faderift | And as we wind on down the road

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: The Herald of Andraste is laid to rest, and the remains of the Inquisition try to put on a good face for their visitors. Some of them try, anyway.
WHEN: Harvestmere 26
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: n/a

The day after the mysterious strangers from the rift arrive, the Herald's body is delivered back to Skyhold. At first, there is doubt-- the timing is convenient, finally found the very day the funeral is to take place, and many still cling to hope that the Herald has somehow survived. Most, but not all, are appeased by news that the Inquisition's chief advisers have all confirmed the identity of the deceased. Preparations are accelerated: what was once to be a symbolic memorial now requires actual rites, and while some prepare the body others break down whatever can be spared for the pyre, constructed in the center of the main courtyard by another crew.

The funeral itself is a somber affair, as funerals generally are. The Great Hall has been cleared and swept but little else-- all attendees stand, and they are lucky it is a clear day, since the late afternoon sun streams in through the gaping holes in the roof. The service proceeds along strictly traditional Andrastian lines, stately and stiff. Mother Giselle provides the service and the sermon, focusing on duty, sacrifice, and the Maker's plan and concluded with a recitation of Transfigurations 10:1 by the whole assemblage. It is all very predictable, but sincerely delivered. Cassandra and Cullen lead the honor guard. It is a mismatched collection of visiting dignitaries, suspicious observers, pilgrims, colleagues, and companions that slowly process up to pay their silent respects as Evelyn Trevelyan lies in state. Some may notice that the body has been carefully arranged to disguise the fact that her left hand is gone. As night falls they light candles and then the pyre, and as the flames catch and lick up toward the star-washed sky, Mother Giselle sings a haunting version of the Chantry hymn The Dawn Will Come.

The wake that follows is less staid. It seems as if every table and chair in the castle has been dragged into The Herald's Rest and the courtyards and every hidden store of fine wine and food has been dug out from Josephine's secret stores to impress the more exalted visitors. This isn't just a funeral, after all, but a political occasion, an opportunity to demonstrate that the Inquisition lives on beyond the loss of its first symbolic leader, and that it can still be a force for peace and unity.

That impression is dented as the night wears on, and opinions and stories get shared more and more loudly. Someone hops up on a table to give their own little eulogy and others follow suit. Of course eventually it turns sour-- a templar gets up and starts blaming the mages for killing the Herald just like they killed the Divine, and mages at the next table shout back. He's hauled down before things can escalate, but grumbling and dirty looks are unlikely to be the last of it.

The event carries on into the wee hours, and noise echoes around the stone walls loudly enough to make it difficult for any to sleep early. One team of Inquisition scouts and soldiers comes out of the barn to complain more than once, and eventually move their bedrolls down into a basement hall, growling about how they have to be up at the crack of dawn to head out on a mission to scout some Maker-forsaken bog of all the places. (Mire, one of them corrects.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wind you up and watch you go then? Fair enough, let's see how you go.

[While Dante might not be one for mincing words or long dialogues of speech, Dorian could talk as much or as little as he wanted so long as he touched on the ideas that Dante was attempting to finesse out of him. After all it was his eulogy that held the most pertinent information this evening.]

I don't know much about this world outside of what I've seen so far...magisters, mages...whatever. You mentioned the Herald...Inquisitor...[Dante attempting to be respectful of the situation was very difficult so instead of saying anything he just made a gesture with his hand]...you said they'd been killed by a magister. Is he also responsible for the rift? More importantly does anyone know anything about his whereabouts?

[Because if this magister whoever is responsible then Dante would like nothing more than to knock on his front door, fruit basket in hand, and give him his own form of greeting. Well, that's if Dorian, or anyone knew anything, if not, he had quite a hunt ahead of him.]

You have some burning questions for him, no doubt.

[ The amusement in his voice isn't necessarily unfriendly, but lacks much in the way of actual humour. He turns so that he is facing away from the fire, letting it warm up his thighs. ]

He was known to us first as the Elder One, before revealing his name as Corypheus. As for his being a magister-- [ Dorian pauses, looking again at Dante. It's hard to fathom the concept of someone completely alien to this world and all its complications, and harder still to fathom an answer.

Oh, well. The lad will surely stop him if he has questions. ] If he is to be believed, then he is a magister of an ancient time, tainted and corrupted with darkness and rendered nigh immortal, returned now to do Maker knows what exactly. Destroy the world, likely enough.

He opened the Breach in the sky, that which spawned those little rifts that you and the others came from, so, yes, to put it simply. As for his whereabouts-- he commands an army, and no doubt our scouts and spies will be attempting to track their movements.

That's the rather dressed down version, but in truth, we know precious little else save for inference and the word of Corpyheus himself.

