faderift | We come from the land of the ice and snow

We come from the land of the ice and snow

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: Thedas' strange new guests are delivered to Skyhold
WHEN: 25 Harvestmere (October)
WHERE: Skyhold main gate & courtyard
NOTES: This is Part I of a two-part intro event, Part II will be posted tomorrow.

A long uphill tromp through the snowy mountains ends at Skyhold, the distant fortress finally before them in all its tumble-down glory. There is time to admire the drop into the river gorge far below as they cross the only bridge into the castle; it is briefly backed up with traffic, several carts bearing supplies and visitors stalled as the portcullis is raised. Those coming to help catalog and unload the shipment and greet the guests, or otherwise present near the front courtyard, will find themselves witness to a far more interesting arrival.

Guards at the gate carry the word quickly, and more gather, though they make no move to imprison the strange people who fell out of a rift. They just line the perimeter and keep a close watch. Perhaps this adds a level of tension to this first encounter, but it also reassures the many who are unsettled by the uncertain turn of events and keeps in check those who might attack first and ask questions later. Others will no doubt soften the Inquisition's first impression, offering food, information, and other assistance.

Medical attention is available in the tented-encircled corner of the courtyard where the wounded from Haven are still treated. The quartermaster's assistant is called upon to provide spare odds and ends of clothing to those in need, and to issue blankets for all, though they are left to fend for themselves to find places to sleep.

Any mage willing to help is called in to do so and a cluster forms in one side of the courtyard to examine the rifters. They are objects of curiosity in general, but the marks on their hands are of particular interest, resembling smaller slivers of the Herald's famous mark. Despite their best efforts, no mage will be able to provide any real insight after this initial assessment. What the rifters and their marks are is a question they cannot answer today.

But one question is answered: in the midst of all the commotion, another Inquisition agent arrives from Haven, rushing in red-faced to announce that the Herald's body has finally been found.

OOC

It will be decided (partly for OOC reasons, admittedly) that the rifters will not be imprisoned at this point, but they will be watched carefully, and the guards are on alert for any strange behavior by people with glowing hands or strange attire. And of course, their freedom can be revoked at any time if they're deemed a danger. Though there are some OOC considerations at play here, you're welcome to ICly lobby for more or less freedom for the rifters, and things may change based on IC action/consensus.

Also: Part II, aka the log for the funeral/wake/etc. event, will go up tomorrow!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

medical tents;
After the cold hike to Skyhold when she's used to much warmer climes, she makes a beeline for the fire by the tents, stealing glances at the folk about her as she attempts to remember what being warm feels like. It shows off the mark on her hand but she's honestly more concerned about keeping all of her fingers in working order at this point than drawing attention.

Still, she makes herself smile to hide the nerves, willing to provide answers to any questions about her arrival even if she doubts she's offering anything particularly useful.

tavern;
No one can actually prove she stole the brandy. Well, maybe one or two people might be able to but brandy seems to be at the bottom of the list of things to worry about, until it runs out at least.

Not that anyone could blame her, given that she's one of the group that caused such an uproar here. Anyone who promises not to touch her hand or call attention to the fact that she's trying to hide it to see if out of sight and out of mind applies to body parts will be allowed the great honour of a share of the absolutely not at all stolen brandy.

It was a delicate balance to be held - on the on hand Gorse had enough training to play field medic in a pinch and could help out in the medical tents when he was back at Skyhold, on the other hand he was still working on gaining trust of the troops in the first place to offset the 'big scary qunari' judgement right out of the gate.

Still, he knows the desperation to get warm, seen it on enough people around, so soon enough Gorse is nearby (but not too near) holding his scarf out to her in offering while she warms up. It's an inexpertly made thing of about twenty different kinds of yarn and as many colors but it looks warm as heck.

"You get used to the cold after a while, I promise. Here, 'til you warm up."

