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

[gatheringstorm]

Neutral is fine, especially given that the woman's priorities are elsewhere. The elven refugees understandably come first. She raises an eyebrow at mention of the infamous White Spire, though as much on behalf of certain friends as anything else. "Then you must know Senior Enchanter Adelaide. She's on the Council as well, and around here somewhere." Her tone is warm, not bothering to hide her fondness for a dear friend. But she won't remain on a tangent while there are people waiting.

"At any rate, while Eirlys tends to those in need, I can ask around if you haven't already received notice on where the elves can stay. We're not lacking for room, but it's better to double-check, just in case space was set aside for something else."

[dashing]

For a moment Herian's expression is utterly still, as if she had been caught in time.

"Enchanter LeBlanc," she clarifies, after a long moment. Enchanter LeBlanc had been her teacher. A mentor, of sorts, so much as someone can mentor a person whose magical abilities veer so widely from your own. Fire and ice, healing flesh and the vicious strike of a spirit blade. The stillness remains a moment longer, and Herian realises that this is not the time for her own indulgence. Enchanter LeBlanc is alive. She would, more than likely, still be alive in a few hours, or a few days. Herian had duties that demanded her attention first, for all that she is sure the colour has drained from her face. Perhaps the excess of dust hides the effect, perhaps not. She doesn't much care.

She swallows to wet her throat, and stop dryness dragging across her voice. Herian is torn on whether to accept the aid. Such an action would set her in debt to someone of whom she knows little other than scant facts that do not add to a satisfactory picture. Abandoning her charges, though, in such a place as this? The thought sets her ill at ease.

"I can see to it," she finally replies, and her voice sounds fainter than she'd like. "I have received some information already. All I need do is confirm, and that can be done with the Liason, I'm sure." It seems simple enough, though she learned long ago that seeming and reality do not always align happily.

[gatheringstorm]

That reaction isn't entirely unexpected, as Korrin remembers Adelaide telling her about the chaos at the White Spire. Anyone making it out of that mess at all was a miracle; that they weren't aware of others who had done so is more than understandable. It makes her smile a little as she nods regarding that last name, glad that her friend will have the knowledge that another of her students made it out.

That Herian is protective about her charges gains an approving nod; there isn't reason to be so here, but after what she must have been through, Korrin won't fault her for ensuring their welfare herself. "Alright, but if you change your mind or need to find your way around, you can find out here. I shouldn't be far."