faderift | points the faith in higher things,

Entry tags:

points the faith in higher things,

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

"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.

"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.

"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.)

"Cosima." It sounds Antivan, a little. Similar, at least, though Herian could hardly claim any familiarity with Antiva. She leans forward into a slight bow, stiff through injury and poker-straight posture rather than rudeness or tension born of hostility. "Well met, Cosima. I am Herian Amsel, Knight—"

And she stops, realising that might mean little, before continuing regardless, albeit stilted. "Enchanter of the White Spire." To clarify, "I am a mage. Knight Enchanters forge blades of magical energies to fight in battle."

But she carries no staff, and there is a very real sword at her side, and Herian is shaking her head at herself. The explanation feels self-indulgent. Instead she looks to the collection of plants, and fronts a little. "I've bindings I can offer you for your hands, to better protect them, if you've a desire for them. My herbalism skills are not all they could be, but I can at least advise if anything you have gathered will do you any harm."

Cosima's experience with mages generally is still limited, much less knight enchanters, but the concrete offer of help wins a sheepish smile.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. I've been reading up about the properties of different plants, and I wanted to do some practical experiments on a few. But it also seems like... well, the Inquisition has made it clear that they're doing me a favor to let me stay at all, so I didn't want to go bothering anyone just to satisfy my own curiosity." She sits back on her heels. "Maybe that's kind of silly. I mean, surely there are already people in the world somewhere who know this kind of thing. But I'm no good without something to do."

Herian's mouth tugs into a slight frown. "Ill-done, I think. Your hand has been forced. If the Inquisition refused you aid it would be a slight against their character and cause. By helping your kind they aid themselves." Quiet, displeased and pensive. Strange, she thought, that they would so favour the Dalish, and yet act with a coolness against those who have little choice in their attendance.

"What is the specific nature of your inquiry?" Holding out a hand to help Cosima up, Herian tilts her head back in the direction of the other plants. "To my understanding, Healer Ancarrow and Councilor LeBlanc are both greatly advanced in their knowledge of plants."

"Okay, well, I had a couple different projects," she says, getting to her feet. "The first one I was going to tackle was to see if there's something similar to a plant that grows where I'm from. When smoked or ingested, it causes mild but pronounced euphoria and it helps with pain. Some people take it medicinally, some recreationally for the euphoria part."

She listens carefully, intent, a frown pinching a furrow at her brow as she considers. When it processes what sort of plant Cosima is talking about, she almost cracks a smile. It is the faintest catch at the corner of her mouth, the carve of a dimple in her cheek that is present for a moment before disappearing again, not fully realised.

"For true?" Herian starts to move back in the direction of the plants, though she looks over at Cosima, quietly bemused. "We have such plants here. The most easily accessed of them is elfroot, though..." A pause, there, as the not-smile comes close to resurfacing - a little more apparent, this time, a moment of a memory. "Not all herbalists approve of the application. They believe it can be over-appreciated, beyond medicinal circles."

Somehow she sounds entirely serious, even as something like humour plays about the edges of her words. "Of course, your interest is strictly academic, Lady Cosima?" Okay, maybe just a little bit more amused. Maybe. Potentially. Might be imagining it, though.

The ghost of a smile gets her to raise an eyebrow. "I've run across a lot about elfroot, but no one's mentioned that particular quality, no." Her own smile, while subdued, is a little more evident than the one it's responding to. "And I don't see why it has to be just one or the other. After all, people use wine to dull pain... and also just drink wine because they like it. Right?"

Crouching down, she inspects the plants. Her fingers brush over a couple, trying to remember their purposes, their names, but there's more that she's forgotten than that which she still knows. Mostly her knowledge is limited to do not touch ever no way don't do it and stuff she used to smoke.

Herian is the first to admit that herbalism is a weakness of hers.

"There's elfroot," she starts, lightly tapping a sample of the plant, "and then there's royal elfroot. More rare, and far more potent, in all things. And then," Herian continues, plucking up a little purple leaf, and holding it up for Cosima, "there are the things which can enhance elfroot."

A pause. "Right you are, though in truth knights are forbidden in the indulgence of either." The stem and i's leaves that start green at the very base and darken to a rich purple at the tip, is held out, and the traces of humour of before are lost, stowed away and layered over. "Amplify with caution, and do not leave yourself vulnerable. There are many unknown entities that wander Skyhold."

"Man, the pain dulling part seems like a raw deal. Aren't knights likely to get injured sometimes?" It's a frank question, but not an unkind one.

"The code is more concerned with temperence than with cruelty," she replies, not unkindly. "The severity is mine own. Other knights allow themselves indulgence."

But while she is dedicated to her task to protect, she'll not compromise it.

"I doubt it would be so easy to practice absolutes in the face of stubborn healers."

"Yeah, I've known one or two of those." Cosima starts resorting her piles, based on the identifications - tweaking, more than anything, as she hadn't gotten it totally wrong.

"I'm not very suited to austerity, myself. But then again, I'm not a knight. Thanks, by the way." She adds a small smile. "I really do appreciate the help."

