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WHO: The new Inquisition moving company & friends
WHAT: One important roadtrip to Starkhaven
WHEN: /waves hands in a timey wimey wibbly wobbly vague way
WHERE: Kirkwall, the lovely main roads along the Free Marches & Starkhaven proper
NOTES: None to mention, will add as needed

The group leaves Kirkwall early in the morning just as the sun is rising. Their wards have all piled into one covered wagon, all of their worldly possessions fitting neatly and seemingly... little after several generations living inside the city. Speaking of Kirkwall, the young one's elderly grandparents do spend a few short moments looking over the city before it rightly goes out of sight with quiet tears. Saoirse stands with them, speaking comforting words but understanding well what it is like to leave behind all one knows for something (one hopes and prays) will be better.

Their trip along the roads to Starkhaven are thankfully underwhelming compared to most ventures Inquisition members take outside the city these days. They make good time passing through Vimmark Mountains and Wildervale, making brief stops as needed along the road. One they reach the Minanter River, it isn't long before the city of Starkhaven comes into view and it very clear even at a distance that there is a good reason why it is the wealthiest city in the Free Marches. Nestled in a fertile valley, alongside the river, the air is even different from the tense air that has lingered over Kirkwall lately. It's light, free caring with the citizens clearly at ease within their city walls.

Those here to continue help with the moving process will be led along with Saoirse to the alienage, none too different from any other alienage despite the grand buildings that surround it but the people seem welcoming especially when they realize the group is with two of their own. They are also quick to help with the moving process, removing boxes and helping the family set up their new home. Others are more than welcome to travel the city, explore and visit family. Just... not make trouble, okay? The last thing the Inquisition needs is another Marcher city frowning at them.

OOC: Welcome to Starkhaven!!! Currently this is planned to take place before the group goes to Neverra, backdated to early in the month. The trip is currently expected to take three days (at the most) before returning to Kirkwall. Nevertheless folks are welcomed to stay longer if they wish.

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Open and custom headers incominnggg

( Your mother passed, Herian. She’s been at the Maker’s side, oh, it must be some twelve years, now. A sickness, she’s told, one that devastated the alienage. A dedicated healer to the very last, it would seem. There was something dedicated and honourable in that, but her smile is tight and fragile.

She managed the situation ably, she thought. Stayed very calm as the words met her, let them wash over and sink in, as water washing over muddy banks and sand shores, rather than the crashing of waves. The disturbance was there, but it lacked the hungry desperation of the sea. Step by step she proceeded respectfully and carefully, was informed of family business, was told what a nice surprise it was to see her well, even if they had seemed… uncomfortable. That was reasonable, she told herself. She was a human, elf-blooded as she might be, and a mage as well. She had been absent from the alienage longer than she had ever lived here.

Herian excuses herself; she will return, but she needs to check in on the well-being of some of the party she travelled here with. She moves from the home with steps that are just a little too quick to be calm and composed, though she blindly walks past her friend, unknowingly ignoring her as she moves, until she hits a muddy alleyway that she turns into abruptly as her vision swims, breath coming in sharply, too rapid to be effective.)

open and custom headers below! hit me up if you're interested in a specific starter.

( although Saoirse visited her father when they first arrived to the city, she returns later once their charges are comfortably inside their new home. her arm is linked around one of Prompto's own and a smile for the ages on her face. it is, in all truth, likely impossible for her smile to grow any more at this rate.

but why try to contain her excitement? this was a good thing! )

I talked a little about you earlier when I first saw him. He's rather excited to meet you. ( she begins with a bubbly laugh. ) So don't be nervous, okay? I'll try to make sure he doesn't ask too many questions."

( is she joking about the questions? probably, maybe... )

( have one elf mage standing up to her knees in the nearby river. currently, Saoirse has the ends of her robes tied above her knees while sleeves are pulled back allowing her to dig in the waters without getting terribly drenched. it's working for the most part, giving her a chance to try and locate a good river rock to bring back to Cade in Kirkwall.

who knew a rock could be such a complicated gift? nevertheless, she continues to pulls rocks and sometimes smoothed glass from the river bed and set them aside (atop an already growing pile) before returning to the waters with a determined look.

someone should probably tell her it isn't that serious. )

A. En Route

[Prompto's a city boy at heart, but his journey back home and his time in Thedas have really eased him out of it and helped him embrace nature a lot more. It's hard to deny how beautiful it is out here. He often stares at the scenery... and at the leader of this moving party. But he often forces himself back to the scenery.

Yet taking in all of nature's splendor gets old after awhile, so he meanders around the small caravan of people coming along, looking for people to chat up. He's an extrovert, after all.]

