faderift | [semi-open] a friendly query

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[semi-open] a friendly query

WHO: Cassandra and rifters/shardbearers
WHAT: Rifter interrogations
WHEN: Following Cassandra's log with Galadriel and the advisors' conversation
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: For planned rifter/shardbearer interrogation threads with Cassandra! If we haven't discussed your character's thread, please drop me a note here or hit me up on Plurk for general (this can be very general) setup/discussion of what you hope the outcome to be. She'll be most interested in talking to rifter mages, but we can swing her interrogating anyone with a shard.

With or without your support, she had said to the Spymaster, and she had meant it. She would have preferred that Leliana understand her position, the necessity of action - but she does not, and dwelling on it will do nothing to change that now. Whether anyone else sees it or not, Cassandra at least recognizes the risk that the shardbearers pose. If nothing else, they must understand who the rifters are, what they are capable of - and what they may do.

There are still plenty who agree with her, who are not as idealistic in this matter as Leliana, and it's not difficult to find soldiers willing to find those of interest and bring them to her, one at a time. She waits until each is seated before she turns to face them, and always begins the same way, whether she recognizes them or not.

"I am Cassandra Pentaghast, and I represent the Inquisition. State your name, and where you come from."

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"Lenneth Valkyrie. I come from Valhalla--stronghold of the gods of my realm."

After word reached the valkyrie that the Seeker was questioning rifters, she sought the woman out herself; although it ends with her in the same chair, wondering what the importance of any rifter's realm of origin was. Bookkeeping? To trace if any rifters hailed from the same world? If that were the case... she paused for a moment, and then added: "If it is of concern, I have ascertained that I may have come from the same world as Marcel Girard, albeit from its past."

Marcel Girard was not a name Cassandra had yet heard in her investigations, but she lifted an eyebrow in interest all the same. Something to keep in mind, perhaps.

She had learned, by now and after questioning a dozen or so rifters, to better identify what information was important to pursue and what was not, as well as a somewhat more...effectual approach to her questions. Fewer threats, more composure. At least unless the person she was questioning proved to need threats in order to comply.

"I see," she said. "Thank you for that information. As for yourself - how do you mean, the stronghold of the gods?"

Her mouth opened to answer, but closed again before she spoke. Everything she knew... it sounded grandiose. It was. Was it conceited to speak of what you were, in a world so far away? What did it matter now.

But the Seeker had asked.

"I mean it quite literally. My world is--" she paused, pursed her lips, frowned. How to explain. "--not just one world. There are nine that exist within the branches of the World Tree. On three... planes. Of a sort. The best I can explain the separation between them is by comparing it to the separation between this world and the Fade. They touch, but are not one.

"In the first level is Asgard, the home of the Aesir. This is my home. In it, is Valhalla, the hall of the slain. Its lord is Odin, the All-Father." She smiled wistfully. "Hall of the slain sounds... macabre. In truth, it is a great and beautiful festal hall, in which the souls of those who died with honor gather to feast and train for the coming war. Much as Skyhold might be, once repaired." The smile turns wry, "Albeit filled with the living, not the slain."

The names are strange and new, as is to be expected, but the situation she describes is familiar enough. Yet familiar from stories only; from tales and hymns. From scripture.

"You come from the Maker's side?" Cassandra asks, incredulous. "Or claim to." Her expression hardens with wary suspicion. It is a wondrous thing to imagine, and yet she has had far too much experience with the dead coming back to life. "The dead - they should not return to walk among the living. It is never good. Those who go to the Maker's side should remain there."

Lenneth nods fiercely. "Yes. When the dead return it is no true life. It is a disruption of the cycle of souls--an abomination to be cleansed." She blinks, tilts her head. "You mistake me, I think. I partake in no necromancy. The war the gods wage is not--" She cut herself off, looking frustrated and at a loss. How to explain?

"If..." she begins ponderously, "the Maker were to wage his own war, in the Fade, against some great darkness... he would need soldiers, yes?" Her words come more surely as she warms to the allegory, although some hesitation still remains in her eyes.

"The living, no matter their faith, could not aid him in this, but those who had already gone to his side would be able to raise arms. My duty would be to watch from the Fade, to seek out the most honorable warriors, and to recruit them to this effort as they crossed the Veil. Then to aid them in honing the skills they had in life to better serve the Maker's cause.

"It is not... a direct translation, of course, but perhaps the best explanation I may give at this moment. I still know so little of this world."

"You are..."