Despite her first rescuer being of the tall, horned variety, she hadn’t quite known if the height was standard. Apparently it is and she hops a step or two back, not out of alarm but simply so she’s not craning her neck at as severe an angle; if she were to take off her boots (she’s going to sleep in the things if she can’t find a warm spot for the night) then she’d be about the height of an elf, though minus the pointy ears.

“Congratulations you must be, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the tallest person I’ve ever seen in my life!” Why yes, she’s utterly charmed by that fact, swinging up onto her toes to get a better look. The fox at her side looks a touch less impressed by that fact but he does sniff cautiously as she reaches out to touch the scarf, not caring about the colours although given the cut of her suit and boots, the shine of her embroidery it’s only likely to make her stand out more. “Did you make that yourself? I know a girl at home who knits and spins, I used to watch her some days when I had nothing else to do, I never got the hang of it alas.”

Araceli suffers from the terminal failure of being unable to sit still unless something is occupying her thoughts and whenever she tried she’d get up to do something else and forget her place and end up with a tangled ball of yarn.

“Really? This cold is unnatural, all this snow, why would anywhere need so much of it?”

Gorse is a little surprised at the easy and conversational way she fires off her question each like a shot before waiting for an answer. Well, that's different than the normal fear he gets when he first meets people, but as Gorse is the friendly sort that's actually quite a relief and encouraging.

"My little sister made it for me before I left home - she didn't want me to catch a cold. Also there's another Tal-Vashoth 'round here that's even taller than I am." Gorse didn't know how tall the Iron Bull was, he hadn't met the man, but Taas was at least two inches taller than Gorse with significantly more muscle, even if Gorse's were nothing to sneeze at.

Yes, they do just come this big. Factory standard model.

That being said, he kneels down when he spots the fox, holding his hand out to it so it can get a better sniff. Gorse adores all animals - he's not bad with people but he's better with the feathered and furred, they don't have the prejudice against the tall and horned variety.

"Well, we are up in the mountains. Though there's an underground hot spring here, I've been told, so I imagine it could be even colder." ... That's probably not actually all that comforting.

"Tal-Vashoth? Is that the full word for it? Is that different from Vashoth?" There's so much she has to keep track of here and she's doing the best she can but there's a lot of different names for different groups of people when she's learning that there are far more than just humans roaming around. "I remember being told it was different from Qunari too but there was a lot going on and demons had happened by that point too." Even just remembering the demons makes her shudder before she forces herself to forget about it for the moment and focus, carefully runnning her fingers over the fabric of it. "Then I thank you for the offer but I couldn't possibly take something meant for you when it comes from family. Some things are made just for us, more for the thought than the thing."

Turning then, she clicks her tongue and murmurs in her own tongue at the fox until he steps forward and sniffs carefully, circling around before he tips up his chin for it to be scratched.

"This is Lux, and I'm Araceli, both at your service," she drops into a small bow, ignoring anyone who might look at her; she's been friendly thus far and until someone is hostile to her, she'll keep trying. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, right? "Even colder?" Laughing, she rubs at her arms and pretends that her teeth are chattering. "Just talking of that tempts fate! Do they use the hot springs for baths? No, they must not otherwise everyone would be tucked all safe and warm in there and not out here."

Gorse would argue that his little sister made it for him fully knowing he was the type to give it away to someone in need and certain she'd need to make him another, but there's no point in pressing it. The fire will warm them up soon enough, and there is now a cute little fox that needs its chin scratched.

"Awful nice to meet you, Araceli. M'name's Gorse." like the yellow flower. 7' tall horned dude, named after a dainty little flower that blooms in every season. Yep.

"Well, see, Qunari's sorta the race but also the religion. Most of our kind follow it, way up north. The ones that leave the religion are called 'Tal-Vashoth', Vashoth means 'Gray', the 'Tal' emphasizes it, so like... 'true gray'. Taashath and the Iron Bull are Tal-Vashoth, they used to be part of the Qun then left it. Then there's Korrin an' Kas an' me, we're called just 'Vashoth' - we got the horns and people look at us and think 'qunari' but we ain't ever been part of the religion in the first place." Araceli seemed curious as well as unafraid, so Gorse was happy to answer questions as best he could.

