faderift | Each stray reminder of your home life

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Each stray reminder of your home life

WHO: Asher Hardie (in body); open
WHAT: Asher Hardie has passed, his friends return him to his hold
WHEN: August 15th-18th roughly
WHERE: Honey Badger Hold, Frostbacks
NOTES: Discussions of character death, language, probably all the things Asher has done so you know be prepared for some terribad things right there folks. I'll edit etc. Starters in the comments as per usual.
Feel free to NPC the hold and Boneflayers yourselves, but I will be using the journal

boneflayer for all your NPCing needs, if you would like someone specific, let me know in a starter/plurk/message!

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[With it only being a short ride from Skyhold to the Hinterlands, it doesn't take long for the party to reach Honey Badger Hold. It's a relatively small hold, with many of those of importance having gathered to greet the Inquisition and help deal with Asher's body as soon as they arrive. Nasir of the Boneflayers meets the party shortly before to lead them up, stopping a respectful distance before the group assembled. A large honey badger claws and scrapes at the ground, agitated and restless.]

Nothing in this life is permanent, we know this to be true and yet such a thing does not become easier. Would that I might give a happier welcome to Honey Badger Hold: I am Thane Ragnhild, as the friends of Asher, you will have guest rite until he joins the Lady of the Skies. [The Thane is a tall woman, slender, her auburn hair bound in two long herringbone braids that trail down either shoulder as she indicates each member of her hold in turn.] Allow me to present the Hold though I am sure they will do so themselves: Gjurd, our Augur, Hulda who oversees the Rites for the Dead, Torbjorn our Master of the Hunt, Adalind, his wife and a crafter, Sigrid, a fine Skald, and her son Brynjar. Asher's sister Aura has joined us too, that she might be among her kin.

[Standing amongst the hold, the boy tugging on Sigrid's hand might have her dark hair but there's something shared between him, Aura, Adalind and Torbjorn, something of Asher. Something an awful lot like seeing a ghost.]

[It's a simple thing, in the end. To lay out Asher's body one last time before the Lady of the Skies in armour that the hold has seen fit to give him. They've done what they can to hide the ravages of the illness, of death, of travel. It matters little but even Hulda accustomed to this as she is would rather remember Asher brimming with life.

The ravens scream overhead, thick enough to blacken the sky though other brave birds flood in too as Sigrid lifts her voice in song to the deeds Asher had done in life, to what will await him, in praise of the Lady of the Skies.

Feel free to use this before, during and after the whole sky burial, mingle amongst yourselves or let me know if you'd like an npc!]

[Like most funerals, there's an after.

And like most things Avvar, it's big and it's loud. The mead flows, the food is plentiful; a chance to remember the good times, the bad times, the plain fucked-up times.

Another mingle thread for any and all hilarious stories that don't need to be about Asher. Seriously, go nuts, impress everyone with your crazy tales and classic times! Again, if npcs are needed/wanted, let me know!]

[Want to spend time with the Boneflayers that isn't covered in the above threads? Toss a comment here and I'll hop in!]

[Want to do stuff in the hold that isn't covered above? Do it here! If you want npcs let me know, feel free to make some folks up or npc them yourselves if you'd like. Explore, kick back, try to enjoy Honey Badger Hold a little because this was where Asher felt like he had a home.]

As promised, Aura Hardie is skittish as a colt in the presence of a lady. A Boneflayer is seldom far from her, or someone else from the hold since she's loved same as Asher, and loves it back just as fierce but in her own quiet way. But Yngvi nudges, and Bronson is glued to her leg and so she goes, chews her pale lips red and raw because how does she speak to a lady?

A Thane is a Thane, Ragnhild she's known for years, and though she has manners, dwarves aren't the same as other people even if they're the most lordly folk she's even met.

