The Winter Palace is resplendent at all times, but there is a certain elegance to it in the winter months. The grounds are draped in a soft blanket of crystalline snow. The gardens, kept thriving and sumptuous by the whatever mage the court is favoring, are filled with the heady scent of roses (deep red for the season, of course) and crystal grace. It drifts through the halls of the palace.
The Reverend Mother, emerging from the palace's chapel, is an echo of the refinery in miniature. Her robes are heavy with gold embroidery, the red flashing in the cold winter sunlight. She stands for a moment in the sunlight, face upturned and eyes closed. She cuts a striking image next to the enchanted roses and snowbanks, the harsh brand on her cheek adding to the pious beauty of the moment. Finally the spell breaks and her eyes open as a thought occurs.
What the entire nug shitting fuck.
She turns sharply at the sound of footsteps and pointing at whoever it happens to be. "You. What day is it?"
2. Mother May I
Days pass, or minutes. Or possibly no time at all, instead everything just moves slightly to the left. Either way, Sawbones is at a ball. Which is, admittedly, enough of a novelty that she's having a look around before getting down to the business of figuring out what the Stone is going on. Laysisters and new initiates didn't get invited to balls, even the shiny new Dwarven convert all the gentry was buzzing about. Maybe a dinner. Maybe a fete, though specifically the sort where clothes stayed on.
But she's not a laysister or an initiate, she's a Reverend Mother. And one favored highly by the Orlesian court at that. The thought is very fixed in her mind. There's even memories attached to it, of the power and wealth she was able to seize with both hands because she decided to play the topsiders' little Game. Letting Sawbones die in the Deep Roads with the Legion and emerging onto the surface as Sister Sara, a true convert who hungered for the power the Chantry could give her.
Sawbones nearly chokes on her wine trying to stifle the laugh. Fucking pit, what a ridiculous notion. She glances around the swirl of finery, stopping when she recognizes someone. More voice than face. She sets down her wine glass and steps toward them immediately.
" 'scuse me." And somewhere in the back of her mind, there's something telling her she's not speaking right, she's not holding herself right. She tips her head up and scrutinizes the person, "Mind if we have a word?"
3. WILDCARD AU [ DO YOU WANT A GRUMPY DWARF IN YOUR AU??? In general, she's going to be aware that Something Is Amiss, even if she can't put her finger on what specifically. Because what the fuck is the Fade what do you mean this is all a dream. ]
The One Where Sawbones Plays the Game Badly
The Winter Palace is resplendent at all times, but there is a certain elegance to it in the winter months. The grounds are draped in a soft blanket of crystalline snow. The gardens, kept thriving and sumptuous by the whatever mage the court is favoring, are filled with the heady scent of roses (deep red for the season, of course) and crystal grace. It drifts through the halls of the palace.
The Reverend Mother, emerging from the palace's chapel, is an echo of the refinery in miniature. Her robes are heavy with gold embroidery, the red flashing in the cold winter sunlight. She stands for a moment in the sunlight, face upturned and eyes closed. She cuts a striking image next to the enchanted roses and snowbanks, the harsh brand on her cheek adding to the pious beauty of the moment. Finally the spell breaks and her eyes open as a thought occurs.
What the entire nug shitting fuck.
She turns sharply at the sound of footsteps and pointing at whoever it happens to be. "You. What day is it?"
2. Mother May I
Days pass, or minutes. Or possibly no time at all, instead everything just moves slightly to the left. Either way, Sawbones is at a ball. Which is, admittedly, enough of a novelty that she's having a look around before getting down to the business of figuring out what the Stone is going on. Laysisters and new initiates didn't get invited to balls, even the shiny new Dwarven convert all the gentry was buzzing about. Maybe a dinner. Maybe a fete, though specifically the sort where clothes stayed on.
But she's not a laysister or an initiate, she's a Reverend Mother. And one favored highly by the Orlesian court at that. The thought is very fixed in her mind. There's even memories attached to it, of the power and wealth she was able to seize with both hands because she decided to play the topsiders' little Game. Letting Sawbones die in the Deep Roads with the Legion and emerging onto the surface as Sister Sara, a true convert who hungered for the power the Chantry could give her.
Sawbones nearly chokes on her wine trying to stifle the laugh. Fucking pit, what a ridiculous notion. She glances around the swirl of finery, stopping when she recognizes someone. More voice than face. She sets down her wine glass and steps toward them immediately.
" 'scuse me." And somewhere in the back of her mind, there's something telling her she's not speaking right, she's not holding herself right. She tips her head up and scrutinizes the person, "Mind if we have a word?"
3. WILDCARD AU
[ DO YOU WANT A GRUMPY DWARF IN YOUR AU??? In general, she's going to be aware that Something Is Amiss, even if she can't put her finger on what specifically. Because what the fuck is the Fade what do you mean this is all a dream. ]