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

[nadasharillen]

[ Nari's reaction to being so scolded is perhaps a little odd. It begins more predictably: a small startle, actually turning to look at the other woman, but then, overwhelmingly, relief. A relaxing of the stiffness that had locked her shoulders since she'd managed to recognize Gwen. A little half smile, even. ]

Thank you.

[ It's genuine. ]

I... wanted very much to be wrong, [ a small huff of air through her nose, humored this time. It was even nicer to be so wrong that someone would be impatient. ] but... it's hard to believe yourself in silence without the nagging feeling that you're just excusing yourself.

[elegiaque]

( it's a better reaction than she might have imagined, but maybe not entirely shocking, given the context—given what they're discussing, and probable reasons why. gwenaëlle shrugs— )

Sex is a conversation, too; if you're only thinking about yourself, then you're doing it wrong, and thinking 'oh no, I'm so terrible' isn't inherently better than just being selfish if the end result is still, you know, that you're not considering the other person involved.

Nothing we do with other people cuts black and white with one answer to fit all situations, every person. It's a careful navigation. Negotiation.

[nadasharillen]

[ slow nodding. she'd not considered that it was as selfish to cut someone out of decision making in an effort to be good to them as it is to cut someone out of decision making while being not so good to them.

she has no real response besides that move of her head, and it's enough for her to chew on quietly for a good long stretch of road, so in the end she nods again with more purpose. ]

I appreciate your candor. I'll leave you to your work.