faderift | This Is What I Trained For [Semi-Open]

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This Is What I Trained For [Semi-Open]

WHO: Samouel Gareth & Adelaide LeBlanc; Samouel Gareth + OPEN
WHAT: Sam is at the point of his training where he is finally ready to try for a spirit companion.
WHEN: First half of Drakonis (flexible time for people to talk to Sam before and after)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Closed post for the actual spirit getting. Open posts for reactions before and after

[Adelaide: Here There Be Spirits]

For years he had been training for this, but it was under Adelaide's care and guidance that he finally felt like he was getting closer to the end. It was clear that he was nearing the end, too, what with so many of his peers and mentors bringing it up, saying that he was ready, and encouraging him. Even so it was not something he wanted to rush - he had time. With how things had gone the past month though it was obvious that he could not put it off much longer. Rifts in Skyhold. Red templars and demons in Emprise du Lion. Ishmael. He had fared well with it all, but things were not going to get easier, and for that he needed to be ready.

He was ready.

He was nervous.

Even if he had trained for it, and felt like he could handle it, there was still that odd lump in his stomach as he waited in the garden for Adelaide - having shown up early himself to get his head right. Burns, Anamaria and Murtogg would be showing up soon as well. Regardless of how much he worked for this there was still always that chance- It was always smart to have a safety. Other mages had been suggested, but these Templars had been with him during his Harrowing. He trusted them. And perhaps trying to be a middle ground for the two groups to actually work together.

[Open]

{Before}
Sam has decided to go through the final test in his Spirit Healer training, and getting his spirit. The days leading up to when he plans on going through with it are the same as always though Sam seems rather nervous.

{After}
~~Surprise! Abomination attack!~~
After successfully gaining a spirit partner Sam seems to be back to his usual self, though at times he does seem to be a bit distracted. Getting used to the change he won't be at his lessons like usual, but he can still be found roaming around.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It was different for us. They'd been with me, watching me for most of my life. It wasn't so much of a calling as a sudden awareness. We did not even need the philter, the circle and templars were a precaution in case I'd been listening to demons my entire life instead of a spirit." She snorts a soft laugh, adjusting the line of one of the glyphs. "Honestly? I felt worse going to my Harrowing. Compared to that? Calling Compassion to me properly felt like...Waking up from a very long dream."

"I can't imagine anyone feeling good going to their Harrowing." He frowns a bit at that, sighing a moment later and rubbing his face tiredly. Thinking about his Harrowing now was not going to help with any of this. Hearing about Adelaide and Compassion's experience did help some though. He'd always had an awareness of spirits and they him, but nothing like that, so this would be interesting.

It isn't too much longer that Sam hears the clanking of metal, turning slightly to see Burns and the others dressed in their armor. By the looks on their faces they were glad they were the ones to be there, but equally looking like they would rather not have been the ones. They're at least trying to smile as they approach and in turn Sam smiles back.

"Well I guess it's time to get started?"

A few more lines drawn carefully in the dirt, doublechecking against her notes- it is as perfect as she can make it. A pulse of power seals the ink in place until the ritual is completed. After this- it is out of her hands. Adelaide stands and nods to Burns and the others with a thin smile. Of those available- these are those she would have chosen herself. "We will not need them, Sam. You will do well."

As he's done well in every other step of their lessons. The lone bit of ceremony she's allowed herself, the delicate crystal of the philter's bottle, prepared as it had been for her mentors and her students in the past. "Drink, sit in the center, and focus as we have in our Meditations. Open yourself so your spirit might hear your call."

Her other hand rests on his shoulder. "Then- it is up to you."

He knows the dangers- he knows Spirits from Demons, knows what resounds within him above all else. Knows how to be careful.

"I know." He does know that. There isn't any room for him to second guess, not at this point. Still watching as the three of them move to stand around the circle he feels that odd creeping doubt in the back of his mind. "I know," he repeats again though more of a confirmation to himself.

