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

"Apologies, I expect once the shock wears off I'll be in the same boat." A boat would make her feel less homesick though but they seem to be in rather short supply. The strangeness of all she's seen almost makes it feel unreal, like moving through a dream but she's pinched herself plenty of times and she hasn't woken in one of her beds with the waves lapping and sailors calling. The knot of panic in her belly tightens, mouth a hard line when she looks at her hand before she shakes her head and rolls her shoulders back with enough of a shudder to make her earrings clatter against her necklace.

Do they know she's gone? Do they think the worst? Are they combing each and every hiding spot she's ever had to find her?

Home is the sea and the sea is in her blood; a Castilean is never truly away from home but it's not as comforting as she'd hoped.

"Would poison affect them? I had the misfortune to meet the green floating ones and...a terror and despair demon when I was in Haven. I'm not in a hurry to meet them again." Except Korrin had seemed sure her hand would help even as Araceli's blades had been coated with frost as she'd stabbed both into the despair demon as it screamed at her. "You know, I always liked to find out where an annoying person lived. Then I'd invite myself in to go through their silver. Or if they were truly annoying then there's nothing quite like them finding you jumping out the window after spending a night in a loved one's bed as they say you were warmly invited."

"With the right ingredients and concentrating agents? Anything can be poisoned, demons, dragons, sylvans- especially sylvans. Some can be terribly fragile." He wipes his hands clean of the herbal residue and stoppers the bottle, setting it aside to steep. Given an hour or so the next ingredient would go in and then the next- so on and so forth until his stores were refilled. In the meantime there was lovely company to enjoy.

"So you are of one of the other worlds, yes? Pulled from the fade. And yet you remind me much of an Antivan, even your name. That is marvelous, to think there are such places in other words full of music and adventure and devilishly handsome rogues." Every world should have an Antiva. Somewhere music and spice and life twisted through the seedy underbelly and high, silken nobility. Perhaps there may even be another man such as himself, grinding poisons away in a barn while thinking fondly of his Antiva. Or...no, that thought was too strange, too far for him to consider seriously. It would give him a headache if he were to dwell upon it. "Ah, the theft of a lover. You are a woman after my own heart."

"Sylvans?" Did Nerissa mention something like that from folk tales or was it Eir? Maybe it was both, one of those overlaps between nations with fields and forests rather than seas. "But being from here you have the advantage, if it hadn't been for someone coming to my aid I wouldn't have been able to fight the floating green human upper half...things?" Those were less important than the two that were screaming and grabbing for her and when she realised she couldn't actually hurt them with her blades she'd turned attentions to the ones that could. "I was so afraid my hands would be frozen to my hilts," she shakes them, ornate twisting grips that they are to cover her hands, "and that I'd lose a finger prying them loose!"

The laugh is too shaken to be a real one, but it's better to laugh than to admit her fears for the moment. Her hand meant to fix all this and she's terrified of ever seeing the monstrous face of a despair demon.

"My country is Castileos where we have more waterways than true streets and where we all came from the sea; I have a place in a building of mostly artists, by the docks where the waves can lash my windows in a storm. Always the bustling about, consorts and Brides," the weight placed on the word is enough to make it significant but given that it's scarcely understood outside of her country, she doubts it'll be given much note. "Every sailor coming in from port with stories. And of course those of us who can move as if we're the shadows born with blades so fast the eye can't see." Best not to mention pistols, not when she's seen bows and arrows instead with her own sinking to the bottom of a waterway, beautiful pearl grips and polished wood rotting away to nothing. "I never think of it as theft if I've been invited by the party that actually matters, but some of us have different views of doors and locks and what they actually mean I think. If you're a man after my own heart too."

"Living trees, marvelous, confused creatures that occasionally speak in rhyme. That was a fun adventure." Confusing but, fun. "Ah, those sorts. Those take practice- and magic. Leave them to the templars and mages and worry about the ones with fleshy bits. I feel as though if we are to expect you to aid us in slaughtering demons we should at least offer some sort of remedial 'which ones to stick your dagger in' training. There is no way for you to know and you should not be faulted or put in danger because of that."

But the rattling, well, that draws his attention to her blades- the fine work of the grips, the way they rest in her hands. "Those...are incredibly sexy swords. May I see one unsheathed?"

In her hands, of course. He wouldn't dream of touching another rogues blade while they are remaining friendly. And they are remaining quite friendly at the moment, bound by a common wistfulness for warmer climes and far away cities.

"That locks are more puzzling exercises in futility provided there is something worthwhile on the other side? Good practice? Something to be timed and tested?" He's gotten down to sixty seconds for most difficult ones, and that is if he's feeling particularly lazy.