"M'lady." Aura attempts a curtsy, fumbles, blushes red up to her ears. "Ash- Asher spoke about having friends in high places-- I...I never thought--" It aches. Past tense. Asher spoke because Asher isn't going to throw her over his shoulder and swing her around again, Asher is gone and it doesn't make sense because he was her big brother, her favourite, the very best person in the world.

"They said he was very fond."

Lowlander mages are a rare sight in the Frostbacks though Amalia has been considered guest and later kin though she never had anything of the Circle clinging to her. The spirits whisper of Christine Delacroix to Gjurd before Nasir even makes it up the mountain with Aura at his side. He watches her quietly, this young woman Asher spoke about so easily (Asher did many things so easily, dying was not one of them, not when the grief is etched so heavily, when the spirits press so tight) but he takes his time.

He doesn't know what a lowlander mage will make of him, but she is a guest and he is the Augur, he speaks for the Gods, provides the wisdom that he can to the Thane. He sat with Asher when he came with doubt in his heart so few months ago. When he was still hale and hearty.

"If I'm not disturbing you, Christine," he says very quietly for a big man, bigger than Asher by an inch or two though not so broad, his manner not making him smaller but he doesn't feel the need to take up space. "I had hoped to speak with you alone."

Aura was younger the first time she met Korrin and Mal. She might've met Mal before anyway because Ferelden is like that, and she became her dad's travel companion (dad travelled more after Asher was-- she doesn't want to think about that just now) but Korrin was the tallest person she'd ever seen. She knows them.

They know-- knew (it hurts, it hurts so much she can't breathe, Yngvi and Gunnar are trying to make her smile, and she wants to tell them it's okay but her words won't come out) her brother so well that she can go to them.

Can clatter into them just the same. Mal because well, Mal is more the same shape, and she can press her head against his chest with her eyes scrunched tight because she's not going to cry, she won't, she won't, she cried the whole way when Nasir got her up the mountain--

"I didn't want to see you again like this," she manages when she can lean back enough to peer up at them both, Inquisition charm her brother brought back glinting at her throat. Somehow - because she's Asher's sister and she loves them because Asher loved them and they loved him back - she can manage what should be a smile. "But I know he'd be glad you're here."

Rites for the Dead have been a part of her life since her girlhood, since Hulda looked to the Lady of the Skies to give her comfort and guidance in times of crisis. Grief is an old companion that walks by her side, strangely comforting in a way.

There are times when she wondered if Asher had been one fated to return, signs they had missed simply because he was born elsewhere but now...well now that time has come and gone. She goes to each of his companions in turn, embraces the Boneflayers tight, but lingers on the young Dalish woman, her smile soft and sad.

"I am Hulda, the one who governs over the Rites for the Dead for the hold. Asher will be with the Lady of the Skies soon." Even now the birds are circling, impatient as Asher is but ah, the Lady has waited hasn't she, Nasir told them all when Aura had finally cried herself to sleep. "We are glad he came here with so many friends. The spirits, the Gods, they will see and they will know. He will know."

There were times when Asher was a son to Torbjorn and to Adalind in a way that Eleanor had never been. Adalind's grief is a loud thing - she screamed, she wept, she clawed her hair and he pulled her hands down to hold them tight, to gentle her until she fell against him. Until she wept out her sorrows and they curled close as they had all those decades ago when they were two feral hunters in a cave in the bitter winter with a hunger in their bellies, with too many mouths to feed.

His Asher boy. His loud boy, all thunder and fire and raging red-hot blood, wild as a bear and now still, now gone. Living on in all those that are left, in a little boy that calls him grandfather anyway as Sigrid swallows; he should have seen it. Asher likes dark hair, a certain sort of humour, someone who will give as good as they will get. Sigrid, the Gwenaelle girl, this Malcolm Reynolds.

Torbjorn is a big man. Even in his silver years he's a big man, the strongest hunter, the best, and not a man to be denied as every eye tracks his progress, every ear follows the request for Malcolm Reynolds to come. There is a fire, there is meat, there is mead waiting. And there is Torbjorn wrapped in his silence in a way Asher would wield his laughter, steady and resolute with only the shake of his hands and the red of his eyes to betray his grief.

