closed / you reap what you sow.

[tender]

WHO: Derrica, Gela, Strange, Vanya
WHAT: The Gang Attempts Public Relations
WHEN: Sometime in Harvestmere
WHERE: Cledwyn, Wildervale
NOTES: OOC Info.

The letter sent to Riftwatch by the castellan overseeing the particular region of Wildervale in which the village of Cledwyn is located is brief. The village, the castellan writes, is suffering from a spate of sickness. Ordinarily, they would of course send their own healers to support the locals. Unfortunately, the great majority of their resources have been committed to aiding the Exalted March. With this in mind, would Riftwatch please be so kind as to send some help their way? In exchange, the castellan promises Riftwatch ten casks of the finest vintage in their cellars in addition to some vague overture of future favors.

It's not a very appealing offer, save for the final detail: 'Please speak to Sister Merran when you arrive. She will brief you on the situation accordingly.'

Sister Merran, to anyone on top of their Chantry pamphleting, is a prominent advocate in the Chantry for the reinstitution of Circles (and, presumably, the imprisonment of Rifters post-war). It would be preferable if something could be done to sway her opinion on the matter, or to at least reduce the strength of her voice in the debate. Seeing a prime opportunity to make a good impression on Sister Merran, Gela, Vanya, Derrica and Strange are ordered to attend to the village. They're to be on their best behavior and exhibit their best bedside manner.

Unfortunately, when they arrive in Cledwyn, they will find the situation considerably more complicated than the castellan made it out to be. It seems this sickness plaguing Cledwyn is just the tip of the Problems iceberg.

Comments

[portalling]

Picking disconsolately at his dinner, Strange has folded his left hand beneath his other forearm, hiding that glimmer of green from view. It was too little and too late, but these experiences outside the Gallows are reinforcing how skittish people could be about it. He’d finally stopped being self-conscious about his hands and now here’s the goddamn anchor shard, teaching him to be wary all over again.

“Unpleasantly sympathetic about your company; what, like you’re our nanny? My condolences.”

It’s an unhelpful, sarcastic addition. The townspeople are on edge, he’s on edge, and the locals won’t even let the healer and the doctor examine Merran, and he hates it. He takes a morose bite of some bread.

“Perhaps Derrica and I can be leashed up like a gaggle of children on a tether, and they’ll be more at ease. Have Gela be the friendly face.”

[sprent]

The mood is upset and palpably so, thus Gela proceeds with light caution, fingers curled around her fork. Privately she thinks the villagers have every right to be wary, but she has the wherewithal to know she can't mention this to her fellow team members, her uncomfortable company. That Derrica said it so plainly, we should have hidden your shard, makes the skin up the nape of her neck prickle.

Ignoring Strange's comment, which is unhelpful, she reports dutifully. "I haven't had a problem talkin' to anybody. They want to discuss what's been goin' on, that's not the issue." For her, anyway.

But somebody needs to hear their concerns and requests. It helped that Gela was seen bristling with discomfort when she was first told about Sister Merran; she brings a bit of potato toward her mouth. "The main concern is this curse of theirs, but I can't get a grip on where it might've come from. The rumours are out of control."

[wearyallalone]

Strange's comment, coming from a native mage, would have felt hostile; coming from a rifter, it's just an unfortunate prod to a place that's still sore. That, at least, he can safely compartmentalize.

Instead of reacting, he says to Gela, "Do you get the sense they'd let the other two near Sister Merran in your company or mine?" To all three: "Getting rumors is all well and good, but we need someone with knowledge to see her. I'm no healer, so my getting close on its own does no one much good."

[tender]

"We should try to convince them to allow us in together," she says, quiet, in the space between Vanya's question and Gela's response. "A templar to keep hold of the mage."

It's hard to say which would be more palatable: a mage, or a rifter at the revered Mother's bedside.

[portalling]

There’s a beat, a stutter in the pause like someone’s bumped into the record and the conversation skips— and as strained as that silence now is, Strange glances between the faces of his companions. There’s sense that there’s some detail he’s missed, some history he hasn’t been privy to, what with being so new. The ride north to Cledwyn hadn’t been long enough to start delving into sordid pasts, but it seems that might’ve been relevant after all.

“A templar?” Strange asks, his voice now carefully bland. He doesn’t have the personal association, the first-hand experience, the context.

But he’s heard enough about it, in his rifter lessons.

Jumping order for addressing that, feel free to skip me next round if it makes sense at the time

[wearyallalone]

"Former," Vanya says, quiet and even, without pausing. "I do realize that for some people there is no such thing, but I resigned and I haven't the abilities anymore." He still has the history and the training, though; perhaps, relevant to their current situation he certainly can still access the bearing, more than well enough for the kind of people who will be watching them here.

It's clear he doesn't relish the prospect.

also jumps tag order mea culpa

[tender]

There is a minor dip of her chin for Vanya's clarifying point.

And it gives her space to find a diplomatic answer, though what's closest at hand is Butchers and sadists rather than what she settles on:

"They have the power to neutralize our abilities," she tells Stephen. "The Chantry used them as a weapon, and as guards within the Circles before they fell. I can explain more of it later."

There is much history. He deserves to know it all.

a gasp as they suddenly realise they did not have this thread tracked

[sprent]

Gela thinks upon this for a moment before piping up. "I think that they'd prefer you," Derrica, "and Serrah Vanya. They're not keen on mages and templars, but they at least know what they are. What they can do.

No offense," To Strange. She's nervous of him for the very same reason.

To the group at large she offers, "Let me introduce you. They've gossiped at me, and not always about the problem at hand. Tiny scandals; I think they like me. I'll tell them I think this is the best way forward."

And that may work. They may listen and change their minds a bit, or at the very least begrudgingly agree to let it happen?

[portalling]

“None taken,” Strange replies, obligingly. He’s cranky about the treatment he’s been getting out here in Cledwyn, but it’s far easier to swallow when it’s a risk assessment from his colleague, rather than mute hostility from a total stranger. But he’s looking at Vanya now, contemplative.

“It’s a good idea. If you’re speaking from a position of authority,” he says, although it’s evidently delicate what kind of authority templars are vested with, “then you might be our best shot to have them give a damn at all what we say.”

[wearyallalone]

"Outright lies could cause us different problems, later," he says, an objection. But not a full one, as he modifies it with: "We could omit some things though, I suppose. If it gets us an audience with Sister Merran. We have to fulfill our assignment somehow, and it may be the most direct way."

He still looks somewhat as if he's taken a bite of something sour, but his tone is calm enough. He'll stomach it if he needs to. That said, he looks to Derrica and adds, "It is up to you, though. If you'd rather not, we can think of another approach."