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

[foxsays]

"Oh." It could mean a lot of things. But what's done is done, Araceli didn't even know other worlds existed when all this began in earnest but that seems to be the way of Thedas; that no matter what you do, it will always feel like too little, and it will always come too late. She doesn't say that she was told of Annulments, not when it's another chance to hear what another person might say of them. You never show your hand.

"The Templars hunting them during my time in Rivain were under no orders. Templars have either broken from the Chantry to follow the Lord Seeker, or they have allied themselves to the Inquisition. That makes up the most of them." Not all, she's not so foolish as to think that accounts for nearly all of them but enough. "In Dairsmuid they believed in one thing only: slaughtering every last survivor that had made it out of the Circle in the first place. Destroying those last artifacts they hadn't crushed beneath their heel. Burning every last book. The order for the Annulment came nearly two years ago.

"And Rivain...Rivain is not here. Rivain had traditions that belonged to Rivain alone." That had been the reason for Araceli going in the first place, and there's almost a smile in her voice for a moment when she says that - but then people would call her a heathen at best for her beliefs if they knew. What would this woman make of her, if she knew? She moves to the next layer of hair, one more then she can switch to a smaller comb, find tangles she's missed. The words keep coming anyway. "The Circle wasn't the way a Circle in Orlais or Ferelden is, not even Nevarra; Mages saw their families, Mages practiced their own arts including those of the seers, Mages helped the Templars when asked. The Seekers came though. The Seekers did not like such...heathen practices. When we did rescue them, one of the Templars was joking about how long it would take to poison them to death with magebane, and if a Seer would take longer to kill than the rest."

Aintza, her mind supplies neatly, they were talking about Aintza, and they would have moved to Raffaella next, and she had a bruise as if they'd struck her, and her mouth was torn at the corners from a gag. Ciro could barely even walk.

cw; brief reference to murder

[dashing]

The way Eirlys seems to withdraw makes regret sting as freshly as the lash of a fresh wound. Herian does not flinch, or withdraw, even as Eirlys says shemlen; she is ever steady, akin to marble given life. The one tell is the tightening and loosening of her jaw, making a tendon flex visibly, and the brief drop of her gaze. "You are not beholden to me, Healer. The decision is yours. I will not be a human dictating what elves may think or do or believe."

That she will say first. That is the most important point of all, before all else. It would be one thing if she were an elf, but even as her blood runs elven, as her heart beats for them, she is human. She cannot forget it; the cost would be too great. She is a shemlen, even as it makes her wince. And she is called shemlen so often, so lightly. It is not always an offence, but it is burned in her mind as surely as the sight of her father's body. Shemlen, the mark of what she is, and all she is not. It is as Eirlys as said: shemlen have abused elves. They have been cruel beyond words.

But so too have the Dalish.

"Our party was attacked by the Dalish on the way here. I will not see them made fearful because of the presumptions of those—" For a brief moment there is fury that catches her mouth, her nose and her brow, a distortion that is a ripple from far off that disturbs the surface all the same. "Their crimes should not be forgotten simply by virtue of their flesh and ears, Healer."

Somehow, somehow she says it very calmly.

[dashing]

Bless this mess.

Herian is silent as they move closer to the hall, and there is a brief moment where she tenses and her muscles coil, ready to run - one of the elves stumble on the stairs, and she's half a step to rushing to their side when they catch themselves and shakes their heads at another's offer of assistance. Neither the tension in her nor the sharpness of her gaze disappear completely, and she frowns as she they too begin to climb the stairs, concerned.

In an effort to distract herself, she speaks to Avery without looking at her, "from whence did you join the Inquisition?"

[thecookery]

Herian's behavior earns her a curious look. She may have been protecting these people on the road here, but most of them are adults. They're not made of glass, and she can't be responsible for keeping them from every scraped knee and pricked finger forever.

"Denerim, originally," Avery answers after a moment. "I was in Redcliffe for a while though. Saw all the fighting." Her jaw clenches for a moment at that much-abbreviated story. "Saw the Inquisition helping people. One of the few who was even trying. So I thought I'd come see if they needed another hand."

[dashing]

"I understand that a good many have abandoned their vows." Her disgust sneaks into her tone, even as she manages to control so many other things and keep them from it. "And I understand that a good many have little grasp of what it is to be a knight. They undermine their honour and the honour of all their fellows through their selfishness."