The hold is as foreign to Gwenaëlle as she is to Aura, but - in this way they intersect, and it feels correct. Right that she should be here, that they should speak; the feeling bolsters her where she'd begun to hesitate, uncertain and out of her depth among so many very strange strangers. This is - if not why she came, then one of the reasons.

She presses a hand to Aura's, musters something that resembles a smile, more brittle.

"Gwenaëlle," she says. "Your brother -"

An abrupt laugh, a fist against her mouth.

"He didn't call me that, he couldn't say it. But he said that we're family, and family doesn't have titles." That isn't always the case; that isn't the case in her family, not when she persists in calling her father my lord mostly because she knows he doesn't like it. It sounds lovely, though, and it serves the purpose its meant to in this moment. She sits down on stone steps, arranging her skirts around her knees as ladylike as you please, and pats the step beside her that Aura might join her there. "I made this for you, while I was sitting with him. At the end."

-- Asher immortalized in embroidery, fighting Yngvi and Gunnar wearing a bear pelt. The embroidery had been done before he passed; she'd put the finishing touches on turning it into what at first glance looks like a cushion during the journey here, stitching the last stitches beside Yngvi at the fire when they had to stop and rest. The hidden fastenings that open it up are cleverly done, and she demonstrates - within is the metallic glint of gold.

You give gifts that last at these affairs, apparently. It probably says something about Malcolm and his life, his losses that he ain't ever lost someone what had a family to grieve after. Ain't ever been somewhere when the blade came down and the blood sprayed and the soul left that meant a funeral. Family. More than a token night's grief. Soldiers don't get that.

Merchants and rogues and mercs don't get that. But here Asher ain't a merc, he's a son. A father if that little kid sprinting about is anything to go by. A husband, a grandson and this...this ain't how he saw himself meeting this bear of a man he'd known by reputation, by the adoring warmth in Asher's voice through many a tale. He thought they'd ride up between jobs, haul in a side of beef, a keg of ale. Tell stories, wrestle, bicker and banter and it'd be...normal. This ain't normal. It's so far outside the pale that Mal would be mighty uncomfortable were it not for Jayne at his heel and the last gift he'd ever given Asher wrapped in his hands.

The sides of venison dried and cured have already been given over to the hold proper but this? This is personal. This he offers with a thin twist of his lips and a rough word. "He loved wear'n 'em but always bitched when they'd wilt. So-"

He tugs back the fabric, the bone circlet carved in a twining braid of thistle blossoms. "He don't got much use for it now. Thought maybe you'd like to hold onto it."

It's a little like gett'n hit with a shield, the way she slams into him. Rough but sincere with her affection (just like her brother, must be something in the blood), all bright eyes and narrow elbows and bigger than the last time he'd seen her. Time keeps on twist'n along and this ain't how it was supposed to go. There was supposed to be a birthday or a wedding and ale and dancing and stories the way Highlanders tell 'em.

Not a body to be laid out and a light burned out to nothing.

It hurts to hold her and not just from the impact, but he squeezes her as tight as he can anyway. Tucks her in close, chin to the top of her head and breathes in cold air and something like grief as he lets it shudder right through him to his bones and out again. Gone. But not entirely, not with his sister here, with his family tell'n stories about him. Maybe later after some ale and some tears Mal will take a crack at it. His hand is gentle when he brushes back her hair, smile a sharp edged thing, fragile but present. "We promised, and we keep our promises. Right Kor?"

[For once, she's surrounded by humans who don't hurt her neck by staring down so much. It's a refreshing change. Korrin bows her head politely to the thane and her people, her gaze lingering on the boy with Sigrid. The resemblance is uncanny, hair aside, and she'll have some questions once the group disperses but she won't forget her manners, such as they are. She clears her throat, voice slightly hoarse and her eyes a little red-rimmed. No tears for now, though.]

