faderift | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm all right," Christine says for Inessa's benefit before continuing down the stairs. The screams and smells of fire and blood permeate her senses, but she pushes on, alert and ready to dart between stacks if it looks like one of these visions is about to block her path. Faith says with them, watching the scenes around them with a sort of detached gaze. It's not in her nature to understand things outside her purview until Christine explains them thoroughly. All she knows is that fear is preying on these women and they need to hold onto some belief to get them through. She can provide that.

She nearly trips a few times, so eager is she to put distance between herself and...that. However, escaping is easier said than done. The noises and images persist; even with the bulk of it in the library, it seems to have taken over the area. The bodies of those too young or too old to fight back litter the area, and stepping around them becomes more difficult every time. When an abomination thunders up the steps, Inessa loses her footing and tumbles down a few feet with a sudden, pained cry.

Christine reacts immediately, swinging a hand back to place a barrier over Inessa against further damage. But then she reminds herself this isn't real.

"They shouldn't be able to hurt us," she says breathlessly. "The Veil is thin, not broken. They aren't physically here." She's trying to convince herself of this as much as she is Inessa. Holding out her hand, she offers to help her friend back to her feet.

Wincing as she comes to a stop, a dazed Inessa needs a moment before she reaches for that hand. Her body resists getting up, but she holds back a groan and nods, taking in a deep breath. "I panicked and lost balance, that's all. You're right, they're not real. They can't hurt us...."

She sounds only halfway convinced, but it's still a start.

A very good start. Christine nods encouragingly to her friend before pulling her to her feet. She has to believe that once Inessa shows she won't stand here and watch this again that the spirits will dissipate.

"Let's get you some fresh air."

Garahel urges them onward with a concerned whine, taking point so he can confront whatever is ahead. Inessa's more concerned about what's behind them and keeps glancing back, not wanting to be caught by surprise should the spirits pursue them. The sounds of massacre begin to fade with distance, though it isn't until they reach the ground floor that Inessa even begins to contemplate lowering her guard.

"...do you hear anything now?"

Christine shakes her head, slightly out of breath. But a bit of her fear has dispersed with the distance.

"No, it's quiet now."

That's not enough to satisfy Inessa, not until they've put more distance between them and...that. Once the stairs wind down to the first floor, she plops down and catches her breath, leaning against the wall.

"...thank you."

Christine places her hand on Inessa's shoulder once they're on the first floor.

"I would not leave you to face such memories alone." It had been haunting, and though Christine had seen terrible things in her flight from Orlais, she had never endured her fellow mages turning on her as a child, ready to turn her into an abomination.

"I fear until we figure out how to stop the Veil's thinness that such sights might be reoccurring."

"I think you're right. How do we withstand a constant assault? It's difficult to retain any kind of focus, let alone solve this problem." She rubs her temple, then looks over to their spirit companion. For a moment, she wonders if being a Spirit Healer would have been a better path, a protection against all this. Garahel is quiet, alert and tense as he listens for any sign of the current calm coming to an end.

"I do not know. I wish I had the answer. I can at least say that the spirits are behaving the way they do in our dreams, but there we are far more powerless against what they wish us to endure. Here we can move away."

A small consolation perhaps, but it's all she can do. At least now Inessa has space the breathe.

"True...and as long as all that we see isn't quite so violent, it might be easier endured. Not all spirits crave such things." She lips her lip, considering. "Do you remember much in the way of meditation techniques taught in the Circle? Maybe that would help with enduring some of this...."

She hasn't needed to rely on those lessons for a while, but if there is ever a time to steady herself, it's now.

OPEN: Kirkwail

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