points the faith in higher things,

[dashing]

WHO: Herian Amsel & open.
WHAT: the party don't start 'til she walks in. (Introducing Herian & her recruitment to the Inquisiton.)
WHEN: mid-July & onwards.
WHERE: Halamshiral & surrounds, maybe some Skyhold later?
NOTES: Prose/brackets are both fine!
Open starters in the main post (more to be added), closed starters in the comments, if we've discussed any plans feel free to barge in with a wildcard or prod me via pm or pp @karmacharging and I'll whip something up. If you'd like some information on this problem child, here is her info post.
WARNINGS: Herian's background includes themes of violence, torture and death, as well as discrimination and her own post traumatic stress disorder. While she will not in general be vocal about some of her own prejudices (against apostates, Dalish and nobles as some examples) it is very likely to come up in narrative and could come up in dialogue depending on interactions. Here is an opt out post if you'd rather certain things be avoided, or if you'd like to opt out of interactions with her in general.

Arriving with the Inquisition ( open. )
Herian Amsel exists in shades of winter, even when the world around her is dusty from heat. Her hair is dark, the black of a tree stripped of leaves and colour and grasping at a grey, unsympathetic sky, her eyes a pale, blue that people might foolishly attribute to ice in a fit of romanticism. For all that she appears to carry winter with her, summer has rolled relentlessly through a country already bearing the scorchmarks of war, making the people and the landscape seem to blur together. It is the dirt, she expects, the clouds of dust that have rolled over them on their journey. Even the grass feels dry and brittle. The closer they have drawn to the estate of Duc Hugues Pelletier, the more she has wondered just what difference there will be between the state of the gardens and the grass the common folk can wander on outside. It seems comical, if not downright insane that she be leading a group of elven refugees to the estate of an Orlesian noble for sanctuary, but she promised them she would bring them to the Inquisiton, and if the Inquisition is in Halamshiral then the group will have access to better food and medicine and more protection than she can afford them if she were to escort them to Skyhold as their sole guard.


Option A.
Herian is on foot, leading a palomino stallion with an elven woman on his back, pregnant and exhausted. Mage as she might be, Herian carries no staff. Instead a sword hangs by her side, and something like twenty refugees follow behind her.

"Inquisition," she starts, and her accent is defiantly and perhaps unexpectedly Starkhaven. "These refugees seek sanctuary amongst your number, and to lend their hands to your cause. To where shall I lead them?"


Option B.
Still on foot, Herian accompanies a smaller number of elves, now, heading towards the makeshift Medical Tents. The pregnant woman from before is with her, Herian leading her so that the woman can rest a hand on her forearm, Herian move slowly and patiently.

"This way. The mages here work under the Inquisiton banner, so if your need is dire then they are well qualified to bring you aid. You need not spend any time in the presence of those that set you ill at ease." Her voice is soft, and she has not yet looked up to the person standing nearby. "Can I have the names of your elven healers, for my friends?"


Other Increasingly Ridiculous Prompts ( open. )
Option C.
There is something singularly satisfying about the burn of muscles after exertion. Usually it comes in the form of training, practicing forms over and over for hours on end. Today, though, Herian is chopping wood, ensuring that those she accompanied who are still tired or injured need not worry should they have need, or perhaps so she can be useful to the Inquisition in some form.

Largely she does it because she likes to work, and the steady routine of grabbing up the heavy slabs of wood and breaking them apart with an axe is steadying. Not quite the meditation technique that she was taught in the Spire, but it sets her in the right frame of mind all the same. Her breath, her mind, and the regular thud and splinter make her feel better. Sweat rolls down her back, the thin material of her shirt sticks to her skin, and the tangled mess of her hair seems wilder even than before.

.... Although it is after noon and she's doing it non-stop for a long time in the summer sun, so perhaps an intervention would be wise.


Wildcard me, bro.

Comments

[fleurdesel]

"The world is ending." They are fighting against and impossible foe with magic they hardly understand, the bulk of their fate in the hands of those not even from this side of the veil.

What else is there to call it but an apocalypse?

"The world is ending and they live here as much as you and I. Should we falter, should we fail? They will bleed and die with the rest of us." Is that not reason enough? "There are no circles to be loyal to, Herian. They have been dissolved. The Chantry is in shambles."

