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

[ She likes his stories. They bloom and unfurl from little seedlings of truth, ugly things made grand and pretty again in the retelling. It's hard to say when exactly she slipped in, bare feet against the dirty wooden floor, tucking into a corner near the dwarf and his audience.

She could listen from up high, but she knows that spot is taken. Maybe later, when quiet is what she wants. The distraction from the usual cacophony is nice, better when she has one very strong, vibrant voice to follow.

Simon told her to stay out of trouble. Surely there's no harm in this. He doesn't even know she's there, not yet anyway. ]

[Varric was really letting loose and enjoying himself; it was a terrible plan, and more than a little half baked, but he had limited options. Today was shit, the next few days would probably be shit, and he had no intention of sobering up until he absolutely had to. He certainly wasn't going to sober up for the funeral or the wake, and if he could forget they were happening until they were over, he'd consider this bender to be a roaring success.

As it was, the night was getting on and his crowd of free-drinking, jubilant listeners were egging him into grander and grander stories. He'd just told the one about a troop of trained bears that some smuggler accidentally released into Lowtown. He had spared no detail as he recounted how Aveline and Hawke had to herd the creatures (tiny little hats and all) into a stolen, gaudy, makeshift tent made out of some Orlesian merchant's evening gown. The descriptions had a few people in stitches, but the sound effects really sold it. Everyone was laughing by the time he finished (one guy was crying and hunched over the table, he was laughing so hard) and Varric felt good.

He felt happy.]

[ It was a marvelous story, in truth. She found herself smiling, laughing along, buoyed by the rhythm of his words, the upbeat tempo, the soothing tone that still managed to sound rough and craggy and warm all at once. It was a grand tale, and maybe exaggerated in places, but as tales went it was still magnificent for all of that.

She was still hugging her legs and beaming quietly over her kneecaps as the tale drew to a close. ]

We come from the land of the ice and snow

Tavern

Gosh, sorry this is late and I hope this works.

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