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

[laurenande]

Luca almost reels as he moves alongside her, her surprise flashing across her face as he addresses her directly. Her expression shifts, within an instant, to a flicker of irritation and then to a resigned sort of calm. She does not slow and does not shift the papers in her arms. She glances at his hands as she looks back ahead and, as she notes the green glimmer of the rift mark, her resignation spreads and she slows her step somewhat.

"Only if you mean the letter itself," Luca corrects him. Her accent is very thick and from very far south. Her tones are clipped and precise, as though she has tried for some time to be rid of that accent and failed. "The invitation came from Reverend Mother Alvar."

There is a hitch in her response, near the end, and she draws a deep breath. She has clearly been instructed to behave and be kind to the visitors, regardless of how much work she has to accomplish. She takes a moment to center herself and looks at him fully, something she has not yet done.

"The trip is taxing, I do hope you've found our hospitality a balm."

[hello_there]

Obi-Wan is not a politician. Or rather, he is one, but only by necessity, a calling rather than a choice. Still, he'd have to be thirty years younger and blind in the Force not to feel the quiet, polite impatience roiling off Sister Luca's shoulders like mist on the Waking Sea. She had it held down, clenched in both hands and well-tamed, but it was still there, in her hesitation, and the twitch of her face. And the way it changes, when she notices the flash of shard, in his palm.

"A gracious invitation is a gift in its own right, whatever the originating hand," It sounds good, for nonsense, and speaks well enough, "I apologize, I can see that you are quite busy. Perhaps I could lend you a hand."

[laurenande]

"A hand?" she asks and looks almost taken aback until, after a pause, she realizes he is offering assistance. The bit of reluctance in her face doesn't fade immediately and she looks down at the load she carries.

"If...you like," she agrees after a brief pause and, more than anything, seems uncertain of the wisdom of this invitation. They had paused in step for a time, to talk and have her respond properly to him, and now she starts moving again. It takes a few steps for her to regain her momentum.

"I am transporting the Reverend Mother's correspondence to the library for storage. I must bind the pages and shelve them. Can you bind books or sew?"

[hello_there]

"Paper books were always somewhat uncommon, back home," He admits, calmly keeping pace despite his sheepish tone, ever the game and willing soul, "I can sew, though I'll never be a tailor."

Not the least reason for which being that every piece of clothing he owns is sized to fit nearly anyone who fits the category 'human.' Such is the Jedi way.

"No education is ever complete. Lead the way."

[laurenande]

Luca leads Obi-Wan back toward the main hall, toward the doors at the end of the long nave. They are forced to weave through the masses but, when they can, the crowd parts for Luca. Before she reaches the end of the hall, she turns left and travels north. The door at the end of the northern transept is not locked, but it is ill used and the moment she opens it, rain and cold air flood up against them. She holds the papers tight, ushers him through, and follows after as she shuts the door.

Beyond the doorway to the northern transept, the walkway is worn and unkempt. The awning is bowed a bit, the wood is rotting but still stable enough to hold. At the end of the walkway stands a small building with a door that does not quite close on its own. Luca opens it by levering the whole of her against it, digging her shoulder in and shoving.

The building beyond is small and cramped, filled with the assorted furnishings that once resided in the dormitories. It is dry inside, but it is not warm and moving down the hallway is a challenge. They pass a good number of doors as they head toward the end of the darkened hall.

"Mind your steps," she warns absently but firmly.

The door at the end of the hall requires a key, one she pulls from the belt of her robes, and the door unlocks with some ceremony. When she pushes it open, thin golden candlelight spills out over the hallway. They are, at once, standing in an office. There is a single lit candle on a large desk to one side of the room. The other side of the room is filled with bookcases and each case is stuffed with books and spare paper. The room smells heavily of pages and wax and the distant stench of smoke. Unlike the rest of the building, this room is free from obstructive clutter.

This is the library and, while it is no bigger than any small chapel in any other chantry, it is filled with new books.

Sister Luca moves to the desk as she arrives and sets her pages down on it before carefully moving the letters in progress from the surface of the desk. There is a decanter of wine on the table, and a tray set aside. Two glasses stand empty and waiting on the wooden tray. Luca moves the lot of it away and sets them on a low stack of books to make room for Obi-Wan to join her.

[hello_there]

So too Obi-Wan follows, a respectful step behind her, or two. And when Luca pushes on the door, he waits patiently. After all, she neither needs, nor has asked for, his help. And the Library...

It's not the smell, although that is one he is coming to associate with such rooms, with the Inquisition. It's the sound, though not the quality. All libraries, even ones stocked with holocrons and data-chips, have this hush. Perhaps here it's brought on by the physical weight of paper and wood. Knowledge seems to live in the air, only multiplying the oppressive air that's hung over Obi-Wan since he first stepped off the docks.

Two glasses. But for whom? He makes no comment, only joins her at the correct invitation. Another piece of the puzzle, filed away for later.

"I find your abbey very comforting," He lies, after an appropriate pause, and with a smile meant to put her at ease, even if it is a little disingenuous, "I was raised in a monastic temple, myself. It was very different, in many ways, but the sense of peace is familiar. And welcome, compared to Kirkwall."

[laurenande]

Luca pauses as he speaks, freezes in place for a moment before standing tall again. Her expression is a bit cross and there is color on her cheeks as she regards him--her frown is tight as she crosses behind him to retrieve supplies from a chest near the door.

