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

[thecookery]

Her self-control is appreciated. Avery seems to have brushed past the moment with no more than a furrowed brow.

"Guess we'll see about that," she comments dryly, glancing around at the rest of the crowd walking toward the dining hall.

[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]

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."

[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."

[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."