Simple Gifts [Closed]

[laurenande]

WHO: Galadriel, Thranduil, Solas, Myrobalan, Merrill, Kitty, Lakshmi, Teren, Marcoulf, Jang, Obi-Wan, and Anders
WHAT: A trip to a perfectly normal Chantry in the middle of nowhere.
WHEN: Current.
WHERE: The Island of Alamar, Ferelden.
NOTES: Current warnings, to be updated: Graphic Descriptions of Gore

The Abbey on the White Cliff

Travel to the Abbey on the White Cliff is no easy matter. While it stands not far from Amaranthine, the waters between the mainland and the island shores are a wicked confluence of eddies and razor sharp rock. The rain is ever-present here and the wind moves unpredictably at the best of times. Ships of size cannot travel easily to the island of Alamar and small boats are rarely steady through the choppy water. Fortunately, as the Inquisition approaches, the world takes some pity on them and the waters seem to still and calm. The clouds linger but, at the very least, they don't open above them until they have reached the land.

The island is a grey affair, all rocks and scrub and damp. The village, an austere looking outcropping of buildings, is entirely made from the local stone and, were it not for the red clay roofing, would blend into the landscape seamlessly. Very few people have strayed into the rain to greet the Inquisition and, without the voices to echo off the stone, most sound is drowned in the lapping of waves and the heavy fall of rain. As a result of the weather and the lack of citizens, the town has the general quality of a graveyard.

The merchants who work the docks are affable enough and, after unloading their haul and securing it somewhere a bit drier, offer to take the Inquisition up to the Abbey proper. The rain slows before long and the merchants lead the Inquisition to the main roads and, let them on their way. Fortunately, the Island is not terribly large and, even walking, it will take only a few hours to arrive at the far side of it.

As the party leaves the village and the shore, the island landscape opens before them. Sloping moors give way to periodic outcroppings of rock and, against the horizon and the far end of the island, there rests a dark forest of pines. The Abbey on the White Cliff stands at the far side, at the top of the hill and overlooking the waves. The road they travel is an easy one, well worn, and the buildings come into view long before they reach them--they stand several stories tall, made of the same stone as the village. They are moss-covered and have the look of an old building that has been questionably kept--at least, from a distance.

The closer one gets to the buildings, the more obvious the additions and repairs become. Windows that have no business holding glass have had colorful windows inset to them. The doors are heavy, wooden, and new. The ironwork on the walls is polished and unworn by the rain. There are no torches lit but, once the Inquisition members have reached the doors, they open promptly.

They are greeted by a Chantry Sister with a bright smile and rosy cheeks and, without hesitation, the lot of them are welcomed into the Abbey.


OOC:

Hey guys! So I plan on aggressively GMing this one. Basically I want to run this like D&D, or as near as I can manage.

The location threads below are available for single player/two player exploration, I will be tagging you with information based on where you go or what you do, but if you want to do a bigger thread please just use the team threads at the bottom. That way if you all decide you want to check out the [INSERT LOCATION HERE] and it leads you to [DIFFERENT LOCATION] I can move you along without changing threads.

Because of your proficiencies, different characters will have advantages in different areas/while talking to different people, so groups are best. I will also be PMing your character journal periodically with any information that your character may have picked up on that nobody else would.

The NPCs are available for talking to or questioning by any number of people. Their general locations are in their thread headers so you can travel there as a crew or ask me to send them at you, if you so desire.

Feel free to do new top-levels if you guys really want, I am just here to try and make this fun.

Comments

Galadriel

[laurenande]

Galadriel lingers on the boat once it has docked. She stares, first at the town and then her gaze drifts, slowly and inevitably, toward the road and the rise of the land as it moves from the shore. She stares for some time, as the sky opens and rain begins to pour.

Eventually she moves, though as she does she begins to whisper. It is largely to herself, but she can be overheard, if one has the will to try or to strain themselves over the sounds of the rain.

Her grey cloak keeps the water off well enough, but in this place it blends into the shades of the landscape far too well. It is easy to lose sight of her, even as she stands on the docks, and her stillness does not encourage otherwise.

[doneisdone]

If Teren had known exactly how much time she would be spending in closed quarters with the weird foreign elves, she would never have agreed to come on this mission, yet here she is and there Galadriel is, talking to herself like a madwoman.
Teren stands off to one side, arms folded and lips pursed suspiciously as she stares. There's nothing about the elf, or her equally tall and blond companion, that suggests they would be friends, but there's something magnetic about them too. It's difficult to look away.

[laurenande]

Galadriel murmurs to herself, standing tall in the rain, and several long moments pass. When she does address Teren, who stands sensibly by, underneath the awnings of the storehouse and out of the water, her voice is louder and a bit drawn.

"Am I such a spectacle?" She asks, louder than the rain, and glances sidelong at the warden. "Or do you have a question for me and await my fullest attention?"

