OPEN | "The old ways are lost," you sang as you flew

[mythalenaste]

WHO: Pel + YOU
WHAT: Open log for April/Cloudreach
WHEN: Cloudreach
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Will update with any warnings.

Arrival

Between the cramped ship and the stuffy warehouse, Pel feels like cargo. It's also hot, or it feels that way to her. Everything that was comfortable has gone, except for familiar people she doesn't know how to approach for a hug. She's not accustomed to asking for care.

So rather than her usual aloofness, Pel looks genuinely shaken, even depressed, and altogether wan and sleepless.

Early- to Mid-month

By the third day, Pel has shut herself up in a small room in the warehouse. There are frequent flashes of light underneath the door. Posted is a sign:

​I AM NOT DEAD OR POSSESSED
ANCIENT AND VERY PRECISE MAGIC BEING WORKED

If you mu​​st reach me, see the below instructions:

1. KNOCK.
2. If there is no answer, please get help.
2.a. If you are a mage and believe you can help, please do so.
2.b. If you are not a mage, please find a mage who can help.
2.b.a. Or Alistair or Knight-Commander Norrington. No other Templars.
3. If I answer, state your name and your business but do not enter.
4. If I give you EXPLICIT permission to enter, wait until all the lights you can see from under the door are gone before opening the door.
5. If I do not give you EXPLICIT permission to enter, do not enter.
5.a. Not even if you are a mage.
5.b. Not even if you are a close friend.
5.c. Not even if you think of something horrible that might be happening.
5.d. Not even if you have a delightful prank in mind.
6. If I have not come out for several days, please bring food.
6.a. NOTHING WITH EGGS IN IT.
7. If confused, please refer to the top line of this sign and read on from there.

Lowtown Bazaar

One or two days out of the month, Pel puts on a dress, girds her sword, and goes down to the bazaar. It's different from Halamshiral's slums--cleaner, with less fear and loathing. And there is a host of street food she has wanted to try out since hearing about this place.

One stall has fried Antivan doughnuts that melt on the tongue, sweet and spicy. Orlesian sweets, quiches (ew no no eggs), cakes. Broiled cheese scraped and spread like butter on peppered potatoes. Delicate crepes wrapped around candied fruit and nuts. Creamy yogurt with mint and lime. Skewers of charred beef. A massive variety of incredibly fresh seafood, seasoned and grilled on a stick or sometimes simply boiled or even raw. Rich cream cakes. Nevarran-style sausages with pickled cabbage. Vats of savory noodles. Tender chicken giblets in a spicy broth. Exotic fresh fruits. Fatty, juicy pork and pickled vegetables wrapped up in hot, crispy flatbread. Stewed intestines, fried sweet potatoes, stewed chicken with chewy dumplings. Almost all of this is incredibly cheap--not the fresh seafood, especially not the lobster, but nearly everything else. The places serving it aren't exactly clean, some downright filthy, but most of the food is delicious. Just don't get food poisoning.

Come with her on a food adventure?

Comments

Early month

[justice_is_blond]

The sign is mildly amusing, enough to shake him out of his constant awareness of the place feeling like it's closing in around him. Anders raps on the door while focusing on his own breathing; there's no reason to stress her out further.

"Pel? It's Anders, here to check on you and the little one. Is now a good time?"

[mythalenaste]

"Just a minute!"

The lights go off. The door opens. Pel looks pale and wan, but alert.

"Aneth ara. Come in."

[justice_is_blond]

He nods to her as he comes in.

"I don't get to see the light show? I feel left out." His voice is strained, but he's trying to make it clearly a joke. "How have you been feeling? Better than the docks, I hope." He'd seen her upset, but he'd been so stressed and sick himself that he couldn't help anyone else.

[mythalenaste]

"Much better." A small smile. She heads to her bedroll and begins the precarious process of sitting down. "Do you need me to undress?"

There's no shame anymore.

[justice_is_blond]

"Just the leggings, the tunic can stay in place." This is something he'd missed about Kirkwall - he'd had the time to become familiar with his expectant mothers and reach a comfortable, casual understanding of expectations and exams and the like. Being on the run, or seeing a refugee just as she's ready to deliver, mean the mother's more anxious and everything is a little more complicated.

"Any new pain or symptoms?" Anders holds out an arm to help her get down.

[mythalenaste]

Bless you, Anders. She accepts the help with a quiet serannas and gets down, leans back to strip off the leggings (awkwardly, because bending in the middle).

"Not pain, but I'm having...I can only describe them as twinges. It's definitely not her, it's very different from when she's dancing, as she does. It's like monthly pains, only not painful. Is that what you described before, the sort of false labor?"

She lies back and realizes it's the first time she's been off her feet all day. It feels amazing.

[justice_is_blond]

"Very likely, yes." Anders kneels at her feet, taking note of her swollen ankles. "You're going to need to be off your feet more, Pel, and to put them up some. I know you don't like inaction, but resting is important."

His tone is deliberately gentle. He wouldn't like being told to rest more; there's no reason to think she would. Then he's shifting her tunic out of the way and taking a look and feel, examining her abdomen and taking note of where the baby's head is. "Mm. Right where we want her head to be. ...For delivery. I'm certain her dancing in this position isn't making you that happy."

Anders gives her a small smile. "The twinges are definitely that, and nothing to be concerned with, you'll be glad to know. Are there any other questions? Most everything seems to be in order."

[mythalenaste]

See, Anders makes everything seem okay when he says things like that. Anders talks like this is going splendidly and not like her life is in upheaval and her own parents haven't rejected her for this grandchild. She smiles, and since he's seen pretty much every other part of her in a professional capacity, she's not reserved about smiling even with her self-perceived weird smile.

"I can cast spells with my feet up. Sleeping is harder. I can't get in a comfortable position anymore. Especially since I have to get up a couple of times a night anyway."

[justice_is_blond]

"I've cast some spells with my feet up," he says with a return smile that makes his eyes dance as he puts her tunic back in place. "From what I heard, there's no position that is comfortable, or stays so for long. But if you can round up a collection of pillows, you could make a sort of pile that could alleviate some of the pressure. I'm sorry it's all supposition, and I'm sorry that that will likely be difficult to climb out of."

Shifting back onto his heels, Anders shakes his head. "At this point there's not a lot to be done save adjusting and waiting. I can ease Creation magic into the worst of the joints that are causing you issues, but beyond that I'm limited. You're sipping water with mint?"

Closed to Merrill

[mythalenaste]

The relic Pel is making is very ancient magic. Magic which is the biggest evidence that elves were immortal, because it takes so very long to cast. Pel has studied the shield at Dirthamen, and she has studied Skyhold, but her own attempts look crude by comparison.

She invites Merrill into the room to have a look. Merrill was also at Dirthamen, and knows what it is she's trying to accomplish: magical fortification for the crumbling Gallows. Pel has studied this for a year now, made smaller relics, but this is so much bigger than her. She needs help.

On the table is an unassuming statuette, eroded over the millennia, but definitely ancient elven. Pel has found that artifacts from Elvhenan are more receptive to the magic she is casting.

"It's like trying to plug a dozen holes with only your fingers," she sighs. "My head might be too far into it to see what needs to be done."

[chainlightning]

Magic can be as easy as breathing or as hard as breathing underwater. Merrill knows this as well as Pel does, knows also that it can be the most difficult when trying to teach yourself something new. There are no teachers for this, not that they know of. They have themselves and their discoveries only, their heads only.

Merrill brings the Circle books that Cassandra gave her when she comes; the teachings are similar enough, but there are other theories. They cannot afford to be picky about the theories they look into. Merrill says nothing about blood magic, will say nothing until they seem to have no other options. She is steady, stalwart, and she offers Pel a smile.

"More fingers, maybe," she offers, and it's only half a joke.

[mythalenaste]

That earns a smile.

"A late-night research session? I hope you have your own bedroll. If you do, I can provide the food."

[chainlightning]

"I do! I even have a pillow!" It's not a great pillow, but it's a pillow. Sort of. Merrill smiles back, tucking some hair behind an ear as she does so.