Her disgust is a thing that sounds harsh and hollow in the same moment, sincere, but as if she was trying to deprive that fire of air even as she spoke. It is better to listen and understand before taking action. She wonders how many of those Templars had even tried to think. She remembers Elodie, and for a moment her eyes drift shut.

Templars seeing an order through might be deemed honourable. In these circumstances those same standards do not seem to apply, not from the outside. Not if this woman's words are to be trusted at all, though she is not quick to assume Seekers condemned simply for displeasure—

Her hands clench into fists below the water, and flatten again. The Spire had not warranted it, either, though Rivain and its unique practices are of little interest to her. It was the land lacking Chantry influence and with much of the Qun and of pirates. Beyond that she knew little.

"Vile." The only word she has for it, and there are complicated emotions woven into that one syllable.

[dashing]

"Clan Neirysa declared themselves to us when my father took me to them. So far as they are concerned, it is not matter of suspicion." Just in case she had been unclear. Communication is no great virtue of hers, not in the way that others seem to spin words and make understanding bend to their benefit. Not quite lies, but a number of convenient truths.

"That was near Starkhaven. These more recent attacks were in Orlais; our party is largely comprised of elves from Val Firmin and the area surrounding. It was not safe to travel by road much of the way, with the war escalating." Her brow flickers, and Herian reaches for a long stick, a leftover from an earlier game of sword fighting between the children earlier. She uses to to sketch a rough map detailing from Val Firmin to Halamshiral, with a line to indicate the Frostbacks, as well. "Much of the journey demanded hiding from soldiers and chevaliers and common villagers alike. Straying into the edges of woods provided decent enough cover." She could do much, but if there were endless troops? Ah, she'd not endanger the elves for the sake of her ego. "So close to the Dales as we were, we tried to balance the risks."

On the map she marks three crosses over the rough areas where they were attacked. One is roughly in the area around Montsimmard, while the two others are much closer together, near Verchiel. "The first attack was only arrows. I cannot know with certainty based in evidence, but based upon the shots loosed upon us near Verchiel," and she taps the city on the map, "where we saw those attacking us, I think the arrows shared the same method of crafting. The first attack would have been three weeks past." Their travel was not as fast as it could have been, taking awkward roads and travelling with the frail and vulnerable. "They did not attack me alone; our party entire was subject to their violence. They ask them at your leisure, they can speak of it with their own tongues if you've cause to doubt. She frowns for a moment. "There was no formal introduction, but several of them called out Grymusseth."

[youwonscience]

"They don't really," she protests, laughing. "What, is something being ugly supposed to make it more magical?"

[dashing]

"Aye, they do. When you return to Skyhold look upon the merchants thence, your eyes will be seared with the sight of them."

Herian shrugs, a brief glimpse of the humour that hides buried under the surface, just slightly exaggerated. "There are a good many rules in Circles to ban fraternisation between or with mages. Perhaps part of a grand scheme to render us all less pleasing to look upon."

[fleurdesel]

"As much as anyone else within the Inquisition. We have concerns, we take them to the Advisors." Or to the organization that speaks for them as the Council does for the mages. But this-

This is where the familiar script becomes unfamiliar. The anger is there, no doubt. The frustration, the pain. But instead of grumbling and ranting, black joking and needing to be reigned in with a touch and a word- Herian does so herself. Herians peaks of honor not as a guideline, but in the same way Adelaide speaks of precision.

Of discipline.

Not a rule, but a law. Not a cloak one puts upon their shoulders when it is needed to be set aside, but a thread woven into the very fiber of her being. Gently, Adelaide rests her hands upon Herian's, eyes dark, lips pressed thin. "As would be your right. I do not think it shall come to that but I have been wrong before."

She thought the storm would pass at the Spire. She'd hoped.

[dashing]

"To think the Dalish any less than vipers,"

It is foolishness. Remiss. It is reckless and dangerous and it is a danger not only to Adelaide's own self but to everyone within this Inquisition, and all this it claims to want to protect. How can an organisation want to protect, when it is so blind? The words lack heat, though. They are more akin to pristine, undisturbed snow, and are utterly out of synch with how she feels. Herian is still mastering it, but she has become much acquainted with acting contrary to her own feelings.