She has a moment to be grateful Herian was not at Andoral's reach. There is little question, now, of where she would have stood among the bloodshed there. "Am I self-obsessed? Do I seem less to be standing away from that which nearly killed us both?"

[dashing]

Her expression is far more controlled than what it once was. Oh, Herian in the Spire was defiant and in that defiance came a measure of haughty evenness, more for the sake of being headstrong than because she thought it seemly. Sometimes it was purely because someone thought she couldn't. Herian in the Aftermath held control close to her chest, treasured it as she controlled little else. The Enchanter had been right - without control her powers would never truly be her own, but something she was at war with.

"And is this better? We need them back. If there hadn't been-- apostates and Kirkwall, the Spire would never have fallen." The tremour and spasm in her hands stretches up to her wrists, threatens to claim her forearms, and she clenched her fingers into the cloth of her robes. "Dishonour nearly killed us. Not... not the Circles."

Herian shakes her head. "You are a Spirit Healer. I can think of few vocations less selfish." The Enchanter is wilfully misunderstanding her.

[dashing]

Tabitha, the child, is a little thing with dark blonde braids and a grey-blue dress that is a size or two too large for her and a gap between her two frontmost top teeth, and freckles across her nose and cheeks.

Tabitha, Herian thought with some concern, was exactly the sort of friendly, inquisitive child who wanted to learn about everything. She rests her hand on his head, and Herian Doesn't Smile for a brief moment before rolling her eyes.

"The one redeeming trait of Orlesians is the lack of dogs," she comments to Inessa very dryly, as they keep walking. Look what you've done.

[fleurdesel]

"We have no way of knowing that. What was, was. What is, is. We are only able to shape what is to come with an understanding of what failed in the past so we might avoid those failings in the future." It isn't repeating herself if it is paraphrasing a longer lecture.

They have been apart long enough for it to count.

"The lack of consistency, of just treatment from Circle to Circle played as much into this as anything else. The Chantry failed us. In Andoral's reach we failed one another. We cannot afford to do so here." So long as she still breathes? She will not allow such a thing to come to pass. More than enough have suffered. More than enough have died. "We need this. It is incomplete and we are still learning the best way to see to one another's hurts- but we are offering an unprecedented exchange of knowledge among mages. We are better able to serve the people of the Inquisition and for the Inquisition. Whatever is to come afterward remains to be seen. But this? It works, Herian. I would not throw my name behind it otherwise."

[dashing]

She has interrogated it from as many angles as she can muster, but the frameworks she clings to compromise her ability to assess and to test.

"And the hurts the Dalish inflict? They are forgotten?"

Herian exhales slowly, eases her hands. The shaking is not gone, but it stilled enough. She watched Adelaide carefully, the kind of scrutinising look that comes with hunger. Two years together has she wandered, and then she comes to the Inquisition and finds... this? For a moment her mouth always wavers, before she wets her lips, stretches and shakes the pain from her shoulders and her neck.

"If the exchange is tainted with dishonour, what good is it? What promise can it hold?" Her tone, despite herself, is all hurt.

She stops, partway to taking a breath to continue, and stops short, visibly drawing herself up. "I apologise. The Code forbids the cause of wanton offence. Better I hold my tongue than wound one dear to me when we are so freshly reunited."

[fleurdesel]

Adelaide manages, somehow, to stop herself from saying something so crass, pointless, and foolish as 'not all Dalish'- for that would help no one and is the least useful statement for the time being.

"...They keep to themselves more often than not, or the garden in Skyhold. Occasionally they do wander but as they are here and act as members of the Inquisition, they are subject to the same laws that bind the rest of us to live civilly with one another. Acting out, causing harm, causing hurt? And they are punished just as any other member of the Inquisition. They are subject to the administration of the Advisors." It is a tentative peace she can tell, that holds Herian. "If they cause offence, they answer for it."

That is a better prospect than Dalish in the wild, accountable to no one but themselves. It is not better. It is not perfect. It will not ease the wounds that Herian carries about day in, day out.

