We come from the land of the ice and snow

[faderifting]

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!

Comments

Adelaide LeBlanc | OTA

[fleurdesel]

The Healing Tents / Tavern

She should by all rights take some time to rest. Take a night off. At least take a moment to clean more than her hands from the grime of travel, but wounded are wounded and while there is yet light to work by Adelaide takes her position in her tent to apply magic, potions, and poultices to those in need. The injured and ill never quite seem to taper off and she sees to as many as she has the patience and stamina to handle before her students urge her to step away, promising to handle it from there. After an aborted argument to remain she'll make her way to the tavern for a quick meal and a much deserved drink.

Between the fighting and the rifters? She's earned it. Tucked in a corner she means to enjoy both despite the crowd and her growing migraine.

The Library

Too many questions and not enough answers. It's dissatisfying on more levels than she can quite articulate and thus, after the tents and the tavern she takes up a lantern (she's used enough magic today, no need to be wasteful) and heads to the library to pick through anything she can find on the fade. On spirits and demons and any text on the veil available. Even if it's absurd fiction she'll add it to her stack for the sake of possibly finding a grain of truth- though it's not terribly likely. With the late hour and events of the day, she could possibly be found dozing in a corner, book open in her lap and staff tucked against her shoulder.

Wildcard

[ Got something else in mind? Go for it! ]

library.

[apostasia]

She doesn't find the library empty when she arrives; it's evident that Martel has been there for some time, books spread out in front of him with a parchment and ink, the candles he's working by burning down. He's probably been there since shortly after he arrived, his fingers stained and his expression intent on whatever it is he's working on. His head is killing him - this is so much harder than it should be - but he doesn't need to think in this strange language, just write in it, and when trying the spell the first time nearly made him pass out -

He is taking it a little slower. Unfolding it more gently; working it in stages.

"A prettier text," he concedes in a murmur, looking down at what he's done already, and then -

Oh, her. Martel's expression smooths into neutrality as Adelaide passes into his line of sight. At some point in the day, he's done something about the state of his hair - cut some of it, darkened what's left - and all the good work done by clean water and cloth earlier has been somewhat undercut by whatever work made him sweat here in the library, the strain of it evident in his face, the tense line of him, but he is presentable enough, and makes no move to interrupt her beyond,

"My lady," politely, flexing his fingers and not wincing when he hears a knuckle crack. He is, he reflects, getting old.

library?

[fleurdesel]

Bottle of wine tucked into her elbow, two books on the fade and one on spirits, books she'd read in the Spire but that was long gone, burned and bloodied and empty but a review is warranted since people falling through tears from other worlds wasn't covered and maybe she'd simply missed that chapter. Or it's entirely new and no one understands what is happening- but it's better to double, triple check before writing it off as 'no one knows'.

Of course that's what she meant to do until there's that word. A voice that's vaguely familiar and a face she can't place till she takes half a step further and the light hits him in such a way to remind her.

Ah.

That ass.

"...Throttle anyone on your way here?" She ought to be silent but she's tired, the templars were everywhere in the courtyard out of some mistaken order to 'protect the mages' and she strongly suspects she knows who gave that order in the first place.

[apostasia]

"Astonishingly," he says, returning the bulk of his attention to the work he's doing - there is an ease to the way he settles into academia, here, that might not have been guessed at, "I did not. I imagine even were I so inclined, the thought of the yapping thing at my heels feeling some justification for his terribly precious power trip would stay my hand."

So he's been making friends, then.

[fleurdesel]

"Ah." With a description like that there is only one person that he could possibly be referring to. "You've met the Knight-Commander that is ever so earnest and equally condescending?"

She's made no move onward just yet, nor has she attempted to approach. Wariness abounds.

[apostasia]

"Knight-Commander, dear me," very mildly - he had not precisely been introduced to the man, after all. In contrast to her caution, Martel is as near to relaxed as he has been since being spat out of the rift; being clean, fed, and having the run of a library (even one he's still forcibly learning the words of) has gone a ways to evening out some of the foul temper he'd arrived in.

He is by no means content with his situation, but it allows for a measure of civility that had been absent, earlier.

(Later, still, it will hit him much harder - but there won't be an audience, for that.)

The thought of Vanion taking their mutual friend in hand prompts an involuntary smile, small and terrible. There's something quite charming about imagining someone else being on the receiving end of one of Vanion's blistering dressing-downs, all these years later - the silence had been worse than any of the reprimands, in the end. He sets aside that memory willfully, in favour of the fantasy.

