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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Ellana smiled faintly, but Galadriel's words -- while full of praise -- also saddened her. The imprisonment had kept Galadriel from making friends, and some she would have made were probably too afraid to run afoul of the Seeker by doing so.

"I'll stay and watch over you. I promise." She would need to sit anyway, unused to helping so tall a person walk.

"So," she starts, tone immediately helpful and entirely compliant to his wishes, "I must be sure to pass one your feedback."

That is what he's hoping for, yes?

In truth she isn't sure what to do with the smile, the fondness there, which feels like it lies so much in conflict with the things that have happened between them. She offers another look to the sky, and looks up towards one of her scouts, standing where Alistair had been before he came down here to join her. Business calls, as it alway does, and her gaze settles back on Alistair.

"Yeah, I get reminded of that a lot almost everywhere I go. At least in Skyhold the staring is usually just from the newcomers now. And...good question. I've never heard about qunari Grey Wardens either, but now I want to ask someone about it. Not to join them, just because." Korrin smirks weakly as a memory comes to mind. "I was in the Deep Roads before, with my company. We camped and I was foolish enough to try Asaaranda's new hooch...and I woke up in a Legion of the Dead camp sometime later. They told me I tried to join them, though obviously that didn't take. The others found me not long after."

"Thanks...." Lifting the drink, Korrin presses it against her forehead, closing her eyes in momentary relief. Undoubtedly a cool compress could be managed at the healing tents but shut up, this is better.

"Birch bark is good, but you'd likely have to get it from a merchant unless we travel to where it can be found. Not many birch trees up in the mountains. I know people who can manage hide canvases, though, if you really want.

...and no, they don't have to be permanent. 'Sup to you and however you'd want to do it."

Unfortunately for Beleth, even when she was healthy, Galadriel had become something of a heavy sleeper. The gentle touch on her arm and the hushed voice that summoned her, no matter how urgent it was, was insufficient to rouse the feverish elf. Unfortunately, Beleth's efforts were not entirely in vain, and they crept quickly into the dream around them.

The walls quaked as Beleth shook her and the image of them came apart, breaking in pieces as the ground shook. The doorway to the library, in reality, was far too small to glimpse the creature that prowled this nightmare but, as the walls fell away, the cloud of clinging, pitch and darkness spilled through the gaps. It poured into the ruddy light and, beyond the collapsing wall, seemed to yawn into a great and empty distance beyond

This sight, this one moment, was one that Samwise Gamgee had witnessed in full. Galadriel's imagination needed no help to conjure this and, as the heat became nearly unbearable, the darkness whorled and the first licks of flame appeared. The beast drew itself up, a massive figure if shadow and flame, and miasma of smoke and ash stretched from it like great wings unfurling. It drew a deep breath, like the bellows of some long forgotten forge, and flame rose all across its skin. Fire wreathed its limbs, glinted across its terrible horns, sparked in the pits of its eyes, and a burning flail hung from its great, massive claws. When its eyes, white hot and searing, fell upon them, it released a terrible, earthshaking roar.

Galadriel was mollified, for the moment, but in her melancholy she still held Ellana a bit closer than was strictly necessary--or, for that matter, advisable given that her own coordination was shot and Ellana was considerably shorter than she. They made it outside, into the muddied landscape of the fortress and, with only a few stops to prevent Galadriel collapsing into the mud and taking Ellana with her, arrived in the healing tents.

Galadriel gave the location an assessing look, one that could only be deemed 'pained' but made no objection as Ellana led her to an empty cot out of sight of the entry. Mercifully, her guard had not seen them traverse the courtyard and, as such, had not attempted to follow them into the tents.

"How do mortals tolerate this?" Galadriel asked as she took a seat on the cot and a great shiver suddenly wracked her. She was so tall and willowy that, for a moment, she resembled a tree caught in a gale.

James, don't try and walk. Merrill squeaks again in protest and now it's her turn to try and stand when it's horribly advised, using her staff as leverage and immediately almost falling over.

"Tired- weak. I'm not used to... to this."

To being without magic, to being severed from the Fade.

"Sit."

She says, while standing.

"No," Galadriel answered, and a smile bloomed across her face. A cold wind stirred from the north and, near the edges of the throng several dreary shapes, spirits of sorrow and despair, began to congregate. "That is how I left, but that way was shut ere the first dawn rose."

