faderift | open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

WHO: Inquisition Forces
WHAT: Inquisition forces cross the mountains into Orlais to deal with Emprise du Lion
WHEN: Wintermarch 25 onward
WHERE: EMPRISE DU LION
NOTES: This is a mingle-style log for the Inquisition camps, local tavern, and general/open Inquisition work, etc.

This time they hike down to the west, but the trip through the mountains is no easier. The snow is heaped up about the road where wagons have pushed it aside, stomped into slippery pack beneath the feet and hooves that have gone before. Of the main track it is ankle deep at best and in places it drifts, waist-deep on a tall man and enough to bury a dwarf who hasn't come prepared with snowshoes. Everywhere the wind howls, biting cold, and the sky hangs low, a pale flat grey that makes it difficult to judge distances. Those who know winter weather call it a snow sky, and near-daily squalls prove them right.

They set up camp in Sahrnia, across the broad expanse of frozen river that has trapped the villagers here upstream. Tents pop up in rows and in the shells of tumbled-down buildings, fires blazing and thawing the ground to mud. When the supply wagons roll in they re-open the local tavern, brightly lit with flaking paint on the walls that might once have been colorful and patterned tiles on the floor that seems to swim like an optical illusion after too many glasses of the cheap red wine that fills the cellars.

Even deadlier reds hold the hills: Red Templar sightings have been frequent and it is said they are operating in several locations in the region in significant force. Some of these men and women have become hulking, crystalline beasts. Many others are in the earlier stages of corruption: red-veined and -eyed, aggressive and superhumanly strong, but still visibly human and coherent if spoken to. Red lyrium is even easier to find, jutting out of the ground or cliffsides, filling caves-- the Tower of Bone, a fortress that has stood for centuries, now threatens to split from the inside out. The area's wildlife was none too friendly before, but now the wolves and bears have begun to be corrupted by the lyrium and many will attack on sight, without provocation. (The snofleurs that bumble harmlessly around the river seem unaffected.)

Everywhere there are ruins: broken bridges, crumbling colosseums, and the great hulking mass of Suledin's Keep tucked between the distant hills. Scouts reported that Red Templars hold it as well.

RIFTER ARRIVAL - SAHRNIA - THE HILLS - TOWER CAMP - A HANDY MAP

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Somethin' like that," he replied, relaxing some as she approached with food in hand. He looked down at it and smiled faintly, then looked back up at her. Now she'd be the second person he'd met with tattoos all across their face. Curious. Might be a cultural thing, he figured. He took her hand, giving it an easy squeeze, clasping the other one over the back of it. He waited until she'd rambled herself out and introduced herself.

"Well motherfuckin' met, lil' sister. Most just call me Gam. Got some damn pretty ink all up on ya visage, you don't mind my sayin'. That ritual or permanent?"

What a strange young man. She blinked at him in some confusion, slowly working out what he said--And if she was just insulted. She decides to just assume cultural differences, and moves on to his last statement. Well, she could at least understand for sure what he was talking about there, and her fingers brushed against the green vines twisting on her face.

"My vallaslin? It's both. I'm Dalish, we mark our face with the Vallaslin when we become an adult. Each style is based on a member of our pantheon." Her fingers traced out the familiar patterns, smiling softly. "My vallaslin represents Sylaise. She is the heathmistress, the healer. She showed the elves how to light fires and heal with herbs." She's rambling. Again. She can't help it, she's a bit nervous, and talking about the Dalish is infinitely comforting.

He listens with his head at a subtle tilt, lips pushing out some in a thoughtful little pout. The look on her face was a little more bewildered than most he'd spoken to since arriving here, but she didn't seem to be offended. It he did say something to hurt her, hopefully she would say so.

"That so..." He looks over the vines, then smiles faintly, reaching under his scarf for the clasps holding his borrowed clothes together, pulling the shoulder of it aside until the snakes and part of the horns of his own tattoo were visible. "Ain't so much a comin'-of-age thing, but that's sorta what this is. Got this for my...patron spirit, guess you'd get callin' him. The Father, the caretaker, wise n' benevolent guide, all'a that." He smiled some and pulled his clothes straight again. "It's said him n' his bride're the ones to which all the other loa defer they judgment. Might like to be learnin' what gods you payin' respects to here. Always gotta be respectin' them what's holy wherever you goin', y'know?"

