling, sign of the symptom. Symptom. Symptom of the system, slipped in the cistern."

There are shadows, hollows under her dark eyes, a twitch to her fingers as her eyes follow strange patterns on the inside of the tent. But when Simon sits beside her she takes a breath, turns just enough to press her head against his shoulder and burrow. He's warm and steady and flesh and blood, and somehow being near him makes it a little more still.

It does nothing for the fever, unfortunately. She's sweating through most of her clothing, by now.

Sorry. Completer involuntary. It was bound to happen at some point after so long putting it off. He didn't like where it was leading though, those visible signs of tiredness. He would need to sleep soon or suffer worse effects than just being fatigued. Maybe he already was considering the fuzzy figure he thought he was seeing past Sam.

"I can think of a few," he tried for his usual flirtatiousness, but it fell flat in the wake of his exhaustion, rubbing at his cheek for a moment. Maybe beer hadn't been the best choice. It was a depressant after all...

"Says the man about to snore into his tankard," he grunted with a tired smile before letting out a sigh. "Sleep's never come easy for me, is all. And my bed isn't exactly guaranteed or comfortable these days."

Getting a strong drink to knock himself out isn't the worst idea in the world, but he's seen enough strange stuff in his life that right now that part of things isn't bothering him all that much. At least not yet, and he lifts his shoulders in a brief shrug. It's not a very large one, but it's still visible enough - and not as painful as he thought, all things considered.

"Ah, I've seen worse. At least there's not any beasties trying to kill us at the moment," he comments, leaning back in his seat. "And aye, we've both been to the moon. Well. Our moon. I've talked to him a wee bit about that, actually. There's no man in the moon, though, just to let you know. I checked, the first time."

Which probably doesn't make that any less crazy, but he figures it's a good thing to mention, just in case she was curious about that.

"That's why I don't usually bring it up, though. A lot of people think that sort of thing's daft. I used to think it was daft, until I wound up there."

He's afraid. It radiates off of him and sinks into her, cold wet pellets like the rain falling outside. It's cold, but not cold enough to be a comfort, and she can barely lift her head she's so exhausted from the illness.

But she can hunch down into that corner, her eyes resting fearfully on a spot just beyond his shoulder. "...don't let it touch you..." she whispers, eyes round and too-large with alarm.

Relying on Korrin for directions is probably not the safer bet, at the moment. The mental fog isn't going away, and she's barely able to keep upright and talking, let alone anything else. "I've spent my whole life on the road, so I know what you mean. I thought I was immune to everything by now, and I probably am...for normal stuff, not this Fade-tainted bullshit. It's something completely different."

She frowns, rubbing her temple. "I even ran into a dwarf would could see them. A dwarf. They don't dream, don't have anything to do with spirits or the Fade. Whatever the fuck is going on, it doesn't discriminate."

A man in the moon? Not sure why she would have thought that, Korrin's brow furrows. "Did you go up in a giant whale, too, because that's the crazy-ass story I got from him. Or, wait, it was a ship that was called a whale or something. Keeping stories straight isn't my forte right now."

She takes a moment to try and clear her mind before responding, though the mental fog is as stubborn as ever. "It all sounds bizarre, but that doesn't mean I don't want to hear it. I love crazy-ass stories and have a ton of my own. So I'm not judging."

"I share space with Araceli and no doubt she'll come looking for me, but between lightheadedness and disorientation, I don't trust myself to make it there. Or not to squash anyone significantly smaller than me, no offense." One thing Korrin always tries to be careful about is interacting with those who aren't of a comparable size, but in her current state that's not something she can guarantee.

"And some people realize it, like my company. If you ever worked with us, they wouldn't hold back the praise. Or the liquor that'd knock you flat on your ass."

She's a stubborn one, it seems. Still, he's met more than one stubborn lass in his day, and he gives her a somewhat skeptical look, his eyebrows arching up and disappearing into his bangs when she sits down again. It doesn't occur to him that his concern could be interpreted as being something more than just worry, however.

"Aye, well, maybe so, but you'd not be the first person who's fallen asleep in odd places lately. Figured at least maybe you'd not want to get wet again anytime soon."

He pointed up at the dark sky - something that wasn't going unnoticed by the other people in the garden. Or, at least, the ones that weren't spirits. He could see those shapes out of the corner of his eye, hovering at the edge of his consciousness and just waiting for him to go and do...well, something, although he had no idea what that might be.

"Or have yon spirits around here talking about it, although I'll admit I'm not entirely sure what they're talking about when they're talking." A faint frown crosses his features, but then he gives his head a the tiniest of shakes. More than than and he suspects he's going to get dizzy. "Not really seen anything like that before, to tell you the truth. What's your name, anyway?"

Edited 2016-04-26 19:11 (UTC)

"Stone is cold," she answered in sympathy, and her hand was already reaching out when Galadriel swayed, meaning Ellana was quick to wrap an arm around her and tried to get Galadriel's arm over her shoulder.

"Oh, Galadriel," she began, keeping a firm hold on her. "You have a fever. If you'll allow me to take you to the healers, they'll tend to you." After Galadriel's time as a prisoner, Ellana wondered if she was too prideful to admit to being ill.

"Please, I don't want to see you in pain. Will you come with me?"

"Dwarfs don't dream?" Hermione asks, frowning a bit. Because clearly, that's the most important thing at the moment, when she's just barely managing to cart around a friend who happens to be about twice her size.

"That sounds so sad. It must make things particularly scary for them, then."