At being handed the bottle he studies it for a moment, taking in the color and the weight of it in his hand. "I wouldn't suppose that it tastes like strawberries?" One last joke before he takes a taste of it, nose wrinkling some after pulling it away - definitely not strawberries. After a moment he finishes it off and delicately hands the bottle back to Adelaide.

With the strange taste in his mouth and everyone watching him, Sam slowly makes his way into the circle, being mindful of the ink, despite it wouldn't be moving until he was done. Sitting down in the center he takes a moment to get comfortable, eyes looking at Adelaide one last time before he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

Adelaide motions for Burns and co to settle into position and perches on the boulder. There is nothing more that she can do here aside from watch. It'd be difficult, the waiting but-

The philter, the circle, it offers a fluidity to Sam's connection to the fade. Helps him slip past the veil, the Circle a glowing anchor when he is here and there. It is the garden, but not. Boulders float, trees sway, the sky glimmers shades of gold and green and in the distance, far, farther than he can see- the Black City.

When he opens his eyes again he takes a moment to take in his surroundings. He can clearly distinguish that the place he's at is supposed to reflect the garden which his physical body is at, and yet it is so different. It is also a bit jarring at how similar to the Harrowing this feels; taking some sort of concoction to slip into the Fade to meet something on the other side all the while being watched in case something goes wrong. The only difference to that and this is that he had chosen to do this.

Getting up slowly Sam continues to peer around then down at the circle. "Hello?" He calls out, not too loudly, not yet.

The voice, when it comes, coils bright and certain in the air- something felt rather than heard; rolling, bass, and deeply masculine. "You know the risks."

Even though there is no direction for him to distinguish the voice coming from, Sam still turns slowly, keeping to the circle still. He isn't sure what he had been expecting, though having something respond so quickly was surprising.

"I do."

A crackling of stone to his left, the boulder where Adelaide sat in the waking world glimmering with he pale blue flicker of Compassion- and something more further beyond. The boulders shift, floating out of the way to reveal a long, wavering road of rough hewn stone. "You do not fear them? It is no easy path."

His eyes linger on the blue flicker, close enough to touch it, but stops short of doing so when he hears the shifting of rock. Was he to follow that?

"I am cautious of them. There is no path without some risk."

There's a ripple of light- a swell of silent support- but this is not Compassion's trial. The voice has a direction now, echoing from far down the path- the way darkened by distance and rumbling with the steps of something large and unfathomable.

"Then walk it. We will see how far you come."

Edited 2016-02-23 09:58 (UTC)

Sam smiles slightly at the bit of light, glad for its presence if only for a short amount of time. At the command he slowly passes through the light of the circle and waits a moment, waiting to see if something had been waiting for him to leave it.

When nothing comes he follows towards the direction of the voice, eyes narrowing to try and see further down the path though he knows he won't be able to. His steps are firm, but not without thought.

The caution is wise- as stable as the stones may seem- some drift to the side under Sam's feet, some drop into darkness, some are merely an illusion. The proper path is difficult to discern and the road? Long. Seemingly endless with whispers swirling all around. No violet shades of desire nor glowing embers of rage; merely their voices.

Calling. Tempting. Offering. An easy way out, a shortcut, power to help himself, to help his friends- and the end of the road is so terribly, terribly far away. No matter how long he walks- it seems as though he grows no closer to the light at the far end. Looking back would show only an equally endless path, the glimmering circle in the garden obscured by distance and mist.

From the right, a voice, low and coiling. "Why not stop and rest? There is so far to go- it cannot hurt."

There are a number of times that he finds himself tripping, stumbling, or a foot falling through the road. At first it was surprising, having him swear lightly under his breath when it has him scraping his hands against rock or banging a knee. His pace slows because of it, testing the rocks as he continues on. The road is already long, but it seems even longer.

The voices don't help and he tries his best to ignore them. As much as he tries though he cannot keep them out of his head, not in this place.

Stopping to rest while he still had so far to go did sound good-

"You would take the stones right from under my feet if I did that. I'm not tired," he replies back to the voice, continuing on.

