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faderift2016-04-17 01:31 am
faderifting) wrote in faderift2016-04-17 01:31 am
Entry tags:
- ! open,
- teren von skraedder,
- { adelaide leblanc },
- { anders },
- { araceli bonaventura },
- { ariadne },
- { benevenuta thevenet },
- { bruce banner },
- { cassandra pentaghast },
- { cole },
- { dorian pavus },
- { eirlys ancarrow },
- { ellana ashara },
- { fenris },
- { galadriel },
- { gavin ashara },
- { hermione granger },
- { iron bull },
- { james norrington },
- { jamie mccrimmon },
- { jim kirk },
- { kain highwind },
- { korrin ataash },
- { leliana },
- { leonard church },
- { malcolm reed },
- { maria hill },
- { martel },
- { maxwell trevean },
- { merrill },
- { mia rutherford },
- { nerva lecuyer },
- { obi-wan kenobi },
- { rachette dakal },
- { samouel gareth },
- { sera },
- { siuona dahlasanor },
- { solas },
- { velanna },
- { zevran arainai }
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.
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.
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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The healers were, in fact, stretched thin. Thin enough that by the time Simon realized it wasn't the humidity that was causing his skin to feel clammy, not when it was followed up by stark chills and a growing fatigue that had nothing to do with how many patients he was tending to. Normally Simon tried to be so careful about cleaning up between them, it usually helped keep him from contracting whatever illness he was treating. Not so much this time...but at least it confirmed his suspicions about the hallucinations some of his patients would describe. The flashes of green light, the wavering figures, the hushed voices...
It didn't feel like the Fade, though that was small comfort. Was this what River went through day in and day out? If it was even a little bit similar, Simon could not let that hinder him. It wasn't as if he was ignoring the problem, he reasoned. The spirits he glimpsed hadn't started bothering him yet, at least no more than the usual hovering all mages dealt with in their dreams. Until they did there was no reason he couldn't put his head down and continue to help those in worse shape than him. A simple draught ought keep his fever under control in the meanwhile.
So it was a damned stubborn mage, paler than usual and forcing the tremor from his hands, who simply lifted an arm to wave the next person to pause at the entrance to his tent to invite them in.
"Come in," he said, "and let's have a look..." Hopefully he hadn't just invited a spirit inside by mistake. Simon blinked as he looked up a second time, taking a proper look at his guest to make sure.
[Herald's Rest]
All right. So maybe his fever was worse than he'd thought. That would explain how in one minute he was sitting at a table on the upper floor of the tavern, listening to the rain patter constantly against the roof and press his brow to the cool mug of ale he'd ordered for some relief, and the next he was face down on the table, breathing slow and deep and closing his eyes for just a moment.
The sound of rain mixed with the now constant whispering, they'd been almost indistinguishable for well over a day. But now as Simon slept those voices became clear again, familiar in fact, though Simon hadn't actually spoken to the men in years. Broad smiles, almost amused, and robes so fine with jewels and gold thread they put any southern noble to shame. They spoke to Simon with gentle voices, warm and understanding and only wanting to help.
Simon had had this dream before. It mimicked his memory all too well, when he accepted the magisters help to find River and rescue her. The mages offered to show him new magic, a trick that no one would expect from a southern mage. In his memory he had reluctantly accepted the offer, in the dream they would offer to show him more. So far Simon had always refused. Surely this time would be no different.
In the tavern the mage's brow furrowed, his hand curling tighter around the mug.
(OOC: For the second prompt there's a chance to get a hint at the fact that Simon's a blood mage. The magisters in his dream are demons, trying to trick him into letting them in. It won't work, there'll be no possessions, but if you'd like your character to figure out what's going on and thus learn Simon's secret let me know and we can hash things out. Otherwise it'll just be a somewhat disturbing dream about Simon sitting down at a very fancy dining table with a few semi-faceless magisters up in Tevinter.)
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"Hey, hey there." She says, the prodding becoming more and more insistent. "Wake up. They're just dreams. Or maybe they aren't...?" She's been watching spirits carefully since she got ill, but with the ability to see them so limited, and not being a mage herself...she has no idea. "Either way, ser, you need to wake up, or you'll have sick and paranoid Templars breathing down your neck."
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Even ill and having run himself ragged, Simon had been blessed as a very light sleeper. He lifted his head off the table, his cheek slightly reddened from where it had been pressed into the wood, and struggled to focus on the woman now sitting across from him and what she was saying.
Behind him, just beyond the corner of his eye, the figures from his dream shifted into something indistinct and lingered. Either they were sore at being pushed out or were just stubborn enough to try and wait for another chance. They flickered in the Fade, their movements too quick and agitated. Not like the usual spirits that hovered about.
"Sorry, did I...what about Templars?" Simon asked, his voice slightly rough from sleep. Even still only half awake, the mention of Templars had caught the mage's attention very quickly.
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"Shoo, he saw through you. No one likes a sore loser--Oh." She turned back to Simon, giving him a quick smile, before sneezing into her arm. "S-Sorry. But no Templars, don't worry. But they might have had a fit if they saw dreams like that. Everyone is on edge." Well, she isn't. But everyone else is. "Are demons always like that? Moving around like a pouting cat that just got shoved from its bed."
