faderift | 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

Martel half-turns, an eyebrow raised, gaze assessing. He doesn't tense, but it is very obviously a pause in his action and not the immediate cessation that Alayre is demanding of him. The development is tiresome and he makes no bones about having much time for it.

"On what authority?"

The question is genuine rather than provocative; who is this fellow and what does he want? If he's taking prisoners, Martel would rather like to know why and to what purpose.

The Templar stops a few yalms away from the newcomer and takes the time to get a good look of him. White hair? Alayre eyes the younger man with a slightly worried glance. Whatever manner of sickness this fellow has must be dire enough to change his hair as white as snow. No one naturally has such pale hair from Alayre's experience. Usually that's a sign of pestilence.

"My authority if nothing else." He answers promptly after debating whether or not he should take this man to see a healer. "While you are not bound for a cage, I cannot permit you to wander at your leisure. The Skyhold is a fortress with many twists and turns. It would be reckless to allow you to leave here." The Knight-Commander explains evenly.

He truly means no malice on his part but he doesn't like the idea of allowing these newcomers to do as they please. Who's to say that none of these people are their potential adversaries? Nothing.

Roughly of an age with Alayre, Martel's hair had begun to grey when he was barely a man, not yet out of his novitiate; by twenty-one, it had been pure white. It had been a striking trademark in Eosia, and he was already inclined to do something about it, here - he needed nothing else to make him stand out in this strange place full of stranger yet people.

"I see," he said, neutrally. "Well. You speak to whomever it is you answer to, and you can find me in your library when they have given you leave to confine us."

Turning with military precision, he continued on his path.

A slight sound of frustration passes through the Templar's lips once the rifter turns away again. "Just because Skyhold is hospitable doesn't mean you are our guests." Alayre all but grumbles as he follows. He could just tell by this fellow's stance that he's a soldier of some kind and that makes him more wary of him.

Just how many more are these newcomers hailing from such a background? Just how could the Commander allow such people in here without a thought? Hell, one of them could possibly be a Tevinter spy or one of Corypheus's minions. Yes, Alayre really doesn't like this notion at all.

"You are far too hasty to turn away, ser." He speaks after a brief moment of silence. "You know nothing of this realm or this hold, and yet you believe you can wander about freely?"

Martel didn't bother to dignify it with an answer; he would learn little of this realm or this hold sitting on his thumbs in a courtyard, and he had little interest in engaging with some impotent fellow taking his frustrations out by trying to exert authority he plainly did not hold. It didn't escape him that it wasn't, say, one of the small women creeping about that were stopped - no, it was the large, militaristic man whose resting expression was often enough to earn him peace and quiet in his immediate personal space.

Let the fool feel threatened; hardly his concern. He didn't intend to behave like a prisoner if he wasn't one.

Had he been his fellow Knight-Commander, such disrepect wouldn't have persisted. Alayre has his hang ups about pulling rank and truly had no right to drag this man back to the courtyard. Therefore, instead of arguing he decides to lead him towards the library instead. That's why his steps speed up.

"You're going the wrong way." The Templar mutters as he walks past the newcomer. He stops at the end of the hall and gestures towards the next corridor with a subtle hint of sarcasm in his movement.

"A turn to the right, then a left."

The flicker of amusement in his expression is not kind; how quick the shift from authoritative leader to scampering about after him like a resentful servant. However tempting it is to remark upon - goodness, has he time for this? Martel is but one man and there are a little more than half a dozen of them in total, that's seven other people Alayre is failing to keep his watchful eye on - he manages to refrain.

It's entirely possible that the mild look his intervention earns and Martel simply taking his directions as if he's obviously entitled to Alayre's service with or without bothering to acknowledge him is going to be a lot more irritating than anything he might've said aloud.

Irritating is an understatement.

If all of these newcomers are anything like this pompous donkey of a man, then Sauveterre will have no qualms chucking them over the bloody damn battlements and to their awaiting demise. He has little patience for arrogance, especially from those who do not know their place. His sheer contempt for this man will last for many days and weeks most likely. May the heavens forbid if their paths cross again.

"Something foul is bound to brew from him." He nearly growls as he strolls down the opposite corridor. The Knight-Commander returns to the courtyard.

Alone, in the quiet of the library, as the footsteps behind him fade to quiet -

Martel laughs.

We come from the land of the ice and snow

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