Is he even making any progress? With how far the light is before him and the vast emptiness behind, it'd be difficult to say. The rugged stones seem to go on forever- but then? A fork. One laid in cobblestone, a straighter path, an easier one. It looked stable enough and the end was in sight not thirty feet down. A fountain, benches, the glimmering light of what may be a spirit beckoning.

"You are almost finished. Come left. We have much to discuss."

Ahead the winding, endless, rough hewn stone continues.

At first the sight of an end is welcoming, his pace moving a bit quicker because of it, but once he draws closer to the fork he stops. This was too easy for the kind of path that he had been put on. Not only that but he voice beckoning was the same as the one that had told him to stop and rest.

With a heavy and reluctant sigh he turns away from the inviting scene and heads right down the difficult path.

A wind kicked up next- biting with cold one moment and scorching with heat the next. The sky before him roiling green and gold in some manner of storm- the further he went from the straight, short path, the worse the weather. Sleet for some time, then rain, then baking heat. Stone by stone, step by step- and the incline shifts. Climbing up to the heart of that strange storm.

He had been told it would be difficult, he had accepted it, had chosen it, but even so the change in weather is trying. Several times he finds himself pausing, having to regain his footing and his wits with the constant change in weather making him stumble and fall.

At the incline it is tempting to just turn around and go back, not to the nicer path, but just to the circle - if it was even possible. Even with his mind faltering - perhaps an effect of the changes - he presses on.

Steeper and steeper- until it is less of an uphill climb and more a craggy rock face- the storm whips about in lightening and wind and rain; under it all the inhuman roar of something horrifying. Behind the path peters out quickly into the mists, solid, flat, safe. It is only moving ahead that has the difficulty. Danger and demons and Maker knows what, the very stones vibrating with this beast's roar.

Does he press on?

"Fuck..."

He can't even hear himself speak, knuckles turning white with how he's holding onto the rocks for dear life, all his limbs feeling tired and burning from the strain. At this point he is so thankful that he had decided to take those lessons with Araceli.

Sam certainly has to stop from time to time as he continues, mind a mess at what could be possibly making such a noise to be heard over everything else. His progression - oh Maker he hopes he's getting somewhere - is slow, but he does continue on.

The ferocity of the wind sharpens- lashing at him- the stones crumble and shift under his fingers with every handhold he finds- with every rumbling roar of that strange beast. And still he continues. The light above flares bright, deeply blue and unyielding. "It only becomes more difficult from here. You will not turn back?"

He hisses as the rock falls away from around and under him, feeling his fingers scrape and tense to keep himself from falling backwards. His progress stalls with the wind pulling at him, feeling unsteady. Even so he shakes his head at the voice, not even able to hear his own thoughts from everything going on.

Only when there seems to be a lull in the wind does Sam try moving again, stopping again when it picks up once more. He continues on like that, waiting until it seems safe enough, then stopping and holding on.

The path does not ease, the stones do not steady. Between one gust and the next all other stones start to peel away- above and below, leaving only that which Sam has his hands on. Suspended in the storm. "How long will you hold fast, Samouel?"

"As long as I can!" he yells out in frustration, teeth gritting as he tries to keep his hold. There was no place to go, and the only thing that was keeping him from falling was what little rock his fingers were holding onto. But he was growing tired, no way to alleviate the strain on his arms since even the rocks under his feet had gone and no matter how hard he scraped at the rock there was nothing for his feet to catch on.

On the other side of the veil, will and intent matter little. On this side, deep in the Fade? Will and Intent shape everything. Weary as Sam is, straining and frustrated as he may be- his will and intent to see this through is what breaks the storm. The air clears, the wind dies- the stone path surges up to catch his feet before he loses his grip. Becomes stairs to a platform, to a hovering blue figure, broad and masculine and armored. He extends his hand to Sam, voice warm. "You are stalwart and courageous, Samouel, and have proven yourself worthy of my aid should you truly wish to take this path. The risks are many, the danger great. We shall stand fast against the darkness, unyielding, unwavering. What say you?"

Edited 2016-02-25 10:05 (UTC)

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