Of course, he was wrong about the Iron Bull as well as Kas, but that wasn't exactly public knowledge yet.

Utterly shameless, because life is far too short for that and he's nothing if not a reflection of how she raised him, Lux is making a happy high-pitched sound, ears back and eyes closed, fluffy tail wagging away enough that Araceli is side-stepping to be out of the draft.

"He's usually not so good with male strangers, I think he gets jealous," her voice drops to a stage whisper for the last part. "You have no idea how relieved I am to meet kind people, after I came out of the same thing demons fall out of it."

Well, not fall but whatever, she clearly has less grace than them and that's pretty terrible.

"Korrin was the one I met, she explained the bits I do know. And about the mages. Up there." The shudder happens before she can stop it, a frown replacing her smile as she bits her lip and remembers the details she wasn't spared from hearing. She never thought herself squeamish until that point, something about the violence of it and the level to which freedom is ripped away. "Thank you for explaining, I don't want to offend or sound more ignorant than I already do given all of this is new. Is it hard? To be called the wrong thing? From what I heard of the Qun, I can imagine some comparisons must be less than flattering."

Gorse gave a soft laugh at her comment that her fox gets jealous. He'd known animals like that, but as long as the fox was willing to let him, Gorse was happy to offer it affection.

"Oh, I don't mind name mix-ups, it's a little complicated and our people ain't exactly often the friendly sort, so..."

So not being meeted with angry or fearful looks that also come with hostility is really something he's thankful for. A little name mess-ups is nothing compared to that, and it gives him a chance to educate someone to might not have had a chance to learn until then.

Yeah he's a professional at looking on the bright side. This is why his friendship standards are rock-bottom low.

"Momma always said ignorance is an opportunity to educate that shouldn't be taken for granted."

A life of being the only person she sees every single day without fail lends him certain entitlements, such as getting more than his share of any and all attention in a room.

"I heard some bits and pieces, but then you treat others the way you wish to be treated though that goes more for the natives to this place than to you. It's hard to be civil when others have already made up their mind about you." How many times has she been called whore or pirate (thief never bothers her, she's not ashamed of that) as though it's meant to be an insult? It stings and it shames her that she's ever let it hurt because there's nothing wrong with following your own path in life.

"I have the distinct feeling your mother and mine would get along, she always took any chance she could to give me a lecture, even if I came home filthy and covered in cuts and bruises. But how many ears are open to hearing such things in any world, hmm?"

Having snagged a corner table, an exhausted Korrin has her feet propped up on an empty chair before her. Her flagon is nearly empty, but she hasn't been able to rouse herself to go refill it. Sitting down was a huge mistake after all that trekking; now her body refuses to cooperate at all, protesting whenever she even shifts her weight.

So when she spots Araceli, the Vashoth offers her a tired smirk and a head tilt, indicating she should take over the other side of the table. It's better than letting some random asshole claim it, which could otherwise be her luck.

Wading through the press of bodies with the easy roll of the hips that always marks out a sailor, she eventually makes it to Korrin's table, the bottle of booze held high above her head. Not so high in reality, she's fairly short but it was the best way to keep it safe as Lux darts beneath the table to keep his tail tucked in and out of stepping range.

Brandy has brought a flush to Araceli's cheeks, replaced some of the tension with heat in her belly and back and she slides the bottle across in an offering, her smile more settled than back in Haven.

"Aren't you sick of me and all the groaning I did the whole way here?" She's teasing but she knows she must have been rather a pathetic spectacle with the complaining. "I'm afraid the thanks is a little lacking but please, consider a drink just the start."

"It's an excellent start, honestly. I'm probably going to save going full-on drunk until the wake tomorrow, but we've earned a nice, pleasant buzz after all that, haven't we?" At least Korrin think so. She lifts the bottle and takes a decent sip. "Ah, this is the good stuff.

And no, I don't fault you for any of that. Getting to Skyhold in the first place was a pain in the ass and I still ache just remembering it. The only ones who wouldn't have any trouble with it are probably the Avvar, mountain-folk."