Thank you for the welcome, thane. I am Korrin Ataash of the Valo-Kas, a company that has often worked with the Boneflayers. I'm glad to be here and see Asher back to his people...and to the Lady.

[As much as Korrin's interested in the Hold and the people of it, she's not one to neglect Asher's other family. The Boneflayers, especially Bronson, will have her checking in on them periodically. If they want to hunt, she'll hunt with them. If they want to sit in companionable silence, she can do that, too. If they need to drink themselves stupid, well, she's brought plenty of maraas-lok to go with the Hold's brews. Whatever they need.]

[Once Korrin's head clears a little and she can think beyond her own grief, Korrin is ready to explore the Hold and further converse with its people. All those the thane indicated at first meeting will be on her list to introduce herself properly, wanting to hear from those also important to her departed friend. The skald and her son are definitely on that list, as his strong resemblance to Asher was not forgotten. It could just be a general family resemblance but if it's more than that, she'd still like to know.]

[Korrin stands with Mal and Bronson for the tries, having shed her regular armor for a more Avvar-flavored attire because Asher would have gotten a kick out of that. Her demeanor is solemn throughout the song, and she stares upward a the great cloud of ravens above, knowing what must be done but her heart aching that it's happening at all. Asher should have had a longer life, a better end. Part of her will always be a little bitter that he didn't get it.

Once the rites are finished, Korrin lingers, unable just yet to turn and walk away. She does, and it's...over. Asher's truly gone. She'd rather just stroke his mabari and keep an arm around Mal and hope that his soul meets the Lady of the Skies soon.]

Even if they weren't tasked with passing Bronson to Aura, Korrin would have still insisted on seeking her out. She's Asher's sister, the best part of his family, the one who's never hurt him. To Korrin, just about every human is small, but she can tell Aura's grown, still growing. That Avvar blood will serve her well, she has no doubt.

Bracing herself, her arms go around Aura the moment they connect, strong but gentle. That nagging lump in her throat won't go away, and tears spring to her eyes once more even as she thought she was done with crying by now. Drawing in a shaky breath, her small tremulous smile is nothing like her usual wide grin. "Hell, yes. We'd never be anywhere else, not when he has to be given a proper send-off. He asked tasked us with bringing Bronson to you; the old boy's behaved himself well. We did our best to spoil him."

[ Merrill, on the other hand, keeps having to peer up. She almost wishes she were still mounted on Honeysuckle, but he has had enough work up to the hold and is resting now (well, sort of; he's likely trying to show off to all the pretty Avvar mares). Still, she bows her head as well, trying not to look too much like she's ready to cling to either Mal or Korrin at a moment's notice. Her eyes are just as red as Korrin's, though. ]

Ma serannas, [ she echoes; her birth tongue seems more formal, more fitting, for the moment. ] I am Merrill. I'm sure all of us also wish that we came on a happier occasion, as well.

There are group introductions but this is more personal. This is after rites, this is them putting someone to rest, and Merrill offers her own gentle, sad smile in return.

"I am Merrill. I was the First to my clan, once; Asher and I spoke, sometimes, about the similarities and differences between the gods we knew." Her green eyes flicker toward the birds. She wonders if, when night falls, an owl will join them, Falon'Din's messenger come for a friend to the elves. "I hope he will- I suppose he wouldn't necessarily want peace. I hope he will find happiness, there."

They never did spoke about what the Avvar believe happens after death, not really. Merrill doesn't know what to believe herself. But she knows that the Lady of the Skies is involved, for Asher, and so she carefully offers a feather wrapped in cloth to Hulda. It is not as large as she may have wanted, but it is a pristine example of a feather that has not been seen in Thedas for many years.

"I don't know if word has come this far, but- griffons have been found again, alive. I was able to get a feather from a hatchling, and I thought- well, I thought the Lady of the Skies might like griffons."

