faderift | The Cult of Andraste

WHO: Dorian, Maria, Nerva and Twisted Fate
WHAT: War Table Mission: The Cult of Andraste
WHEN: Forward dated to Haring 5th, over a period of at least 3 days
WHERE: The ruins of the ancient temple of Andraste
NOTES: see original mission outline above, linked in 'what'. likely to involve a lot of violence and bickering and since dorian is here, sass

[Prompt below is for initial meeting / heading out on the quest thread. We can start other threads as we need them for later parts of the mission.]

It came as something of a relief, when Nerva was finally given a mission outside of the castle grounds. Skyhold had been something of a shock, despite her thinking that she had prepared for it. But the way the mages lived and worked here was unnerving, and dangerous, but she and her fellow templars were far outnumbered. Being able to get out into the world, do some real good, was an intoxicating idea. She was even smiling - albeit a small one - as she checked over her equipment and the gear they would require for the journey. She'd come to the gates early, just to make sure she had a good idea of everything that would be needed, what they were missing, and what would have to be done without. It was little more than a glorified scouting mission, but for Nerva, an important one. The loss of her connection to the Chantry had been a heavy blow, and anything she could do to help restore some of that connection, even if only for herself...

Well. She would gladly do it.

So she was far more devoted to the mission than mere duty necessitated.

However, that was very likely to change, once she found out exactly who was on the mission with her...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And you, Nerva of Tevinter and Orlais.

[That was not what she expected to hear, every muscle in her body drawing taut as a bow string and so still she may as well have been turned to stone. The only visible movement were her nostrils flaring. She didn't reply to it, didn't even move to look at Dorian, though her knuckles grew white where they gripped her sword hilt. Gone was the casual confidence - she was all thorns and readied trigger, now.]

What would you ask of me?

[ Dorian turns a look back at Nerva, brow pinched in confusion, interest both. Her reaction confirms that, and his eyebrow raises, but he doesn't needle at her about it.

Not right now, anyway.

It's enough to for her to know that he absolutely caught that, squaring his attention back on the ghostly figure claiming to be one of Andraste's Disciples. ]

We wish to know those who have come through the Temple. It's a bit of a mess out front, you see.

[ Havard doesn't pause to consider, stating; ] They took nothing of hers.

No? That's good of them. Just the roof, in one instance.

[ Before Dorian has a chance to specify, Havard speaks again, addressing them both; ] She wields the broken sword, in this place I belong, that also belongs to me. Of what do I speak?

Riddles.

[It's not said as a reply so much as a statement of the obvious - her lips twitching into something of a scowl. Of course it was riddles. Why on earth would a spirit talk straight?]

[But - she had heard it. First of the Disciples of Andraste... They took nothing of hers...]

[She stepped up beside Dorian, her shield sliding to include him behind it without her even thinking about it. She was no good at riddles.]

Careful. [A warning to Dorian, under her breath, her brow furrowed tight. But it was more than just a warning - it was an allowance, to speak on her behalf as well.]

[ Riddles! Except Dorian honestly has no idea what the hell the answer is. Why can't it be multiple choice. He is as aware of Nerva and her shield as he is of the spirit in front of them, but doesn't protect the gesture. ]

I haven't the faintest, [ he informs the spirit, a touch impatient.

The spirit nods, once, and tries again; ] The sun touches the moon, and she weeps and weeps and weeps. Ash settling to serpent, and once more, again, the stolen day. Of what do I speak?

Nonsense, I suspect, [ Dorian sighs. Faintly disappointed. ] It's like talking to Cole.

The Black City sundered sideways. A great emptiness began. The answer was: the mountains. Veiled in white, the bones seeking the sky. I carried Andraste's ashes out of Tevinter, into the mountains, where she could gaze ever into Her Maker's sky.

[Nerva looked at an utter loss, but at least it answered its own riddle. Beside that confusion, though, there was something else: awe. If this really was the spirit of Andraste's disciple...]

You have our gratitude, Disciple. And our respect. For preserving both her ashes and memory, that we may both remember and honour her, for years to come. [The words were, perhaps, a little stilted. After all, she wasn't completely convinced this wasn't a demon, and she also had no idea how to speak to so holy a figure, but even then, they were honest. That was what counted, she hoped.]

[ Dorian glances sideways as Nerva addresses the spirit, keeping his expression fairly neutral save for the uptick of one eyebrow. ]

Your scattered ashes remember you, Templar They paint your steps, showing you the way home. The Magisters follow flame, not dust.

Corypheus, [ would be Dorian butting in, borderline impatient. ] Speaking of magisters. Did you witness what happened? Did you see him?

He took nothing of hers.

[The magisters follow flame... Riddles, it had to be riddles. But at least this one, she could make sense of. She came for Andraste. They had come for destruction. But it was the they--

And then Dorian of course had to go and interrupt it. She nudged him, with her shoulder, to try to get him to shut up, but it was too late.]

So it did see him. Spirit- Disciple - you spoke of magisters. Were there others, from Tevinter, who came here? [The venatori, perhaps?]

[ Impervious to such nudges, Dorian does at least shut up late as Nerva makes her own inquiries. ]

I carried the Ashes out of Tevinter into the mountains--

Yes yes yes, [ Dorian sighs, as Havard continues to repeat himself. Lower, for Nerva's benefit; ] Whether or not this spirit is truly who he says, he's lost his purpose. Perhaps it's the wreckage, but either way, he's broken. I've seen it before. We can't trust that anything it offers has sense. Although we might take this as a no.

--took nothing of hers.

[She gave a sharp sideways look.]

How do you mean, broken? How can a spirit be broken?

Spirits that are put to work in the Imperium that subsequently lose their purpose act much the same. Broken. Confused. Likely the trauma to the Temple should have something to do it, yes?

[ Dorian's tone is that of someone speaking of a misbehaving piece of machinery, and whatever Havard is, he is enough of it to catch his tone and say; ]

The purpose of masters strip will from flesh. Again, the blood runs, and words wither in silent mouths. Small hands make ash fingers on the fade-touched stone. You cannot hear you. She cannot see you.

[ Dorian, to Nerva; ] Shall we? [ The tilt of his staff indicates that he's ready to call this conversation done, if she is. ]

[She hesitates - torn between trying to decide if doing this is sacrilege, versus her very real and strong preference to see that all spirits are very much in the fade and very far away from her. The latter wins, and she gives a stiff nod, though her focus is very much on the spirit rather than Dorian, her shield still between the two.]

After you.

The Cult of Andraste

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