faderift | OPEN | coldest comfort, safety glass

"All the people," It's half an affirmation, half a question. As ever in Halamshiral, the consequences of events have landed most heavily upon the elves. But for once, it may be to their benefit.

(She is not blind to the second, bitter potential it affords — a ready excuse to wipe out the loudest prior dissenters, then roll back on promises. Elves remain minorities of other cities, newly-armed, controversial, and most without training. Stripped of the protection that walls afford, their radicals will only be more visible to the state.)

Her head tips to the side, slight and expectant. Wren knows what she wants of the current concessions. She knows what her backers do. But such matters cannot be dictated until there is a new Divine; not with the clergy barely replacing itself. As to the origins of that Divine, well.

Too soon, far too soon, but she imagines that eyes are already searching. She can't guess they'll fall too far from the memory of Justinia. Norrington may be better-placed than he knows.

"I will be certain to communicate your willingness to intercede. There are overtures being made towards assisting the Inquisition's recruitment efforts. I think those likeliest to proceed with speed," The printed page can be moved more easily than an army. "Given the existing publications. But to speak frankly, it may do better to focus on arming those who cannot aid us."

She sucks in a breath. This is more talking than she likes to do at once, typically. Apt to throw her voice out.

"This sort of training, this sort of knowledge... Not every peasant may abandon their fields and march to the Inquisition, but we may bring it to them."

Edited 2017-02-04 07:36 (UTC)

"All the people. Human, elf, dwarf, vashoth - although I am not entirely certain how many vashoth are living in Hamshiral." Is James's firm response. He turns to look at her, arms folded over his chest. "We have a very negative image that I think would be helped with bringing more people to the faith. More than humans, inclusion would make us better."

And stronger, in this new world. They needed to rebuild what they had lost, and the best way to do that would be to try and bring more people in. Which meant ... reaching out where they had not before.

Now her statement made his green eyes sharpen thoughtfully. He looked at the running troops, before he stated simply, "Do you mean - going out to the peasantry and looking for more Templars? Or training them as we have trained others."

Potential. She must gauge how far to push it. Embracing charity, preaching the faith to all; it's admirable, but it's a far cry from admitting non-human clergy.

"It will be necessary to ensure long-term stability." To say nothing of justice. "I’ve met but one elf in the Order, though the ranks have always been open."

Wren shifts her weight to gesture, as though laying out each point in turn.

"To widen them further... there is precedence enough to swallow it if Celene’s concessions can be made to hold." Orlais is the seat of the Faith. The others will fall in line with time. "Personally?"

A nudge of vocabulary, distinguishing those dangerous little radicalisms as having owned her faction’s support. It's also an indication that she’s about to go off the record now.

"I feel it unwise to begin recruitment for a dedicated Order with so much still in flux." Politically and practically. The Circles are up in the air, the lyrium trade is threatened by red, and any fresh kid in a suit of armor has a target painted on their back. "It makes us look militant —"

A slight wave of the hand: Yes, we're a military division. Of late, a controversial one. Negativity, was that how he put it?

"— Though preparing interested parties for the eventual reception of vows seems wise."

"The Inquisition does not need to focus to specialized forces, if all it seeks to do is spread itself less thin. Rifts open on isolated fronts. The Venatori plunge deeper into the countryside daily." She shakes her head. "My town was hit by the Blight; I've seen what these times do to the unprepared. We only support our cause by enabling the common people with the resources and training to handle their own problems."

However controversial that might be among the landed and titled. The Freemen of the Dales and their recent display have served to set class tensions on edge.

Edited (ugh sorry for double edit i realized something was super unclear orz) 2017-02-05 22:58 (UTC)

James would like nothing more to see more non-human clergy, all things considered ... but they were far from that point. Right now it would be good if they could at least get some more to the Maker's side.

"I think it is time that we make sure that they feel open to join. We are clearly ... not in a place to start recruiting, but it is something to consider for the near future." Now he gives her a curious look. "So ... outreach. To those who are far and away, to defend against the Rifts and the Venatori to come."

He looks around, before he nods. "Yes. I think that can be put forward as a good plan. I will have to go through the ranks, see who can be spared for training first, though." A definitive pause, "And we will need permission from Siter Leliana and Seeker Pentaghast."

"Of course. I would not trouble them directly," She meets his look evenly, offers the thin brush of a smile. Systems, liaisons, all these things exist to purpose. If that purpose also allows her to avoid speaking to a Nevarran Seeker and Justinia's notorious spymaster — well, she's not about to complain.