Well you know how villains are, you're a lowly piece of shit, but whack 'em around like a pinata and it's not long before they're spitting out prizes.

[For all intents and purposes Dante looked very serious and very confident, at least in his ability to potentially tear this Elder One a new ass. For the most part he listened to whatever pearls of wisdom and information Dorian could provide him with.

Oddly enough he wasn't bothered by the cold so he stood out of the heat, letting the other man take as much of it as he needed. He was more interested in having the man answer his questions as thoroughly as possible, though it didn't stop him from sipping wine in the process, it just gave him something to do with himself given that he wasn't used to this level of inactivity.]

I just love it when they're nigh immortal, it keeps things interesting. [Dante punctuated with a wink and a light-hearted grin, it was very possible that the gravity of the situation hadn't settled in yet or he was just that damned cocky.] So we know he's responsible for the rifts that brought me here from Limbo...but aside from having an army moving around, no one knows where his lair of doom is?

[Pressing the rim of the wine bottle to his bottom lip Dante looks thoughtful for a moment]

That makes it complicated...I'm not the hurry up and wait sort.

[ Dorian's eyebrows twinge at this first part, but he doesn't ask-- what any of that means, really, much be a 'foreign, possibly demonic' thing. Dante's own self-confidence reflects back at him with a semi-critical eye. In no rush to tear him down, really, so long as he is asking questions.

Dorian folds his arms comfortably, awaiting the next. ]

You may need to hurry up and learn to wait, [ he says. ] I imagine he moves amongst his army rather than sit about in his lair of doom, being rather hands on in his own villainy as far as the end of the world goes -- and even if he did, no amount of whacking will turn up much in the way of prize.

You'd have to get through his dragon, too.

[ Dorian casts his attention back out to the milling crowd. ]

Fortunately for you, you landed amongst the only people in Thedas truly doing something about him.

Easier said than done. I have my own problems with demon scum and demon scum god parasite wannabes...and [he glances at Dorian, tempted to tell him more than he probably should, but thinks better of it] well you have your own problems too so it's not important. Anyway, not that I can't sympathize with your problems here, I can...it's just the faster I can help, the faster I can find a way to leave. [ That's his ends really.] So if no amount of whacking will turn up a prize, I'll have to switch tactics. More finesse? You don't think he's open to wining and dining?

[Okay, there's no hiding the look of near manic excitement in his eyes at the mention of a dragon. He's learned a little bit since he's been here, at least about the types that existed.]

Oh? I didn't know this was a two for one special! I was going to put dragon hunting on my list of things to do while I was here...now I don't have to.

[Dante's eyes follow Dorian's, scanning the crowd and he idly dingers the red amulet around his neck. It gives off an unusual glow at his touch and it's only when he realizes what he's doing that he stops.]

Yeah? So why's the rest of the world just standing by?

Defending themselves, I suspect. There might be more meaningful displays of organisation and resistance since Corypheus revealed himself, and we call agree upon wanting to be rid of a darkspawn, but the Inquisition was the first. And, has very tidily placed itself in direct opposition to his cause.

[ That near manic excitement gets an eyebrow raise, but he isn't someone to laden another with warnings. Facts, he can do.

He glances after the dim red glow of the other man's necklace, then back up. ]

You ought to save some of that optimism for the rest of us. Look how grim we all are.

You think it would be unanimous, is there any reason anyone in particular would still want this Corypheus around?

[Dante's not unfamiliar with concept of "better the devil you do" and perhaps this was a creature whose ideas resonated with a lot of people.

Or perhaps he could make offers that most wouldn't refuse. Either way he was excited to meet him]

It's a funeral, it'd be weird if you weren't a little grim...besides, Corypheus is gonna lose.

[He seemed to think it was a fact, that he was sure of it.]

Right so...[Dante held his hand up, the glowing green mark having accompanied him since he fell out of the hole in the sky]...I'm used to parts of my body glowing, but this is new. What is it supposed to do? Or be for that matter?

We don't know.

[ He can bluntly admit when something's the case, particularly when drinking, and particularly when it's something he himself would prefer to understand better. Dante holds up his hand; Dorian glances at it, a little wearily. ]

Neither did the Herald. [ He squints in study, before looking away, back to the wake at large. ] Hers was bigger, and Maker knows what that portends. Hers was the product of some sort of spell cast by Corypheus, a ritual she blundered into and got summarily marked with. She was able to use it to close the fade rifts, and eventually, the Breach, with enough power backing her.

Why you have it, to what end, that I can't say. It's tied, regardless, to the rifts that divide our world from the next. And yours, apparently.

And as we wind on down the road

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