She carries on with little more than pause to breath, "is to invite despair and discord. Well might they ally to this cause to save this world, but that does not render them worthy of trust." If any emotion tinges her words is it a deep, relentless pain, but even that is wrapped up carefully. This Inquisition cannot reforge them, they are not metal to be melted down and remade. They are sickness and poison.

Herian has been wrong before, as well. And unfortunately, so had her father.

[dashing]

There's protectiveness, and if you take that up a few levels then it's Herian. They are adults; they are not glass. They are fragile all the same. They have been attacked from all sides and abused, and no one has protected them. Perhaps she protects too much, but if that is the case then she holds no regrets.

"I have only heard rumour of what transpired at Redcliffe." She watches Avery for a moment, considering. It was no small thing, after all, and Redcliffe was a town that seemed to have endured much over the years. "How do you find the people here?"

[thecookery]

Well, at least it's a shared burden now, whether it feels it yet or not?

At the question, Avery gives a single soft breath of a laugh. "They're effective, and I suppose they mean well. But if you want to know more than that about any one of them, you've definitely asked the wrong person. I don't do speeches, and I don't do any... palling around."

She gives Herian a look like just the idea of making friends is somehow off-putting to her, before continuing, "I do my job, and most of them do theirs."

[foxsays]

"Do you understand what it is to be one? Only I wonder if I have ever met a knight at all here." Her sigh echoes in the room more than she means it to; all the stories of brave knights, of honour and valour and chivalry that leave her grimacing and in need of rum to wash the taste out when she finishes her studies for the day. It's easy to guess what a knight would say of most of her home but she'd still take honesty over all of that. Honesty isn't upholding someone then butchering the people that can't defend themselves. What good is a vow when it does nothing to help those truly in need?

She takes up the next comb, works it through Herian's hair before she speaks again, close to her ear when she catches that motion. (Her parents daughter, and they their parents' children before them, there is nothing she won't miss in the water.) "Calma," her voice is low and easy, even if she doesn't feel that way, "calma."

One last check of Herian's hair - sleek for the moment, the cramp in her fingers that she last felt when she returned herself rom the Mire and scraped mud and things she didn't want to think about then or now from it standing testament to that - and she sets down the comb in the basket again. The steam has warmed the oil but when she pours a generous quantity into her hands she rubs them together just to be certain, moving to shift her weight when her legs start going to sleep. The noise she makes as she massages the oil in is an agreeing one. All of those mages are her friends now but even if they weren't? She can't stand to see anyone hurting that way.

"I live in hope that with enough hard work that such things will never be repeated. I am not afraid to roll up my sleeves and pitch in as necessary." The cheer is false but she's determined, that much is plain even if knowing where to start when no one even wants to agree is utterly daunting at times.

[fleurdesel]

"There are those that say the same of the templars. Of mages. Of Spirit Healers after what Anders did in Kirkwall." Perspective. "And they would be right to be wary. Just as you are right to be wary of the Dalish here."

There is no undoing what had been done to Herian's family, no removing her scars, her horrors. Some things cannot be cured but this frustration, this anger? Is more recent. The idea that she'd run into more on the road and been attacked-

It is not so strange a thought for all that it is disconcerting.

"I have yet to find anything malicious in the eyes of the Dalish here. They are few and seem...odd compared to what I know of those in the world. I do not know why or how, only that I have learned to trust at least one of them, just as I have learned to trust a Knight Commander. These things I did not expect when I came here." All she'd expected was work and sanctuary. Not these bonds she has forged. "They are here. There is little we can do but mind them or avoid them, Herian."

[rowancrowned]

He is not getting all the information from her he needs. Not her fault—she has not been trained as a scout, and furthermore is not loyal to him. Nor does he wish to subject her to further prodding. He has a name—he has two names, though ‘Grymusseth’ is as far from Elvhen-sounding as anything could be. Montsimmard, Verchiel, Clan Neirysa. Thranduil has done more with less.

Now, he stands, and steps neatly around her map, not wishing to do her insult by ruining it. “I leave for Orlais within the week. I do not know how long I shall linger there, but once my business is done, I will call upon these elves, and ask for a reckoning.”

And receive one. He would not go alone, of course, he would need Galadriel’s help, and if he could not persuade another elf or two along—Merrill? Cyril?—he was a poor politician.

“I thank you for your help.” He inclines his head, a bow by degrees. “And later, if she will have it, give my thanks to Agathe. If the elflings need anything-- anything-- do not hesitate to ask.”