"They are a persistent breed. Inclined to thrive in harsh environs." Her humor is just a shade too low key to be obvious, and she fishes into her pack. "Here."

She hands over the strips of material she mentioned before, soft and worn leather, carefully rolled up. "You're most welcome." And, remrmbering the leather wrappings, Protect your palms a little, and reapply the balm as you have need."

"I guess I'm not much of a botanist," Cosima says, taking them gratefully. "What would Gregor Mendel say?"

Stop making jokes no one will get, Cosima.

"Are you heading to Skyhold?"

Her brow quirks. Entirely deadpan: "Something wrought with disapproval, no doubt."

Looking in the direction of the Keep, Herian considers it. "I was not yet fully set upon my course." It would be sensible, though, to walk through camp if not any other reason. "I could aid you with your collection, though, if you've need."

"I'd like that, as long as it's not too much trouble. I'll get gloves... somewhere. But in the meantime I could use the advice of someone who knows what they're doing."

She shrugs, then adds, "I've probably gotten lazy. Where I come from, there's a way to carry images easily, so I can consult them, with greater fidelity than a black and white sketch and an accompanying description."

"My knowledge is not exhaustive, but my aid is yours."

Part of it is self-serving curiosity, admittedly, moreso than anything like the knightly desire to help; there are a number of things Herian is not prepared to simply agree with, not even if it is Councilor LeBlanc who spoke them. That the Dalish are here rankles her, that all mages are apostates is something she refuses, because apostasy was forced on them and she does not think that should define them. Rifters being worthy of trust, of consideration? That she can consider with a little more is.

It probably helps her willingness to offer chances that Cosima is very pretty, but let's not actually acknowledge that, or let it colour their interaction at all, because Herian is quietly throttling the part of her brain that volunteered that information. It is irrelevant.

Her head tilts to the side, curious. "Easier than navigating a book?" She sounds far from incredulous— Herian did not learn to read until she was sent to the Circle. Books are well and good, but less than helpful for those raised as lowly as she. "That must be a wondrous invention indeed. There are many in towns here that suffer for the lack of knowledge available to them. Not all can carry the knowledge of a herbalist in their mind." And, with a note of almost-humour, if gently exaggerated pensiveness can be easily interpreted as such: "Rashvine is friend to no man."

The last observation makes Cosima laugh.

"Yeah, that device was... useful." Cosima sounds rueful. She could write a blog post when she gets back aimed at the people elegiacally describing a time before the Internet. Something pointed to do with identifying poison oak.

"I'd even settle for a way to take better notes. I was lucky to live in a place where paper and ink were cheap. I'm having to reorganize how I approach things here."

"More oft than not only those who can afford ink and paper are qualified to use them," Herian replies, not quite rueful. She thinks a moment, frowning as she tries to organise her thoughts, to think of alternate solutions. It is not as though she's done a terribly large amount of writing since she left the Spire, and even there it wasn't as if they simply let mages horde materials. Everything had to be accounted for.

"Perhaps until an appropriate substitute is devised," she offers, carefully, "I can aid in the acquisition of paper. Councillor LeBlanc was a teacher of mine in the White Spire. If she can still threaten me with essays, it may be I can still make requests for ink and paper." Not a promise, but an offer, at least. She can try.

Annnnd excuse her, she is just going to grab a stick, spear a particular leaf, and nudge it away from the others. "Not noxious," she clarifies, "but if you get the sap on your hands it will take days entire to wash away."

"Gloves," Cosima says with a grin. "Definitely gloves first, then paper. But thank you. I don't mind working to support myself, either, but my skill set is kind of... the things I do at home wouldn't work here." She uses her wrist to push her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. "I guess it's taken me a few weeks to accept I'm not just going back home, so."

She isn't sure why she's telling Herian all this. Probably just because the other woman seems genuinely interested.

"Aye, wise words indeed. You will wield herbs more wildly than most of us in no time at all."

She rests her forearms on her knees, for a moment, trying to think what it could possibly be that Cosima does, before quickly coming to the conclusion that perhaps the reason it wouldn't work here is because there is no comparison. Huh.

Thankfully, knights do not say anything so ineloquent as huh, so she is spared that slight indignity.

"What is it you do? I confess myself intrigued." A beat, and she adds, "and mayhaps a mite bewildered." It did not seem so terrible an admission to make.

Cosima pauses, not because she's reluctant to answer, but because she's trying to think of how best to explain. "Here in Thedas, do you have people who study the natural world? Not healers, but like... people who observe plants and animals and try to figure out how they're related and why they behave like they do?"

Consider her all the more intrigued.

"Of course. Those who study dragons are especially famed amongst academics." A slight face, before she admits, "in some cases because they are sometimes consumed by the subjects of their studies, if you will forgive the my lack of delicacy." There wasn't really a tactful way to talk about people being eaten by dragons, was there? "I am no academic, my... knowledge is not so detailed as some might offer you, but academics study a good many things. There are those dedicated to the study of spirits and magics and the Fade, as well. Some areas of study are more scandalous than others."

no subject

no subject

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

Look, we've all been there

universal pain of all rpers

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject