player plot: who's a heretic now?

[thunderproof]

WHO: Adalia (thunderproof), Gwenaëlle (elegiaque), Iorveth (aensidhe), Kostos (exequy or exsecutus why do you and cee hate me, mj), Nari (nadasharillen), Solas (dirth)
WHAT: Temple of Falon'din
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Northern Orlais
NOTES: CW suicidal ideation, blood, general creepiness. If anything else comes up I'll edit, and if there's a CW you can think of while reading that I didn't include, lmk and I'll add it!

PLAYER PLOT: WHO'S A HERETIC NOW?

The ruins look, on the surface, much like any other Elven ruins might — crumbling stone structures overrun by plant life, chipped mosaics and tiled floors almost entirely hidden by centuries of overgrown underbrush. A quick investigation reveals nothing of note; this temple, it seems, had been picked over many times throughout the centuries, and anything of note has already been taken. The venture seems to have been pointless, at least for a few minutes.

Until someone stumbles upon a hidden stairwell, camouflaged in the underbrush and a secret to the original temple besides. It's a long journey down, lit only by magelight and the torches of the Inquisition, but as soon as the first foot steps down onto even ground, the Fade-green flickering of veilfire lights up a massive antechamber. The veil pricks at the skin, here, warping perception and sensation for those sensitive to its fluctuations, and embuing the whole room with a sense of foreboding solemnity for those who aren't. An eerie silence broken only by the sound of flowing water, and the musty scent of stale air make it clear: this place, whatever it is, hasn't been seen in centuries, if not millennia.

At the foot of the stairs is a landing butting up to a moat of dark liquid, fed by a pool set into a dais in the middle of the chamber. The pool itself burbles quietly, a waterfall spilling into it from the two cupped hands of a massive elven statue. The only way to reach the dais is to ford the river, but as soon as the party approaches, it becomes clear — the dark liquid within is not water, but blood, still fresh despite the millennia of abandonment.

On the journey to the temple, Solas told a story of Falon'Din, and the words seem more apt than they perhaps had at the time, given the weight of myth rather than truth:

It is said Falon'Din's appetite for adulation was so great, he began wars to amass more worshippers. The blood of those who wouldn't bow low filled lakes as wide as oceans.

Comments

PRIESTS' QUARTERS.

[thunderproof]

❰ the living quarters of falon'din's priests are largely ascetic, with very little of value kept in the room, and only enough furniture to provide beds and a single chest for clothes and other linens. there is only one corpse in this room, draped in the time-worn robes of an acolyte, a leather-bound book clutched in his grasp. mercifully, he seems to be the only corpse uninterested in attacking the inquisition members as they investigate. ❱

[dirth]

[ Solas has to turn away from the death and the sadness that the rest of the temple has left him with and he moves forward, pushing away from the others and walking forward. He abandons the rest of the group and slips into the Priest's quarters, taking it all in as he looks around. There's nothing worth a great amount in here - he doubts that anyone came and looted the place, given the entrance. It's more likely that they kept very little for themselves in here, especially in worship for Falon'din.

He doesn't let go of his staff or his pack, but he does immediately head over towards the corpse in the room. He's prepared for it to attack but, when he decides not to, he drops down to one knee and reaches out, fingers brushing over the worn book. ]

Ir abelas, lethallin. Garas quenathra...

[ His voice is soft and low and smooth as he presses his hands over the cover of the leather, breathing out a sad noise. He doesn't know if he has the strength to investigate it yet - not when there is so much they need to do, so much they need to work through as a group. ]