[dashing]

Herian quirks an eyebrow, and wonders if she has inadvertently given the impression that she is here for the purpose of socialising, or if Avery is simply commenting on her own self. At any rate, the huff of breath that follows could possible maybe be taken for amusement. But only possibly.

"I only hoped to gauge the character of this place by some small measure. It would be a fool thing to rely solely on my scant impressions alone." Or the words of others alone, but it can help. "I suppose that is the least we can hope for."

[dashing]

"The likes of Anders are but one reason why people might say the same of mages. Simply making example of it does not make it inherently wrong." As Adelaide spoke it, wariness is not without basis. And yet there is something more severe in how Herian speaks it, a brutal kind of certainty: "Spirit healers are not the peril. Of all of us you have the most noble purpose. It is shameful what he has inflicted upon your work."

Tension edges up her back, her spine stiffening vertebrae by vertebrae, and it would be noticeable in her posture if she did not already carry herself so upright, shoulders back and everything about her seeming less flesh and more marble, or some other more roughly hewn stone. She was no noble, to be considered a fine statue. She was the severity of cliffs that watched over ships and stern, unforgiving coral and rocks lurking beneath the water, that the unworthy and unwatching might be cast upon her.

"Mind and avoid. Those are not the actions of a knight. A knight does not willingly blind themselves." She says it very evenly, flatly, even as her heart hammers harder in her chest and her lungs feel raw for having been denied air, and she part wishes that she may double over for the wrenching in her gut. She feels many things acutely, but forces herself to stand as a knight must. Ever ready and attentive.

[thecookery]

"Yeah, I mean..." She trails off for a moment. People don't normally ask for Avery's opinion on things like this, so she has to gather her thoughts and probably looks a little uncomfortable to be honest. "I don't always agree with every call they make, but who does? At least these ones seem to make them because they think it's for the best, not because it fills their pockets or whatever."

[dashing]

"I would be a poor knight indeed, if I claimed myself an expert above all others. And yet, there are those times when I wonder if any remember what meaning there is to the word. Knight-Commanders and Knight-Enchanters alike should conduct themselves to protect, and to be honourable." She cannot glance at Araceli easily, though her gaze flickers to the side, an estimation of a look her way. "Does your question an interest?"

Or was it simply a pondering and a lamenting? Herian does not hold the desire to inflict her thoughts upon those with no interest as something close and dear and precious.

Herian is tense, though. Tense, angry, wrestling with the world and herself. The quiet roll of the strangers words over her accent then them soothing. She rolls her reck as Araceli warms the oil on her hands, a noisy crackle up her spine and a quiet crunch in her muscles issued in response. Somehow she resists the urge to grimace. There are more important things to consider.

"Thank you," she says, softly. "For you aid to those needing in." Mages, moreso than her hair.

[foxsays]

"Everyone must find their way in the world again. Some cling to the familiar even if it no longer fits them, others try on a new thing to see if it will suit. Captaincy is what I understand better, that sort of responsibility to so many people, and Knight-Commander would come with more strings than Knight-Enchanter. Unless Knight-Echanters are more formally recognised than I have been told, in which case I must apologise for my ignorance." So yes, there's an interest of a sort, in a roundabout sort of a way which is how Araceli does tend to work with some of these things when she's conducting her careful lines of questioning as regards mages and their matters. There's no reason she can't do two things at once here. Three if she counts distracting herself from Rivain.

A sympathetic wince tugs at Araceli's face at that sound. "You need to come here every day for at least a week, and to sleep in a real bed. Or a hammock, take all the weight off your bones if not your shoulders." Not so easy with the latter but Araceli still keeps the hammock she fashioned for the sleep she snatches away from Korrin in the middle of the day even if it isn't hot enough to require a siesta in Skyhold.

"There is no need to thank me, I only did what was right."

[dashing]

A very slight shake of her head, not eager to interrupt Araceli's work. It is very strange to have someone seeing to something that feels so very whimsical, but it is not... unpleasant. "Knight-Commanders have a good many under them, both to issues orders and to protect. Knight-Enchanters hold some recognition, but not near the same. Our position is a unique one amongst mages, I think."

Tricky to explain, though she is musing how to best shape her feelings into sentences so that they make sense.