"I'm sorry, about your Herald, having a body makes it more final for some people." And she is truly sorry, death isn't an easy thing at the best of times and all of this feels very far from the best of anything. "Where I come from, we give our bodies back to the sea when the time comes so that we're giving a life to what gave us life then, so it may continue." It's how she'd want to go, the comfort of being where she's meant to be and it's always been interesting to her, hearing the stories from other regions. "It's hard to go wrong with brandy, I like it with a bit more spice but it's much better than the thing that was growing mushrooms and smelled like boiled socks and old piss."

Seriously, what the fuck was that bottle with the strange letters?

"Maybe if we'd climbed up, not walked. Although it has more dangers for those with burdens and not everyone knows how to climb." Time to top up her glass and have a drink to stave off the memory of the cold because no, not an experience she's keen to repeat but if she ever leaves, she'll have to become grudgingly accustomed to it. "Are mountain-folk still humans? A few remarks from you and wandering around here with your inquisition and I'm trying to catch up."

I think mountain-folk must be part goat or something

"Oh, they're human. Tall humans, which is a refreshing change, since I don't have to look down quite as much for them. If we ever end up going to one of their holds, you'll see what I mean. As for climbing, I have some strength to me but I'm not as nimble as you. I can't say I'd have the talent for it."

That isn't to say that Korrin hasn't climbed before, but not as Araceli indicates. Finishing off her flagon, the Vashoth sets it down and slides it forward for whenever she can rouse herself to get more. "Here, the dead are burned. Or at least that's the Andrastian way. Andraste was a martyr who was burned at the stake, so it's always pyre for her followers. I'm not very Andrastian in most things, but that doesn't seem a bad way to go, for me."

"See? There you go with the confusion!" But she laughs because it's just the normal sort of confusion even though it's not really height ascribed to specific folk back home, it's more things like 'Castileans believe in mermaids' and 'Albasi believe that a girl kissed a bear who turned into a mighty warrior', things like that. "People are just people: tall, short, anywhere between where I come from. Do you think I'd get to go? I mean we're being watched, I can tell but come now, you have good strong legs, that's half the battle." Yeah she was looking at your legs (and more) on that climb because it was a lot nicer than just endless snow and a mountain that went on forever. "It's not always about being nimble, you have to have strength, right here." She balls her hand into a fist in front of her stomach to indicate her core which is damn strong when people actually get a look at it.

"But what goes back with fire? See, it's like this: I eat fish. I eat grains or bread made from them and we know the sea is involved in rain that nourishes plants and ships travel by sea to bring that and other meat and fruits and vegetables to us. So I eat that. I become strong. And then one day I go and they put me in the sea and weigh me down so the crabs and the fish and whatever else happens by can eat their fill and become strong. And then someone eats them and the sea has carried them and me and you get the picture?" Time for another drink because that's a sort of long explanation when she's making a constant circling motion with her hand because that's what matters, the cycle of it, going back to the start each time with each person. "Why was this martyr burned at the stake? I heard of some burnings in a few lands but those are as far from us in time as the stars in the sky."

"Andraste was burned at the stake because the Tevinter Imperium wasn't thrilled with her freeing slaves and leading a rebellion against them in the name of the Maker, to put it mildly. Her husband also betrayed her, making it possible. The Chantry will have a lot more to the story, but that's essentially what happened. So that's partly why you'll hear people around here talk badly about 'Vints', though the ones we have in Skyhold are decent folk." Lovely, too, in the case of Maevaris.

Korrin takes another sip and flashes a smile. "Noticing my legs, were you? Though fair enough, I hadn't thought of it like that. You move like you were born to it, though, that's not something I'm sure can be duplicated. But...we'll see. If I'm stuck around here any longer, I might want to learn something new just to break up the tedium. And I don't see why you wouldn't be able to go. Sure, you're being watched now, but they're just being cautious. Once they realize there's nothing to guard against, I'm betting they'll relax and give you more of a chance to prove yourself. Hence, travel."