So this is the Thedas version of moving day. And not a pizza in sight.

[Thedas' greatest flaw.]

B. Starkhaven

[By the Six, now this is a pretty city.

Prompto spent a fair amount of time helping the family move in, but after a certain point, he had the feeling he wouldn't be welcome for too long in the alienage, so he ducked out and went to do a bit of sightseeing. Prompto's never been well read on architecture or the like, but he can appreciate some good architect-ing when he sees it. Hands in his pockets, he wanders the city, looking up at the skyline and taking in everything with a smile.]

Man, why can't Kirkwall be this pretty?

[When Saorise returns from the river with rock after rock, Garahel starts getting excited. He barks and runs around, pacing along the riverbank in hopes that she'll return with more presents. Inessa, drawn by the sound of the barking, heads over to see what all the fuss is about. Noting the pile of rocks, she quirks an eyebrow.]

Garahel is trying to reassure you that he only needs one for a game of fetch, though I would personally prefer twigs for that.

[She stops by the pile and glances down curiously.]

What is this about?

[Prompto, for his part, is a mix of excitement and nerves. Saoirse's grin is infectious, and his smile matches her as he walks alongside of her, stupidly giddy on the inside for having their arms interwoven like this and simultaneously chastising himself for thinking that way.

But there's a part of him that's more than a little anxious about this meeting. He really, truly wants Saoirse's father to like him. They may just be friends (so he keeps insisting, over and over again), but she means a lot to him still and he's afraid of what will happen if her father doesn't approve of Prompto.]

You talked about me? Uh oh. [He chuckles.] Are you gonna leave me in suspense as to what you talked about?

[The questions don't worry him too much. And he's just gonna... skip over the nervousness part because ahahahahaha]

( since their arrival in Starkhaven things have been notably busy between caring for their charges, visiting with the hahren and being pulled this way and that way. "Oh, you've grown ever so much," they say. "You clearly are clearly your father's daughter" and Saoirse can only offer smiles in response. her connection to the alienage is through her father, through his letters and stories.

it is her home but, she feels rather like a stranger standing in its streets.

thankfully, work keeps her busy as she moves boxes and helps arrange belongings. she plays games with the little ones, telling him that she will bring back gifts for his friends in Kirkwall and takes tea with his grandparents as the sun begins to dip into the sky. a flash of a familiar face has her glancing to Herian, smiling and opening her mouth to offer an invitation to her friend but she can barely summon her words before the other woman walks past her without so much a look. )

Herian— ( she finally manages but it is already too late as her friend vanishes into an alley, leaving Saoirse reeling until she quickly dismisses herself and hurries after. she finds Herian, breathing in panicked gasps of air and rushes to her side without a second thought. Saoirse's hands reach for her own, protectively as she speaks: )

Herian, breathe with me — calmly now. Have you been hurt?

( she grins at his words, winking playfully. ) In absolute suspense.

( and then Saoirse laughs with a shake of her head, patting his arm lightly. )

Just little things, mostly. Your name, how I met you and how we fought a giant sea monster once. You know... the typical sort of chatter a young lady has with her father about new friends.

( new friends from different words but friends nevertheless. )

( Over the years, Herian has become something of a stranger to affectionate contact. It is not that she retreats from it, only that it is less familiar than it once was. The people with whom she comfortably shares idle or affectionate contact are limited enough to count on one hand - Cosima, Sabine, Saoirse, of those that can be immediately named. Generally contact means conflict, the battering of swords and staves and limbs.

Saoirse is familiar, no matter the years that divided them. Maker, they must have run down this alleyway as children. She can imagine it, the sort of memory that has occurred so many times over that picking out particular instances of it seems almost impossible. For a moment she barely seems able to focus on her friend standing before her. Her should is braces against the wall, as if she might be unable to hold herself up without it, and she slowly clasps Saoirse's hands in turn, though her hold is weaker than it might normally be. )

I am unharmed.

( Her voice has slipped past its usual control into an unhealthy dullness, as she and she still isn't looking at Saoirse, though she's trying to match her breathing with faltering progress. )

Are you— ( Another ragged breath ) How are you?

What's a pizza? Does it help you move?

[ Gareth lops along, moving alongside to Prompto casually. His smile is easy and carefree, though that doesn't really mean anything. That's kind of just how he looks, most of the time. ]

This isn't too common, really. People usually are either always on the move, and don't make a real place anywhere, or they find a place and stick to it. Not that I blame 'em, most folks don't manage to contract the Inquisition into coming along with them.

You're killin' me!

[He laughs with her, smiling as he listens. Ah yeah, the sea monster... just the sort of thing a father wants to hear his daughter going up against. Prompto just hopes her father isn't too much of a worrywart.]