[doneisdone]

Is...
...is that a trick question? She bloody glows. And not in the same way the other rifters do, either.

"Need you ask," Teren replies, a bit warily, not budging from her place under the awning. Wet leather chafes like a bastard (literally, it's the tactile equivalent of Alistair in a Mood). "...are you that intent on catching ill?"

[laurenande]

"It will not kill me," Galadriel states as though she were remarking on the color of the sky. She looks up, at the rain, for a moment and then turns her head to stare at Teren. Galadriel's cloak is drawn about her and its hood is up, but it is only fabric and it cannot protect against the rain.

This woman is a warden--under any other circumstances, Galadriel would be loathe to stand so near.

"Do you worry over everyone, so?"

[doneisdone]

"Fair enough." Still seems miserable, but if the elf wants to ruin her journey with a head cold, that's her business. Sensing the dislike, Teren bristles slightly, though some of it is her usual residual mistrust. Something about Galadriel is terrifying, and Teren has been a Warden long enough to recognize when the fear is beyond her mortal understanding.

"Only when I have to share a boat with them," she remarks.

[dirth]

Solas' cloak is a match for hers and he wears it around his neck now, keeping him dry from the hideousness of the wet and the rain. It's thick and the air feels like too much with it, but when he steps forward his feet are as they always are - bound, not with shoes. The rain doesn't bother him as much as the atmosphere does, an awkward unsettledness that concerns him.

Moving forward, Solas steps up and hovers at Galadriel's side. He doesn't quite reach out to take her hand or offer her any physical comfort, not with the two of them in public like this, but he's there all the same. Something about this is upsetting her, is disquieting her; he can see it how it is making her stare, making her gaze, and he frowns.

"What do you think?" No matter how still she goes, no matter how quietly she speaks, Solas listens. He watches. He knows her, now.

[laurenande]

She is silent as Solas moves to her side, standing near enough that she cannot help but take notice, even if it is a distant variety of it. She stares down the road, at the place where the sky meets the moors, and her expression goes a shade more grim.

"I am uncertain what to think," she admits, though her tone is flatter than it ought to be. She is showing her strain--unusual, in and of itself, but it does not appear to be dire.

"This place is hazy in a way I have never known."

[dirth]

At least standing beside her means that he can feel a little bit more comfortable about what is happening; he does not want her to feel as though he is standing beside her to keep watch on her, or to act as though he somehow has the right to protect her. She has strength enough, Solas knows that, but his concern is present all the same.

"There is something odd about the magic here," he admits, frowning. It's not quite like being in the Fade, but there's something vaguely similar about it that has him tilting his head, wanting to learn more. The rain, the magic... All of it... It's different, different in a way that makes him want to learn more.

Careful, Solas offers his arm. Not quite a hand, but enough.

"I think we will learn more than we expect here."

[laurenande]

She regards him curiously, her expression hovering between that careful, distant blandness and something resembling sorrow. It flickers into the latter for a moment before she draws back and shifts. She takes his arm purposefully, intentionally, and stands closer to him as she regards the distance.

"I expect you are right," she agrees softly and urges him forward. They will stand under the awning until they can travel forward.

[dirth]

There is something wrong with her, but Solas can't place what it is. This place doesn't have the same comfortable magical presence as he had felt back in Ferelden, and he frowns as he tries to make himself comfortable with it, triest o make his peace with the awkwardness and the uncertainty of it all.

At least she is moving closer. At least she is holding him.

"I often am," he comments, smile soft and fond. He lets her urge him forward, walks at her side, considering for a moment. "Your cloak is being well used, at least."

[rowancrowned]

As he passes her on the docks, his fingers reach out, snag the edge of the cliff, brush her wrist. They are, then, briefly, standing shoulder to shoulder, a matched set as they look over the island. Or as Galadriel stares and Thranduil surveys.

"You are sure?" he asks. He is not doubting her, only slightly aghast that it took this long, what with it closer than it might have been, only across the Waking Sea, really.

He tips his head up, into the rain, closes his eyes for a moment, inhales in the damp and the salt off the ocean. "Well," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "This would be the place."

[laurenande]

"Han mathon ne nen." Galadriel whispers, to herself more than to him, the sound of it harsh and not entirely like the elf beside him. The statement hovers between them, drowning in the sounds of the rain and the lap of waves against the hull of the boat, but eventually she shakes some of the oddness from her countenance.

"This place is strange," she adds, louder and more lucid, and then glances sidelong at him as she walks. The dock does not creak under their feet but it groans deep below where it fastens to the rock. Her expression has an undercurrent to it that is both unlike her in its desperation and absolutely her match. "This will not be a simple task."

[rowancrowned]

"Let me know when you see it," he says, mild. He has never possessed the ability to be truly unnerved by her, and spares another glance over her. Solas will keep an eye on her health, wound up in her as he is. She is closer to being whole than she has been in weeks. Excentricities- thought he hesitates to name them that- are to be expected.

