[open] Satinalia/Hand Your Life To Me

[venenifer]

WHO: Riftwatch
WHAT: the greatest Satinalia surprise of all
WHEN: During the party.
WHERE: The Gallows' central tower top floor and Templar tower dining hall/kitchens.
NOTES: A smattering of violence and mayhem, but easy enough to opt out should you not wish to participate! Feel free to create regular party top levels if that's what you'd prefer, as the interruption will be fairly short in the grand scheme of things.

Satinalia has arrived, and with it a bitter rain which threatens to dampen any attempts at outdoor revelry. However, the staffed dining hall in the Templar tower is decked out with festive tapestries and garlands, extra candelabra to offer more light to the large stone room, and a feast appropriate for any celebration. Kegs of ale and wine sit at the end of the food table with an assortment of bottled spirits, carafes of tea and coffee, and at least one variety of juice made from the fruit of a northern region, just for the novelty of it.

The night’s music is largely provided by Riftwatch’s own, with enough variety of musicians among the ranks that they’re able to swap in and out at will, do some dancing and drinking, and return to the fun.

It’s LATE EVENING when the first revelers attempt to trickle off to their beds, but find their efforts discouraged by the entryway’s unwillingness to budge. It would seem that it’s been barred from the other side; it will also quickly become apparent to anyone who tries the door to the kitchens that it is equally compromised, much to the confusion of any kitchen staff currently in the dining hall.

Before too long, a voice begins to speak over the open network, echoing strangely from each individual crystal in the room:


This is the promise we make in her name. We lead by example, untempered by the words of heretics. We fall to pave the way for the Maker’s paradise.

As was blessed Andraste in her time, we must be cleansed in fire. The world must move forward, ever forward, and to do this it must end.

We must all end.

Comments

[helpinghidinghaunting]

Crimson. Blood and paint, passion pushed away, down, into the past -

No. FOCUS, Cole. The boy shakes his head from side to side, overlarge brim of his hat flopping to and fro. His voice quavers, needles of pain, of need, of something WRONG shooting through him as though he stepped on a pincushion.

"That isn't what I mean! Something wrong, wretched, wreathed in worry - there...there must be something. I can feel something."