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

That's so, [with a sigh.] That's what's gotten all of Thedas into the mess it's in, isn't it. Not looking beyond how we've been told the world is and only thinking there's one way it ought to be.

[He laces his fingers together before him to keep his hands still; it doesn't do to fidget in a moment like this.] Before, [echoed, not completely comprehending but it grows on him.] --Ah. When they were even less used to the idea of seeing you as--someone.

Thank you for being here. I don't know we're anywhere near solving this but having other ways of seeing it--it can only help, can't it?

Of course.

[ For all that this place unnerves her, there is no where Merrill would rather be, right now. Galadriel is here somewhere, after all, and she will not leave her. ]

I don't know how much use I'll truly be, but it never hurts to look at things a different way. I just... wonder what way everyone looked at it before we got here. The ones who know what's going on.

[ But she wonders a lot of things about this place, these people. ]

Charitably, [because he can't be anything but,] --if this were an abbey full of copies of myself, I think they see themselves having a duty to heal everyone they can. All men are the Work of our Maker's hand, from the lowest slave to the highest king, and if someone pours gifts on them in thanks, they do the best they know how with it. [that that best might not be a very wise use of those gifts--he leaves unsaid.]

And because they don't--hold anything back, sharing the gift the Maker's given them, they don't turn anyone away. But the miracles--cost, [pray there is someone who survives it better than we,] so they can't heal the pilgrims fast as they arrive. Even the hopeless cases, so they linger until they're seen to. Brother Estmond's said they don't lose them--but he's only one man without much training, trying to care for all of them.

I think--I think they're in trouble of their own making, but it's all for trying to serve the needs of as many as they can. And thinking--thinking the awful price they're paying is worth what they bought with it.

Edited 2018-10-03 17:47 (UTC)

Greed, [ she says again, though it's a whisper; she does not want to draw the attention of the spirits that linger in this place. ] From a good source, perhaps, but it's keeping them here.

I've done things to try and fulfill what I thought was my duty too. I understand it. But this... [ Audacity was one spirit. This is an entire Chantry full of strangeness. ] Whatever this relic from the rift is, it's powerful. And they want it, to use it.

[ Odetta had said as much - that she wanted something she could not have. ]

They may want it in part out of the goodness of their heart, but that can be warped. One only has to look at [ herself, Anders, the entire Mage/Templar war ] everything around us to know that something's gone wrong.

I just hope we can help them before it's all too terrible.

[the expression he turns in her direction is faintly hurt at the word. he opens his mouth as if to argue, then appears to think better of it and turns his face away.

it isn't entirely wrong, after all. but greed is an awful word to put on it and implies a demon where he can't yet believe there is one.]

As do I--I'm worried for our rifters.

[a pause, and then,] Not that I think the abbeyfolk mean them any harm but as they're a sort of spirit--they might come to grief.

[though surely they'd've been attacked by now if the thing in the forest realized what rifters were and was so keen-set on its hatred of spirits.]

They- what?

[ There's a sharp turn of her head; this is the first she's heard about the rifters being spirits. ]

They're spirits, [he repeats, realizing now that bit of information hadn't...spread quite so widely as it should have. maybe should have. ...who knows with the inquisition what should be shared and shouldn't, for whose political game; he hasn't the head or the heart for that right now.] After a fashion.

Bound into mortal shapes with lyrium. They all fell ill earlier this year when another rifter brought some sort of plague with him; it--ate away at their substance until they started to fade from the world. We had to bind them back into it.

[ Merrill stares for a long moment. She thinks of her Rifter friends, including the ones who have vanished. She thinks of Ruby, of Martel, Thranduil, Galadriel, and all the others- and she stands, abruptly, grip white-knuckled on her staff. ]

That doesn't make any sense, [ she manages, sounding flat. ] Spirits don't behave the way they do.

That's what I said. [his voice is soft.] That spirits don't behave as they do, so they couldn't be. Spirits wouldn't come up with whole other worlds to be from.