“This is like being back in lessons,” she complains miserably, collapsing against the table with a long groan before gathering herself back up again. "I’m not one for judging all people by the reputation of a country, I’ve had it done enough to me and it’s not fun. Any ‘Vints’ here will be treated however they treat me." That’s the way you should go through life after all but it’s a shame that the majority of nobility don’t understand it.

"They’re very nice legs, you should be proud of them. As is the rest." You got a butt that won’t quit Korrin. "Maybe I just learned when I was too young to know how scared I should maybe be because you think you’re invincible in youth." From the grin, it’s clear that she’s still young enough to think that still, at least a little. "But then water is always flowing, it might be still, it might freeze but it moves always and we're raised to be light on our feet when we must. I do hope I get to go to the sea here, even just for a moment to think and to taste the salt of my lips."

"You will, though I can't say when. Just remember to look up, though; I've heard sightings of a dragon on the Storm Coast, and something like that could cut short a nice trip to the seaside." Personally, Korrin wouldn't mind fighting the thing, but she's smart enough to know that will take a lot of people and potions. Just like the Hinterlands one. She chuckles softly, leaning back.

"That sounds exactly what I used to think of myself when I was young; invincible. And then I learned magic, which...honestly didn't help change that perception. What did was the realization that mages just can't meant to be on the front lines in combat. We're not made for it." She turns her head a little and gestures to the scars along the left side of her face, evidence of her lesson.

“Ah but my friend I happen to be very short, so long as there are taller and muscular people around, I wouldn’t be of any interest to a dragon now would I? Although the dragons in our stories live in the parts of the sea even my people haven’t fully charted or the deserts none venture through in Zimevur, the dark hearts of Estene’s forests, curled about the Albasi ice mountains or deep in the hottest parts of the mines in Corundus.” Ebeos doesn’t have dragons because it’s basically all plains so if dragons existed there, there would have been sightings or stories at the very least like eveywhere else but Ebeos has very few fantastic things like that, preferring their birds and butterflies. Point is, she’s overly confident that she could sneak under a dragon’s snout without attracting much interest. “I just want to go breathe the air, find some shells for candlesticks, get my feet and hands wet, let the world wash away, even for a little while.”

A sigh follows, fond and a little mournful but she swallows it, tipping her head to the side to regard Korrin. “Oh you’re young, you must be, just look at you. Glowing.” Not like her hand but that inner glow, life, bright and luminous. Her gaze follows the scars, eyes widening a little at them although ‘front lines’ only makes sense in a vague sort of way, what with proper soldiers more or less obsolete in her world. “How did you manage that?”

"You know, I don't even remember the specifics; who did it, how, etc. I know it was in Nevarra, shortly after I first signed up. We were guarding a caravan and got ambushed. And like an idiot, I stepped into melee range instead of keeping my distance like any sane mage would. Next thing I knew, I was waking up flat on my back, bleeding from the side of my face. It served as an effective lesson, if nothing else."

Korrin chuckles, able to manage some self-depreciating humor about it now that it's far in the past. At the time she was furious, but it was her own fault for being so careless in the first place. She knows that now.

"I'm twenty-five, so I suppose I'm not that old. But I've been doing this for a long time now, closing in on a decade. I don't plan to stop, either." Why should she, when she knows what she's doing and it pays well?

"And don't underestimate dragons, alright? Sure, you might get lucky but they can be perceptive, and they'll focus in on anyone they please. Not to mention they can be found in a variety of terrains and sometimes close to civilization. You don't need to go into unchartered areas to find them, more's the pity."

“So really, next time we face demons,” maybe not her and Korrin though she’d like to go with someone she knows a little at least and who she can trust in a fight, “then the mages stay to the back and everyone with a sword gets up front?” It’d be a good time to say that yes, pistols work well from a distance but given the nature of how they work, you all end up in the melee, sword against sword and once or twice she’s had to shoot someone so close with her pistol that it barely fit between their bodies and she felt the punch of the recoil beneath her ribs as if she’d been shot herself. But it’s too new, too strange a thing to even have to explain in the first place when there’s confusion enough on both sides so she puts it to the back of her mind. “We all have lessons like that I think, mine are fortunately not on my face, I don’t have the bone structure to pull off scars like you.”

