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

Reverend Mother Alvar is a woman who appears to be well on the other side of a century old. She is bent and wizened, her limbs thin and her skin loose and creased. Her hair is a stark white and she is bald in patches--she keeps it braided, insofar as it can be, and it rests on her shoulder. Her gowns are not the vestments of the Reverend Mother, they are far too heavy for her frail shoulders, but the cold does not bother her despite her wearing only a light dress and a knit shawl.

She shuffles more than she walks, bent as she is, and is almost constantly attended by a younger sister with a thick braid of long blonde hair. During the times when Luca is not at her side, occasionally she seeks out Brigette, but she usually meanders on her own or sits a while. She has a kind air about her. Her face is creased deeply and the whole of it seems to shift as she looks about a room. Her eyes disappear entirely when she smiles.

Despite her great apparent age, she carries herself with dignity and poise, moving without fear of injury or pain. She goes slowly, but she does not seem to concern herself with the effort of it.

"Hullo."

Kitty had seen the Reverend Mother at a bit of a distance, had her pointed out to her. For the most part, Kitty's sticking with the others, but she'd passed by the Reverend Mother coming back from taking a pee, and so she's definitely not going to miss the opportunity to chat with her a bit. Especially not when she looks so - well - sweet.

"You're Reverend Mother Alvar, right? I'm Kitty. It's really lovely to meet you."

Alvar doesn't stand to greet Kitty, something she gives an apologetic look for, but she does smile brightly at the young woman. She is seated in the Main Hall, staring at the new windows and enjoying the ambiance, or so it would seem.

"Hello," she greets plainly, her delight at meeting Kitty shining through her smile and eyes. "It is nice to meet you Kitty--sit and talk with me."

"I'd be awfully pleased to," Kitty replies. She's been working hard to sound sweet and innocent here, but honestly, it's not really faked with this lady. She honestly just seems so lovely, and if what the craftsmen say is true, then, well - she's been giving up her own health and well-being to help others. That's what the Reverend Mothers do, they say. Which is enough to win rather a lot of sympathy.

So she sits, and smiles over at her, and says, "You really do have such a beautiful place here. It's really amazing, how lovely it is."

"Ah," Alvar begins, her delight turning a bit wry as she regards Kitty. "You are either very kind or very used to lying."

She chuckles, then, and it is a dry almost husk-like sound. She withdraws her hands and folds them on her lap.

"It is improved, the windows are especially nice, but this place? Lovely would be a stretch."

Kitty blinks a little bit in surprise at being called out like that. That firmness was - unexpected. But, far from backing down, she shakes her head. "I mean it," she says. "The people here are sweet and so welcoming, and you've all made something gorgeous out of very little. That's the heart of loveliness, I think. Not pretty scenery or a lot of statues or whatever. It's what you've made here."

"Oooh you're clever, I see," Alvar decides but her smile lingers. "Well thank you, all the same. Have you seen the view from the white cliffs? It is miserable weather for it, but the sea is quite lovely."

Kitty shakes her head, smiling back at Alvar. Admittedly, being called clever can be a good thing - but it can also be very, very bad. It all depends who's saying it; some people have very little love for clever girls. But Alvar seems so sweet - it's hard to expect bad intentions from her.

"I've stayed inside, mostly," she says. "I don't do so well with a chill."

"You must be having a time, then," she says and a little bit of worry creeps into her tone. She looks Kitty over, her eyes lingering on her extremities, and takes her hand. Alvar, unlike the rest of the Abbey, is very warm and her hand helps heat up the chill that has doubtless taken hold of Kitty's fingers.

"I can send someone to fetch you an extra blanket or a cloak if you need."

"An extra...?" That certainly hadn't been Kitty's intent. She'd just been complaining in a generic sort of way, because one can always make conversation by complaining about weather. She'd certainly not intended to try to get something out of it. Nice as it is, having her hand held by someone that warm. Alvar's got to be the warmest old lady Kitty's ever encountered.

"No, no, I don't - definitely not," she says, a little flush coming into her cheeks. "Save that for one of them who've got to be here through the winter, too. They deserve it more than me." Then, because she can't restrain the question that's been on the forefront of her mind, she asks - "Why are you all being so sweet to us, anyway?"

