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

{ Courtyard }

News about the Rifters won the attention of the many soldiers and mages of the Inquisition, especially the Templar. Alayre made his way outside towards the courtyard to see a dozen or so tents set up for the sake of giving these newcomers much needed privacy.

The Knight-Commander stalks along the walkway looking a tad grim about the whole affair. While he's typically the one to hold off from judgment, Alayre finds himself eyeing these Rifters with a very critical gaze.

"Stay vigilant." The Orlesian warns his men as he walks along the narrow stoned path. Dressed in his usual armor and steel after several days of relaxation, Sauveterre certainly makes a rather imposing silhouette. His face is as stern as ever and those impassive grey eyes are hard like iron.

"Ensure that our healers are well protected."

He cares for the well-being of their mages. The Rifters be damned.

{ The Battlements }

Now that the courtyards have quieted down a bit since earlier, Alayre allows himself a moment of rest. He wanders up towards the Battlements for the first time today for solace. Something about gazing out into the great unknowns calms him. It's not unusual to see the Knight-Commander of Pharos here, especially when he wants to be alone with his thoughts.

This is why most of the guards here don't seem to mind the grey-haired Orlesian as he sits precariously on the edge of one of the many balconies. His thoughts are clearly focused upon the setting gleam of the sun and not the obvious dangers. The Maker clearly gave this fellow a fearlessness that most men thankfully lack.

{ Wildcard }

( ooc: I'm up for whatever! )

Alayre isn't the only one who likes the towering heights of the battlements. Clint's found up here a lot of the times, but he's always been one for heights. He sees better from a distance, like he tells most people. He likes to perch, much like his alias claims to be, and the battlements are the best place to do so.

Clint's chosen spot this time has unfortunately been taken already, and while he'd normally give a Templar a lot of breathing room, this time Clint clearly doesn't mind having some company. He's quick to hop onto one of the higher ledges, perching precariously close to the ledge. "Guess I'm not the only one who likes coming up here."

Clint's accent is obviously Ferelden, and while he's missing his normal traveling buddy Lucky, his mannerisms scream dog lord. Sorry if he offends your delicate sensibilities, Alayre.

The Knight-Commander peeks up when he hears someone venture over. He half expected the new arrival to be none other than the Baratheon until he caught a glimpse of the newcomer's face. Alayre smiles vaguely in greetings before turning his gaze back to the horizon. The sky is a gradient of reds and orange now with hints of dark blue lingering in the distance. The sun's celestial gleam is becoming faint with every passing minute and it brings such joy to Alayre to see it sink into the far horizon. Watching the sunset is probably one of the last few pleasures he enjoys still.

"My sincerest apologies but you are not." The Templar answers with another faint smile. He gazes up at the other with a mild hint of curiosity. The accent certainly gives him away as an Orlesian, much how the harshness of the common tongue gave away this stranger's heritage quickly. He watches the Fereldan for a spell before turning his gaze away again.

"There's something oddly soothing about being so high above the land. Tis both comforting and surreal."

The temlar doesn't zeem like he's too stuffy of an Orleasian for Clint not to like, but Clint knows far too many who are like that. He's wary, and keeps his distance. No offense, it's just normal mannerisms for the archer.

"No worries. If you claimed this spot, I can go find somewhere else."

A chuckle leaves Alayre as he shakes his head. "Fear not. I'm not adverse to having company here." The Templar replies as he glances back at the archer. "Can the same be said about you? Here I hope my presence is no bother." Not many people are fond of the Order and for good reason. Alayre hopes this archer doesn't mind his presence here.

"Nah, I'm good."

Templars are fine with him. He knows they do good - to an extent, because he's seen plenty of bad templars as well. The Hinterlands are a perfect example of that. If he's with the Inquisition, he can't be that bad.

"You been with the Inquisition for long?" Might as well start up a conversation. Thankfully, Clint likes to talk.

Alayre retreated to silence until the huntsman spoke once more. He glances over at the other with a quick answer upon his lips. "Merely two weeks now." The Knight-Commander replies with a chuckle. "Only long enough to remember others names and nothing else. I'm very much a newcomer to Skyhold." There's droves of people like him who ventured away from the towers to seek refugee at the hold. However, Alayre is no renegade and doesn't carry himself like one. He's far too pleasant.

"What of you, good ser?"

Though she did not know the symbol, embossing a sword on the breastplate of gleaming silver armor was no small statement. There were many in Skyhold who wore the armor of the silver sword, and each stood tall, their expressions unfailingly stoic. They were apart from the guards on the battlements and at the gates; they did not wear the flaming eye.

What that meant, she could not say.