"Kirkwall is also a weird place, as far as magic goes, so- it might be better if you have someone with you anyway. If nothing else so no one thinks you're crazy when you make your fantastic discovery."

Arrival

[eolasemah]

Sina is in a similar state, stretched all the thinner by the added stress and the fact that she's already had one incident with her anchor in the Gallows. It's so much, all at once (and with her wedding coming up, no less), and she finds herself actively seeking out a friendly face, particularly one with tattoos, framed by ears that are pointed like hers.
She more materializes than walks to Pel's side, taking her arm and looking worriedly around, offering support as much as she needs it. They're both total strangers here, but Pel has always been a bit better equipped to deal with the new and the human.

[mythalenaste]

The pallor, the stress and the indication of pain are things Pel notices almost right away, and perhaps she can be forgiven if it takes her longer than usual. Pel is merely seasick and depressed, nothing life-threatening like an anchor in her chest that has all but killed her before. Pretending she is the one seeking support, she leads Sina to a couple of crates so they can both sit and take in the sea air. The sea air, which is supposed to be so good for you. It smells of brine and fish and whatever happens to be floating in it on its way past them. Pel finds it underwhelming at best, slightly nauseating at worst. She does not think she will miss being pregnant.

When they sit, she winds an arm around Sina and pulls her against her, resting her cheek against the top of her head.

"We'll be fine," she says almost out of nowhere. "It's tiring now. It's painful and it makes us feel like we're falling to pieces, but we'll be all right. There isn't really anything else we can be."

[eolasemah]

Sina is easily led, and even more grateful that attention isn't drawn to her own weakness. Pel is pregnant, of course she'd be tired.
She leans back against her when they sit, closing her eyes briefly, reassured by the closeness. "I know," she agrees, "...but sometimes it's nice to hear it." She takes Pel's free hand to hold it in hers, squeezing it gently.

mid-month

[byblow]

The first time Alistair sees the sign, he stops, and frowns, and leaves.

He's back shortly with a freshly dipped pen, adding or former almost-Templars to the language in his messy, scratchy version of an educated hand, and as he's going over the lettering a second time to smooth it out where writing vertically made the ink uneven, the lights beneath the door stop all on their own, for whatever reason—a problem, a break.

In any case, he says, "Pel? What is it exactly I might be rescuing you from if there's a problem?"

[mythalenaste]

A bit of a pause.

"Um," she calls back through the door. Another pause. "Anything from accidental demon-summoning to being unable to get up from the floor. This is very ancient magic and the Veil is incredibly thin here, so I'm not sure what's going to happen. And it's really hard to get up from the floor."

[byblow]

"And you don't think you ought to have James or me in there with you to start with, just in case?"

His tone, thankfully, is more conversational than you reckless idiot—a tone that assumes there is actually a good reason why she's doing it alone and hoping someone will notice a problem.

[mythalenaste]

"I have it completely under control," she calls back confidently. "Your unwarranted presence would be an unnecessary distraction. You will be sent for if needed. That is what the sign is for."

[byblow]

"Right," Alistair says, finishing his modification to the sign. Now he sounds a little skeptical. "Do you think the demon will come ask our permission before it kills you, or...?"

[mythalenaste]

Now the door opens. Pel is scowling.

"You think I can't handle a demon?" she accuses. Her sword is at her side and her staff a few feet away.

[byblow]

Alistair—unstaffed, obviously, and also without sword or armor and with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows from much more miring work—silwntly points at her sign with his pen. Not to point out his handiwork with the wording, no. Just to point out that she's the one offering mysterious silences and the need for assistance as a possible outcome.

[mythalenaste]

She looks where he points. If confused, please refer to the top line of this sign and read on from there. She sighs, shoulders dropping, hand combing through the loose hair at the top of one braid.

"Right. Of course. I know. But it requires a lot of concentration, Alistair. And if I don't manage it, sometimes I have to start something over. And I get...nervous, being watched casting. Keepers never cast magic in public."

[byblow]

"I'm not public," Alistair says, sullen, but then he relents. "Will it ruin anything ancient and delicate if I come inside for a minute?"