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

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr almost allows as how any mage would've made herself obvious responding to the weight of uncanny magic that hangs over the abbey--but checks his tongue before he puts voice to the words. Thinks of his cousin, of the other rebels he knows; thinks of how desperate an apostate might be to get away from the war--and how remote and unremarkable this little island is.

As Morley says. "Right," Myr says slowly, musing aloud. "And a mage who came here seeking privacy wouldn't ever say a word about it. I imagine you get all types among the pilgrims, when it comes to who wants their history known and not."

Or might a mage come specifically seeking a miracle? For herself, or to learn how it was done? A thought to chew on later, as he follows Morley out into the rain. --With, as it comes, a brief bright laugh for the idea of them being stories; that's a thing, isn't it? Being in the Inquisition--and a mage--means they tell stories about you.

"Do we live up to 'em, then? The stories."

[laurenande]

Morely hums and his tone shifts a bit as he considers, very seriously, the possibility that someone here might be a secret mage. It disquiets him for a moment but the thought drifts off as quickly as it comes. They cross the cloister quickly enough and he holds the door to the Kitchen for Myr before stepping inside, himself.

He has the presence of mind to keep his voice down, below the dormitories as they are, but only just.

"So far? Not a bit," Morely tells him but he doesn't sound even slightly put off by it. "You haven't done anything flashy at all, not as I've seen at least, and there's hardly any shining armor among you. And not one of your green handed friends has done anything inexplicable or opened a single rift."

[faithlikeaseed]

"Maker--I hope no one's expecting them to; rifts are fearsome things," Myr replies, a little laughter in his tone. Quiet laughter; he's matching Morely for volume, out of respect for those still abed. And troubled--a rift really isn't funny but the idea someone might think it would be thrilling to be around one is...something he can respect enough to laugh over.

"That would be the last thing any of you need. ...This isn't the kitchen, is it?"

Even knowing fires are hard for these folk, his idea of kitchen still contains a lit stove and warmth enough to dry out his damp robes.

[laurenande]

"Oh, I've seen a rift before," Morely tells him as he sets his stick and lantern down on the nearest table. The scrape of the chair behind it is heavy but Morely doesn't sit--he walks off and starts rifling through nearby cabinets, pulling out dishes and utensils.

"And aye, this is. Can't see it but there's food enough in here to feed the Abbey for a month." He sets several plates down and rummages through a drawer for knives. He grumbles something unintelligible as he does. When he starts talking again it is clear he's bend behind a counter.

"None of it hot, but you get used to it."

[faithlikeaseed]

"You have! Whereat?" Myr casts about for a chair of his own, starting at the edge of the table and working his way around it until he's found something suitable. He pulls it up but doesn't sit himself, instead putting up his staff and leaving over the back of it on his folded arms. He leans in a little--the better to hear Morely--and cocks his head to one side as he puzzles out the sounds of the man foraging.

"How much of the produce d'you grow yourselves? The garden you've got here is remarkable."

[laurenande]

Morely moves around Myr, bending to the boxes and baskets of produce and pulling a good armful free as he converses. It takes him very little time to round it all up, everything is so beautiful, but it takes some time to get it arranged on the table before him.

"This all? Most of it is grown here, save what don't really grow. Butter, bread, meat and the like, that we get from the village," he explains as he starts cutting. The world smells of fish after a moment.

"As for rifts--wait, you like fish? Tell me if you don't before I chop up a second."