"No," he agrees. "But let us hope for a bloodless and relatively fast one. At least we are contained here."

The sea is kind to them in this.

[laurenande]

"I am uncertain if I would count that as a kindness," she says, her volume low enough that the sounds of the rain will crush any hopes of listening in on them. She begins walking toward the land and continues speaking, despite her gaze drifting from Thranduil.

"We do not know what awaits us."

[rowancrowned]

"Time unravels all things," he says, and it is not the sort of thing said as a comfort. They will leave this island with the matter sorted, one way or another, and that is what Thranduil holds to as he turns back to the ship, looking to make sure everyone else and the Inquisitions' possessions are safely offloaded.

He and Galadriel will speak again. They always do.

[justice_is_blond]

Most days he knows roughly where he stands with Galadriel. Roughly, because there's still the whole risk of 'burning the corruption' out of him that he's trying really hard to avoid. But right now? With the whispering and the very slow movement in the rain? Anders has no idea if she's going to be aware of him beyond the whole Blight business so his approach is wary.

"Are you..." He trails off and then resumes. "Are you all right?" It's not the most polite question, but most people who are all right don't stand in the rain whispering to themselves. "Galadriel?"

[laurenande]

Her name draws her from her whispering, trancelike state like a shot; her head whips to the side and, for one terrible instant she levels a terrible, furious expression at Anders. It fades, withdrawn to a thin sort of calm, the same feeling that rests on this Island, and she regards him carefully.

"I am unchanged," is the answer she opts for and it is impossible to say if she is being intentionally or coincidentally cryptic. The rain falls against her cloak in a symphony of tiny pattering sounds but she ignores it. After a time, she looks away from him and her gaze falls on the road ahead again.

"This place is strange and unsettling; I dislike it."

[justice_is_blond]

For a terrifying moment he thinks that this is the moment she does it and he wishes he could tell Nate he loved him one more time. Then the moment passes and he pulls his coat tighter around him while stepping closer to hear her better.

"I dislike it too. And not just because it's cold and wet." He looks up toward the building again, frowning. "Are you sensing anything from it the way you sense Blighted things?" His guess would be no, as the place looks far too tidy for any Darkspawn dealings, but he won't rule out anything when approaching somewhere for the first time.

Or often the second, third, or fifteenth.

[laurenande]

She exhales in a sound that is not quite a laugh and looks sidelong at him again. She is amused but it is a dark sort of amusement and the twitch of her lip, despite leading upward, is not encouraging.

"No," she answers, "I cannot hear anything as I hear you."

She shifts, pushing back her cloak to hold her hand out in the rain. It starts to pool in her palm before long.

"I can certainly feel something, but what it is...that I cannot say." Her expression softens just slightly then and she shifts to look back at him and away from her hand. The water that has pooled there is very still.

"Take care, Anders, and be wary. We are not safe."

[justice_is_blond]

"It's a good thing I've not been safe for a majority of my life. I'm prepared," he says lightly, making it sound like a joke despite being completely serious. Safety is never for mages.

There's a pause as he looks up at the building, before glancing back at Galadriel. "On top of this place not being comforting, though, you don't look well. No offense meant. It's simply a healer's opinion."

She's always a little on the mysterious side, the 'mind a thousand miles away' side, but this seems more than that usual.

[chainlightning]

Barefoot even now, Merrill does not seem to notice the rain - or, at least, she's very used to it. She has a cloak herself, this time, but it doesn't blend as well as Galadriel's. Merrill never has been one for blending in, at least not outside the Dalish.

There is no fear or hesitation in her movements; she comes up to Galadriel, linking their arms together. She does not want to interrupt whatever thoughts the other elf is having, but she wants to be there for her - a piece of comfort in the grey of this place, in whatever wrongness Galadriel senses.

[laurenande]

The sudden touch is jarring and Galadriel starts, insofar as she is wont to. Her whispering halts as she turns to look down at the elf beside her. Merrill is close, all but pressed against her side, and the sight of her softens Galadriel's expression and brings the beginnings of a smile to her face.

Drawing her closer shifts her cloak open, lets in the chill of the air, but Galadriel hardly notices.

"Will you promise me something, im seldë?"

[chainlightning]

"Of course."

It's said without hesitation, without thought that whatever Galadriel asks of her could be something that she doesn't want to do, doesn't want to give. One hand reaches over to carefully tuck Galadriel's cloak together again, fingers flicking some stray water away.

The whispering is gone, now; she hadn't quite even realized it was there until it stopped. She traces over the sounds in her mind, mingled in with the rain, trying to take apart the words from the water to see what Galadriel had been saying.

[laurenande]

"Be safe."

She looks, for a moment, as though she wishes to say much, much more, but her attention is drawn away again. Her gaze drifts back to the horizon, toward the Abbey, and lingers there. She does not whisper again, but it is a near thing.

"Námalda nai nostalë, im seldë."