It was no challenge to identify the one who marshaled these troops, assuming it was only he who did. He carried himself in much the same manner as the men about him, but his stare was keener and more efficient, honed as a veteran hones a faithful blade. His gait was commanding and swift, but unmistakably human; it was heavy and demanded space with the weight of it. Others averted their gaze or challenged his as he moved past, as each was wont to do, and she watched as he assessed them all in turn.

When he passed her, she met his eye without challenge or submission. Her gaze was no less critical or sharp and, for a moment, she fancied that the mettle in them clashed. It was not combat, she had no desire to fight him, but metal could not strike metal in silence.

"Your healers shall not be harmed, we wish them no ill will."

The assurance was calm and, though it was honest, it was merely a platitude. He would not trust her for having made it, nor would he draw back because he'd heard it. Really, she wondered just what he would do.

A frown touches the corners of his lips once he's an unlikely reply. The Knight-Commander turns his head slowly. "Do you speak for yourself or for all of your ilk?" He asks once he lays his eyes upon the speaker. Once grey met blue, Alayre falls to instantly falls silent. Never in his days has he seen someone as lovely as her. With eyes that match sapphire and hair as shimmering as gold, Alayre was stunned to silence when he locked gaze with this woman.

The Knight-Commander stands there with obvious befuddlement written across his face as he eyes the beauty. Alayre takes a moment to regain his composure after staring for a second too long. He closes his eyes briefly as if to shake her ethereal beauty out of his mind. That awestruck gaze of him vanishes for now and is replaced by his usual steely gaze.

"Neither I or my men are easily pacified by words alone. You and your others stumble upon Skyhold at its darkest of hours. Trepidation has claimed the hearts of many and many more shall be claimed by fear. The order is lacking and this may just tip us into pure chaos."

If Galadriel took any offense at his words, it did not reflect on her face nor in her posture. As he finished, her brows pinched in a subtle expression of concern.

"Do not despair," Galadriel said, her voice far softer than her last words had been. Her tone did not remain fixed, however, and gradually returned to its more common volume and cadence as she spoke. "Your men stand tall, your fortress is unassailable, and fear can only claim what foothold is given to it."

She regarded him evenly and there was a sharpness to her smile. Though men often ascribed her power to her race, or age, or to the ring she bore, they were all of them incorrect. Galadriel was powerful because she was wise and clever, not wise because she had power. She could appreciate the strangeness of this situation, but there was little sense in pageantry and overt conflict.

"I assure you, we are not worthy of worry. Do not allow a dozen lost souls to grant fear any purchase here. Caution is not unwise, but there is no need for spectacle."

A frown lingers upon Alayre's lips as he regards the woman's words. Judging her from just her flowy gown and strangely ambient glow, he figured the woman to be a mystic or seerer of some kind. She certainly fits the role of one considering the strange tranquility in her tone. Unlike some of the others who dare to encroach upon the Skyhold and its secrets, this golden lady doesn't seem to be worth his worries at all. It is like she has said, he shouldn't fret over a dozen or so wanderers but this is still a rather peculiar situation. Awkward, even.

"My fears would be lessen had some of these uninvited 'guests' listened to reason." The Knight-Commander replies as he orders his entourage to take their leave of them. Too many of these 'rifters' seem far too eager to explore the hold for his liking. The Templar as a whole aren't fond of the idea of letting strangers through those gates but at one point, they were also strangers as well. Therefore, none of these good men could point blame at the rifers excitement but be damned if they like it.

Once the group disperses, Alayre turns towards the shining lady with a curious glance. "Tell me, what do you know of this realm, my lady? Have you become acquainted with it yet?" He asks out of wonder and worries both.

"Thedas is a cruel realm forever affixed with war and bloodshed. Tis no paradise but more of a purgatory depending on who you question. The Skyhold, home of the Inquisition, is all that's left of the good in this world."

"I am learning much of this place," Galadriel replied as she watched the array of armed men take some measure of ease. She wasn't given to advising others, at least not so boldly, but he had taken to reason with ease. If nothing else, he had earned a place in her regard.

"Though I find it sorrowful that so many think these lands are utterly lost," she added and something in her hard, clever visage softened with a touch of ageless sadness. "Already I have seen much that is bright and beautiful, but I am familiar with the fragility of hope."

This was not a wise conversation to have, not with anyone who stood inside the keep. She dismissed it with a calm shake of her head. Her smile was polite when she leveled it at the commander again. Already much of the tension had left the courtyard; the burden of peace was not a heavy one, at least, not when there were no enemies afoot.

"I would see more of this stronghold, if it is permissible. Rarely have I encountered a fortress that holds the sky as this one does, and I cannot help but wonder about it." She glanced at the walls. Though they were in disrepair, they were still centuries old, stronger than the earth beneath them. "It reminds me of much older days."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

We come from the land of the ice and snow

Alayre Sauveterre | OTA

battlements

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Courtyard

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject