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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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and that's even mostly in earnest, the cool cloth against her skin, for all that exasperation colours her roughened voice when she gripes, "I am a necromancer, Teren," because nothing rouses Benevenuta quicker than something she isn't good at.
And - all things being equal - she is a terrible healer.
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"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?"
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It seems unlikely, if she's capable of asserting as much; she closes her eyes again, since it seems her poor mood is unlikely to run Teren off, and maybe she can just go back to sleep and be tended to without ever being cornered into any kind of conversation in this vulnerable state.
That seems unlikely. She would absolutely take advantage, in Teren's position.
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Teren turns the cloth to rest its other side on the girl's forehead, just for a few moments before she dampens it again. "Poor flower. It's a fever, but none have died from it yet. They've been bouncing back as though nothing happened. Something's in the water, they say."
As she dips the cloth back into the basin she brought, she pauses. "...not this water. I've been boiling snow."
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(Who has to die first so she can have his things, they've established this. In their responsible outings to try and work through the fever, which have been, as we know, so very successful.)
After a moment - "Is it spreading very far?"
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Than Skyhold, she means - both heartening and potentially worrying. One must wonder at the cause, after all, if it is purposeful...there are altogether too many in ungrateful Thedas who'd bar the way of the work they do here. It is little surprise, but never fails to irk her.
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"Don't trouble yourself with it, poppet. I'm keeping an eye out." She can see the cogs turning in Benny's head, and feels the need to nip them in the bud. "Just rest."
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Husband, for what its worth, has lain down at the end of her bed, disconsolate.
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A laugh. Rough, from the fever, a little bitter, but a laugh. "She will not thank you for that," she says, wry, letting herself sink back under her covers and not opening her eyes, nor specifying who she speaks of. Teren knows full well who she would be, in this conversation, in this moment. "Unless you were allowing, say, the Commander or perhaps our lovely Nightingale a path to my bed instead."
The bitterness isn't for her mother, though, with whom she is almost entirely in agreement in matters such as these; what she says more flatly is, "He will not be visiting."
(And she is so stupid to have let it matter.)
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The sigh would be a shrug, if she weren't so weary.
"But never think my mother is unaware of what I do."
(She almost never is. Everything is an opportunity - every experience can be cannibalized to their cause.)
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"No," she says. "What he requires is recuperation."
They haven't that sort of relationship; not their agreement, as if they'd had anything like a deliberate one in the first place.
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