"Even if the resources cannot be committed at this time, there may be value in setting aside a spare day or so, when agents otherwise visit outlying settlements."

However professional its intentions, she's positioned this plan from personal origins. That'll help cover Thorn's ass: If the idea offends, if any attempted implementation ends in disaster. Wren doesn't enjoy that bit of posturing, but she's played the part of a shield before. The only regret she owns is that Norrington may see it as a favour done, when she's still more to ask of him. Banking upon brotherhood, upon a sense of obligation, these things will only get her so far.

"Skyhold is diverse territory," To say the least. Her hands fold behind her back. It is time that we make sure they feel open to join. Curious. "Have you observed much curiousity in the Faith?"

She's already had a Sister chew her out over the elven survey Thorn wants done, but that'll tell her little of how opinions fall outside the chapel. Many own a passive form of devotion, the kind that shirks shrines and songs. That passion might still be roused by earthly matters, if the Inquisition's ranks are any indication.

"Well, that is why I am here. So no one needs to be troubled directly." He smiles dryly in turn, before his green eyes narrowed once more, "That could be arranged more easily. All Inquisition soldiers are required to go through this training."

Because you never had any idea of where these damned demonic bastards might lift their ugly heads.

A quiet nod, what she said was something of an understatement. A pause, before his smile twisted ruefully, "I actually know of several city elves who have been struggling with their faith. I've tried to counsel them as best I can -- but I am no Chantry sister. They want something a little more ... solid than the elven gods of the Dalish. However, we lose them if we ignore their culture -- and more importantly - ignore their suffering."

That much, he could easily confirm.

"A culture that we know so much of," A wry look. She can't remember having even seen an elf until she was fifteen. "You're right to reach out, of course. The Inquisition shines a light to how little we understand the lives of those outside the mainstream Chant."

There are sisters who make a life's purpose of visiting the underserved alienages. They are precious few and far between, their knowledge not easily spread.

"While we must of course avoid the repetition of heresy," As though she or her allies really give a damn for doctrinal purity. Heresy is a definition, a tool to be wielded, not writ in stone. "It may favour us to study its mingling with the older traditions. Within the Inquisition, all are ostensibly equal, no?"

Within Orlais now too, and somehow this remains the more stable body.

"Suffering remains, but is lessened. Cultures readily intersect —" It hasn't escaped her notice that the place harbours half a Dalish clan. "— I own no easy solutions. But I am heartened to find that some are listening. Have you discussed any of your concerns with the clergy on hand?"

Edited 2017-02-09 16:33 (UTC)

"Yes, well, understanding of different people wasn't built in a day. It wasn't even built in a week. This is going to take a very long time to repair thousands of years of oppression." Was James's equally wry response, "Yet do we not fail more if we never try?"

He had seen very few sisters in Halamshiral, and that had hurt him more than he would like to admit.

"Naturally - heresy must be fought from every corner ... which is why we need to focus on Corypheus and his followers. He is a walking heresy, of all our beliefs." He nodded his head, "None are more special than the next -- except the Herald, of course. Andraste bless her soul."

There is a pause here, and a significant one at that. Then James sighs, "Mother Giselle is, as always, an ear of reason and respect. The other clergy I have met here are ... less tolerant of views outside of their own intellectual circle."

"If you could manage it overnight, I'd be much obliged."

A clear joke, and her tone carries a hint of apology to it. Of course, those who have actually been on the ground have been doing what they might. She betrays too much of her own impatience by pushing it any further.

The redirection to Corypheus is something of a pleasant surprise — a note to tuck in the next report, capable enough at words — his aside for the Herald rather more expected.

"Mother Giselle," Ought to be considered a national damn hero, but Thorn's learned too dearly from her example to side with her openly, directly. The more intense one's beliefs, the more radical their appearance, the more measures must be taken to placate and disguise. An opportunity in the Inquisition, to establish ties under less scrutiny. "Is an exceptional woman."

If there's a little reverence in her voice, it's honest — as is the slight, intentional separation of Skyhold's remaining clergy. Exceptional, yes. An exception indeed.

"Though I expect her contacts too busy at their work to come running and preach."

"I shall do my best, but unless the Maker decides to offer me a miracle I am not entirely certain I can meet your time limit."

Is the dry response, with a hint of a smile. He understands the joke, and hope she'll accept the fact that they are doing everything they can.

He folded one hand behind him, his gaze narrowing slightly before he nodded, "Yes she is." In more ways than one. He is glad to see the templar before him as the proper respect for her, as well.