But for himself, he dismisses Alayre out of hand, easily-- "He is a man with a boy's desire to test the boundaries and if he behaves so, I'll treat him so."

[fleurdesel]

"Something he might remark upon at length if given cause." Perhaps the next table over? Or the chair in the corner, that will do. Close enough for conversation if either of them see fit, not so close as to imply any manner of friendliness. Civility, certainly. But after what happened earlier? Keeping herself out of arm's reach is something of a priority. Adelaide picks her way to the table, giving his wide berth before she settles. Lamp on a shelf, books stacked next to her, wine- well. That takes a bit of pulling to get the cork out and she has no glasses-

But it's a straight from the bottle type of evening.

"This is, I suppose, where I might say 'he means well' and other such nonsense but intent matters for very little on this side of the fade." Also his language seems antiquated at times. 'Stay your hand', bah. The horse and help offered had been kind and she's thanked him for it in her own way, she'll not think on it any longer. "...did he make that face of his- the one where it seems like you've done something particularly offensive like used the wrong fork at dinner or pissed in his wine?"

[apostasia]

The initial roll of his eyes at her first remark is purely involuntary. Of course. It was probably Vanion himself the last time anyone was in a position to lecture Martel with any expectation of his not simply walking away - but, then, no one is currently in a position to expect him to linger, either. The experience has doubtless not become any more appealing in the interim.

"It was the one they all make when you force them to acknowledge the weight they're throwing around has nothing behind it," he says, drolly. "Entertaining the first dozen times."

[fleurdesel]

It actually startles a snort that might be a laugh if given enough room to do so out of her. Brief and unladylike but honestly? She is tired to death of needing to be a Lady, a leader, a mentor. Her charges safely ensconced in their room she needs a moment to be nothing more than herself- or rather a moment to research. Understanding what in the Maker's name this all means is somewhat vital. "It'll be all the more amusing the second time you cross paths, should you cross paths."

[apostasia]

"Heaven forbid."

Although many pious words are being spoken about how they aren't prisoners, Martel is under few illusions that were he to try to leave Skyhold, he'd be as immediately and amusingly successful as he had been t leaving the courtyard; it's more likely than it's not that sooner or later he will be obliged to remember the other man exists. But it is a small concern in a sea of much larger ones - something to sharpen his claws against in conversation with a woman who has sound basis for not being inclined to discuss much of anything with him. If this is what common ground there is -

there's been worse. Probably. It will be easily set aside, all the same, for it's simple enough to forget a name you never learned in the first place.

"If only I were new to the type, he might be more diverting."

[fleurdesel]

"At least you are not a mage. He'd be all the more earnest and intent with you It's insufferable." We mean you no harm, you can trust me, it's such a shame what the Chantry's done we can do better, we will do better. So many empty words that he seems to actually believe. But one idealist does not a movement for an improved system make. One MAN does not a system make.

He's a fool, albeit a well meaning fool. One she's best ignoring.

A swig of wine helps matters. Not much as it isn't Orlesian but it isn't Fereldan and that shall have to count for something.

[apostasia]

Martel pauses - perceptibly - and then pushes back from the table slightly, turning in his seat. It's not the word he'd use, certainly, but not a new word to him, either, and he's gathered as much as he might from the place around him. It is, he suspects, quite precisely the word that these people would apply to him, given the opportunity.

And he could let it be.

She hasn't realised what he'd been doing; she has assumed that he is not.

...but if keeping his secrets means passing up an opportunity to use a bit of information to get bit more - perhaps demonstrate something in himself that she can empathise with, mold her into an ally before she thinks to use his mistake as a weapon against him - then it's hard to think it's a worthy trade. He looks pensive, for a moment, his inkstained hands loosely clasped between his knees, and then he says, thoughtfully,

"What makes you say?"

and lets her draw her own conclusions as to what struck him about her remarks.

[fleurdesel]

"...That it is insufferable? It is." She knows this from experience. Alayre's desire to protect and guide and all these noble instincts that are utterly incongruous with what she knows of Templars. They weren't bad men in her mind before what happened in the spire but neither were they such caricatures of gallantry. He's like a terrible romance novel come to life with none of the romance and all of the eyerolling tropes that came with the genre.

Give her facts over fiction any day- especially in templars. The pretty dreams the Knight-Commander hopes to preach are just that. Dreams.

Outside of the fade nothing can come of them.

Her attention on the book she didn't notice his change in posture till he spoke and- well. That is a considerable amount of focus on her. Considering how things went the last time he looked at her quite so intently, her hand slips from the book and back to her staff. Just in case. "What makes you ask?"

