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

[thunderproof]

❰ adalia enters the tent and manages, just barely, not to look between iorveth and gwenaëlle as though they've both grown an extra head. she acknowledges iorveth with a tight smile and a little wave, but her focus is on gwenaëlle, trying not to look like... like she's trying to figure out how to manage her, or like she's still angry, or like any of the things she's really feeling.

it's getting really tiring, this having to apologize all the time thing.

deep breath. keep it simple. ❱

I'm sorry. Your husband, your business.

❰ other than the fact that thranduil making the phylactery affects so many more people than just him and gwen... in the end, gwenaëlle was angry at her husband, and adalia nudged her into revealing why. she should have at least held onto her anger long enough to vent it at iorveth or solas instead, someone who could actually do something about it without betraying their spouse, rather than try to tell gwen what to do.

not all of which, perhaps, will be conveyed in four words. but she can expand if she needs to. ❱

[aenseidhe]

[ Ah. So we are continuing the theme of Thranduil being an idiot. Unfortunately, Iorveth has nothing nice to say on the topic at the moment, and he'd rather not be a poor example for Adalia.

That, and, this apology is for Gwenaelle. it isn't his to comment on, thus Iorveth keeps his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself, casting a look back over his shoulder at Gwen, making it clear he's keeping his peace for the time being. ]

[elegiaque]

( for the moment would not be a productive thing to say on any level, not least of which because it might give adalia some hope that there actually is a possibility of him ever not being, instead of just being one of those awful things that comes out of gwenaëlle's mouth sometimes when she thinks words and then says them.

so she doesn't say that. she does say, ) I'm glad someone thinks it's my business, ( because she is still angry, and half her frustration with adalia had been coloured by feeling backed into the corner of having to defend someone she still keeps lingeringly envisioning strangling with his own hair.

her business. she has no idea what the fuck she's going to do about it. that's most of why she isn't in kirkwall, where she might have to decide. she will have to decide, but she wants to go and do anything else, for a while—

a terrible reason to be here, but there have probably been worse.

eventually, )

Thank you.