"You are very kind," Herian starts, with that same calm that presses over all of her words and sculpts them, seems read to sculpt her, as well. "My place is with the refugees. I'll not sleep anywhere they do not. I deserve no privilege above them." There were those amongst them who would benefit far more from the relief to their bones, she is sure, but Skyhold has not beds enough to house all the refugees. At least, not so many newly arrived ones. Perhaps she can look into these barracks and discover how great their numbers are, but then stands the worry of how they will stand being parted from one another, if that should come to pass, if there will be apostates amongst the people staying there, and her shoulders tense a little with the progression of her thoughts.

"Doing what is right is not always much appreciated. Honour is too easily cast aside. Pray do not undercut the value of having acted as you did."

[dashing]

She is not sure what surprises her more; that he seems to listen, or that he seems to take her words seriously, and holds the matters that troubled these elves here worthy of action. Even if it is a pretence, that is more than many see fit to offer. Herian stands as Thranduil does, and bows, right hand pressed over her heart as she does so. "I am grateful. And I am glad that these elves have another friend hence. They have been too long deprived."

Part of her is uncertain at the thought of leaving another to do the work that is her own, and though her brow is furrowed, she stays silent a moment, debating if she should request a place in this reckoning. It seems doubtful that he would heed such a request.

"If they have any need, they or I will call upon you. You have my word."

[foxsays]

"I have spoken with a few in my time, though only one at any great length," Araceli explains, seeing no real point in dragging the names of Baratheon or Sauveterre into the discussion if she can help it, not when both men are long gone from Skyhold now too. "Knight-Commander Norrington is the only one of such a rank here, he was good enough to answer many of my questions but I know the dangers of relying on one perspective alone. A Knight-Enchanter then does not hold the same sort of authority as an Enchanter, or Senior Enchanter, or First Enchanter would have, correct? Or still does, such things, like the fraternities, still have power." Such things might still have a use if it salvaged carefully.

It would be very wasteful, perhaps damaging otherwise.

"I slept in the hayloft above the stables my first few nights here. It wasn't quite so busy, warm enough, no one bothered me. Once I had the things to make a hammock though, I could sleep wherever I could hang it, usually wherever was warmest - I had not seen snow until I came here." As if that is some sort of terrible confession, the way she says it, her hands in Herian's hair to let the oil work its own sort of magic, moving to the side to wash her hands in the water and then the combs so she can use them again to get rid of the excess. "You will need rest though, to be the very best aid you wish to be to them, but at least there are more than just tents in the snow now. Skyhold actually has options." Who would have thought.

A little taken aback, she stills, blinking at Herian's back; if Lux were here, they would share a look. Greatest double act either side of a rift. "I am still adjusting to so many having moral compasses that point in the wrong direction." Easier to deflect than to say that girls like Araceli are seldom accused of having honour.

sorry this is so late, feel free to ignore if needed

[ancarrow]

At her words, Eirlys' countenance flushes a deep red with embarrassment at her own foolish ideas about the Dalish and regret that she'd assumed that Herian's experience of them must have been the same as hers.

"I must beg your pardon. I had never met the Dalish until I came to Skyhold, and the one I befriended there slotted right into the image I had in the stories my sister and I would tell of them as children."

It feels odd to her, having her own eyes opened to the suffering of the elves of the cities in the same way she tries to open the eyes of humans to that suffering, and makes her feel as though she's failed at everything she's been trying to achieve. She decides that, especially as their liaison, it's probably a good idea to take a step back and listen to what others have experienced rather than try to push forward that narrative herself.

"I can promise you, though, that you will come to no harm here. From the Dalish or anyone else."

it's totally okay! I'm happy to keep going but we can wrap it do & something new, if you prefer?

[dashing]

"I will believe the Dalish will do no harm when leagues lie between them and those I protect," Herian replies, quiet again, but not unkind. There had been a time, after all, when she believed in the Dalish just as earnestly, when her father had. A good, kind man.

She doubts that Healer Ancarrow is anything but unkind, in her own right. And yet, this is no time to go into the injuries she has suffered, nor the reasons for her beliefs. Those things are not relevant, are not things to be displayed easily, without being asked. Her heart and her past are free to be examined, but she will not simply lay them out to be ignored.

"Let us not be at odds on this. I would sooner lend my hands and strength to aiding you. Humans, even the elf-blooded, have no place correcting elves." It is painful, to be what she is; to be an affront to her father's memory, to her grandmother, to so many, even if she is fiercely proud of her mother.