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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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?"

"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?"

"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.

Galadriel considers her and lets out a sound, it is too dry to be a laugh but impossible to classify as anything else. She takes a deep breath and waits--the dockworkers are halfway done unloading the boat, the rain is already waning. They will be en route soon enough.

"Fair," she mirrors. "Tell me, you are a warden. Have you brought weapons?"

The tiniest smirk creases the side of Teren's mouth, but then drifts off again. She can tell Galadriel didn't actually find it funny, but the reaction at least made her seem like a person. Briefly.
The question is almost laughable in itself, but Teren doesn't dignify it with one. "Does a jackal forget its teeth?" she asks, without moving. There are the twin sheathed daggers strapped to her back, in addition to several smaller blades at her hips, at least one set of stabbing or slashing implements for each limb, including her hairpins. One might as well ask if she's breathing.

"Good, that is comforting," Galadriel replies and seems amused, if only mildly, by the manner of her answer. Galadriel turns her whole attention on Teren, then, and it settles between them like a weight. The rain has slowed but the sky above is dark and heavy, nearly threatening.

"I would wish otherwise, but I am no fool. We shall need them ere the end."

Behind them, the dockworkers shout to call the end of their task and one of the merchants offers to guide them to their destination. The moors do not look pleasant to traverse and the rain could begin again at any moment, but idly waiting in this place would be truly unpleasant.

"Come, let us walk and enjoy one another's company," Galadriel offers dryly.

A chill runs down Teren's spine when Galadriel looks at her fully, but she doesn't budge, at least not right away. It's the next thing the elf says that piques her interest, and while normally she'd turn down the offer in favor of bringing up the rear, checking things out for herself, this is reasoning Teren needs to hear.

"What makes you think so," she asks, her voice lowering automatically, eyes already scanning for danger.

Galadriel's brows raise as Teren joins her, but she does not rescind her invitation. There is something almost welcoming in the way the song makes her blood crawl and her skin chill--it is different from the sensation of this place. It is distracting.

"Centuries of experience," Galadriel replies cryptically as they start to walk. They are no small party, so they do not move quickly or quietly. She does not relish the moment they run out of paved road.

"Or perhaps it is simply paranoia that guides me," Galadriel admits though she is beginning to fall back into her distraction again. "I have often been accused of that."

Centuries. Pff. Elves.
"Well, you're not alone in that," Teren replies gruffly, verging on impatience-- she's about as paranoid as they come, but also knows that's not enough to convince most. "Have you seen something? Or is it just the air of the place?"

"I have seen nothing," she says and frowns as she does. "The air is heavy and there is nothing of note in this place, nothing alarming. It is an odd combination."

There are those would say she's imagining things, but Teren knows better. Sometimes intuition is all one needs, and this is enough to put her on her guard.
She nods slowly, and falls silent, allowing Galadriel to move ahead or fall behind. Now she knows.

Simple Gifts [Closed]

The Abbey on the White Cliff

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