Gently, as much as she is able to gentle her voice, she offers. "I am not offended, Ri-Ri. Concerned for you and those you have brought, but not offended. As a Councilor it is my duty to take all complaints into consideration as they are brought to me. Asking you to trust me about this- I know it is a stretch and I know it is not easy. But I ask it all the same. You need not be more than civil should you encounter the Dalish here, but I will ask of you as I have asked of Korrin regarding the templars. Keep your distance. If they do not permit you to do so, inform me and I will have words."

[dashing]

"One of their number came to the refugees. You may receive word of me from her, and from two others, of our meetings. They were eager to assert the influence the People," the disdain in that one word is a stark contrast to the evenness forced upon the rest, "hold here."

Her lip curls a moment, before she smooths it away and her gaze drops, and she reminds herself the slow inhale and exhale that always helps settle herself, that she has helped weave more subtly into how she moves. "I will not be the one to lash out at them. You can count upon me, and upon my honour."

A knight causes no wanton offence. A knight upholds law and peace. A knight grants succour to those that have need of it, eschews cruelty and dishonesty. A knight--

A knight must be above such selfish emotion. She draws herself taller, more rigid, though it feels so difficult in the face of that nickname. "To you my trust is granted without hesitation, both as Enchanter and Councillor. So long as I stay here, I will do all I am able to ensure the peace of this place, but if they lay hands upon myself or my people then I will act as duty demands."

[circleprodigy]

The oversized dress reminds Inessa sharply of what few memories she has before the Circle, how excited she was to have clothes that finally fit upon arriving. Physically, they're nothing alike, but that stark reminder makes her heart ache for just a moment. She'll remember to pass along some better-fitting clothing when there's time.

Meanwhile, Garahel's tail wags all the harder upon being pet, and he makes contented noises before rolling onto his back and exposing that belly. Please pet it or he might explode. Of course, petting or not, Inessa eventually calls for him so he won't fall too far behind and he obeys.

Inessa's lips twitch. "As a 'dog lord' I will happily disagree. If they had more mabari around, Orlais might be a better place for it."

[foxsays]

"You are acquainted with Madame LeBlanc?" A question rather than an assumption; Araceli doesn't know enough about Circles exactly but Adelaide had recounted Andoral's Reach to her recently, after the exodus of the White Spire before so many of them had gone to Redcliffe. She hopes for Adelaide's sake they know each other. Adelaide could use more familiar faces when she watched so many fighting their own, when there were so many bodies upon the pyres.

The scars, she hopes, did not come from there. She doesn't want to know what could ever have caused scars like that and beneath the water her toes curl, legs tucking tighter against her body for a moment.

Dairsmuid has only sharpened all of that, when her mask had cracked and she'd reached out to squeeze Adelaide's hand when the grief and anger had choked her. There are so few here from Dairsmuid, just as there were too many lost at the Spire, at Andoral's Reach, going to Redcliffe, so many other places she hasn't heard of yet but will in time she's sure. She cups warm water in her hands to splash her face, reaching behind her for a wide-toothed comb to begin getting to work as she shrugs.

"Not in the grand scheme of things, no, but sometimes we wish for troubles we can fix with a bottle of good oil, brushes and combs, don't we?" Or she does now. Hair is a problem that can be solved with a little hard work she can lose herself in. "Just drifting and forgetting that anything else ever existed, so long as someone knows what they're doing."

( closed ) Cosima.

[dashing]

She is still learning the ins and outs of this place. The journey to Skyhold, even after time for her party to recover in Halamshiral, had been a tiring one, and Herian is ill at ease departing once more until she knows the elves she escorted here at well settled and comfortable with their new surrounds. They are happy enough today that she feels free to finally walk away from the Keep proper and explore a little, departing with the rising sun.

It is closer to midday when her wandering brings her across another. The stream here is not yet joined to the river that courses a little closer to Skyhold, and Herian was crouched down by it to splash water over her face and wash her hands when a sound nearby prompts her to draw her sword, moving slowly before she pinpoints the source.

"Are you in need of some assistance?" The question comes with the quiet sound of her sword returning to its scabbard, and a faintly quizzical look at the woman and her bundles of cuttings, which frankly look haphazard rather than identifiably for medicinal or culinary purposes.

[eolasemah]

This happens too often to be a big surprise, but seldom enough that Sina still isn't ever quite ready for it. She accepts Beleth's support, leaning slightly on her and wincing as she tries to take deeper breaths. The conflict isn't forgotten, but she finds she's having a more difficult time concentrating on it. And under no circumstances does she want to appear weak in any way, let alone fall, in front of this woman.