At least he can hear a lot of stories from you, even if some of them were kind of crazy. Does your dad like the Inquisition and what it's doing?

[It will forever make him sad pizza doesn't exist here. If he were more of a cook, he'd try making it on his own.]

It's food. Easy to make if you know what you're doing and feeds a lot of people. When people are moving, often times they'll have pizza to feed their friends or family helping them move. A lot easier than trying to cook up a huge meal, especially when your stuff is all over the place.

[...now he wants a pizza, damn it.]

I get it. You gotta worry about bandits and who knows what else out here. Not to mention it's got to be kind of expensive. And slow. But I'm glad this family's getting help.

THE ALIENAGE.
( It is an old tradition, this. She can't remember if it is one from throughout the alienage, or simply one her family has carried with them. The gathering of forget-me-nots, the weaving together of them. She's sitting on a log, weaving together the flowers and... frankly, struggling. She isn't good at this, and her hands had been steadier when she performed the task for Lady Vauquelin's mother. Herian exhales through her nose, but it could be understandably mistaken for the snort of an aggravated bull. )

Sibh sealbhaich an loinn de raoiteach gibealach!

( >:C >:C >:C )

TAVERN.
( She can't think the last time she had this, and never quite this fancy. Starkhaven's most famous dish, fish and egg pie, all richness. It's an indulgence, in ways that extend beyond the comparative luxuriousness of the dish. It wasn't necessary to go to a tavern and order a tankard of ale and this, when she could go for cheaper options. Her family made offer of much, and she would repay them for their generosity, but she needed to be away from them for a while, to breathe, when there was so much clamouring in her head.

That was an indulgence too, really, more selfish than she should allow herself to be.

Herian isn't actually eating or drinking, though, just listlessly sitting at the table in a tavern, and hiding away from the world for a while. Very stern, looming-seeming hiding. )

THE OLD CIRCLE.
( Prrrrooobably she's not supposed to be here, but hey, she's curious. Disciplined and stern she might be, but she's only human.

It's strange to walk the halls again - or what remains of them, which isn't much. Everything is burned, and she wonders how much of this is a deliberate move by her, akin to pressing down hard on a bruise. Losing Starkhaven had been hard. Losing the White Spire, moreso. In both instances the terror had seemed as smothering as the smoke that had filled Starkhaven's halls. Herian stands, palm pressed to the wall as she leans into the remains of the library, and frowns a little, moving in towards the old bookshelves, and pulls a volume from the wall that reeks of smoke and mildew. The pages crumble in her hands as she tries to leaf through and see if any of it is salvageable. Not much looks it - she'd guess she's hardly the first to have visited these halls, in the past years.

There's a movement of some sort behind her, and it is testament to both how emotionally thrown she is that she whirls about, spirit blade flaring into life. It's also a testament to her control that she does not strike - sparing either an Inquisition member, or possibly a rat. Either way, she sighs. )

Edited 2017-11-22 21:29 (UTC)

( Herian smiles very slightly.

It's an achievement, despite how almost-not-there it is, so far as smiles go. )

It lacks the inherent superiority of Starkhaven's natives.

( Her accent denotes her bias. She hasn't been chatty on the way to Starkhaven, but Herian is rarely chatty. More... loomy and stern, and likely to endure teasing for Saoirse that she would not allow from others. She sounds serious even now, and yet... )

Unfortunately, even our qualities can do little redeem such a city as Kirkwall, when our numbers are so diluted.

I -- Tavern

[It's been twelve years, going on thirteen, since Simon last set foot in Starkhaven. There had been other young templars who begged leave and found excuses to visit their families after receiving their official postings, templars who traveled and went home for First Day, who kept those worldly ties alive and warm and well.

There's no reason why Simon shouldn't have been one of them. His mother reminds him of that, with increasing wistful resignation, with every letter she writes. But each passing year, layering like a snowdrift, had only added to the vague uneasy conviction that such a reunion would have to be spectacular to make up for his absence now. He'd owe apologies, he'd have to force conversation about things he no longer understands, he'd have to dodge the questions of what he's done since the rebellion, and there would be nowhere to take his lyrium without prying eyes or judgment--

The return had been all of that and worse, and he's grateful to be able to make his escape to the nearest tavern. He's not prepared for the belated wave of homesickness that finally washes over him when he hears those familiar old folk songs, sung in their unique accent, and he lifts his voice to join in.

Why does your brand sae drap wi' bluid
Young Edward, oh young Edward?
Why does your brand sae drap wi' bluid
And why sae sad gang ye, oh?

