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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's a quiet laugh at the comment about tucking her in, Merrill ducking her head.

"You'd never escape; my dog would insist on you petting him for as long as possible."

It's so much easier to think about Barkley than about Pride.

"Yes," she says again, and this is part of why Pride follows her, because- she's not actually certain if she can. But she'll do her best.

She is still able to laugh, that is good. He will have to get her to the healing tents immediately after this, though. She is burning up against his side.

"I shall be happy to do so - but it might be considered improper for me to be curled up with your dog in the morning."

He gave her a long, hard look, before he nods, and they move out of the fortress proper. The healing tents are luckily, just off the bridge and down the slope, so it will not be too far to go.

"That clearing, there. I believe that will be good enough for this." He paused, "You aren't using magic to stay awake, are you?"

"Only if you're not wearing trousers," Merrill points out, feeling like it's an extremely sensible sort of thing to say.

The question about magic has her blinking, and then she hastily nods. "Oh, no- no, I really felt it would be better not to do any magic unless I had to while I was sick, since this is so clearly related to the Fade."

Based on the question, she has a feeling it was the right choice, from a Templar perspective. She hopes so.

"What will you need me to do for this?"

"That is a fair point. I shall keep my trousers on." He stated with a completely straight face, because if he laughs now he might also choke.

He sighed with relief, before he explained, "I am removing all magic from the area, thus banishing the spirit from having any hold on you. What will happen is that, hopefully, the pride demon will lose it's grip on this part of the Fade and disappear. However, it will strip you of all of your powers for at least an hour. It is a through cleansing."

And he's doing it by himself - so - yeah.

"I need you to stay awake." He turns her towards him, his expression serious. "You must not enter the Fade any time during this, no matter how drained you feel. Do you understand?"

Now she swallows, nerves kicking up a notch. She hasn't been entirely without her magic since it first manifested. But if it will make the demon go away...

And she trusts him. He will keep her safe, even if Venatori and Red Templars attack immediately after he does this. As long as he doesn't overextend and reach the healing tents, they'll be fine. She'll be fine.

"I may- need your help with that, as well."

Especially if she's going to feel weak afterward.

"Should I sit, stand...? Hand you my staff?"

Without a connection, the demons, or spirits, or whatever they just happen to be -- have no reason to hold onto a mage. This he knows from long practice. He searches her face, then nods.

"I will keep you awake, at least until we get to the healing tents."

He looks around, and then leads her over to a fallen log. "Sit here, and put your staff beside you. You'll probably need it to stand."

He sucked in a breath, "And now ... I have to prepare. I'll need complete silence while I commune with the Maker, all right?"

Commune with the Maker... Merrill wonders, idly, if Dalish could learn such abilities. It seems so much like magic, but of course the Templars would frown on it being called that. Still, if their Maker is involved in the process...

It's all very confusing, and Merrill sits on the log with a bit of a 'thud'.

"Yes, of course! Um, I'll just- braid some grass together?"

That way she can stay awake.

And also hopefully not hum while she does it.

Well, if the Dalish can connect with their Creator like templars did with the Maker -- maybe.

It is, after all, personal faith and will overcoming the very wall of magic.

He unsheaths his sword, and puts it to the ground, folding his hands over the pommel. Through the ring that Vivienne had gifted him, the blade itself coats over with ice - that enchantment will also fail the moment he activates his powers.

There is a stillness in the air, and a pulling in of resolve, of strength. He begins to glow faintly blue as his prayers continue, as he centers himself more in the moment, in the field and through the Veil itself, where the Pride demon hungers. He can feel it pulling towards him, and away from Merrill, which was his plan, and he opened his eyes and looked at Merrill.

"Look at me, don't look away, and do not fall asleep, Merrill." He states to her, as he takes the dark blue lyrium potion from his side. He uncorks it, and without a second thought, downs the entire thing.

Blue flares from him, as magic begins to wan in the area. He pulls himself up, holding his blade aloft as he chants Transfigurations just loud enough to be heard -- before he slams the blade into the ground, and it ripples out in a pure blue wave, washing over the area and blanking out all magic and magical intent in the area around them, within a thirty meter radius.
It flashes white, and pure, as if the Maker Himself touched the ground and cleansed it....

And then it fades, back into the grey stormy weather. Yet the area is clear of any demons in Fade.

James lurches to the side, gasping, his eyes staring and wide, still feeling the punch of the lyrium in his veins - like fire, righteous fire, all the way through him.

As long as it doesn't require the Creators to connect back.