"Yes, they are." He thinks for a long moment, "However, I know there are many who are not in the healing tents."

"Afraid I've misplaced my own." You know, the standard-issue miracle that Andraste personally hands out to new recruits. "Slippery things, miracles."

Her voice lowers, pitched to avoid carrying through the yard.

"Anders?" A quiet guess. "Or some other reason?"

However unpleasant his presence, hardly sufficient motive to shirk one's vows. The man’s hardly the only one on duty, and the wounded are those most in need of a little comfort.

"Yes, they do tend to escape one when one isn't looking." James stated softly, his green eyes glinting humor, before he tosses her a sharp look. A slightly noisy sigh then.

"Anders ... for the most part. There are many who believe he got away without suffering for his crimes." He snorted softly, "But then again, he was ridden by a damned spirit for almost ten years. One wonders if he's the victim or the perpetrator. The Maker has not given me clarity on that."

She meets the look, carefully impassive, but her posture shifts itself back into formality. The reflex of a soldier caught out, but not quite willing to admit anything.

The victim or the perpetrator? An immaterial question, so far as she's concerned — they hang madmen every day, across every nation. Norrington knows well how most possessions are handled. To make a distinction now would only put other spirit healers at risk, underscore the potential dangers of their path.

To one end or another, suffering can't be allowed to become the point. It only breeds more of itself.

"It speaks well to the Wardens that they would reclaim him," For all it's done to complicate their position. On the topic of ancient, military Orders that Corypheus has knocked in the shitter... "It would speak better to us had we eyes on him. I will talk with the Sisters. Perhaps some might be persuaded of the benefits of proximity."

Or because it's the right thing to do.

"...Provided," She allows. "They can be convinced not to engage. On that count, I believe my own presence likely to agitate him. However, I would be honoured to fill any absences, where I might. I have convalesced before, such hours are best not spent alone."

Edited (how many times can i fit "speak" in the same tag) 2017-02-18 00:37 (UTC)

His gaze goes out to the soldiers once more, holding his tongue as they run past in a thundering sound of iron scraping against iron, and back around the courtyard again. After a moment, he speaks. "I was a templar in Ostwick for all my life. I went out and hunted blood mages, abominations, and the like, and of course stood in my fair number of Harrowings. But the First Enchanter -- well. She taught her students that magic was a gift of the Maker first, and thus it should be used in His name."

He is quiet for a long moment, "The Wardens ... too a risk. I am not entirely certain they know how large, but all things considered, they have risked much to regain their own honor. Considering our own situation - I respect their willingness to reform a ... contrite prisoner."

He glances sideways, before he nodded his head, "It may help the mages as well, to see the Chantry Sisters working amongst them in full. Rebuilding bridges, so to speak. Templars, as well."

Wren doesn’t need the Maker to know magic’s capacity to good or ill. But this isn't the moment for an argument with a technical superior, and it's not as though either of them can touch a hair of Anders' head. No. That's not the point of it: There’s a weight in his words absent from earlier anecdotes. He's offering her something, a glimpse.

She circles around it, gives herself a moment or two to figure out how much to return. Trust for trust.

"History has had us two sides of the same coin," Inseparably close, and inherently distant. She's spent more of her life around mages than common men, can guess a little of the affection the First Enchanter might have bred. "We have all lost too much to sacrifice those bonds."

Wren bows her head a moment.

"The tempered soul is everlasting. These times — and that which they have claimed — it shall be remembered."

A blessing or a curse, she supposes.

Edited 2017-02-21 22:04 (UTC)

He looks over at her for a long moment in silence. Weighing her words, the touch of her sympathy and her wisdom. She is right, they have always been two sides of the same coin. Perhaps they had all simply forgotten to live in a world where mages and templars worked together, and not against. It is another moment still, before he nods his head and quotes in turn,

"Look upon the light, so you may lead others through the darkness, Blade of the Faith." He tips his head for a moment, "We must remember, so we can bring our fellows back to the light."

A great man, Drakon — not a good one. What she's studied of his legacy is as much ruthless pragmatism as it is the fever of belief. But mercy and humility never did hold a nation together, did they?

This is a business of blades, and not lanterns.

"Aye," The Chant used to feel like hypocrisy in her mouth, but that was only vestigial guilt, pushed away with its god. The words remain a common language, rubbed smooth. "It is on this count I must turn to the matter of Halamshiral's reinforcements."

A breath, a short pace apart; a small, conscious attempt to divide the discussion.