Alvar doesn't let go of her hand, leaving that warmth wrapped around it, and reaches over to pat the top of Kitty's hand with her other one.

"How could we be anything but?" Alvar asks gently, her face nothing but sincere. "You are gifts, sent here to help us in our most trying times.

"We all adore you."

Kitty lets out a breath, shaking her head slightly. "It's really lovely," she says - and honestly, it is. It really is. Her warmth, both figurative and literal, is such an antidote to the anger and mistrust from others. But that's the issue, isn't it? After all -

"It's just that other people...you know. There are lots of other folk, even Chantry folk, who think we're wicked. Demons, even. What convinced you that we weren't?"

Alvar chuckles again but this time something in it catches and she is sent into a sputtering series of coughs. She withdraws her hands, if only to bring them up to her mouth. It takes a few moments before she can speak again, and when she can, she says:

"No demons here--" she says between coughing and gives herself a sharp rap on the chest. She draws a deep breath afterward and sits up, her eyes watering a bit. "There are only miracles here, my dear, and you are among them."

She shakes her head and makes to stand, but as she does, she shoots Kitty a curious, almost conspiratorial look.

"You've made friends with those burly carpenter fellows," she accuses gently. "Have you talked them into letting you help?"

At first it's not clear what she's speaking of but, after a pause, she leans her head toward the large doors at the end of the hall. They are the same ones Brigette has been standing before for days, preventing all entry save Herkle and Merkle.

"I've - helped them a bit," Kitty answers. She casts a curious glance at those doors. She hadn't really thought much of what was beyond the doors - after all, it's not that out of the ordinary for spaces to be closed to all but workmen - but now that Alvar is drawing attention to it... "But I haven't helped them back there."

She meets the old woman's eyes, trying to discern her intentions. Honestly, as much as she wants to be cautious, it's really hard to imagine this sweet lady wishing her any harm. "Should I make that offer to 'em?"

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laurenande - 2018-09-14 17:30 (UTC) - Expand

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rathercommon - 2018-09-16 23:43 (UTC) - Expand

Eventually, even for all his energy, Myr's got to take a break from chasing leads about the abbey.

(Too much, there's too much of it; it's too dire, too frightening with parts of the Inquisition team vanishing from beneath their noses. There's an awful, slipping feeling in his head like they're losing hold of what chances they had to fix things without anyone coming to harm, and he can't do anything about it but dig his heels in and endure.)

He is on his way to the dormitories to take that break--and perhaps catch an hour or two of fitful sleep; his schedule's been completely blown--when he catches sound of Alvar's voice. Without thinking, he bends his steps toward her, stops by her side.

"H'lo, Your Reverence." There's something a little shy, and a little sad, about the greeting.

"Hello," she greets and the smile in her voice fades as she speaks. Before long she takes Myr's hand and pulls him to sit with her. Her fingers are warm, unbothered by the cold of the Abbey, and that warmth seeps into his skin the longer she holds on.

"Oh my, you look quite ragged, what have you been doing?"

He lets himself be pulled down to sit beside her without protest, folding his own cold fingers about her warm ones in mute gratitude. Fereldan weather is worse than the Gallows and he's still a child of the desert at heart; not for him this cold and damp. (Though he thinks he could endure it, if the Maker called him here. Like all the others.)

"Trying to put together the whole story of your abbey," he sighs, with a self-effacing smile. "You've something remarkable here--but nevertheless I'm worried for all of you," especially her, though that worrying won't amount to much at this late hour of her life.

"Perhaps it's just the weather or how quiet the Fade is, but I've the worst sense of foreboding."

"I would warn you not to attempt to string together the story of this place, for it is a deeply convoluted tale," she tells him, her warning mild but gentle as she holds his hand. She takes a deep breath and lets it out as a huff of laughter.

"But I expect you would do so anyway; you seem like a curious sort."

She leans back and regards the unlit candles before her, a look of something wistful on her face. Were she actually the age she appears it might've been nostalgia.

"You're the first who has complained of the Fade," she tells him. "Do you wish for more adventure, for demons or spirits to linger here?"