"We should go," she says, a bit shortly, her breath still coming with difficulty. She's supporting at least half her weight on Beleth, and nudges her slightly in the direction of... away. She can't deal with both problems at once, and can't help but worry that Beleth will have a worse time than she.

[dashing]

"The Councillor was a teacher of mine." Would likely have continued to have been in some way, even if Herian had become an Enchanter scant weeks before the Spire fell. Herian had never looked to her for aid with Spirit Healing, but there were other things Adelaide had been particular good at teaching, focusing on. Calm. The Councillor seems perhaps the more proper title than the Enchanter, now, and she is uncertain why this Antivan would not use the proper title. It seems disrespectful, almost, to neglect such a thing.

Herian stays her tongue. There is nothing to be won for leaping upon a person for what might be a misstep; it would be neither gracious nor courteous of Herian to act in such a way. It is simply filed away, a possible point to be raised later, if the behaviour should continue, to observe and see if it is simply this strangers own way, or the way things are done in Antiva, or if it is a deliberate insult delivered.

As for Araceli's words on matters easily fixed, with that at the very least Herian can agree easily, sinking so her shoulders are beneath the water a moment and rinsing over her face, letter her hands rest there as the water rolls away. "There is something gratifying in matters that can be resolved in one motion. We all of us labour towards ends that we may not live to see met. Smaller things have won less of my attention."

[youwonscience]

"Whoa," Cosima said, hands raised the instant she registers someone coming at her with a sword, and going down only slowly after the woman puts it away. "Um." It takes a second to register that she's been asked a question.

"Oh. Uh, maybe? I'm not doing anything particularly important to anyone other than me. I thought this place didn't belong to anyone in particular?" Cosima sounds vaguely apologetic. It's the kind of day she's been having. She's probably pulling the Thedas equivalent of poison ivy, while she's at it.

[dashing]

Herian bows her head slightly, hands held open at her side. "I apologise for bearing a blade so readily. It was ill-done, in such close proximity to Skyhold. Please forgive my blunder."

The woman's manner is not a familiar one. Something in the combination of her attire, not quite one thing or another, is strange. With all said, though, Herian spent close to twenty years of her lives in the Circle. She is hardly well informed on what is strange and what is not, and there are much stranger things in the world. "It is belonging to none that I know. I am but a wanderer, myself."

A wanderer who sometimes draws a sword on strangers, but even so. Her gaze drops to the leaves, and Herian takes a step forward, hand held out to caution the stranger. "Forgive my forwardness, good lady, but better not to touch that vine so freely. Rashvine can render your skin fearsome itchy, when handled with too great a vigour."

[youwonscience]

"Oh shit," Cosima says, half laughing in horror and dropping the vine she's holding. "Of course it's... Does washing your hands in water help at all?" she asks ruefully. At least they're not far from the stream.

At least she seems to have forgiven the approach with a sword, now that Herian has proven simply a little paranoid, rather than actively hostile.

[foxsays]

"She must be glad to see you arrived safely, after the losses she has suffered. Working so tirelessly the way that she does? It feels only right that she be repaid with a familiar face arriving safe and unharmed." Not that anything so very terrible has happened recently but it's been going on for such a very long time without end, and there are always people who deserve good news and get little enough of it.

That Adelaide immediately offered sanctuary to the Rivaini refugees wasn't a surprise, but Araceli is no less grateful for it. For being able to let all of them hear the words said over her crystal in the camp. For sending exactly everything Araceli requested without question along with Korrin when she showed up at the docks. Once she knows enough about all the Councillors to make a formal offer to aid them, she hopes to begin repaying that debt when words won't do.

Reaching behind her with her free hand, she slides the basket over to between her and Herian in a wordless offer since there are never too many haircare essentials for ladies with lots of it. "That's certainly one way to put it." A fatalistic view in her opinion though this hasn't been her war for very long at all. "Eventually we all might wash away the worries themselves and throw them out with the bathwater, though that has yet to work since I returned myself. But if you aren't opposed to helping hands? I have oil, the very best. Enough to get the muck of the Fallow Mire out."