"You may stop lying to me whenever you like," she says, tersely, and shuts the chest a bit more firmly than is strictly necessary. When she returns to the desk she sets the materials down--a brick of wax, bone needles, cotton thread, strips of trimmed linen in various colors--and goes about dragging a chair to the front of the desk. It is a simple seat, without adornment, and she sets it down for him before moving to take the larger seat behind the desk.

"This Abbey is not comforting, not to anyone, least of all those who do not live here," she says and takes a deep breath. Her resignation from before reasserts itself and she tries to calm. She starts sorting the pages before her and continues speaking--her voice is lowered on reflex.

"It is frigid, remote, and barren. Peace is only the absence of voices, not the absence of chaos which we suffer a constant array of. The sea is loud, the wind is louder, and the rain is perpetual. You need not stand on niceties, I've no want of them and they will not change my opinion of you."

[hello_there]

Obi-Wan blinks, somewhat taken aback. But then, his smile grows more genuine; far from putting him off, her candor is... genuinely pleasant, despite the sharpness of her tone. Or, perhaps because of it. For some reason, Sister Luca expected better of him. Interesting.

"My apologies," He murmurs, hands moving to take what is offered, keeping his eyes cast downward, either in deference, or to read what is written, "I meant no offense...it's only a reflex, by now. Perhaps the more honest opinion is that I find the people here comforting. So often we Rifters find a very cold welcome, even in warmer places."

Which was, if not the truth, then neither was it a lie. But then, Jedi always lie, don't they? It's part of their mystique.

[laurenande]

Something softens in Luca's expression as he praises the people here, as he admits to their warm welcome, and she lets out a slow breath. The severity of her lessens and she reaches out to gesture at the page before him, heedless of whether he has read it or not. Her own work, the needle and thread before her, is set aside briefly as she takes it from him.
"Sit, have a drink with me. I am not as inhospitable as the island would make you believe."
"You will find we are a bit odd here," Luca tells him, her terseness lingering but lessened. "Not leastwise in our opinions of the people from the Rifts."
There is a sharp scraping sound, like wood on stone and then a crash and splintering.
She aligns the first page with the edge of a linen strip and begins to sew small hatch marks down the length of it. She works quickly and is obviously familiar with the task at hand--she reaches the end before too long and bites the thread off before setting the page aside.
A chill passes behind Obi-Wan and there is a disappointed hum in that same voice.
"We must sew them into sets before we can close them into a book. You may use that needle. If the thread catches, wax it and continue."

[hello_there]

Obi-Wan, who has mostly only contended with torn pants before now, watches carefully, then moves to mimic her skill. He's an avid craftsman, of electronics at least— You had to be, to build a lightsaber. Obi-Wan is hoping some measure of that dexterity will translate.

He thinks he's managing quite well, thank you, if slightly slow. Really, it's quite nice, with the smell of the wax and all. It's a pity he's planning to steal it; a book of recent correspondence and notes from the leader of this place would be a vital source of information, to solve the mystery of this place.

"Most of Thedas seems a little odd to me. But then, I very much doubt anyone would consider it usual to fall out of a Rift, and directly into trouble."

[laurenande]

"It's becoming more and more usual," Luca corrects as she works. Periodically she glances up at Obi-Wan but his work is, if nothing else, satisfactory.

It is slow going, the binding of pages and, despite her carrying the stack carefully, there doesn't seem to be a particular order to them. They are missives, just normal notes and letters, encouragements to other Chantry facilities, asking for aid from Ferelden, Orlais, the Free Marches. Letters from people who need their help. Some are copies of letters sent, some are letters received, and all of them are addressed to the Reverend Mother.

All except one.

One letter, as they near the end of the first book's capacity, is addressed very specifically to someone named Odetta. It is from the Grand Cleric of Denerim and has a gold embossing on the bottom of it.

Luca doesn't seem to notice it, not as something especially different from the rest of the gathered pages, and assembles it accordingly. As they near the end of the book, however, there comes a knock on the library door. A Sister leans her head in--she is one that Obi-Wan has not met yet and she is a slip of a thing, not possibly older than sixteen--and gives Luca a rather panicked look.

"Sister Luca--" she starts but, before she can even utter the question in her wavering voice, Luca is up and toward the door. This cannot be an uncommon occurrence because her speed is without question.

"Show me before something else goes awry," Luca demands in the way that most parents might demand things from small children. She pauses just before she leave and looks back at Obi-Wan. Her hesitance shows, then, but she is needed elsewhere.

"I will return, do more as you like. Close the door when you leave."

[hello_there]

Obi-Wan bows her out, with the same respectful slowness he would afford a head of state, or a Grandmaster Jedi. And then, the moment she's gone, he turns to the half-finished book, and frowns. Impulse is to simply gather them up and run, but that would be suspicious in the extreme— and besides, Sister Luca will need time to pass farther down the hall and away. So instead, he holds both hands over the table, breathes a deep lungful of book-dust and petrichor, and focuses.

It'd been some time since he used the Force for so delicate a task, but one never really forgets the trick: in less than a minute, the book has assembled itself under his hands. Obi-Wan puts it into his robes, thinks a moment, then turns to leave. In a moment's time he'll be at their private little four-person dormitory, and in relative privacy with which to read.