"From intelligence recovered of previous strikes, we have established a tentative list of names. Those suspected to be among Corypheus' ranks, matched against those unaccounted for in official record. Such methods remain imprecise."

Edited 2017-02-23 02:45 (UTC)

Alas, they did not. If they had, then Alistair Therrin would be King of Fereldan. He does not know if that would make things worse -- or in fact better in the long run.

Now, his eyebrows raise in surprise. Of all the things he expected to come of this, the Chantry asking his help to find -- desserters was not one of them. His expression became narrowed with dryness.

"So, you wish to have full lists of whom we have here?" He stated simply, "Or are you asking me to ferry out the rest of the 'lost ones'?"

"Neither." It's easier to retain a neutral mask for this than it is upon the topic of Anders. She's had more practice. "Your time is limited."

And if time isn't money to them, it remains capital. She might just write the damn thing herself, it'd be as reliable. They already know of those taking fake names to serve. The business of checking those stories will be tedious; a project to be reserved for quieter days.

"But if you are aware of any witnesses to the event — yourself, your men, others who may be able to place names to faces," Provided there was enough face left to judge. She's seen the grotesqueries of late-stage red lyrium exposure. "I am aware the odds are slim, but even one identification could be of potential value in tracking their movements. Determining when their forces might have made contact with the Freemen."

She tips her head in faint watchfulness. If there's a topic they're going to diverge seriously upon, she suspects this may be it.

"And in informing their kin."

He nodded his head once - that in itself is the truth. He has very little time to hunt down every red templar deserter - even those colluding with the Freemen of the Dales.

The further she goes on, though, his gaze goes from amused to thoughtful. He nodded his head slowly, before he glances over at her, "I would be willing to assist, as I am sure my people would be."

There is a pause. A long pause.

"...a cruel thing, for any family to hear." Is his simple statement, "But they do deserve to know what has happened." That - that much he knows. Now, however, his expression tightens.

"There ... there is another resource. That would further your cause, much faster. I am loathe to suggest it."

She nods, good. The easier this can be, the better.

"Doubt is its own form of cruelty." It is with Bergier, with Gervais; with all those little lost apprentices, swallowed by a ghost. "We needn't give much detail. The — standard notices might be modified. They will remember the Order more kindly that we granted their blood humanity in death."

His face tenses, and she resists the urge to lift an eyebrow. Norrington’s bloody reputation grapples thus far with a sentimental streak. What’s stirring the waters?

"I would not be loathe to hear of it. The sooner that connections might be drawn, the better."

If she’s right about Bergier's brother, then Reed’s right about what a leak could mean. Quick confirmation will be key.

He sighs, pressing his gloved hands together, as if he is praying right there for guidance from the Maker himself. Considering his expression, he might be. After a moment, he speaks tightly, "We have an ... individual in the dungeons. He would be able to identify the men more easily than any of us."

He gives her a grim look, "However, I am not sure how far his word could be trusted. He is not precisely the trustworthy sort."

So I shouldn't buy that bridge in the Mire he's selling?

"An individual," A conscious gentility to the words, prodding. Out with it. "Might tell us much through the omission of fact."

Maferath’s balls, what’s pushed the boy so far? Venatori, or a captured officer — they seem the only likely possibilities. Perhaps they’ve taken a captain off one of the mines. If Reed is any indication, the Inquisition would not preserve the rank and file.

She must not, certainly. It's probably tainted with red lyrium and ancient darkspawn.

He pressed his lips together once more, his teeth grinding together before he stated, "He might do it for his men. A commander would want to see that his people got the proper return to their families."

He gave her a meaningful look, "And he does know all of his men, Ser Coupe." Every last one of them, if James was to take a guess. Samson seemed to be that kind of leader, damn him to the Black City.

Oh, fuck.

Her eyes press shut, arms shifting out at a hard angle to — well, she reigns it in, plants them on her hips instead. If her hands grind the plate, at least they're not balled into fists.

She’ll grant herself a moment to recenter, before looking up again.

"How long has he been in Inquisition custody?" Slowly. If she chooses the words carefully enough, perhaps she can avoid losing her temper aloud. It’s not as though Norrington has a damn thing to do with it. She likes this sort of surprise as little as he must like keeping his greasy red mirror in the cells. "The men taken during his capture, what was done with their remains?"

Wren can't think that Samson was unguarded. If Norrington's judgment rings true, he may want to know what became of his soldiers. The disposal of the dead is permissible intelligence, where the fates of the living cannot be revealed.

OPEN | coldest comfort, safety glass

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