[arlathvhen]

"Of course, Lethallan." Once again, Beleth's focus is entirely centered on Sina, keeping a hand on her, concern marking her face. But even when speaking to her fellow Dalish, she makes sure her words are carefully planned. "Do you want to go back to the gardens? Or if food would help, we can go to the kitchens. Burly is a sweetheart, he's made me all kinds of sweets, I'm sure we can talk him into making you something." If Beleth were ever going to marry a man for his job, it would probably be him.

Then she turns to Herian, calm and polite. "I'm glad that this disagreement was of no consequence. Indeed, I'm sure it was nothing." A very deliberate, measured pause, and then she continues. "I would hate to think that there were any strife between us and...your people. Please, if any of us causes offense, do not hesitate to contact any of the advisors. They are all personally acquainted with at least a few of the Dalish, and I am sure that they would do their best to resolve the matter. Or if you find it preferable, you can also speak to the mage's council. The People have members among them as well, and I have absolute faith that they would do their best to make sure none of us are causing a disturbance to anyone."

Another measured pause, and her smile increases, as she puts a hand on her chest. "And of course, you are welcome to bring up any issue to me. But not right now, I'm afraid. If you'll excuse me, I must attend to my friend. It was a pleasure to meet you."

[dashing]

"Aye, that it will." Herian stands aside, as if she were somehow blocking the entire stream. Her brow catches in a slight furrow, and she dips her hands into a a leather pack hanging from her side, until she finds a small jar.

Her tone is not without sympathy. Taking a number of elves from the city slums through rough country they had not visited prior? There had been a good many flora and fauna related incidents. Perhaps the woman was of a city.

"This, as well." The jar itself contains a thick balm that smells of beeswax, honey and lavender, and some other more complicated mix of herbs. By way of explanation, "the balm will prevent any sores, if applied with haste after your hands are bathed and dried."

[dashing]

"Easily spoken, for a human. Life outside the Circles is not so glorious for all."

And well does she know that she is human. She knows that she insults her father, her father's father, her mother's mother. She knows that the skin she wears is human, but that same skin has been marked for being of an alienage. When your mother's mother and your mother's father are both of them elven, and yet your mother herself is human and you are never told why, you pick and worry at possibilities. When all your kin are elven, save you and your mother, it fills you with a desperate desire to forget what you are.

Now she does not forget. She uses being human to make herself better able to protect those she travels with, but she does not feel fully human even so, even though she knows that is nothing but folly.

At least, she can console herself with the knowledge that the Wardens take on talented mages, and that it did not make this man an apostate. A fool, no doubt, but not an apostate automatically. That he is a healer wins him some credit; it was a gift she did not share, and had desire to pursue.

"I am Knight Enchanter Amsel, of the White Spire. I thank you for your aid, Warden."

[dashing]

Safe and unharmed. Araceli Bonaventura was, she suspected, a little naive in some matters. Not necessarily foolish, but harm could take so many forms. Herian tilts her head a little, a nod of sorts. Adelaide had Herian arrive in a place where Dalish ran rampant, it seemed, where apostates wandered with little care or concern. Oh, they were all apostates now, but there were those who believed in order and knowledge and justice and the good that the Circles might do, and those who would seen them torn to rubble, and allow danger and chaos to run rampant.

"I suspect she was not displeased at my arrival," Herian finally allows, and there is the edge of a subtle kind of smile that catches the corner of her mouth.

The slide of the basket surprises her, and she just looks at it for long moments before looking to Araceli, unmoving. She did not anticipate the offer, nor is she much inclined to closeness with those she does not know. To refuse it, though, would not be polite when it is freely and generously intended. The pause is, perhaps, overlong.

"Thank you. I would be much indebted to you for the kindness," Herian replies, slowly, still testing her own certainty.

[dashing]

The snake enjoys the sound of her hiss, to go on with so many unnecessary words when her friend struggles. Herian held little care for the well-being of reptiles, but she had believed them like to at least see to their own. (Their own, indeed, seemed to be their only care.) Cerise's hold on Herian has eased, and for all that she is pregnant and tired, she is in far better form than the struggling Dalish.