Sam hums lightly at Kirk's comment, not really catching it since it sounded more like a grumble with how tired Kirk sounded and his own exhaustion weighing on him. There's another yawn from him, though much smaller, but it's enough to have Fortitude moving in closer and whispering about going to bed since tomorrow was going to be yet another busy day.

"You don't look much better," he returns, indicating that the man didn't look much further from sleeping on his drink. There was a smile on his face for a moment, but as soon as Kirk was commenting that he didn't necessarily have a bed, it has him frowning just slightly. "You don't have a place to sleep?" The question is meant to be answered, but Sam barely gives Kirk time to respond before he speaks again.

"There's space in my room if you need to crash." They really needed to find ways to make more room. He can understand that not all the sleeping arrangements are comfortable, but a cot, or at least blankets and pillows, should be available.

"It feels like there's more sick than well," Eirlys admits, frowning a little. She's seen epidemics like this back in her alienage, but the sudden onset of the fever here was something she hadn't expected or been prepared for when it struck. "Are you sure you're quite all right? No hot temperatures, or hallucinations at all?"

"Some bread and cheese earlier this morning and some stew last night." She shrugs, not having thought to keep a record, although it's the first thing she'd tell others to do when an epidemic struck. "Everything I've eaten has been coming out of Skyhold's kitchens, so if one of the cooks was sick and continued working, it could have easily come from the food." She brushes a hand through her hair, sighs with frustration. "I'm more used to seeing diseases coming from the water or the air, but if it were either of those, we should have all got sick months ago, when the Inquisition first moved in here."

"Unfortunately I'm going to have to ask you to stay here to keep an eye on you for the time being." She rises, holding out a lozenge she's made up, containing Prophet's Laurel berries to knock her out and Embrium to break the fever. "It's likely this sickness has spread all over Skyhold by now, but we'd rather keep anyone with confirmed symptoms somewhere they won't spread it further."

The voice is familiar, but for a bit he cannot place exactly who it is, not when he still cannot see them. Finally seeing someone staggering to him he moves with a fast gait to meet them, eyes widening when he sees the Rifter mage/witch. "Hermione," he says in surprise, reaching out for her arm when he notices her start to head off sideways.

"What are you doing out here?" She looked decently wet even with the low light of the fire which meant she had been out here for a bit, and just in general didn't look well. Glancing down there seems to be dirt smeared on bits of her clothes and her hands. "It's dark, raining, and cold out here." He knows it is obvious, but clearly not obvious enough that she was out here in the garden.

"I need you to talk to me."

None of this is giving due weight to the severity of their argument or their lingering differences. Alistair is still not entirely sure what he did wrong, and he is fairly sure that he isn't sorry for at least half of it. But he's a blunt instrument in all things, not only in a fight, and he's here to try to shield-bash his way back into Leliana's good graces. He leans his elbows on the wall, squintier than normal for the rain. Otherwise earnest, though, in the stubborn, sulking set of his mouth and contrastingly good-natured slump over the wall.

"I've been waiting to wiggle my eyebrows at you over Morrigan for a very long time. A month. Longer. I can't do it anymore."

I am busy, she could say. What do we have to talk about? is another option that she considers, cool and calm rather than withering. That latter comment of his makes her eyebrows raise a little, looking at him with a quite sort of bemusement.

"The dance," Leliana finally replies, a little flatly, shaking her head a little before looking back to him. "Nothing more than a performance to intrigue the Orlesians and prevent Morrigan murdering an over-eager noble seeking her attention. I find it hard to believe you would be taken in by the likes of it."

And she finds it hard to believe that she is humouring him with the conversation, but he looks less-than-his-best and she is trying to make sense of spirits that she had to focus on just to make them disappear. "There is nothing to wiggle your eyebrows at."

"What?" Cade asks, and looks over his shoulder to see nothing-- why does this keep happening? He's been getting stranger looks than usual, and none of them seem the typical wariness or judgment. They're never really looking at him, but it's somehow more unnerving.

"...please," he says in the same hushed tone, and holds up his hands to show her where they are. He slowly moves them toward her, giving her plenty of opportunity to escape or push him back if she doesn't want to be touched. The demon, in the meantime, is almost leaning on him, giving the appearance of grasping onto his body despite its being incorporeal. As with before, he has no awareness of it.

Teren smirks, glad to see that the girl is at least keeping up her spirit. To a degree.
"Then let's hope your talents aren't needed either," she says idly, dismissing the fact that necromancers probably can't resurrect themselves. Maybe they can, she wouldn't know.
"How are you feeling?"

"Who else would it be, that's got you lot so on-edge?" Teren asked, pulling her hand away and then returning it with a damp, snow-soaked cloth. "No one's succumbed yet, but the bunch of you all look like you've gone half mad."
Her bedside manner was perhaps not the best, but she never claimed to be a healer.

Teren shakes her head with pursed lips, but is immediately grateful as Adelaide produces the kettle. "Aye, all manner of supplies are short, especially for those of us down the hill," she explains, "it doesn't help that they keep running about like dying chickens, staring at nothing." She pauses, actually looking at the healer for the first time she arrived.

"You look awful," she helpfully observes, "have you slept?"

Of course he is. Teren is easily swayed by such assertions, as any sensible person knows.
Or... perhaps not.
With a quickness as though she might strike him, Teren's hand moves to his forehead to feel the telltale heat of fever. She shakes her head. "No you aren't," she informs him, and clutches one of his arms in her talon-like grip, beginning to tug him toward his tent. "You're going to bed. And I will get the firewood."

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OPEN: Cloudreach Event

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