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

Losing Galadriel is quite difficult for Solas; his instinct is to find her, to step away from all of these people and make sure that she is safe and cared for. She is his primary concern - she has been, other than Thranduil, for this entire trip - and his discomfort is something that follows him into his dreams. It's difficult to sleep when he is conscious of being unsure and afraid, but he will do what he can.

Slipping into her dream, at least, is easier than he had anticipated.

Eyes wide, Solas begins to move forward, seeking her out. He should be able to find her, he thinks, surely, if anyone, he would be able to find her. He doesn't know what to do to find her; walking feels difficult, and with the blood colouring the water, the shadows, the whispers..

He follows, without hesitation.

There is a desperation in the air here, in the water, and it draws at Solas. It is aligned with his desires in a very curious way and eases his path, his movement, until there is no drag upon him at all. He moves freely while the world beyond them, the dark weight of this ocean of fear, the distant shadow shapes of the Abbey he left behind or the trees that glimmer dully beyond it, all of it recedes into a riptide of whipping water.
"There is much knowledge that has been lost to time...But that does not mean it cannot be found again."
There is an echo in the distance but it is nonsense, an echo of silence with familiar weight. It carries a tinge of blood and the taste of wine. The smells and flavors of that chase him as he moves and the whispering beckons him forward.
"I should like to feel myself again, I am beginning to forget what it was like."
He finds Galadriel seated before a hearth, her hands folded in her lap and her gaze distant, eyes locked on the golden flames. She does not look up as he approaches, but the whispering grows louder until it is the roar of the water beyond them and then nothing at all.
"What happens today will secure you, and you will feel better for it."
"Han mathon ne nen..." she says, her voice a distracted whisper. "Echais be gwaew a rihâll..."

Something feels wrong, uncomfortable, and he follows it as though it is dragging him forward. He is used to the feel of the Fade, used to the feeling of being welcomed, this this feels almost new to him. His path is an easy one to walk, simple to follow, and he doesn't let himself feel any of the tension that might curl around him if he dared to let it. No, he thinks, no. He can wait, and he can see, and he can figure out what it is that he is baring witness to today.

Turning his head, he steps, following sounds and voices and what feels right, wondering if he will find the things that he wants to discover or if he will be brought to his knees, somehow, if this version of the Fade and dreams might somehow be par with his power.

At least he finds Galadriel, he thinks, his eyes drinking in her form. At least she is present, even if this does not feel like any dream she could claim. It feels... Unlike her, he thinks, and he moves to sit at her side, unconcerned about the distant, incorrect gaze that decorates her features.

"Galadriel," he says gently, his hand reaching to touch her hand, ignoring the roar of whispers around them. "I am here."

Her gaze lingers on the flame, it doesn't shift, not until his hand rests on hers. She is ice cold, almost cold enough to burn, and in that bare instant her face shifts. She does not turn her head but her head is turned, a jump in the order of things, in the procession of time, and that empty gaze is focused on him.
Sound is muffled, everything is underwater. It is hard to breathe.
"Solas," she says, names him, but her hand doesn't move beneath his. "You have come to visit me...how unusual, but nowhere near unwelcome."
No one is speaking; no one is here. This is not a place. This is not a person.
There is another jagged moment and Galadriel's head is facing forward again. Something in her face has shifted entirely, she wears a different one now. If he focuses, her hair will have changed to a deep auburn, braided and fallen over the opposite shoulder. She is garbed as Galadriel, but she is not Galadriel.
She knows you've seen her.
"Can I help you with something?"

Solas doesn't know what to do with this; he doesn't know what to do with her, with the coldness of her, with the evidence of her being so distant and far and uncertain. He has never been good at these kinds of intimacies, the kind that has always felt so difficult for him. He wants to do enough for her, it wants to be what she deserves and should have at her side, but... He is not yet sure how to do it.

The whispers make him uncomfortable and his throat feels tight. He doesn't know what to do with her, and he longs for Thranduil; his friend would know how best to aid her with Solas still learning.

"I would always visit you, if you would welcome it, Galadriel." His frown turns down as she looks away. It's clear, now, that this is not what he first imagined it to be, not with the shape and mould of her changing. He frowns, turning to stare forward in front of him, to match her gaze as best he can.

"I came to see if you were well."

This new woman stares at Solas, just as Galadriel had been before, her expression distant. She regards him for a long moment before some attention sneaks into her expression, before her eyes begin to focus on his face. Her expression screws up as she looks at him and, just as she crosses the threshold into recognition, the face before him melts away into a blank, glassy surface.

The surface ripples, like water before him, and then the whole of her shifts. The sounds of a scuffle fill the room--a breaking glass, a broken chair, a shout and the gasp of air being driven out of lungs by force.

The body before him curls forward over its center, hands grasping in pantomime around something in her gut and the white of her dress is rapidly stained red.

He doesn't know what to make of this; he has clearly stumbled into the wrong dream and it is somewhat disconcerting. This is not something that has ever happened to him before and he feels at odds with his own power, with his own abilities - what has gone wrong? Why did he think he was following the trail of Galadriel when this is so obviously not the woman he was searching for?

Head turning, he takes in the changes, the sounds, the developments, trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together that he doesn't know the end picture of. It feels as though he's the one adrift, somehow, and his frown only gets deeper, marring his face and making him unsure and uncertain.

Reaching out, Solas tries to help the being beside him, a hand on her back and one reaching for her hand.

It is unresistant, the creature before him, and bends in whatever fashion he attempts to make it move. Its hand goes with him, bloodied and ice cold, and that faceless countenance keeps watch, reflecting his own image back at him. The fire before them goes out, snuffed by the rushing water that persists outside the room, by the cold, and Solas is left in the dark with a reflection of himself.

"--Have I missed a step?"

It is still bleeding, whatever it is, even if the wound has not appeared on it. Unfortunately, whatever it is, its grip on this space is fading. The sounds of the distant ocean roar are quieting, the space encroaching on them as it collapses. It will not be long before Solas is set adrift.

It's a cold touch, one that Solas is not used to - it's the kind he might feel from the dead, he thinks, similar to what he felt in the infirmary not so long ago. It's an uncomfortable sensation to say the least, and he moves closer, drawing the body, whoever it might be, to his side.

But then there is darkness, and Solas is left with himself. Uncomfortable to say the least.

"... Would you like me to change this?"

It goes still, either because it does not comprehend what he is asking or it cannot answer. The space fades in toward them and, as quickly as it shifted before, the creature Solas has pulled against himself melts away. Bit by bit, it melts, returning to water. It drips between them and vanishes into the chair, into the floor. It is pulled beneath the surface of this place, drawn back into the Fade like the outgoing tide.

Then it is dark and the dream is over.

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Simple Gifts [Closed]

The Abbey on the White Cliff

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