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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Cyril is surprised by Ellana being there. He blinks a couple times and then shakes his head.

"No," he says softly. "I'm fine."

"Are you?" she asks, doubt in her tone. She moves the back of her hand up to his forehead, hoping to get a sense of his temperature if he doesn't end up ducking or batting her hand away.

"It's not like you to not put your makeup on."

"Hm?" Cyril tilts his head back as she tries to touch him, but if she presses forward he doesn't try to fight her off.

"I ran out. I have to make some more." That's an obvious lie to anyone who knows him. He always makes enough to last.

"Come on," she says, voice still gentle as her hand follows him back to press against his skin. She clicks her tongue lightly, but doesn't bother to argue with him about his makeup. It's a sign that not all is well, but she won't keep pressing about it.

"It feels like you have the fever that's been going around. You need to lie down. Is your room here?"

He nods and gestures towards his door. "I really am fine, Ellana, but I'm also terribly lazy so I wouldn't mind a nap."

"But you're burning up. What if you take a turn for the worst?" she asks, leading him to his room. "It's best to take things easy now and not push yourself to go out and do things. Otherwise your body will be too weak to fight this off, whatever it is."

Cyril sighs and then pulls away to lead the way to his room. He shares with Merrick and when they get inside it's probably easy for her to tell that. "I'm going. I'll even lie down."

"That's a good patient," she says, trying to let go of some of her worry to tease him a bit. "Now I know you said you're fine, but do you really feel fine? Do you have any symptoms?"

Cyril rolls his eyes a bit. "You mean other than my charming personality and wonderful eyes?" he replies. "Oh, symptoms have to be new things to mean anything, don't they?"

"I see one of your symptoms is being glib with me," she replies, steering him towards his bed. "Now lie down and let me take care of you. I'm sure you'll enjoy being fawned over."

Cyril climbs into bed and then rolls over a bit to relax. "Hn. That's true, I do."

Ellana sits on the edge of the bed, watching him for a moment. Her expression shifts back to worried, because she doesn't want his fever to grow worse. He might be lucid now, but that could change fast. And then... then he could be in real danger.

"Do you keep a basin and pitcher of water in here?" she asks, looking around. "I should put a compress on your forehead to bring your fever down."

"There's some over there." He gestures vaguely towards the corner of the room. He has manages to keep the room very neat, even despite some of the falling apart bricks and the hole in the ceiling that has been covered with a tarp. The picture isn't that hard to find.

He turns to his back and hums a bit. "I really hate being sick."

"I should think everyone does," she says, getting up to dampen a cloth with water and squeeze out the excess before returning to him on the bed. She folds the cloth up and rests it across his forehead with a softly murmured, "There," before she sits back, one leg tucked under herself.

"I've wanted us to spend more time together. It's a shame it took an illness to do it."

Cyril hums a bit at the cool touch, enjoying it despite himself. He reaches up a hand and presses into the cloth a bit.

"I know," he agrees. "I missed the chance to see you gush about your gentleman friend more in person."

Ellana exhales a soft laugh, looking down at her lap where she's laced her fingers together.

"That's probably for the best. I'm sure I've been looking foolish, and maybe I should care about that. The Dalish representative to the Mage Council shouldn't be so giddy she might burst."

"You deserve some giddiness though," he counters. "Even more so because you do so much work for the Council."

"You think?" she asks, genuinely curious if he thinks it's all right. "I've been asking for advice lately, about how to be a better Councilor. And reading a lot of books..." Her voice trails off as she looks away for a moment. It's been undeniably stressful, but then she recalls how happy she feels when she tells another friend about Felix and they're happy for her. Every one helps push past the unexpected reaction Sina had, which has left things awkward between them.

"As long as no one thinks I'm being obnoxious, or rubbing it in their faces. I would hate to come across like that."

Cyril shook his head. "You're way too modest to rub things in people's faces," he replies, smiling. "You're just happy. Happy looks good on you."

"Ma serannas," she replies gently, reaching out to touch his shoulder in thanks. "I am happy. But I'd be happier knowing this illness will pass soon. It's strange to see you even tired, much less ill."

"I know," he says. "I'm usually flawless." He offers her a half smile to show he's joking around.

"Now I remember why we don't spend much time together," she says with a quirk of her lips. But she too is joking, and she leans back on one hand to look him over. Beyond looking tired (and so strange without his eye makeup), he doesn't look so bad. But whether that's because the illness isn't affecting him much or it's just started, she can't say.

"Would you like to try and sleep?"

"I suppose I should try..." he says, he sounds very put upon by the idea though.

"You should," she says, tone a little serious as she leans towards him a bit. "Could I come back in an hour to check in on you? Just to make sure you aren't getting worse."

"All right," Cyril says. He shifts his body a bit so that he can rest a bit. "Thank you, lethallan," he mutters.

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serannas - 2016-04-29 17:28 (UTC) - Expand

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samahl - 2016-05-13 01:50 (UTC) - Expand

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