She sighed and glanced up at the trees, contentment all but pouring off of her, but the dream had already begun to distort. In the shade around her, great hulking forms wreathed in crackling electricity faded in and out of the space. A sense of claustrophobia set in and, almost without Galadriel's notice, a great shadowy shape blotted out the light from above.

The spider was enormous, larger than any creature, than any city in Arda or Thedas, and it loomed black as pitch against the sky. Galadriel looked down, away from Ungoliant and back to Merill. Her expression was almost incongruously calm.

"To return to Valinor we must sail, but it can be difficult to reach," she explained and the shapes behind her resolved themselves. Spirits of Pride and Will rose behind her as a great spider tore into the twin trees above them. The sounds of the city were extinguished and, one by one, as the lights in the trees were snuffed out, the elves that moved around them vanished.

Eventually it was just the two of them stood on that hill, a great primordial spider above, darkness all around, and a sea of spirits in audience.

"Death, perhaps, would be easier."

[ The hand shifts and rests against the one on his cheek, his breathing evening out as he relaxes. It's familiar and comfortable and he's feeling like maybe this whole resting thing isn't so bad. ]

Mm. Definitely lucky...

[ His eyes close again and he seems to almost drift off. ]

Ar lath ma.

[ A faint chuckle. ]

How was my pronunciation that time? I've been practicing...

[ The air in the healing tent is suddenly stifling, and Merrick feels like can't breathe because his chest hurts too much, why does his chest hurt? He's dizzy, too, like he's falling, like the ground is suddenly far beneath him, and it's all very reminiscent. I feels like on the rooftop with Ellana but worse, so much worse, because he'd always known that had been a silly little boy's crush, but this...

He needs to leave. His entire body aches with it. He has to hit something, has to scream, anything to get away from this. It hurts so much, help, stop this, make this stop-- ]

It--it's fine.

Good.

[ He lets out a faint groan and tries to open his eyes again. Overlaid on the face above him he sees her, smiling and gentle, and he lifts his hand as well as he can to lightly touch the vallaslin. ]

Maker, I feel like shit. Who was this again? The... healing one, right. Sy...leth. Syla. Sy... Sy...

[ Merrick starts to feel sick, too. Like he's going to throw up. Creators, he's going to throw up. ]

Sylaise. [ His voice sounds strange to his own ears, higher. ]

Right.

[ His voice is quieter now, the closer he gets to sleep, and his grip on Merrick's wrist loosens and falls back to the bed again. ]

I'll see you when I wake up, yeah?

Yeah. Sleep. [ Please sleep.

Once Metaari is out Merrick staggers to his feet, then tears through the tent as fast as possible, nearly knocking over patients and healers alike on his way outside. The second he's out he falls to his knees and vomits painfully into the grass.

Hurts. Hurts so much. Make it stop. ]

Edited 2016-05-07 02:59 (UTC)

"I suppose because we must," Ellana reasoned, sitting on the edge of the cot. "Why don't you lie down and I'll find you a blanket?" Her hands caught up Galadriel's and she tried to warm them as best she could by rubbing her skin against her friend's. This illness was worrisome for several reasons, but one was definitely the fact that it could take a turn for the worse quickly and there wouldn't be enough healers to deal with it all. Many times throughout the last several days, Ellana had been reminded of the plague that swept through Clan Ashara long ago and took so many before their time, her parents included.

"I'll be right back. I promise. I won't go far."

Galadriel did as Ellana bade but, as she reclined on the cold cot, a strange surge of emotion welled in her. Within moments, surrounded by other beds and quiet patients, she found herself feeling miserable and alone. Misery and loneliness were hardly new sensations, but she was exhausted, and they stung more sharply than they otherwise might have. Fortunately, Galadriel had learned, long ago, how to avoid sinking into such thoughts. She cast them aside on reflex but, as she ignored her heard and passed into sleep, she reached for a hand that wasn't there.

It was a silly thing, seeking out her husband's hand when she knew full-well that he was not present in these lands, but she was feverish and apart from herself. Her hand found nothing as she reached out, but the lack of a grip to steady hers was not as jarring as it might've been. She was so weary that, as the pang of longing entered her mind, the whole of her tumbled into dreams.