The hissing is not near so clever or subtle as she thinks. All pause and emphasis and making pretty with her words, when they both of them knew the truth of it. The Dalish had poisoned the waters. They had compromised the Inquisition's very integrity. Herian promised to bring these people somewhere safe, and instead she has lead them to a pit of snakes.

It seems worth noting that she can hardly seek this self-righteous creature out without knowing her name, but she's no great interest in pressing the point when the other is in pain. Herian simply nods an acknowledgement.

"Blessings with you."

( closed ) Thranduil. ( hover for translation. )

[dashing]

The days are long and dusty, and even after meeting with Adelaide, Herian is not at peace. The Dalish could come and go amongst her people freely, and though a good many of the refugees have no care for the Dalish, they did not have the standing to brace themselves against them should the Dalish insist on being present. Herian worries the inside of her cheek with her teeth as she walks with buckets of fresh water, setting them down by the fire where an older woman with waves of red hair and warm brown eyes is cooking. Herian's own smile is slight, as it always is, until there is the thunder of familiar feet.

Herian crouches down as the child approaches her, a little storm of honey-blonde ringlets, and for all that Herian barely smiles her expression still brightens, and she gently taps Tabitha's chin. "Aren't you bonny?"

Tabitha beams, grabs Herian's sleeve to tug at it, and starts to draw her in the direction of Someone New in camp. Herian can feel the tension coiling about her spine even as she is lead. The last time Tabitha encountered a stranger it had been the Dalish, Pel. She doubts that her optimism at Adelaide visiting deserves any merit.

When she sees him - easily beyond a full foot taller than most elves in camp, with long hair that she could not place as silvery or blond in such bright light as this, Herian is surprised. He carries not the wretched tattoos of the Dales, but he certainly is not akin to any elf she has ever seen.

It is unsurprising Tabitha leads her to him, and she informs him very smartly that this is the lady that brought them here, and that she has kept them safe, and that she is the bravest person Tabitha has ever met, as if Herian is a favourite doll being shown off. Herian, for her part, looks up that the stranger with a guarded sort of curiosity, as Tabitha hugs against her leg.

"Ceud mìle fàilte. Fine day to you. What brings you to our dwelling, sir?"

[youwonscience]

"Oh awesome." She looks up from where she's already vigorously relocated to wash her hands. "Is it an anti-inflammatory, or does it actually block the..." She trails as she realizes "histamine reaction" is probably not going to be helpful. Rephrasing!

"Does it help with the itch, or does it mainly reduce swelling and redness? I mean, either's great, I've had my world's equivalent before and it's not especially fun to just ride out without help."

At least she hadn't gone so far astray as to pull anything actually toxic. In the name of this woman not thinking she's a total idiot, she adds, "I thought it was starweed. Still getting the hang of plant identification." It would be way easier with a working phone. Or even a field guide rather than notes from the library with her best attempt at sketches.

those italics are because my entire tag required emphasis, apparently :'|

[dashing]

"All symptoms are eased. Your skin may feel a little tight and dry for a time, but if you keep applying when it starts to feel over-warm then you'll have no more need of it beyond this day." As soon as the stranger's finished washing her hands, Herian holds it out to her. Until that moment, though, she'll hold onto it, spare her the juggle.

It takes a moment for her to register the my world's equivalent comment, and though she does not withdraw the offered jar, Herian's gaze narrows slightly. "Do you hail from a Rift, then?"

In the past weeks she has been made aware of Rifters offering aid in Halamshiral, in Adelaide's employment of some, of her insistence that they are good and helpful souls. Her faith in Adelaide's word is shaken, a little, by her tolerance of the Dalish.

"All the more ambitious a project for one with no familiarity with the plants of our world, I'd wager." Cautious, just barely. Rifters ranked above many, but they were still... dangerous. Potentially.

Look, we've all been there

[youwonscience]

"Thank you." She takes the jar, though she makes it a slow, fluid movement. The woman seems like a bad choice of person to startle.

"Um, yeah, I came through a Rift a few weeks back. So they tell me, at least; I didn't know anything about Rifts or the Fade until I arrived. Definitely not on purpose." She starts working the salve into her skin. "I'm Cosima."

In fairness, Cosima's demeanor is the opposite of dangerous, especially at the moment. She feels a bit foolish, but not so much so that she's going to give up the project entirely. (Gloves, next time, if she can somehow get a pair.)