She's seen Templars use their powers before, but never this close. It makes her gasp, though she keeps her fingers hooked into the bark of the fallen log and her eyes on James, just as she's told to. Truthfully, she doesn't think she could look away from this.

At least, not until she's suddenly severed from her magic. Then all she wants to do is close her eyes, shrink in on herself; it feels like she's naked, not just physically -- like she's been bared of what makes her her, that everyone can see past and into the very depths of her heart. Her fingertips aren't gripping the bark anymore; instead, her nails have sunk into her palms, not deep or sharp enough to draw blood but enough to leave a mark. She shakes, like a leaf in a storm or a newborn halla.

"Creators," she all but whimpers, not trusting herself to move even to check on James, not just yet.

Well, there they might run into a problem.

James felt the ringing through his entire body, a vibration that he could barely control. He sucked in a few breaths, feeling the rage of lyrium inside his blood, and he looked over to Merrill to make sure she herself was ... well. Breathing.

She was. Excellent. He needed ... he needed to get them to the healing tents. He promised. He used his sword to lurch to his feet, but the world swam and he stumbled next to her, trying not to fall over.

A startled squeak escapes her before she can stop it, one leg rapidly drawn up and out of the way of James as he stumbles. Luckily he doesn't land on either herself or the log, because there's no way Merrill can get him to the tents if he breaks something. Not right now.

"Perhaps we should catch our breath?"

Even talking feels taxing right now.

James manages to balance himself, barely, on his feet, but a near-by tree looks like it might be good to lean against. Just ... for awhile.

"Yes ... yes that might be a good idea." He stated slowly, as his eyes spun. Or was that the world around them.

"...are you ... all right?" He had to ensure her safety, before anything else. Especially before passing out.

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.

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."

"I'm standing because you're standing."

Adults.

Still, after a moment, Merrill huffs and tries to sit back down. Mostly she just falls backward.

"... Well that's just ... stubborn."

James manages to growl out, before he sighs and goes to flop down next to her. How he doesn't end up arse over tea kettle, we may never know.

Takes one to know one, James.

In any case, Merrill turns her head to check on him once he's on the ground, reaching with one hand to try and comfortingly pat his shoulder.

"Thank you."

Yes, well. Let's just not that point out to the man who swallowed a potent lyrium potion, yes.

He feels her hand on his shoulder, and he looks at her hand for a moment, his head wobbling slightly.

"You have lovely hands, Merrill." A beat. "And ... yes. You're welcome."

There's a series of slow blinks, first at James, then at her hands, then back at James.

Then, a smile, red creeping over her cheeks and up to the tips of her ears.

"Thank you. You're very kind. And lovely yourself- I mean, your hands are. Or- well, not that the rest of you isn't."

Help.

"It's been a rather long day, hasn't it?"

James peers at her for a moment, his pupils blown wide open and his head tipping ever so slightly, before he states simply.

"I ... think that means you think I am ... good looking? But now I am not entirely certain."

Yes, let's go in this direction, conversation.

"Ah, yes. And ... we should try to make it to the healing tents, if at all possible."

Because clearly they've both gone and lost their sense of not saying things aloud when they shouldn't. OR at least not say them out-loud, when they're both slightly tipsy from magical influences. Normal influences would be acceptable.

"Yes. And yes."

Not that she's moving, save to duck her head a little bit to try and hide how red she is -- which doesn't particularly work, considering her ears are still exposed.

"But we can't hurt ourselves getting there. That was- very intense."

"Consider me flattered, Merrill."

Because ... well. He was. Clearing his throat, he tried to push himself upright, and wobbled slightly.

"Then we will take it easy, and lean on one another for support."

"Well. Me too."

Though now it's probably best to focus on getting to the healing tents, or else they're probably never going to get there because she'll spontaneously combust. Trying to push herself up as well, Merrill immediately ends up grabbing her staff for support.

"I feel like a newborn halla. Is that normal?"

"Just ... so I'm clear? You're altogether lovely. Not just your hands."

Because honestly she complimented his whole person and it would be simply horrific not to -

He really needs to get to the healing tents. Up is down, down is up. He makes it to his feet, and offers her his arm, so she can use her staff in the other.

"... Yes. In fact, most mages pass out at this point."

"Oh." Well, Merrill feels like she's going to pass out now. "Thank you- um, again. Really. I'm very flattered too, no one's every really complimented me like that before."

And she's babbling. That needs to stop happening, and she takes his arm, grateful both for the support and the distraction.

"I'll try not to pass out until we get there." Though then her grip tightens, as much as she can tighten it in this state. "Will you stay? At least until my magic is back?"

Until she can defend herself again.

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