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WHO: Brother Jehan Mercier d'Annecy & You
WHAT: Chantry Brother doing Chantry Brother stuff
WHEN: Early Firstfall
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Will update.
WHAT: Chantry Brother doing Chantry Brother stuff
WHEN: Early Firstfall
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Will update.
I. Chapel
If the Inquisition's Kirkwall outpost were home to a Mother, even a Sister or two, then Jehan would leave the center tower's chapel—the large one, more ornate than the two in the mage and templars' residential towers, made for gathering rather than solitary quiet contemplation—to their direction.
But they don't have a Mother or a Sister at the moment, so when Jehan occupies the Chapel at his random hours, he acts as if he owns the place. Tidying, rearranging, smiling in greeting at anyone who comes through the door or asking if anyone who looks a bit lost needs assistance. The Chant isn't sung; he could give sermons, but he isn't that sort of Brother, and for full services Inquisition members will have to make the trek to the city's new Chantry and receive them from the clergy. But Jeannot does hum the Chant while he works, and he's authorized to take confessions.
He's also fairly seasoned in handling those who hear confession and think time to make a Chantry Brother blush, but you're welcome to give it a shot.
II. Elsewhere
Maintaining the chapel isn't his job, really. His job with the Inquisition is diplomacy—which on most days means sorting through letters to separate those that need to be escalated from those that only need a thank you or to be fed into a fire. His job with the Chantry and the University, the job he'll return to someday if the world doesn't end, is research. At present he's in the early stages of a proposal regarding a connection between the Empty Ones and the Order of Fiery Promise, in the midst of reading three different books on theology, and scouring a younger student's research on various Rivaini heresies and apostasies to provide comments before it's complete.
Which is to say: when he's not in the chapel, he's often in the dining hall or one of the offices, bent over a table, reading or writing, and overall not being a particularly interesting person. But it's one of the few times he can be found without Freddie or Val or both, because they are horrendously distracting.
He hums the Chant while he does this work, too, but in an idle way that often slides off into one Orlesian drinking song or another instead.
III. Wildcard!
If the Inquisition's Kirkwall outpost were home to a Mother, even a Sister or two, then Jehan would leave the center tower's chapel—the large one, more ornate than the two in the mage and templars' residential towers, made for gathering rather than solitary quiet contemplation—to their direction.
But they don't have a Mother or a Sister at the moment, so when Jehan occupies the Chapel at his random hours, he acts as if he owns the place. Tidying, rearranging, smiling in greeting at anyone who comes through the door or asking if anyone who looks a bit lost needs assistance. The Chant isn't sung; he could give sermons, but he isn't that sort of Brother, and for full services Inquisition members will have to make the trek to the city's new Chantry and receive them from the clergy. But Jeannot does hum the Chant while he works, and he's authorized to take confessions.
He's also fairly seasoned in handling those who hear confession and think time to make a Chantry Brother blush, but you're welcome to give it a shot.
II. Elsewhere
Maintaining the chapel isn't his job, really. His job with the Inquisition is diplomacy—which on most days means sorting through letters to separate those that need to be escalated from those that only need a thank you or to be fed into a fire. His job with the Chantry and the University, the job he'll return to someday if the world doesn't end, is research. At present he's in the early stages of a proposal regarding a connection between the Empty Ones and the Order of Fiery Promise, in the midst of reading three different books on theology, and scouring a younger student's research on various Rivaini heresies and apostasies to provide comments before it's complete.
Which is to say: when he's not in the chapel, he's often in the dining hall or one of the offices, bent over a table, reading or writing, and overall not being a particularly interesting person. But it's one of the few times he can be found without Freddie or Val or both, because they are horrendously distracting.
He hums the Chant while he does this work, too, but in an idle way that often slides off into one Orlesian drinking song or another instead.
III. Wildcard!
I
Fern is leaning against the back of the pew in front of her with her face resting on her folded arms; every so often, she sniffs in a way that is indicative of crying. She doesn't look Jehan's way a great deal at first, but after a time, she peeks out at him and looks like she's trying to decide what's worse: approaching him with her thoughts, or choosing to keep them to herself instead.
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But when he glances again and catcher her looking at him, he doesn't look away. He gives her a close-lipped smile, one meant to be encouraging but respectfully dim in light of her tears, and inclines his head to one side in obvious curiosity and invitation.
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Well. She can definitely ask him something.
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She turns back to him and blurts it out, like ripping off a bandage. "Does the Maker still love them? Wouldn't He let them in--let one in at least, if she were very good and kind?" Her very large, very tearful eyes are begging him to say the right thing here, please be gentle and don't crush her heart, Jehan.
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"The Chant teaches that they are sinners, who have given their love to false gods," he says. "The way to the Maker's side is to follow Andraste's teachings. Perhaps you might speak with her still."
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"But," she starts, breath catching, "but she good and gentle, she hasn't harmed anyone--"
Her eyes search his face, fingers twisting in the front of her tunic. "Why won't he have her? Where is she supposed to go, if the Maker won't accept her?" If she sounds angry, accusatory, that anger isn't really directed at Jehan, though it's doubtful that will be much comfort to him.
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Sitting down does. He sits on the arm of a pew—not out of any exhaustion or physical discomfort, but instinct to give up some of his relatively towering height and deal with her at eye level.
"I wish I had another answer for you."
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She stares blankly ahead at the back of the pew in front of her, then reaches up a hand to wipe at her eyes. "Well what good is the Maker then?" she demands suddenly, quietly, and looks up at Jehan again as she says this. There's something hard in her eyes now, a closing off, but if she didn't expect or crave an answer, some clarity, it's doubtful she'd still be here.