When Ellana returned, her seat on the edge of the cot was occupied. In her stead there sat a tall elf with broad shoulders and straight silver hair. His clothing was alike to Galadriel's but it was hazy along the edges, ill-defined where it fell into shadow. His expression was soft but unreadable; his features were clear but, in the end, he was little more than a phantom.

At the very least, he was holding her hand.

Nari's hand stilled where it had returned to continue the slow rub of Sina's back, her bleary gaze snapping to look at the prostrate Qunari.

"Wait. You're telling me that sound is... spirits?"

She'd heard things at the edges of her hearing. A quiet susurrus she'd ascribed to... she didn't know what. Something else. Wind. Walking. General bustle. People whispering, maybe, but spirits?

"Is... is the Veil weakening?"

James made a noise as Merrill moved - no, no, don't try to walk, and almost lurched towards her.

"... Agreed." Except he didn't feel tired or weak - he felt ... drunk. Delirious. Like he was running a fever and wasn't sure what from.

He glowered helplessly at her.

"You first."

Poppet throws a spanner between those turning wheels and she pulls a face, turning it against her pillow. "I have things to do," she complains, but the way her brows pinch in when she closes her eyes speaks for itself; her head aches and she's tired, overheated and liable to handle her duties about as well as Husband would, in the immediate moment.

Husband, for what its worth, has lain down at the end of her bed, disconsolate.

"How can I refuse when you put it that way? It's only fair."

In the immediate future and the distant; probably not right now, either way. Martel's amusement is threaded through with his tiredness, weary things that they are; there is an ease he has in her presence that he wouldn't trade.

Even for a Seeker of Truth, Cassandra can be excessively literal - to the point where it actually hinders communication and understanding, rather than making things clear. And so she feels a flare of satisfaction - she had gotten through to him, he would not take foolish risks for no reason - even as she rolls her eyes, shaking her head with a disgusted noise. "Please. I am not that old."

It was only once Ellana got up and left the tent that she began to feel a little off herself. Perhaps it was the exertion of helping Galadriel through the rain down to the healers? She pressed a hand to her forehead, but wasn't sure if she was just overheated, or running a fever. She couldn't worry about it now. Instead, she moved to find a healer who could provide an extra blanket. It took longer than she wanted, since everyone was so busy, but once the blanket was obtained, she rushed back to Galadriel, stopping short when she saw someone already there. That... couldn't have been one of the healers, could it?

No, his garb was too alike to Galadriel's and Thranduil's, and his ears matched theirs too. And yet... he looked blurry to her. She blinked a few times, but the blurriness remained. Oh, no, she really was running a fever too, wasn't she? Shifting from one foot to the other, Ellana was unsure if approaching would cause his image to dissipate. She wanted to cover Galadriel with the blanket, but this felt too much like intruding.

Celeborn, or the sense of him, lasted for some time before he faded. Even when she was well, Galadriel's dreams were inconsistent and fickle; with her fever, all that was required to dispell the phantom and the thought of her husband was a trickle of shivering cold. It came over her soon enough and, as she withdrew her hand toward her chest, the elf at her bedside faded away, like clearing mist.

Ellana was not nearly as ill as the others who had come across a feverish Galadriel, but her dreams were persistent and the spirits that gathered on the edge of them lent them some strength. In other places, the walls of the keep and shadows had bent around them, the Ancient world had manifested itself in the haze of dreaming, but in the tents the effect was far more subtle.

Only the distant hints of a forest, the pervasive feel of ancient trees and songbirds, crept into the waking world. Out of the corner of an eye, dappled light danced over old stone, but both were forgotten under the full weight of waking scrutiny. There was a chill to it, to the facets of her dream and whether it was real or imagined, even in sleep, Galadriel found it disconcerting.

That earns a faint start, her hands lowering as her expression shifts from weariness to confusion. "Yes, I...how did you know that?"

Because she imagined those figures drifting in and out of her vision to be a side-effect of the illness. For Adelaide to be so aware of their presence as to name one specifically by description? How ill has she become?

There's a soft chuckle, instead of outrage. "Perhaps you are right," she murmurs. "But I feel as if I did I might not rouse myself again. And there's so very much to be done. So much..."

It's the mantra she's been pushing herself with for ages, her eyes drifting over those caught in the rain, miserable and wet. It's been a horrid few days, all told. Lucky thing that Cade seems immune to whatever's swept over them all.

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OPEN: Cloudreach Event

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