Christine had told herself to get her tears out back at Skyhold, and she'd done that alone in her tent. Remaining stoic once at the hold has been a challenge, however, and during Asher's last rites she'd stood with a fist pressed against her lips and eyes flooded with tears. At least that took away the sight of the birds circling overhead. She knows what they represent, but she doesn't like the sight of them at his corpse either. Afterwards, she keeps her gaze away from where he lays out and gets to know the others in the hold. Two little girls ask to braid her hair, and she's happy to oblige. There's a bit of tugging, a lot of giggling, and they finish up right before Gjurd arrives, leaving Christine to reach back and touch the interconnected braids, unsure what it looks like.

Her gaze lifts, not expecting that voice to come from this man. It's so gentle, and her hand lowers back into her lap. This one is the augur, isn't he? She thinks it to the Spirit of Faith beside her as well, and Faith replies that it's so. Certain people tend to excite Faith, or at least intrigue her (and yes, after seeing Faith in the Fade, Christine has finally started to think of the spirit as female, instead of as an it) and Christine can feel the buzz of excitement coming from Faith now.

"You are not disturbing me," she replies. "I would be pleased to speak with you."

[ This is her first time in an Avvar hold, but Asher was not her clan's first experience with Avvar. Merrill wasn't alive when they were driven out of the Frostbacks by a hold, but she heard the stories. She doubts it was this group specifically, but in any case, she isn't alone here -- and she is curious.

She doesn't dare get too close to the hold beast, but Merrill does watch it, tilting her head as it sniffs and scratches. She looks at the horses too, their own among them; her Honeysuckle stands out, tied carefully in case he decides he needs to continue his bloodline among the Avvar horses, but she is more interested in the others for the moment. Hearty mountain breeds, some still painted, and she wonders what the designs mean.

Like a tiny Dalish bird, she wanders; she's careful not to barge into any buildings, but her eyes take in everything. ]

[This is the first time Sam has been at a hold - to him the hold is decently large - or in Avvar lands in general really. Normally he would be excited, curious to all the things, taking note of how different the land and people were, but right now it doesn't hold much interest to him. Except maybe the honey badger, his eyes moving to it immediately when it appears next to the woman.

Hearing introductions though has Sam glancing up again, clearly looking tired.]

We appreciate the hospitality. I'm Samouel.

[Once everything is said and done, after Sam has had time to let it all sink in, and take time for his grief, he eventually starts to open up to his surroundings. He had hoped his first time in the Hold would have been with Asher, alive and well, showing him around, telling him tales, but since he had come to put the warrior to rest, there is no guide to take him around. So he takes his time, going through it all slowly.

Sam spends some time at the merchants, looking at their wares, but most of his time he is where the forge is, seeing how they make their weapons and armor, or lack of armor in some cases.

The person he wants to see most in the hold though is the Augur. Asher had spoken about the person a handful of times to both him and Christine, an Avvar mage who communed with the spirits. Of course he was curious, a great amount actually, since he had many questions, wanting to learn how their mages, how they dealt with spirits. He just had to find the right landing and hut.]

( anxiously out of her depth, grieving in the company of mostly-strangers in a strange place - gwenaëlle hasn't tried to avoid looking like anything, having spent as much of this journey as was feasibly possible clutching yngvi's hand like an unusually-taller-than-him toddler. )

It's an honour, ( she says, somewhat by rote. ) Lady Gwenaëlle Vauquelin. My attendant, Guenievre Baudin.

( a few steps back, solemn by what seems to be habit as much as occasion; if she's surprised gwenaëlle thinks to introduce her, she shows none of it. )

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Each stray reminder of your home life

arrival at the hold;

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remembering asher;

the boneflayers;

spending time with the hold;

closed; aura & gwen

closed; gjurd & christine

closed; aura & korrin + mal

closed; hulda & merrill

closed; torbjorn & mal

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Any of them! Especially Yngvi.

For all but especially Sigrid

During, any npc

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ota;

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Meeting the Augur | OTA

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