PLAYER PLOT: Enfenim

[mythalenaste]

WHO: Pel, Sina, Cyril, Beleth, Sorrel, Myr, Saoirse, side of Anders and Alistair
WHAT: A demon has trapped Pel in the Fade.
WHEN: Forward-Dated to 25 Firstfall
WHERE: The Gallows, the Fade
NOTES: Trigger warning bonanza for insects, body horror, corpses, dismemberment/maiming, death, illness, drowning, blood + will update if any more happen.

What am I to do with all of these dolls?
They've covered the floors, they've covered the walls.
They're stacked up chin-high all over the floor,
But my greedy child is screaming for more...

Comments

Wave Two: Beleth | tw: illness and death

[mythalenaste]

The first thing Beleth hears through the darkness is hysterical screaming. Vision comes back in a blur at first, then clarifies.
A child is in the arms of a younger but recognizable Keeper Deheune. The child is in the throes of some uncontrolled terror or rage, struggling and clawing at Deheune.

"LET ME GOOOOOO!" screams young Pel. "LET ME STOOOOOOP!" And she breaks down into sobs, burying her face against Deheune's chest, unable to break free of her and so giving in.

Deheune wraps her arms around Pel, lips tight, and says, "They are shells, Pel. When a poisonous snake sheds its skin, do you fear the skin?"

Pel shakes her head.

"There is nothing to fear in a shell."

"Don't make me go back," Pel sobs, exhaustion slowly leading into quietude. "Don't make me do this."

Deheune releases a long, quiet breath. "I must remind you, Pel, that you are no apprentice right now. You are a Keeper, like me. And Keepers do what must be done, whatever it is. Even if we can't do it, we must do it. Even if we have no strength to do it, we must do it."

She takes Pel's hand and starts to take her outside the tent. Pel shakes.

"Think of them as dolls, Pel," Deheune says quietly, releasing Pel like a hunting hawk.

As Pel breaks away from Deheune, she stumbles, weary and shaking almost too hard to walk. There is a line of people lying on blankets, unmoving. Corpses, the casualties of a plague that struck Clan Ashara many years ago. Pel kneels beside a very beautiful woman with white hair, whose pale eyes are still open.
Tears are cooling on her face.

"What...what am I to do," she stammers to herself, as though she is poorly acting the part of an exasperated mother in a play, "with all of these dolls?"

Suddenly she is strikingly calm. Eerily calm. She begins to undress the woman, the first part of the burial ritual.

[arlathvhen]

Once again, she's at her clan. It isn't, she supposes, surprising, really. With Pel at the center, and multiple clanmates helping her, of course the clan proper is at the center of it all.

But it's different. Pel is different. Beleth still recognizes her, as well as her own mother, but--Pel is so small, now. When last Beleth knew her at that age, she'd seemed infinitely older than Beleth herself. It's...odd, to realize just how young Pel really was, then. This entire scene unfolding, the dead on the blankets, it was so different to an uncomprehending toddler.

Somehow, it's worse, now that she's older. Now that she can look at that small, pale girl kneeling over a corpse, and understand. Truly understand jus how horrible it had been to Pel, who had been, Beleth now truly sees for the first time, just a child.

Creators forgive her.

Beleth strides across the clearing, and sits down next to Pel. She's still not sure what the best course of action is, but for now...she's no toddler, this time. She can do something to help her now.

"Pel, you're so brave to do this. And kind. I bet the spirits of the departed are thankful for such a brave, kind girl helping them. Can I help you?"

[mythalenaste]

Pel freezes at the sound of Beleth's voice, as if uncertain whether she can trust such kind words. After a moment, she finally turns her gaze up at Beleth. She scrubs the last of the tears away before nodding.

The white-haired young woman bears some resemblance to Pel, but more resemblance to Cyril. Pel cuts open her tunic with loving care before turning to work in a basin of soapy water, lathering a rag as Beleth continues undressing the woman. Every so often, she glances at Beleth.

"Do you want to know a secret?" she whispers as she turns back and begins washing the woman.

[arlathvhen]

She knows this woman. What was her name? Cyril's mother. It's a good thing that he's not here--both because he shouldn't see this, and because Beleth doesn't relish telling Cyril she's forgotten his mother's name.

Nevertheless, she sets to work helping Pel. It's unpleasant work, but Beleth is no stranger to corpses anymore. When did they stop bothering her? Maybe that's just part of being Dalish, having to accept that there will always be people dying around you. She wonders if some part of her should be protesting this, that Pel shouldn't do it, shouldn't have to--but Deheune has a point, doesn't she? Pel shouldn't have to--but that doesn't matter. She must, anyway.

She's startled out of her reverie by Pel's voice, and quickly looks over at her, giving her a warm smile. "I do. You can tell me, I'm good at keeping secrets."

[mythalenaste]

"I'm not brave." The girl starts with the woman's hand, washing from there up her arm. A sudsy drip runs down to a pale elbow. "I feel everything. In every corner of me, it hurts. But only for a little while. It goes...through, after a little while. It makes me stronger. And it's better to do it that way. Not everyone gets stronger from it, so it's better for it to be me than for it to be someone else."

Pel looks up to the sky. A cloud is passing the sun, and the air lightens around them.

"I want a tree for her that flowers. Maybe a wild cherry."

[arlathvhen]

"Oh, da'len." Beleth smiles softly, leaning over to gently stroke her hair. "Don't you realize, that's what makes you truly brave? If you felt nothing, than it would be no bravery to overcome it." She looks up at the sky as well, wondering if this would actually help. Maybe she's not even talking to Pel, maybe it's some demon getting a kick out making Beleth watch this.

But it makes her feel better, at least.

"The fact that you do feel, but you do it anyway, because you don't want the others to get hurt. That makes you an incredibly brave girl."

[mythalenaste]

Pel's eyes widen slightly. She looks at Beleth, contemplative for a moment, before lowering her voice to a hush.

"Pel does it all the time," she whispers. "She does it for everyone. But nobody does it for her except me. This day? It happened. It was the day I was born. Children on your side of the Veil are born to the sound of screaming and pain, and I was no different. She gave me form. She gave me food. She gave me a name. And I loved her in the only way I could. She thinks Mythal gave her the strength she had on this day, but it was me. It's been me ever since.

"So please. Let me stay with her."

[arlathvhen]

Figures. One of the closest, most emotional conversations Beleth has had with Pel in ages, and it wasn't even Pel, it was some demon Pel.

Beleth's face is gentle, as she rests a hand on demon Pel's shoulder. "It's very sweet, that you care so much for Pel. That you've given her so much support in hard times. I understand that you love Pel, but I need you to understand..." Putting both hands now on the child's shoulders, she stares deeply into the demon's eyes, like she's about to impart yet more meaningful, caring advice.

"...I love her more."

And with those words, Beleth shifts her hands just slightly, and just as she has done with small game, snaps the child's neck.

Her calm, placid expression never changes.

[mythalenaste]

There is no struggle, no sound besides the meaty snap. The girl goes limp and falls among the other corpses. Now, she does not look like Pel. Whatever it is, it is unnaturally white, with protrusions from its head that might be antennae or antlers. And in a moment, the entire vision vanishes.