Healing Tents

[girlinthebox]

She's here as often as she's anywhere, near her brother as he does his best to repair the bodies that filter in and out. Her own focus is more fickle, darting from person to person as they pass, listening quietly.

Not just the patients, of course. The healer has the bloodiest hands. Adelaide catches her attention over time, River's dark eyes following the healer with a hollow look, as though trying to see past her.

[fleurdesel]

"Soak it in cold water before removing the poultice in the morning. That'll keep it from pulling the scab off as well." Adelaide nudges the last patient out with a faint sigh- all the picking at wounds and stitches would only make it worse and she had no time or supplies to create the ointment that would ease the itch. They will have to make do.

It's then that she notices the eyes, the feeling of being watched pricking her awareness. She's seen the girl almost every day since they arrived- and not once heard a word. "...can I help you?"

[girlinthebox]

She doesn't so much as blink, something tickling the back of her mind. "Always being watched...eyes in the dark, cold metal faces hiding their hate," she murmurs, almost more to herself than to the healer. She'd never seen the inside of a Circle, but the echoes of its effects are everywhere. She may as well have been.

Her fingers toy with the ends of her tangled hair, but apparently she's not bothered to move otherwise, tucked into what is now more or less her corner of the tent, toes curling into the soft earth.

[fleurdesel]

The strangeness she usually feels around Cole isn't quite as present here, otherwise she'd be less surprised by the commentary. Her fears and thoughts about templars laid out so neatly, even if she's not too quiet about them when asked.

The line is short, other healers are working. She has a moment.

Lips pressed thin, moving slow as to not startle Adelaide crouches down to be on the girl's level. "Do they bother you? The templars?"

The don't have a history for dealing with the strange all that well.

[girlinthebox]

They don't, at that. She'd never been in the Circle, but they'd encountered some along the road to Skyhold. She remembers them, bearing down, seeing monsters in the skin of men. Their fear boiled in their blood, hotter, burning, until she could feel the flame and coax it out...

"Not anymore."

The words taste of ash, and her voice is flat when she fixes on Adelaide's face, studying the lines in her face. The wear of the world etched into the corners of her eyes and mouth.

[fleurdesel]

"If you've a trick for keeping them at a respectable distance, I think most of us would like to hear it." Whether they'd had experiences like hers or no true trouble with the templars at all every mage seemed to feel the distinct lack of breathing room they were being given. Some couldn't blame the templars. Adelaide was not of that camp. So long as they kept to their side of the hold? She could manage.

With how they continued to wander and press about? A way to remain unbothered would be something of a blessing.

[girlinthebox]

She considers telling her, for a moment, but the thought scatters before she can collect it again. Her fingers curl gently into her palms and then out again, her brow knotting slightly as she stares.

"They always come. It's in their blood, washing out all we are, filling the hollow cracks that were left. It's the wrong shape..."

No. That's not quite right, and she frowns, shaking her head.

"No. That's wrong, too."

[fleurdesel]

Troubled doesn't seem to begin to describe this young girl- statements so vague and strange feel more at home in a Fade dream rather than waking conversation. But she is trying to explain something and it seems important, that much is worth sorting out.

"Phylacterys." Those for the White Spire had been destroyed but not all mages were quite so fortunate. "And self righteousness, I suppose."

Maker knows they have both in spades.

[girlinthebox]

"The songs."

Her brow wrinkles as she tips her head back, eyes drifting towards the canvas roof of the tent. "When everything shifts, they push it back again, they don't like it when it changes. The song gets louder, but it wasn't meant to sit inside them. Too loud and everything else fades away..."

Her fingers rub against her arms as she sinks back further.

"They can't hear us, then. Some never do."

[fleurdesel]

"The...songs?" That- she doesn't quite know how to interpret that. Spirits sing to her, it was how she interpreted their voices. But Templars did not hear spirits or magic, sensed it in their own way...or, was that wrong? The more she kneels with this girl the more confused she becomes.

"Where was it meant to sit- if not in Templars?"

[girlinthebox]

"They were older. Bigger. Deeper..."

She trailed off after a moment, clearly confused by where the train of thought is leading. It's all too much to make sense of, especially given piecemeal and fragmented. But she wants to know, too.

Finally she frowns, nose wrinkling.

"They weren't meant for this, but they think they are. They're always so angry."

[fleurdesel]

"Who are 'they'?" None of this made sense, songs were for spirits, for magic, not for Templars that dispelled it and kept demons from mages when they were able. That they were angry Adelaide had no doubt but- it seemed as though there was a third party at play here.

Or perhaps the girl was delusional.

She wouldn't know for certain until she heard more.