faderift | OPEN: Kirkwail

OPEN: Kirkwail

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Ghosts
WHEN: Wintermarch 20
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: OOC post. More content warnings than you can shake a stick at, probably, including allusions to slavery and violence in the body of the log post. Please use appropriate warnings in the subject lines for your own threads.

The storm sweeps in like an assassin: unexpected, in the dark, and throwing sharp pricks of sleet at exposed eyes and noses with expert aim and enough force to almost draw blood if the angle is right. Half an hour after the clouds crest the cliffs is all it takes for the city to retract indoors and huddle around fireplaces, settling in for a long night that will, unforeseen, turn into a long two days.

The Gallows, too, is pelted with ice; the walls of the cliffs and the fortress protect much of it from the worst of the wind, but when it can find a path over or through the walls, it slams through windows or doors to scatter papers and snuff out fires.

In the dark, in the rain, hurrying between towers or already accustomed to jumping firelight casting strange shadows and the wind howling like a wounded animal, people might be forgiven if they don't notice at first. But there's a hanging in the courtyard, a dozen translucent wisps of bodies dangling from the idea of nooses, and there's a girl's voice in the basement of the templar tower screaming for her mother, and there's a ghostly man in the library holding the blade of a knife to his palm and whispering this is it, this is it—or maybe there isn't, actually, when you lift your head to pay closer attention.

But as the night wears on they multiply, and they brighten, and even if you haven't noticed them, they begin to notice you.

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Six has only seen Sarenrae in her dreams; it's rare that any kind of God might show themselves in the midst of the mortal realm, not when they surely have so much to do. She is a guiding light, her Dawnflower, soft and kind and accepting her for all her weaknesses and all her faults, letting her grow into someone stronger. There's no denying the intensity of her devotion, her eyes closed as she bows her head again.

It's the whisper of demon that makes her turn her head, sharp and intent, hand shifting. Her weapon is not the chosen one of Sarenrae - she has no scimitar, choosing the greatsword for its weight and strength instead - but she can still grant herself the power of her God's strength.

"I would not have that happen to her." That, at least, is an easy choice to make. "I will not allow it."

He's silent for a moment, still in awe of the fierceness in her heart for a god. It's something that's always been a little difficult for him to understand, to put such complete trust and hope and faith in something so seemingly intangible and not well understood. It's also a terrible trait to have a someone being raised to essentially be the leader of that faith for his own clan, to keep their customs alive for the next generations.

But it's never quite been enough. More than once, he's wished he could put more trust in the fragments of the past that they knew like most of the rest of the Dalish, but Finel could never feel it so strongly.

He also hesitates to tell her that she may not have control over whether or not the spirit can change.

"...I cannot say for certain," he says quietly. "But perhaps you might be able to help it keep its form."

There's no doubt in her mind that Sarenrae is everything; the God had given her everything that she had ever needed to continue, feeling a flood of warmth to flow through her body, settling in her heart. They might be distant from one another, torn asunder by the magic of Thedas, but there's no denying the fact that Six will never abandon the faith that carries her so strongly and so surely.

It's not the same as the Gods in this world and she realises that. They're so distant, so far removed from the people who worship them, and she doesn't understand how they can be so devoted, so sure. It pains her to see people suffering with nothing and no one to turn to.

Pressing her hand to her heart, she breathes out.

"Would that... Be good for it? For Thedas?"

"...I don't know," he answers truthfully. The events of the evening are unlike anything he's ever experienced before - perhaps unlike anyone has ever experienced. There's no way to know in the moment if the effects will be permanent or not, if the spirits that have found their way to them will continue to try to hold onto their attachments indefinitely.

For his own sake, he hopes not. But for hers...

"But at the very least, it seems as though it is doing you the most good. Perhaps that is enough."

Six wants to believe that this image is a good thing, that she won't lose anything from allowing herself to believe in this version of Sarenrae, but she isn't sure. She feels such a weight on her chest, such a weight in her soul, that she cannot let herself drown in the realities of it. She cannot let herself believe in this spirit, no matter how much she might wish to, how much she yearns for it.

Bowing her head, she lifts a hand to wipe at her eyes.

"They know that I miss her. They come and see my hurt and wish to fix it. Spirits are not all so terrible."

"No, not all," he agrees quietly after a moment. If only his own experience this evening had been so fortunate. At least the worst of it is past, or so he hopes.

Finel steps closer to her, offering a hand to her feet.

"Would you tell me more about her? I'd like to understand what it is about her that touches you so."

There's a beat before he remembers with a gentle smile: "My name is Finel. What's yours?"

There is worse that might come, she thinks. If this is a spirit that has come to aid her, perhaps there is one who might come to cause her pain and torment. Perhaps Sarenrae is here to protect her from what else is to come, from the other dangers that might be there to hurt her. She cannot imagine what else might stalk her, not when her heart is already so heavy.

Looking over, she hesitates for a moment before she reaches out and takes the hand, rising to stand to her full height.

"I will tell you anything you wish to know. I have no shame in my devotion to her."

But she softens, lifting a hand to wipe her eyes, pushing her hair away from her face, pausing to breathe.

"Six. I am Six."

Six is a rather odd name, he thinks to himself, but there's no point in commenting on it. Standing, she's taller than he'd expected, but he doesn't feel particularly intimidated even so.

