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]

The air curls before Thranduil, it is the biting cold that comes with the deepest shadows, twisting into the night and wrapping fingers around the back of one's neck. It fades as he moves into the room, lessening in an uneven, impersonal way, like water shifting around a hand that sweeps through the surface of it.
"You have found yourself in interesting circumstances, my friend.
Whether he sees Solas or not is up for debate--the elf is stretched out on the floor, among the straw and sawdust, and is only different from the corpses beside him in his pose and the coloration of his clothing. Thranduil's foot hits him before long, nudging a pliant leg.
"The climate of that place seems similar enough to my forest, though there are troubling rumors about what might lurk in the wood."
There is a sound that moves through the darkness, then. It is too soft to be footsteps but too near to be anything else. It lingers, if only for a moment, and then its nearness fades.

[rowancrowned]

He exhales in a hiss, still as a cat at the moment he hears the sound, and then he drops slowly to Solas' side, lifting him and carrying hims in his arm, held close to his chest.

"Solas. Echuio. Sy telir, bauron chen echuith."

This cold could kill anyone who slumbered here for too long. Galadriel is heartier than most, but things must come to a head sooner rather than later. He walks back with care, making sure that neither he nor Solas brushes against any of the bodies, nor any pools of oil on the floor. He has what he came for. He will not try for more from the things that haunt this place.

[dirth]

It takes a little for Solas to come to and when he does his head is throbbing. It aches, bone deep, and with the chill seeping into him... He wakes up uncomfortable, unsure of his surroundings, the smell making his nose twitch and scrunch in a way that might be charming if it was in any other situation. It even takes him a few moments to come to realise that it's Thranduil aiding him, his head turning as he adjusts his weight.

"Lethallin," he says, voice fuzzy. It's the first time he has called Thranduil it and it's borne of uncertainty, of a mixture of confusion and the feeling of warm familiarity. Eventually he's able to get to his feet and walk with Thranduil properly, trying to ignore just how uncomfortable and on edge he feels.

"Who is coming?"

[laurenande]

The air is still as they back out, coming to a halt before them. The whispers that creep through the stone are quiet, then, and it is not until there is true silence that one is ever aware of the noises that they are missing. The cold is beginning to coalesce in this room, it moves with some purpose, and the sense of foreboding carries an edge of imminence to it.

[rowancrowned]

It is then that he breaks into a sprint, holding Solas tightly to him so that he does not bash his head or his legs against the doorframe at the top of the stairs. Here is fear, here is the sense of being pursued. It is unceremonious, how he drops Solas and then turns his attention to the door, closing it with the full weight of his shoulder and slamming the bar down to keep the things inside there inside there. He does not know if they fear cold iron but he does not want to test it.

"Up," he says, "Move."

He reaches down as he walks past, grabs the back of Solas' tunic and hauls him to his feet, making for the kitchen's exit. The library had the clearest light, so they will go there, and talk.

[dirth]

"I am moving," Solas says, shifting to move as fast as his waking body will allow him. He does not know what it is that is causing Thranduil such problems, but he's willing to take the speed it needs to make sure that they're both safe and comfortable. There are whispers, he thinks, but he cannot focus enough to understand what they mean, cannot focus enough to wrap his mind around the nature of what is chasing after them, if anything.

He moves swiftly once he has his bearings, at least, and walks at his friend's side until they manage to make their way to the library, his lips curling down into something more pensive, more thoughtful.

"My friend."

[rowancrowned]

He closes the doors to the library, too, and wishes that they could have a fire here, but alas, the builder did not account for his whims.

"It was lethallin but a moment ago," he says, taking one of the chairs from the tables and using it as a makeshift lock, shoved under the door. "Did I drop you so hard?"

Now thoroughly entrenched, he retreats back to where Solas stands, shrugging off his own cloak and wrapping it about the other elf's shoulders. Something is in one of the inside pockets, heavy with the weight of glass.

"You slept," he remarks. "Did you dream?"

[dirth]

It takes a little for Solas to orientate himself, to realise where they are, where his feet had lead him in his daze, but - he smiles when he recognises it. The library. He had glimpsed it in his time here, he had looked into it, but he had been distracted by the infirmary and the kitchens. Evidently, Thranduil had been noting where he had been going.

"You know that word is not the most appropriate," Solas hsakes his head, shifting and moving to try and make himself comfortable, to feel warm again. He doesn't even look up when Thranduil moves, at least not until there's a cloak around his shoulders and he feels a little bit like he might be warm again.

Reaching up, Solas shakes his head.

"It was not that kind of sleep," he admits. "I did not have the same control."

[rowancrowned]

"What did you see?" he asks, anyway, because it might be something. He does not know why he is asking, when he knows the answer already, when he and Solas both know the truth of it. Is he hoping for an advantage? The only one he can think of is choosing the ground upon which the final conflict occurs. All else will be luck, or clever persuasion.

[dirth]

Solas shakes his head. He's not sure what he saw, what was settled in his mind, but he knows that he is uncomfortable, that he's a touch on edge, a touch unsure. His fingers brush over the cloak and he breathes out, feeling the weight of the cold for a moment; it takes him a moment to even look up at Thranduil, lips pursed.

"Cold. Death."

[rowancrowned]

"She is not dead," he says. "Indisposed, but not dead."

He would never allow that to happen, Thranduil knew that much. He would martyr himself anew before he allowed a hair to be shorn from her head. Which meant that she was incapacitated, somewhere, but the wraith-creatures were as like as not incidentally guarding her. Possibly under his direction, as fractured as it would be.

Thranduil and Solas had no such promises for their well-being, however.

Thranduil frowns, and fetches the candle, bringing it closer if only to comfort Solas with the notion of fire.

"You need restful sleep," he says, "and something to eat."

They will be fighting soon.

[dirth]

"That is no comfort," he snipes, but there's little heat behind it.

No, Solas knows that between the two of them no true harm would come to Galadriel. They would seek her out and make sure that she was safe long before anything could happen to her; they care too much. Solas knows for a fact that he cares more than he should, especially given her position as a Rifter and his own confusing mission, but he cannot help the way that he feels nor the depth she has dug into his heart.

She will be safe. Solas, clearly, does not have the same certainties for himself.

The fire at least offers him some warmth and he sighs, reaching out to almost touch the flame, something knotted in his stomach.

"There was plenty of food in the kitchens, if it is safe to return. I do not know what sleep there is to be found."