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Simon swallowed thickly and looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the green figures before they finally retreated. Not far, unfortunately, but at least if they were skulking up in the rafters then Simon no longer felt quite like something was breathing down his neck.
"Ah...bless you," he said a little bit belated for the sneeze. "And thank you. Really, thank you, for helping."
As for the demons...Simon spared another glance up towards them. 'Pouting cat' did seem accurate, though Simon had never been able to see how they acted after failing to trick him before now.
"Though I'm not sure," he finally answered, looking back at Beleth with a slight frown. "Usually when I wake up--that's it. They're gone, or at least I can't see them. But I would say that they are very stubborn, yes."
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"That does make sense. I don't think almost anyone can see them when they're in the Fade, and we're not. That's part of the Veil, I suppose. If we could see past it normally, it'd probably be called...The glass, or something. No, that sounds ridiculous." She paused, shaking her head. She's fairly sure that he doesn't want to listen to her ramble on about nothing. "I just supposed that it would be easier, if you could tell apart demons from spirits. It's easy, when they're on this side, but in the Fade..." She shrugs.
"At least, that's what I hear. I'm no mage, so this is all...very new for me." She turned her gaze to the rest of the tavern, eyeing spirits that watched the people there. "Not that I'm complaining. It's pretty interesting, isn't it? Getting a chance to sort of, ah. Get a chance to see through the Veil, without it being torn."
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Healing Tents
The demon is perturbed by this.
Zevran has run out of fucks to give.
"Please say you see it and I am not losing what is left of my mind."
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"Oh, yes, I see it," Simon answered, still not quite able to take his eyes off the demon. "I can hear it too, unfortunately..."
Yes, ignoring it seemed to be the best option. Simon drew an arm around the elf and ushered him away from the demon still standing in the tent opening. So far Simon hadn't noticed anything especially alarming hanging around him beyond what a mage would usually expect. A pair of Wisps had taken up residence in the corner of his tent, their whispering to each other just soft enough to keep Simon from understanding, but for the most part they were content to just watch the mage work. Their murmurings picked up, apparently at the sight of the demon or maybe the odd behavior of Simon's new patient, it was impossible to tell.
"You're not going mad, or at least you're not alone," he added. Zevran would need something for the fever no doubt. Simon could pick up the higher temperature against his shoulder even through his robes.
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It SHOULD leave.
Zevran is tired of telling it to leave, it's Simon's turn.
"Make it go away? You are a mage, yes, you can do such things?"
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Another spirit, more solid than the wisps, stood a chance of being noticed as it materialized on the other side of the table. It was tall and broad and straight, unwavering and silent as it watched on...though it did, at one point, look over at the desire demon and giving an unmistakable stink eye.
Duty had arrived to ruin the party before it could begin. Simon had noticed it before but paid it no mind, not even enough to figure out what sort of spirit it was. It didn't get in his way so there didn't seem to be a need to bother it.
"The best way to be rid of demons like that one is to wait them out in my experience," Simon answered, reaching for a bowl that smelled fresh and bitter. "They grow bored if they don't get what they want. Trying to engage them is just asking for trouble."
Simon would know a lot about not getting what he wanted.
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At least not naked. He feels clammy and achingly gross. Fevers weren't a THING in Antiva- at least when they were they were not quite so terrible. He frowned in the general direction of the new spirit, eyes narrowed against the green of the fade at the edges of his vision. "And your friends are...?"
Friendly, at least. That much he could tell.
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Healing tent
'--filled with fear simply because they now see us when all along we have seen them.,' the spirit is saying as they walk in.
"You don't look that well." Simon doesn't. Anders reaches out to hold the back of his hand to Simon's forehead, get some opinion of how sick he is. They can't really stop or slow down for being ill. He knows that well. But they can at least try to see to each other a little.
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That's my job was the first admittedly irrational thought that came into Simon's head. The mage blinked and felt himself pulling back, but not before Anders would be able to feel a marked rise in temperature.
In a back corner of the tent a pair of wisps watched silently. They, at least, had been much easier to ignore. Simon was having trouble keeping his gaze from shifting away from Anders and up towards the spirit who possessed him. The whole thing left Simon feeling inexplicably guilty, like he was being rude to the man who kicked off the mage rebellion by attacking Kirkwall's chantry.
"I've been taking something for the fever," Simon said, almost defensive.
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"A lot of us are ill. I'm not going to scold you for still working because we need to keep doing so, if that's what you're worried about. I'm simply trying to keep track of how all of the healers are doing, as best I can."
They've not spoken much of late. Simon's one of those he rarely sees, and he suspects it's in part due to avoidance. No matter. Right now there are matters slightly more important than whatever grudges Simon holds for Anders helping to break the Circles where his sister would have been made tranquil at best.
...so slightly a matter, yes. Anders is not entirely inclined toward positive feelings toward those who are avoiding him.
"Do you need anything? How are the supplies here?"
