The Twiblight Saga

[tactical_alert]

WHO: Colin, Malcolm, D'Artagnan, The Priest, Daniel
WHAT: A traditionally anti-Inquisition Revered Mother is asking for help with darkspawn attacks. Let's go play hero and earn some goodwill! (OOC post here)
WHEN: Early Solace
WHERE: Churneau, northern Orlais
NOTES: Darkspawn creepiness, inevitable talk of war

Churneau, just northwest of Ghislain along the Highway, is a city that has seen better days. It appears as any other Orlesian city, with perhaps less of the flair and more Nevarran influence in some designs of buildings and roads, long since recovered from the Third Blight that so ravaged it Ages ago. But even approaching the city, you can see signs of recent neglect. And attack.

What doesn’t help is the thread of panic almost palpable once you hit the city limits and walk the streets yourselves. It’s not a steady stream, but you can follow a line of people heading for the chantry near the center of Churneau, those fleeing from the fighting, the encroaching war from the Anderfels, as well as those seeking refuge from the darkspawn attacks you know have been taking place beyond the borders of the city. Orlesians, Nevarrans, even Anders trying to avoid the conflict; men and women and children, young and old. Locals seem afraid to even be outside their homes, hurriedly doing their business and then heading back inside.

Best to follow the refugees in and speak to Revered Mother Riccarda.

Comments

[divineshadow]

On being ushered into the room, the Priest had eyes only for the wounded individual under Riccarda's care. This is surely the greatest sign of Churneau's world upended: The religious bloody their hands among the injured with no one else to tend for them. (Leave aside that Thedas is not even so ordered as the most disorganized and male-bound hive of djur; the sight is viscerally disturbing.) Distraction at the sight shortly gives way to study of Riccarda herself, a faint thing like a smile twisting the Priest's lips at her obvious displeasure. One did not need pheromones to read that obvious sign.

So: It is an emergency and the woman has no patience for fools. Best be straight to the point. The Priest's hand--left, shard-badged; it is lying to hide what one is--lifts, touches breastbone in a salute to an equal. "Revered Mother" is a clear misnomer for one who will never bear children; this is another Priest and therefore, questions are licit. "They do not have you surrounded yet. Do they come from only one direction? Are there caves within day's march?"

[tactical_alert]

Riccarda has most certainly taken note of at least the obvious rifters in the room, and for the space of a heartbeat and a half, her eyes never quite drift to the Priest. But at last she acknowledges, as if actually focusing on the Priest for the first time.

"No caves within any reasonable distance. Many of our darkspawn-wounded have come in from the farmlands to the east or around that area." Though she has never left the side of the wounded, her attention finally is drawn back to him. He seems to not be conscious right now, but whatever state he's in, it's uncomfortable, fitful. Riccarda's voice lowers, though it loses no sharpness. "We have people who have fled the area here under the Maker's care. They may be able to give you more specifics. To my knowledge, none come from the west. The land becomes marsh the farther you go; I imagine it would be difficult for them to tunnel up through the ground from there."

Malcolm takes a moment to pipe in. "If I may, I have one request to make." She makes no indication of whether she has recognized him as a Seeker, or how she feels about that given the situation, but says nothing to interrupt. "That we stay here in the chantry, with you and the refugees."

Though Riccarda opens her mouth, it's Elloise that pipes up with a giddy clap. "Of course, of course! And Eileen spoke unto the masses, 'My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours. For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one.' We can always use more hands, and we can put a roof over your heads, isn't that so, Mother?"

Mouth still open, Riccarda seems to work her jaw a little before finally setting it. Her features don't relax as such, but there is something softer to it. Care? Resignation? "It is as you say, Sister. You are welcome to stay for as long as this takes you, of course. So long as you are pulling your weight and not getting in the way of people who need our space. If there are no more questions, I would like to focus on my patient."

[mousquetaire]

It's almost unsettling, how similar their sentiment is to that of Christian nuns. D'Artagnan smiles and bows, retreating a little, before turning to his companions.

"Then we begin in the east. With luck we may be able to draw them away from the city. Thank you, Sister. Reverend Mother."

He has no more questions, unless the others do; a place to start had been enough for him, and it's clear not everyone is comfortable with their presence here. If they can do something to help these people, that might change.

[keenly]

Colin has been waiting quietly for the initial talks to finish because, when faced with a plain-talking person, he finds he will be directed if he shuts his mouth and listens. His parents were both like that. He does, however, pull his satchel in front of him and start rooting through for what he wants. His status as a mage is, unfortunately, unavoidably apparent. Despite wearing normal street clothes and not robes, he does carry a staff. But he does not draw from his bag any magical apparatus, but a flask of tincture he made himself, which he moves to pass to the revered mother.

"For pain," he says quietly, so as not to disturb anyone but her. "I'm a healer. What happened to him?"

[tactical_alert]

Elloise is all too happy to escort the Inquisition around should they wish to, though she also indicates that she has her own duties to attend to. Her demeanor isn't forced at all, and it might cause one to wonder if she's really that content or if the severity of the situation might have somehow passed her by.

With Riccarda, that Colin is a mage has, of course, not escaped her, and she hesitates in taking the flask. But she must decide that a healer is a healer, which they could sorely use, and at least takes it from him. Whether she'll use it or not is another matter.

"A survivor of the darkspawn."

Is all she says, a tired edge finally creeping into her voice as she lowers her eyes to the patient. A survivor could just mean injured from the attack. But he's also separated from the rest of the injured, the rest of everyone under the roof. Nor does she specify what kind of injuries he sustained.

[keenly]

Colin gives a respectful nod to her, to show she is in charge of this hall, not he. But it's the patient he addresses, looking down to him with his hands folded before him.

"May I examine you?" He'd asked Anders for the rundown of the early signs of the darkspawn taint before leaving. While he assumes Riccarda knows what she is doing, he would like to know what he is dealing with.