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

Brother Estmond, the healer who watches over the Infirmary Hall is not present when Solas finds his way there. Instead, as his eyes drift across the bedridden pilgrims, the only Chantry member available is a tall woman with long blonde hair braided and set over her shoulder. She is very clean, too clean to have been here long, and she clutches a stack of paper to her chest as she peers down at the bodies in the beds. Her expression is a strange one, torn between sorrow and resignation, and it culminates in something that is nearly a scowl.

She notices him after a few moments, not because of any sound he has made but because the fire in the hearth flickers and twists and her attention is drawn in his direction. When she sees him she stands taller and the expression on her face falls away, becomes a mask of placidity and professionalism, and she offers him a sharp nod in greeting.

"Hello," she says and turns, quite stiffly, to face him. She does not approach. "Can I help you with something?" It is a genuine offer but her stern voice and the thread of discomfort in her makes it sound almost accusatory.

It's strange to be amongst the sick. Solas had taken care of the Herald, once, when the Anchor had first appeared in their midst, but it's not the same as taking care of people with bloody wounds and missing limbs. What little healing magic he has and knows is not the kind of thing that would be useful to most healers; barriers won't do much when the damage is already present and not enough people trust mages for it to be a certain thing.

There's something odd about the woman, at least. Solas looks at her, watching her for a moment, seeing how her expression shifts and changes. Whatever is happening to these people is something, Solas thinks, that has been happening for a little while; it's not something new. The resignation, the understanding... It makes Solas think that whatever ills have been happening here are not something that is new for this place.

"Hello." He manages, doing his best to be polite and conservative, all things considered. "I came to offer aid, if any can be given." He's lived long enough to know a thing or two, even if his magic might not be most welcome.

Her eyes flick down to his hands, almost in reflex, but they return to his face quickly enough. She doesn't move and her expression remains fixed--she does not soften to him but neither does she suddenly grow colder. She is uncertain but that is not so unusual a thing.

"If you are capable of healing these people, I ask that you begin," she says in a voice that carries just the faintest hint of desperation and impatience--but she does not truly expect he can and it shows in the way her shoulders shift. She glances down to the woman at her side and sighs quietly.

"I am sorry," she apologizes and it sounds thin. She is under some strain, though it seems crass to compare it to the people in this room. "If you wish to help you may need to wait for Brother Estmond to return. The Infirmary Hall is his purview."

She moves toward him, then, if only because he is standing closer to the door and there are few paths through the cots in this room.

"I expect he shall ask you to either clean bandages, or linens, or stoke the fire if you can."

Edited 2018-09-10 01:32 (UTC)

There's a moment where Solas seems as though he might question her, might push her - why his hands, what is happening, why is the Brother not here - but he relents. Whatever is happening here is clearly something that they do not wish to discuss, so that means making sure he pokes and prods in the most gentle, careful way. He would not want to go out of his way to offend, not when he is currently representing the Inquisition.

"I will do what I can, given the opportunity." He is, after all, no professional healer. He might know things that others do not, but there is no denying that there is still much for him to learn. He will do what he can, at least, and that's likely more than these people have been given nor offered in some time. "And I will wait for the Brother's return, if that is what is necessary."

Looking around, Solas frowns, lips settled there for a long moment.

"Have you diagnosed the illnesses?" It comes out casual, as though he's making conversation. "I can stoke the fire and washing bandages will cause me no harm. I would like to be given work, if it might be enough to help people."

"Illnesses?" she asks and looks across the room.

There are a great many injuries here, all gruesome and terrible. Many have lost limbs and bleed sluggishly from the stumps and protrusions left behind. Many have terrible burns or cuts, blistering and festering wounds, or the terrifying tinge of green and black as those wounds turn badly. There are several here who will not awake, not beneath the hands of any healer, who merely linger in the twilight before passing into blackness and death. A few of them are ill, true, but they are not the bulk of it...and those who suffer illness are mostly among the very farthest gone.

Her eyes drift to a young boy near to the wall--his skin has all but greyed and there is a blackness stretching up from his fingertips. It creeps along his arms and neck like a bruise and the stench it carries is suffocating. He wheezes as he breathes; it is a sound that would be impossible to ignore were he any larger and his breathing any heavier.

"I admit," she continues and her face falls with something very closely akin to shame. "I do not know what illnesses they have, only that they are very ill. I--I had not thought to ask."

The injuries seem to be doing the worst to people; they're clearly in pain, wounded in a way that is difficult for them, surely, beyond anything they could have imagined. It's hard to think of how it might feel to be them, to feel their suffering, how close they are to death. They must know how very little this sister might be able to do for them, how much loss there is to be held in these four walls.

Shaking his head, Solas steps away from her. It's easy to move around the room, easy to see where the people who are suffering the most are, and he frowns as he looks at them all. He can't tell what the illness is, exactly, but he steps near the young boy all the same.

His healing magic is not great, but he has some. Some enough, he hopes, that he might be able to ease his breathing and make him a little more comfortable. As he does it, he turns back to the woman.

"Does the Brother know what the illness is?"

Luca is prepared to leave, but the elf behind her asks her another question. She pauses in her step and turns to look over her shoulder. Her eyes fall on that boy again and she has to look away.

"He may," she grants and keeps walking. She stops again once she has reached the doorway and is looking out over the gardens. "I know that boy's limbs have turned, they will begin rotting and kill him soon."

It is a grim pronouncement but not incorrect.

"His sister lives with us, I cannot imagine how she will fare."

Simple Gifts [Closed]

The Abbey on the White Cliff

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