The smile that comes to his face is almost wistful. "Personally, I find the strength of your devotion rather admirable. You should have no reason to be ashamed of it."

Finel glances back at the spirit that hovers before them, bright and glorious.

"What is it about her that moves you so?"

Six's height and the weight of her body is larger than might be expected for her race - half-elven as she is. She takes after her mother more than her father, a long line of strong and fit humans, rather than her lithe and slightly more gentle father and his elven parents. It's not something she's ashamed of, but it's something that has caused her some pain in her life.

There's a slight edge of colour to her cheeks as she looks back at Finel, hesitating for a moment before she nods her head, glancing back at Sarenrae and trying to swallow the rush of emotion.

"I am - I am her devoted servant. A Paladin of Sarenrae, prepared to redeem the evil and protect the innocent."

She lifts her hand, touching her chest where her holy symbol rests.

"She teaches temperance and patience in all things. Compassion and peace are her virtues."

The slight point to her ears had caught his eye as she stood, but for the moment he thought perhaps he might have imagined it, given her height and build. He's never really seen an elf-blooded human, though, so truthfully he has no measure as to what they perhaps "should" look like. Still, Six is not from Thedas, so it would hardly matter, anyway.

He lets a smile warm him. "I like her very much already."

But he tilts his head a little, taking her in some more. "What is a Paladin? Some kind of warrior?"

"Most people do, unless they are followers of the Dark Beast."

Sarenrae's natural enemy; the evil that Six would smite from the world, given the power. She feels the weight of that on her chest and she breathes out gently, mustering her strength as she looks around the area. Sarenrae seems to be the only spirit here presently, which is both comforting and upsetting. She's not sure if she ought to be nervous or not.

"A Paladin is a holy warrior, a worshipper of their God given strength in return for their Oaths and promises. Sarenrae chose me and I have given her my Devotion."

"The Dark Beast?"

The words somehow seem colored in eeriness all on their own. Finel glances around the area as she does out of habit, to see if she's noticing something he hasn't yet. The weakened Despair spirit, still stubbornly holding onto its form of the elven hunter, hovers harmlessly over a bench nearby, watching the two of them and the other spirit blankly.

"So you make a vow of devotion in exchange for power to fight for her? What sort of qualities does someone have to possess to be chosen?"

"Rovagug. Sarenrae fought him for long enough that Asmodeus could imprison him. As a result, he, the Rough Beast, has despised her for all time."

Sarenrae moves closer, the spirit seeking to touch Six again, trying to touch the curl of her bun without disturbing her too much. Six tilts her head, just a little, cheeks flushed before she breathes out and forces herself to calm down and relax, to let herself think about what is being asked of her and what she can say in return.

"The Dawnflower seeks those who are prepared to be skilled with the blade, patient and compassionate at heart, those who are ready to redeem those that have fallen onto a path of darkness. Her faithful ought to free those who suffer from the chains of darkness - with redemption if they can or with a swift death if not."

Finel wraps arms around himself, one hand automatically going to the pendant around his neck to slide his thumb over the polished wood. He glances back at his own trailing spirit a moment before turning away again.

"What sort of darkness do you mean?" He asks quietly, taking a step forward.

"Evil."

Six glances at Sarenrae, glances at Finel, and then she speaks again, voice soft and low.

"There are many in the world who would try and draw people onto a path of pain and suffering, one where they will fall prey to those so clearly evil that the only option is to find a means of saving them. Sarenrae asks that we find a means of turning them onto a path of good and light before death takes them."

His thumb traces a familiar path over the wood, idle and automatic.

"How would you turn them? Is it like preaching, or some other method?" He imagines something like the chantry, with its sisters and preachers trying to spread their words. More clearly, he remembers the stories of forced conversions told by his Keeper, stories that he's been thoroughly instructed in, to pass on to the next generations, to preserve what little of their past is left...

Finel shifts almost uncomfortably, frowning a little as he waits for her answer.

"Kindness. Prayer. Healing."

Breathing out, Six shakes her head, looking back at Sarenrae. She glows gently, a faint flood of warmth, and the woman has to bow her head and accept her place at her side. The spirit is there, reaching out for some tenderness, and she accepts it with all the contentment that she had been missing for so long.

"If they cannot be turned back to the light then they will be removed from the world. Evil must be treated."

It's wondrous to watch, even if it is merely a spirit masquerading. Still, there's an undeniable feeling of calm, soothing, and it's welcome after the events of earlier that night. Finel stays where he is, content to stay on the edges.

"Have you been able to help many people?"

"Some."

Not as much as she would like, clearly, and Six breathes out. She thinks of Adrian, thinks of home, thinks of laying him to rest twice and then thinks of Adalia, waiting for her to return, and she purses her lips. She's on edge, but the spirit reaches for her, soothing and soft, gentle.

"But there are always more."

"And what about here? Can you help people here, too?"

There's certainly plenty of darkness in this world, much of it exposed and open and wreaking terror upon Thedas for most of his lifetime. Perhaps the rifts had brought her here for a reason, if indeed someone somewhere was making decisions about how to bring people from other places entirely.

"I do what I can."

Six is quietly confident about that, nodding her head. It's what makes her stand a little taller, broad shouldered and weighty, something like pride colouring her face before she realises what she's doing and forces herself to relax.

"I am without some of my powers, but I do what I can with the strength of my arm."

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OPEN: Kirkwail

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