It’s elsewhere she has them, but stripping off in a tavern has never been her style.

“Forty is old. Twenty-five!” Aghast she shakes her head, downs the last of her brandy and leans forward, pointing at herself. “If you say old at twenty-five does that make me almost over the hill at twenty? I’ve been a thief almost as long, seven years of just that.” Which isn’t a lie, she’s just not counting the last year since she’s been at the palace so it’s going to make her sound like she started a year later than she did but it seems foolish to make too many admissions when her real job might matter a little more here.

“Why even let them get close? They have to be little at some point, everything is. Get them then, don’t just say ‘oh, we’ll do that another day’.”

"Well, until a few decades ago, people thought that dragons had become extinct. That's why this current age is called the Dragon Age, because they were seen after so long an absence. I think most of them spawn in far-flung places where civilization doesn't exist, so they get to grow without our interference. The one in that pocket of the Hinterlands wasn't always there, I'm pretty sure."

If it was, Redcliffe would have been rubble by now or the dragon would be dead or driven off. Neither of those has happened...yet.

"Tch, you're hardly over the hill. I bet you'll be eternally glorious, whatever the age. Seven years just means you're experienced, and there's nothing wrong with that. If anything, that can only help you here."

She does grin at the comment on her bone structure, never one to turn down a compliment. "Most mages stay back, yes. We have staffs, so there's usually no real need to get up close when we can use those and our magic from a distance. There are exceptions, though. Knight-Enchanters have magic blades that can cut through most things like a not knight through butter. Their barriers are stronger, too. What I wouldn't give to have that kind of skill, but it's also a Circle-centric speciality, and I've no interest in joining or supporting one."

"Just because you don't see something doesn't mean it's not there." But she's thinking of krakens, of whales so mighty they could swallow six ships at once, hags that whip lightning out over the sea and mighty chariots driven by seafoam horses, all the half-glimpsed things she's seen when the waves are wild or in fleeting moments at night on waters so calm they reflect the stars and she thought they might sail up and up to trace fingers against the cold hard shell of the moon. "You name time periods? At most we just have the reign of a particular ruler, there's nothing quite so proper about it." There's an appeal to it though, and maybe it's like her home, where things can still live even if it's through stories that come from a half-drowned soul, gasping through salt-ravaged lips.

What a thing to see one, to watch something almost a shadow taking flight, so long as she's out of the firing line that is.

"My mother doesn't look old enough to have a daughter my age and the lines my father has are his scars and his laughter lines, all at his eyes, like an old map. I don't know how much call they'll have for my skills exactly, thieves are everywhere and don't usually cast a damn silhouette with their own hands, not if they want to be successful." And yet she manages to smile herself although it's strange not to have a real challenge beyond just finding somewhere to rest her head for the night without losing anything to frostbite.

"If you're in the back doesn't that mean you could hurt a comrade though? When you fight you should have awareness of everything but there are moments when it narrows down to just your blade and their eyes," her hands flutter as she speaks, unconsciously moving them like two foes circling one another, "and you can only think about not today, not my throat, not my lung, not my thigh and how to block them even when you're so tired it aches." Duels can last for hours sometimes because so much of it is in the show, in the strutting and the insults, all the flourishes that wear you down until it stops being something like art and it's just an ugly scrap with sweat in your eyes and blood and sand all over your clothes and hands. "A magic sword? Like in stories? Although usually they have to go find this magic sword and it's some humble boy or girl who lives on a farm or guts fish for a living, not someone making a magic blade." What she's picturing is something made of fire because, surprise surprise, Korrin's magic is her only real frame of reference for what it looks like.

Araceli; ota

medical tends!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

tavern, of course

no subject