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

[youwonscience]

"Hey, it's not presumptuous at all. It's pretty evident that I'm not much of a botanist," she adds, with a shake of the head. "I mean, I don't know how much people will want my insight, but if they did, I'd love to learn more about the Fade. If nothing else, it's evidently how I got here."

And maybe a way home, one day, if she can figure out how.

[dashing]

"I think they'll want your questions. There are things taken for granted through familiarity."

Ah, she grabs up a blue and white flower, considering it before admitting, "I've no notion what this might do."

[youwonscience]

Cosima smiles. "It's pretty, which means you probably shouldn't eat it, if your world works anything like mine." Pretty was a more than even chance of being poisonous, generally. "Or it could just be nice," she adds, after a brief pause.

[dashing]

"I must confess," Herian replies, just the faintest suggestion of a smile, "I do not make a point of eating everything I come across." She rolls the stem between thumb and forefinger, making the flower spin slowly, before holding it out to Cosima. "Let us say it is nice. Then, if I present it as a gift, it cannot be considered to have more ominous connotations. Perhaps do not eat it, though, to be quite certain."

[youwonscience]

Cosima laughs, at that, taking the flower. "I promise, I've progressed past investigating the world the way a 2-year-old does. Though there are, in my defense, some sorts of flowers people eat."

She considers, a moment, then boldly tucks the flower behind her ear. "...if my ear falls off, I have no one to blame but myself," she adds.

[dashing]

Humour does not come so easily to her as once it did. Neither does lightness, in truth, and so she does not laugh as such. Amusement tugs her mouth into a smile that is far more evident than any of those that preceded it, even as she tries to counter it. "Thank the Maker, or your profession would prove a hazardous one, indeed. I can hardly imagine many points of study would be especially appetising."

There is a huff of breath— decidedly not a laugh, for anyone who asks. Observers, however, may be fooled.

"Red petals are the bane of ears, I think," she relies, very seriously.

[youwonscience]

Cosima, on the other hand, has a great laugh, and reaches for it now, frank. She's never been a person well suited to hiding her amusement, so she seldom tries. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind! But since it was a gift, I'll risk it. We scientists have to get our thrills where we can."

[dashing]

"So long as it is only your ear in jeopardy, there is little to worry over."

Somehow she says it very seriously. Maybe the somehow comes down to just being Herian. A moment, and she adds, "perhaps you can consider other acts of daring. Pressing flowers, perhaps. Or cross stitch."

[youwonscience]

"Hey now, that involves needles. Someone could end up stabbed." Cosima has never cross-stitched in her life, but she's pretty sure needles are involved, at least. "I may have to work my way up to that one."

[dashing]

"Maker have mercy on us all," she replies, so very dry and severe. "The Dread Lady Cosima and her Deadly Needles. I am overcome with fear."

It could be mistaken for a flat kind of scorn, but perhaps not. Herian, at least, does not entirely register the stiffness of her tone, because it is so much how she speaks by default, now.

"Pray warn me before you take up such arms."

[youwonscience]

Cosima tilts her head a little, but given that they'd just been joking - and given that even on first meeting, she does not believe at all that Herian is afraid of sewing needles - she continues to smile.

"I'll send out an announcement so you can prepare yourself. Might even teach myself to knit, eventually, so you'd better be prepared."

[dashing]

Her hand rests over her heart, fingers splayed over the dark material of her robes.

"Is there a way to prepare for such terrors?"

[youwonscience]

"I'll make you a hat," Cosima says, with a grin. "It won't suit you. Or anyone else, it'll be lumpy and terrible, probably..."

[dashing]

"Everything suits me." It might sound crisp and arrogant, if it were sincere. As it is, she raises her head, subtly faux-haughty. "And clearly you've not witnessed some of the monstrosities that merchants claim are armour for mages. Ill-formed tea cozies."

Not in keeping with her forest creature hair aesthetic.

[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."