She is not one of the dead returned to life, and that is a relief. Yet she comes from the Fade, or something like it, and that means...

"You are a spirit?" she whispers, her eyes wide. "One of the Maker's first children?" She would not be the first. Yet Cole is strange even for a spirit, an inhabitant of the world as well as the Fade, and he does not speak of the Maker, or claim to know him. This is something new, something difficult even to believe, and Cassandra shakes her head, looking at the woman before her with new eyes.

Spirit? Lenneth was not used to applying the term to herself, but as much as she'd learned of how spirits were in this world, it might be at least some help in explaining. Even so, she pursed her lips, unsure. "Y-es? Although what I have heard of spirits would seem to be an apt descriptor, it would not be a perfect fit any longer. I can not accomplish many of the things here that I was able to in my world. I seem to be flesh and blood, as you are. And though I was created, a child of the All-Father, I have heard some of the Maker's story, and of his bride Andraste, and I think him different from the one who created me. Else this world might be my home in truth."

She did not know enough about the beliefs of this world--did those who followed the Chantry believe the Maker to be present in all worlds? Would the thought that she were created by another be anathema? Either way, she was not given to falsehoods.

"You are not a demon."

She says it as much to convince herself as anything, yet even as she says the words she finds she believes them. Demons lie, demons deceive, but never, to her knowledge, like this. A demon would not claim to be a spirit, would not admit to so much.

She stares, caught off guard by Lenneth's confession. The elves have their gods, of course, and the Chasind have theirs, but this...

"You do not believe in the Maker?" She sounds surprised, and uncertain. Truthfully, she had not given much thought to the Maker's role in the creation of the other worlds, but they are not spirits, and Lenneth's declaration makes her uneasy. "You believe you were created by...someone else?"

"I am not a demon, no." This at least had been proven when she stood on the battlements with the two Knight-Commanders to willingly let them test her. The nature of the tests, the power she'd felt... such memories still burned bright, though the memory of their agony had dulled. It was that memory that allowed her to meet Cassandra's eyes, firm sincerity in her own.

"And though the All-Father reigns divine from whence I came, and was my creator, I do believe the Maker sits that throne in Thedas. I felt the touch of his power when the Templars tested me. I am sure that he exists, and that he is worthy of worship."

Cassandra's expression relaxes at Lenneth's reassurance. There is no proof, of course, that she is what she claims to be...but there is no proof that she is not. And if she truly is some form of spirit, even the spirit of...of another god...

"You felt his touch?" she says reverently, barely more than a whisper, and then she frowns. "What Templars?"

"I have learned more about the politics of this world since then," Lenneth murmured with some chagrin. "Knight-Commander Baratheon, when he was in residence, made allegations of Rifter demonhood across the messaging crystals soon after the first of us came to your world. Believing very firmly that I was no such thing, I responded that I would undergo any such test that he could imagine that would assuage those fears.

"He replied that it was not to be undergone lightly, but said that there were Templar magics that would grievously wound or kill a demon. If one was not, it would bring pain, but would leave one who was no such thing relatively unscathed. I wasted no time in telling him I would be willing."

She twisted the ring on her signet finger absently. "Shortly thereafter I met Knight-Commanders Baratheon and Sauveterre on the battlements, and they performed the magics upon me at my behest. It was not a comfortable experience, to say the least, but...there was truth in the power they wielded. A divinity that I do not doubt would bring mortal harm to unclean flesh. It was...enough to give me faith in its source."

The memory brought the same wonder to her that the experience had. She had felt so alone that to feel the unmistakable touch of divine power, even as it burned her vision white, had brought both surprise and exultation.

Lenneth spread her hands, "Though the light was truly searing I bore no injury or scar of it, and thus was judged no demon." The earlier chagrin returned to her face. "I did not know then that this action was an overstep of their authority here, or that such a thing would be cause for grievance among the mages. All I can say on their behalf is that each time Knight-Commander Baratheon sought to dissuade me, I insisted on proving I was no demon--and that Knight-Commander Sauveterre did not seem well pleased that it was to take place."

Cassandra frowned in concern.

"That certainly was an overstep of authority," she says. "I did not hear of it, and I am certain Commander Cullen did not, either." But it was done, and Baratheon had long since departed Skyhold. She sighed. "Still, I must confess I am glad to hear of the result."

She paused, and then tilted her head, curious. "May I ask - how certain were you that the test would be successful? I cannot imagine that would be an easy thing to volunteer for."

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[semi-open] a friendly query

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i'm so sorry for the wait - was at a con