But they--became, much more like spirits are in the later stages of the plague. We forgot them. They became fixated on the largest parts of themselves, focused on what most defined them.

Maybe that was the fault of the disease and not the carriers, [ Merrill says immediately, hands curled into fists. She's not trying to argue with Myr - it sounds more like he agrees than anything else. But this could have serious repercussions for the rifters.

This could kill them, in the end. ]

If it weren't for our templars falling ill at the same time--with different symptoms, as it ate up the lyrium in their blood--I'd believe that. They stayed wholly real but were frightfully sick, needing dose on dose of lyrium simply to stay sane.

The rifters were coming apart. We had to dose them with magebane to kill the disease but they weren't cured until we'd used binding spells on them and had a templar pull them back into reality. [He'd been so sure they were exactly what they said they were. So sure.

It would make things so much easier.]

They may still not be spirits but what else would need flesh made of lyrium to exist on this side of the Veil?

Spirits don't even need that, [ Merrill argues, even as she rubs her face. ] Not like that.

Couldn't they have gone home, if they hadn't been bound? Maybe?

[ She supposes no one had wanted to try it. ]

One of them did vanish, shortly after, [Myr allows, slowly. Perversely, having gotten himself used to the idea they were spirits--no matter how inconvenient and dangerous that might be to conclude--he's as hard to budge back off of it.

But she does raise good points.] Or during--we really did nearly lose track of them in the midst of it.

[A sigh, then.] I don't know. It may be that they aren't spirits at all, but they're certainly not--simply people who fell through the Fade.

It would be so much easier if they were, even if--even if not everyone would believe that.

[ So- maybe. They had no concrete answers, not really. Things didn't match. ]

If they're spirits, they're no spirits any of us have ever seen or encountered. If they're spirits we don't have record of anyone encountering...

[ Well. That implies- a lot. Terrifying things. ]

But I don't think normal spirits could come up with the things they say they've seen, the places they've come from.

No. I don't think they could, either, not and have it all hang together. Some of it's nothing they'd see in any of our dreams.

But, [slowly, quietly, as he'd spoken to Araceli on this very topic, knowing it to be heresy,] who's to say that spirits only see us from the Fade, and not every other world the Maker's turned out?

[Because of course if there's other worlds, it's the Maker's hand behind them.]

There are no stories about other worlds in our tales, [ muses Merrill, ] but we've lost so much.

[ She rubs her chin, humming softly. ]

Are there stories of other worlds that the Chantry has ever spoken of?

There's two mentions of worlds in the Chant that come to mind, both in passing--Blessed Andraste said when the Maker first appeared to Her in the mountains, He showed her a vision of all worlds, waking and slumb'ring, spirit and mortal. She also addresses Him as you who created worlds.

Theologians have tried to reconcile those with Her instruction there's but one world, one life, one death by saying the worlds in question are the Realm of Opposition--ah, [he's getting abstruse, he realizes, to someone who he's fairly sure has not heard the whole Chant end to end in her life, let alone what apologists and theologians think of it,] that's the waking world, and then of course the Fade.

But you don't use all for two. [So.]

[ It's quite a lot of information - but it's interesting, and Merrill is trying to soak it all in. ]

No, you'd say 'both', not 'all', [ Merrill agrees, stretching slightly before remembering that it's cold outside of her blanket. ] Maybe... maybe the Fade connects them all, and something happened when it was torn? Maybe it didn't just tear into our side, but it did something on their side, too.

[]He nods at that, a little too tense and too concerned over all of this to be quite amiable--but close enough.

(Would that they were in a better situation to discuss all of this, that it didn't have such bearing on the lives and freedom of their rifter friends.)]

I'd believe that--but you'd think, then, we'd have run into spirits or demons before who knew about the worlds beyond Thedas--if everything's connected. [He chews on his lower lip as he considers that, before amending,] So you think whatever kept the rifters' worlds out of view from--from-- [How do you come up with words for this?] --our part of the Fade, that it came down when the rifts opened?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Simple Gifts [Closed]

The Abbey on the White Cliff

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