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Not that there are all that many left open at the moment. Not that there's much Anders can do about that, even if he's offering to help with supplies. The trouble with illnesses like the one seeping through Skyhold was there was never much magic could do, which meant a long recovery time, which meant that beds were becoming a highly valued commodity. But if Anders is offering to help, and in Simon's admittedly limited experience the man was actually serious about being a healer, then he really should let him.
Though perhaps not with any more brow touching.
"At the rate things have been going I'll be out of embrium before long, and I haven't been able to get up to the garden since this started," Simon answered, taking on a more serious tone. If need be he'd skip doses for himself if it would mean others could have the medicine, but Simon did in fact know better than to think that would work in the long run. "That's the most pressing thing. Though I imagine the garden's going to be overrun with herbalists if it hasn't already..."
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"Embrium. The garden's certainly seen a great many more visitors of late, but we've more than a few dried things stored in the tent I work in with Adelaide. I'll check its stores and see what we have." There are a few healers who didn't really come by that tent much anymore; it makes sense that most wouldn't know what all is there. But Anders has had to work with limited supplies and limited time to procure supplies before. He knows the value of building up stores whenever there's opportunity, and Adelaide is immensely practical. On a professional level, at least, they're very suited to each other.
Perhaps otherwise, had things been different, but that's not a thought he has any right to anymore.
"I'll let you know over the crystal if we've any notable amount. I do know we've coffee, though. It's come in very handy. And I don't set people on fire for simply coming by." Not that that's the fear of anyone. Generally they're avoiding him because of anger, misplaced or not. "Is there anything else I can help with before I move on?"
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Yet.
She has thrown up today, though luckily not into Simon's cot. She still looks miserable, eying the mug of water in front of her with a baleful look, curled up in a corner of the tent with her gaze occasionally drifting this way and that. At once point she starts murmuring something under her breath.
Hard to say if it's to herself or someone nearby...
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"You haven't touched your water," Simon observed as he looked over. He'd already given her medicine a little while ago, it would work best if she could just sleep...but she was too sick and tired even for that. A familiar line of worry worked deeper into his brow as he stood, limbs aching, and crossed the distance to sit beside his sister.
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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.
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"You're still burning up..." he murmured, frowning at the bundled lump of coal his sister had become. There was a trick, one that nearly every mage knew it, and though it wouldn't actually make her better--something that had been drilled into him by every enchanter he'd ever studied under--but it was widely known as useful for making someone feel better.
Simon held out a hand, arm aching with fatigue that had begun to set in since sitting down, and gestured through the Veil. The wisps turned as one, as if fixated by what they now all could see. The magic was cold, condensing the humid air around his hand into a faint white fog, which he then brought to his sister's brow to cool the fevered skin.
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But Simon was here. That was all that mattered. He knew how to soothe, how to ease the suffering. That was all he'd wanted to do, before being dragged away from the Circle and his studies, though he might just as easily fallen to a templar's blade when the Circles broke apart. There's too much possibility to wonder 'what if' anymore.
Here. Now. Cool hands and a soft voice, and River takes a deeper breath.
Wherever you'd like Cole to find him
Skyhold was terribly noisy. It had never really been quiet, but just now the pain was up close, fresh and raw, soaking into everything, through everyone. It took effort, focusing hard enough to find Simon, to follow the thread of worry that connected him with River, but Cole made it.
He would be there, suddenly, after Simon had turned his face away for a moment. Something not quite right about the cant of his head, the way he held his arms.
"Simon — River's sick. Lying on the stones. I found her." He gestured with his head, taking one step away in the proper direction. "This way."
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Simon was trying to get used to figures popping up out of nowhere since the fever had set in, but Cole still managed to get a start out of him. Only a small one, a huff of breath and eyes wider than they had been seconds ago. There were a lot of questions in that pause, who was this boy, how or why did he sneak up on him like that, and...had he seen him somewhere before?
Apparently he had if the boy knew him by name. Or at least, he knew him through River...and at the mention of his sister, specifically that she was sick, brushed all those other questions out of Simon's mind. There was a pang of something in Simon's chest, mostly guilt and a little frustration, but that was swept aside too. He should have been keeping a better eye on her. Feeling bad about it wouldn't help her any more quickly, however.
"...right," was all he said, voice rough as he followed Cole away from the tents.
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"She won't let them in," he said, after a time. It was a reminder to himself as much as promise to Simon. "They see her, and she sees them, but she'll sing them away. She always does."
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River was out of the rain when they reached her, but that wasn't much of a comfort. The spirits reminded Simon of carrion birds the way they hovered around her, making the mage's stomach drop.
"She shouldn't have to," Simon answered. He'd like for the assurance to be enough. She'd gone this long without letting them in, it ought to make him feel better, but all Simon could think was that it shouldn't be her burden to begin with. She should have been sent to a proper Circle where she could have learned the proper way of dealing with demons and spirits...
Simon couldn't change any of that now, she was miles away from being a 'normal' mage and nothing he tried would change that. With a frown he moved closer, kneeling down to ease her off the cold floor.
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