Beleth peers at the tattoo with interest. It certainly wasn't vallaslin, it wasn't like any tattoo she'd ever seen before. Far more complex, more colors. It's fascinating, really--Like a real picture. She wants to reach out and touch it, but that would be beyond rude, so she refrains. Instead, she focuses on what he's telling her. Loa. That must be the word for their gods, like the Dalish have the Creators.

"The father of our pantheon is called Elgar'nan. He is the god of vengeance. The one who overthrew his father, the sun." She told him quietly, a little smile on her face. "Not as benevolent as yours, I think. His bride is, though. Mythal, the allmother, the goddess of judgement and love." Well, he'd said he wanted to know. She's a little surprised he's so eager, that he'd want to respect them at all. What an odd human.

"But those are the Dalish gods. You won't hear much from them from anyone who doesn't have one of these." She raised her fingers to her vallaslin again. "The humans and the elves who aren't Dalish, most of them are Andrastian. They worked only one god, that they call the Maker, and his bride Andraste." She twists her lips slightly, not looking particularly pleased about that whole affair. "If you hear anyone speak about the Chant, that's, ah. What Andraste wrote, I guess. About the Maker. I don't really know much about it."

He likes the sound of Mythal, and for the most part he sits quietly while she tries to explain the various religions. He'll have to listen around for more information when it came to the Andrastian thing, it seems.

"When I was walkin' here with miss Korrin, she said somethin' about dwarves, n' that dwarves don't dream so they don't have magic n' peekin' into the Fade n' all that. Do they not have no gods either? Or they Andrastian too?"

"Um..." Beleth knows almost nothing about dwarves. She knows humans because humans don't give you the choice, you have to know them if you want to exist in this world. But like the qunari, dwarves aren't nearly as interested in shoving their culture down your throat. And there's a lot less of them that she's seen.

"I don't...know." She admits after some thought. "I suppose some of them might be Andrastian, but I don't think I've ever seen any serving in the Chantry. Although...the only people who serve in the Chantry are humans, so who knows. But, um. Most dwarves live in this big underground city called Orzammar, they...might have a different religion there." She shrugs, a little embarrassed to be as ignorant to aspects of her world as someone who has never been in it before.

"I bet if you asked one of the dwarves, they would know."

"Makes sense to me. Ain't seen no dwarves yet but I'm guessin' if I'm here long I'll find one around somewhere."

Gam offers her a smile, picking up that bit of embarrassment, and some disappointment in herself. He crosses his arms and tucks them up on his thighs, looking out toward the rest of the camp and the people meandering around it.

"Y'know, lil' sis, you ever feel like you need some kinda help 'round here, you can come find me. Some's kinda surprised I ain't up n' freakin' out over here, but I feel like shit'll go faster if I get helpin' however I can."

"They'll show up eventually, I'm sure." She replied steadily. "My boss is one of them, I'm sure she would be able to answer some of your questions." Although, Scout Harding was probably too busy to spend her time answering questions from a random rifter...but she might as well let him know, and she can decide whether or not to refuse him. Not Beleth's problem.

His offer of help and admittance make her blink at him, but she nods agreeably. She's not exactly sure what help a strange rifter would be to her, but the offer was meant in good faith, and Beleth will take it as such. The stranger is given a warm smile. "That's a smart move, I think. Freaking out won't help you very much. I know that we have people working on trying to figure all of this out--You might want to ask one of them. One of the mages, or the people in command. Or another rifter."

She pauses. "I'm sure this will all get sorted out." Except she isn't, but it seemed better than nothing.

"Reminds me, we gotta get findin' that other lady what came through with me. Last I saw her she was out lookin' for others, prob'ly her kin. Wouldn't listen to me when I said that wasn't a great idea, she'd do better findin' somewhere warm, but...well, she got magic like what I already saw from you all here, so she might be alright. Hopin' so, at least."

The surprise on her face at an offer of help makes him tilt his head some, and he surveys her face. She's not used to it being offered, he supposes, or else just doesn't trust anyone that is offering help. He supposes he can't blame her; people here didn't seem as social or cordial as they were back home. Probably why people were weirded out by his being so willing to be helpful and cooperative.

open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

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