Entry tags:

Simple Gifts [Closed]

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

Though Teren winces at the telling, she's not sorry she asked: this is Anders' wheelhouse, he's the one with the bedside manner and the people skills. She listens, intrigued, but at the same time... a bit perplexed.
"Why not be certain they'd finished the job?" she wonders aloud, putting herself in the mindset of the bandits. Who would leave a girl alive and screaming to be found by the law, to point right to them?

"What?" Luca snaps, her expression aghast. "I didn't ask them."

She looks quickly between the two of them, Teren and Anders, and her face flushes with rage. Her jaw flexes as she considers them and, at once, she turns and starts to stalk away.

"Wait," Anders calls, following quickly. "That doesn't matter, at all. I'd like to know more about the miracle, the healing, not the attack, please. She's not good with... people, really. She stabbed my partner once."

It's not quite an apology, but it's some of one.

Wisely, Teren lets Anders do the calling back, though she can't resist rolling her eyes when he brings up that gem. Geeze, it was like a month ago, let it go.

Luca whips around her her heel and stares at him, aghast and absolutely offended. She stares a moment and her eyes glance back to Teren before darting purposefully back to Anders.

"Apparently," she agrees, voice high and tight and hesitates as she goes to turn again. She should stalk away, there is nothing keeping her in this place, but she is bound by her duty and she is a Chantry Sister. she steels herself and takes a moment to calm, before sighing heavily and audibly.

"Alright, fine," she agrees tightly, quickly, and then speaks before she can think about it. "I do not recall a great deal of it, I was not in a mind to remember.

"I was brought before her, she did not visit my bedside. I recall stone at my back and a light above me and--" She pauses here as she recalls, her expression going a touch distant. "I was not awake at first, but my eyes weren't closed either, it is very hazy.

"The first clear memory I have, I was being comforted by a Sister...but I felt fine. I was strong enough to stand, to walk, to weep."

"I see." He doesn't. It's not telling him anything, but it's clear that she's trying and it's an awful memory.

"Thank you and I'm sorry for your loss." There's a pause as he debates saying something else before he decides to go ahead. "Is it... Forgive me, but why are there so many who are dying in your infirmary, when she can do this? I don't understand. The brother there is doing what he can but he's no training and no resources, but he shouldn't need it when she's able to do something beyond any healer I've heard of before."

Teren stands there, arms folded, sensing that the conversation is probably best conducted without her interjections, at least for now. It's very interesting, even if she can't make heads or tails of it.

Luca's expression shifts a bit and she seems calmer but infinitely more confused as she regards Anders. He had been polite enough to counterbalance her ire, but the question doesn't make sense to Luca, not entirely, and it's clearly written on her face.

"The toll," Luca says and her eyes dart back to Teren and then to Anders again. She sees no understanding in them and so she settles in for an explanation she should not be the one to give.

"The Reverend Mother's gift is not without cost, she cannot heal them all at once, she has not the strength. They must wait and be healed one by one. She must rest." She pauses then and looks curiously at Anders. "Brother Estmond is not a healer, he cannot treat any but the smallest wounds. He is there to make them comfortable so they might live until they can be healed."

"But they're not living that long. That makes sense, that it takes strength. Healing does too. But they're dying in there. I'd, if I'd the resources, I could turn some of them around. If you'd an actual healer, you wouldn't need the Reverend Mother's gift so much."

He glances back at Teren as if she can help, but she's not a healer. The opposite, really.

"Surely you could afford to hire one, with the work that's clearly going into this place. So many more could be saved like that, and she wouldn't have to pick and choose."

The last is a stab in the dark, but Estmond had talked about someone living long enough for a blessing, not a healing. As if words were more commonly given than something that actually helped.

Luca huffs a bit but her offense is mild. She looks sidelong at the construction in the courtyard of the cloister and then back at Anders.

"These are gifts, ser," she says and shakes her head. "We have no money, it was sent whole to the Inquisition. All we have are gifts from pilgrims and the master carpenters have agreed to help us without charge."

When Anders looks back at Teren, she shrugs. She's little to say, at least until the pilgrims are mentioned.
"Why all the pilgrims?" she asks after a moment, "it's not an easy place to get to, and by the look of it half of them are on their last legs."

If they have legs left at all, he thinks but wisely does not say. There are things here that he can't quite connect together here. One miracle, dozens upon dozens waiting and dying, fire not staying steady, magic not staying steady.. or is it just magic related to warmth and light?

"And when did you start having issues here with keeping the fires lit?" It probably sounds like it comes out of the blue, but he's trying to do the math of this place right now.

"In all my time at the Abbey, it has always been this way. The rain, the fires, and the pilgrims," she says and directs that last statement, quite firmly, to Teren. She clearly has a preference in Anders but to claim that she is fond of either of them is quite a stretch.

"Everyone here has seen enough of fire and blood," she adds and looks between them, her tone stern and almost matronly. "None of us lament the lack of them both.

"I have no more moments to spare, if you have another question be quick about it."

Sometimes the answers come in what people don't say, rather than what they do. Teren doesn't see a point in continuing to press the woman, but looks at Anders, raising her eyebrows to prompt him further if he has anything. Otherwise, this gives them something to go from, albeit rather little.

"One last question then, and thank you for all you've answered. Could you estimate the number of miracles your Reverend Mother has accomplished?"

He's guessing the number will be very low, almost betting on it, at this point, and not simply because the miracles seem unknown once you get very far outside of the region.

She halts her step just long enough to turn an expression of open disgust at them. They have accused them of failing the faithful, have demanded her tales, and now they wish to quantify the value of the Reverend Mother's deeds by tallying the lives she has saved.

"Do you make it a habit to ask this of every doctor, also?" Her tone could not be more strongly displeased and her disgust with them lingers...but still she answers.

"Reverend Mother Alvar has blessed all of our lives, but she has truly saved thirty souls."

And with that, she does not linger to see if the number impresses or displeases them, she turns and walks, swiftly from the conversation, her shoes clacking loudly with the force of her furious steps.

"Thirty," Teren repeats, under her breath, and looks at Anders, keeping her voice low once again. "Out of... how many, d'you reckon?"

"Hundreds. Possibly more." There's a short pause before he shakes his head. "Probably, not possibly. There's around thirty in there now, most close to death, and Estmond spoke of a couple a day, sometimes five showing up in one day. I'd like to know the most recent miracle, the time between them, but I doubt anyone's feeling particularly forthcoming about that."

Those who would know, that is. Those who would worry about being found out.

"Notice that she said it was just the Reverend Mother. There's not personal pride there. She may not know the whole of it... or she may have chosen to ignore it, because how can you not see how much death is here?"

And deliberate death, no less.

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Simple Gifts [Closed]

The Abbey on the White Cliff

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