At that, he laughs and mimes taking a blow to the heart with his free hand. "I am that, if nothing else. S'pose it'll be the death of me someday." If standing on principle--or in the way of danger--doesn't get him first.

He almost answers her question without thinking about it--opens his mouth and everything--but it gives him pause at the last; his initial answer is a considering hum instead. At last: "No; this is place of peace," mostly, "and I'm honestly glad of the untroubled rest."

Even his pride demon hasn't been about with its wings and eyes and promises of glory. "But it's--strange, all the same, like having lived with an ache so long you don't know what to do once it's gone. Or--no, it's more hearing a room go silent all of a sudden when the conversation had driven you to distraction; peaceful, but you wonder also what could silence it."

Were there things larger and more frightening even than demons that roamed the Fade? That could silence and scatter lesser spirits like a wyvern among smaller beasts? He wonders.

Alvar takes a deep breath and, of all the times she has been without enough air in his presence, this seems the least of them. She seems oddly content, resigned even as she lets out a sigh.

"This is a place of peace," she agrees. "And you are safe here. No demons haunt our steps...that I promise you."

There is a pause and she shifts her hand atop his, her thumb making an idle sweep over the cold process of his knuckles.

"And they never will."

He turns his head toward her to hear her sigh so, the haptic vestiges of a worried glance. But she's breathing easily enough after that and he doesn't wish to fuss--so he does not.

"I'm glad of that," he says, and sounds it, quiet but earnest. He cannot say he wholly trusts the abbeyfolk know what danger they might be in from things stalking the Fade around them--but they've also been far more perceptive about it than any non-mage he's known outside a Circle.

And far more forgiving of mages--except when it comes to spirits.

That's something to consider, now that he's slowed down enough to think of it. "You've been so kind, besides. I confess--as a mage--I didn't expect so warm a welcome.

"Thank you for that, Your Reverence. Thank you for all of this."

"I know how the Chantry feels about mages, how you must expect I should feel," Alvar says in reply to his thanks. Her voice is slow, measured as her breath, and there is a smile it in.

"I can't imagine being cruel to you when we have both been given a...gift." It is a liberal interpretation--surely the Maker dictates who becomes a mage, so it is a gift, but in the same breath it is a curse.

"Everyone receives kindness here," Alvar says and there is a very small hitch in her tone as she says it. She clears her throat and draws a deep breath.

It's a liberal interpretation--but one this particular mage clings to as if for life itself. (Had to; it was his Tevinter father's last gift to him. Magic was a no curse but a heavy responsibility.) To hear it from a Revered Mother--even one not ordained--is balm to his bruised heart and another little vindication of his trust in the abbeyfolk.

(How strange and wonderful it feels to have that trust consistently upheld even in an awful situation. How strange it should feel strange; but then the Inquisition's not always all he thought it would be.)

"That we have," he replies, warmly, his smile the wider for her words. "Though I think yours rests the heavier on you."

His hand tightens on hers in unconscious comfort at that little pause. "Is something the matter? Beyond--" The word's left hanging, dissolved into a brief self-effacing laugh.

Obi-Wan is a man accustomed to approaching seats of power with a particular mix of informality and polite respect. It is the Jedi's role in all things to act as an outsider, not held under the reigns of power, beholden to only as an equal would be. But here he is somewhat moreso; one might consider, in their own way, the Sisters of this Abbey some kind of contemporary.

And besides, it gives you much, much more snooping time, if you're polite.

"Reverend Mother Alvar," He bows to her, having come upon her seat by the window. It overlooks a typically miserable sky, but then, what window doesn't? "May I join you for tea? I'd like to take the opportunity to have a chat with you."

It is, after all, just about time for tea. But then, when isn't it?

"I am always happy to share tea," Alvar says as she stares out the window and then, gradually, turns to look at Obi-Wan. "And I can be talked into sharing conversation, on occasion."

She looks him over, taking in the sight of his hand and then smiles.

"What would you like to chat about?"

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Simple Gifts [Closed]

The Abbey on the White Cliff

Reverend Mother Alvar - Found in the Cloister, Infirmary Hall, or Garden

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sometime before THE END, but not so long before,

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