II -- Alienage

[It's not that Simon's never set foot in an alienage before--it's just that whenever he has, it's been solely for the purpose of removing panicked and tearful mage-children from their families and hauling them off despite their desperate wails of protest. They are not places where he is accustomed to helping people stay.

But there's a first time for everything, and it's what they've come for, and by the Maker, he's going to help. He holds his arms awkwardly in at his sides, feeling as though he's taking up far too much space in the narrow alleys, and uncomfortably well aware that the residents would rather he be elsewhere. He has, at the very least, had the good sense to leave his armor back at the inn.]

Here--let me carry that, no worries, I've got it--you relax; I'll haul this batch here.

III -- Wildcard

Anything, anywhere!

( she squeezes Herian's hands once more, watching the other woman and trying to feel out what has perhaps caused her to fallen into such a state. ever so often, Saoirse looks over beyond her shoulder toward the opening of the alley until her friend finally speaks and she dips her head to listen with a frown.

the sound of her voice alone is enough to worry Saoirse, her heart dropping and wishing there was more she could do in the moment. )

I am fine, do not worry for me. ( an then: a thought. ) Here, come with me. You need to rest and my home is not far from here.

( She gulps, an awkward attempt at breath and regaining composure. Before she can quite bring herself to stand up, she tilts forward, resting her forehead against Saoirse's shoulder. It is wrong, to make such demands, to need the strength of one whom she has not been there to support for many years, now. Being in the Circle together had been a comfort, but she had the comparative luxuries of the Spire, while Saorise had Kirkwall, where so many horrors had unfolded.

(It seemed so wrong, so warped, in retrospect. What else did she not know? What else did she have wrong? They are all background thoughts that her brain feels too stretched to be able to comprehend.)

Herian means to nod, to move in silence, but instead she leans back against the wall, watching Saoirse in exhausted silence for a moment. )

My mother is dead, Saoirse. She has been so for— ( Herian's mouth twists a moment, but she reigns herself back under control. She must be controlled. She must. Her breath hitches, ) —for many years.

I am now? If that is so then know that I shall miss you when you are gone.

( with her home now in sight, not far from vhenadahl now colored with fall leaves does Saoirse slow her walk and separate their arms to walk ahead slightly. )

He very much likes the Inquisition and what we are doing. He hopes it can help us elves and also protect mages from the terrible things that happened in the Gallows, and in other Circles from happening again.

Be sure to place a flower on my grave from time time.

[He notices the slight shift in demeanor - and especially her letting go of his arm (internal sad face) - indicating that they must be coming near. He puts his hands in his pockets and follows along behind her, trying to suppress his growing nerves.]

Yeah, I heard things got pretty bad there, and that it's been crazy for the mages since then. Let's hope it only goes uphill from here. [He seriously hopes so. He's only heard a couple horror stories, but those have been enough.] Your dad must have been worried sick about you.

[...she's joking, right? Hopefully? Somewhat? It's kind of hard to tell with her, although some of that stems from the fact that this is the first time they've ever spoken, and thus Prompto has no idea how to tell.]

I... kinda meant more the architecture, but you have a point: I think I've seen only half as many muggings and brawls here so far than I usually do in Kirkwall.

[The place certainly seems a fair bit more peaceful.]

Buuuut I detect a note of bias in your voice. [Said with a teasing grin, a reference to her accent.]

Bias? That is a weighty accusation, ser.

( Severe!!! But humourously intended, and she allows a little more of a smile, to show she's joking.

Herian looks up at a statue nearby, all polished marble, depicting blessed Andraste. ) It is a beautiful city. I did not see this aspect of it so much, as a child. The alienage is a little less prestigious.

( Human, yes, but elf-blood? Very much also yes. Gotta love that slum life. ) Have you travelled much through the Free Marches?

That sounds pretty useful, actually. I can think of plenty of people who'd appreciate a meal that's easy and feeds a family. Do you know how to make it?

[ That's an acceptable amount of idle chatter, right? Gareth is pretty sure it is. ]

Yeah, it was really sweet of Saoirse to help this family out. But she tends to be a sweet person.

[ At this, Gareth leans in towards Prompto, eyebrows arching meaningfully. ]

Wouldn't you say so?

Roughly. You just take some dough - I think bread dough usually works or something like it - and spread it out in a circle, with a bit of a lip for the crust. Then you spread out some tomato sauce, sprinkle on some cheese, and then you can add toppings. Put it in to bake for awhile, and bam. Pizza.

[It's so good man. And now he really wants a slice...

The eyebrow arch there is... odd, to say the least. Prompto's not sure what to make of it.]

Well, yeah, definitely. Saoirse is a great person.

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HERIAN.

SAOIRSE cw ref to past death.

SAOIRSE

PROMPTO

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SIMON ASHLOCK

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