"There's nothing about rhymes but they have something that sounds similar, or tales of them at the very least, in a couple of countries back home. I wouldn't have thought they would speak in rhyme, what an odd thing." Really just plain disturbing if she's honest because trees make ships and if one was alive and then started to get up to something she'd be freaked out forever by it. "Well Korrin, the woman who met me, was more than adept with the fire and lightning. Usually I fight people, it's easy enough with them. Find a big organ or artery, even a vein and go for it, avoid hitting the bone. I doubt any of those things have kidneys."

A crying shame because going for a kidney is pretty damn decisive.

"Of course," shifting carefully she picks her favourite first, decorated in such a way as to match her uniform and tall boots, delicate designs picked out in silver, tiny swirls of waves and shells. "This one is older though you wouldn't know it - I pride myself on keeping them in the best condition possible. And the other," the scalloped cup-hilt is extended next, one then the other balanced because she is showing them off after all. "Perhaps you'd be of a mood to practice? I usually train every day and it's better to do that with someone you can talk to."

Plus they look to be of a more equal build because a lot of those people have been in heavy armour or they've just seemed plain enormous to her eyes.

"A lock has always been a challenge - how badly do I want to see what's on the other side and just how do I accomplish that without anyone noticing." Castileans like a lot of jangling things, even the thieves and to not make a single splash getting to and from anywhere is a feat. "For however much someone else curses you for getting past even the worst, you'll usually at least break even with those who praise you and often pay you for getting in."

"Marvelous craftsmanship." He leans forward to peer at the rather elegant scroll-work- reminiscent of the ocean. Isabella would likely approve, Zevran certainly would love to go a few rounds with them- either against or holding one or the other. It's been such a long time since he's last marvels at such craftsmanship- the balance must be exquisite. "I most certainly would! Finding a proper sparring partner that does not use a mace the size of me has been terribly difficult. They are either warriors or- well. Mages. Who are wonderful enough but I would rather not find myself further frozen or singed upon completion of a sparring match.

"We pride ourselves on all things being a reflection of the sea and our people, both of which are exquisite." Modesty is really boring and not a concept she's ever been familiar with unless she's praising another. "I saw someone with a sword that had to be bigger than I am!" Not really a challenge because she's not exactly blessed with height but people don't have blades that big unless they're the lethal sort of soldiers and there's not really a need of them. "Who needs such things? If it were just the men I'd say they're compensating because that's an unfortunate thing that tends to happen with all bravos but women too, these big swords! And the giant shields!" Ridiculous, everything is ridiculous and big and oddly heavy, the clanking armour all polished to a sheen so bright she could see herself in it if she cared to. "Burning flesh and hair have a smell you never do get out of your clothes so I'd be glad of someone who'll hopefully understand why I wish to remain intact beyond the usual scrapes you expect."

"Of that you have the right. You and your blades are quite exquisite." The grin he turns on her is just on this side of sly- but with the weather and the weight of knowing the Herald dead? He is not much one for a dalliance this evening.

Well.

Not for seeking out a dalliance. If one so happens to fall in his lap, who is he to deny them?

"Well. We do have dragons and giants and werewolves and sylvans and trolls and demons and massive, massive ogres. When everything that wishes to kill you is bigger than you are? Some choose to have weapons as large to compensate. Me? I'll take a fine shortsword and dagger and speed over size any day." It suits him far better- and makes for clean kills.

“You do my mother great honour.” Her father too but Felix is still a protective dad at times and he’d do be doing plenty of knuckle cracking at this point even if it’s his smile spread across her face. All of this is a wonderful distraction from the things she should care about more as she peers over the edge of the loft to spy Lux, dark pelt sleek as the shadows but he’s just sniffing around, investigating different surroundings and she’s content enough to leave him there.

Zevran’s good company, making her feel less a stranger for all that he’s explaining things to her. Still, there’s something about him that makes her miss Rajani, laughing with her and all the teasing, playing with her gold hair as she slept.

“Korrin told me there were dragons, dragons that have been seen at least.” Dragons are found in the sea but they’re either the tiny little things that look like bits of seaweed or they’re from stories, sights glimpsed only by the sailors venturing deep into uncharted waters. “I prefer our merlings, mermaids, mermen, much more pleasant things, none of them want to crush me or rip my throat out.” She finds herself nodding in agreement with him because a rogue is a rogue no matter where, something about the build that gives it away in an instant. “Big things have big ankles and nothing moves well once you slice along the back.” From a pocket, she slips free a knife, flicks her wrist and the blade slides out. “Perhaps you’d be willing to give a few pointers before I go venturing out, I can make it worth your while and I’ve been told I’m a quick study when it comes to such things.”

"I've no doubt you'd make it well worth my while- but this? Call it a welcome to Thedas present. The world is not your own, the dangers not one you are accustomed to, as an Honorary Antivan it is only right that someone show you the ropes, so to speak." She seems skilled, sharp, certain. As out of place as he or Isabella in the cold mountain hold. That they might be a tiny slice of home for their similarities and a stark reminder of what they are not with their differences may yet be to their benefit, a wise assassin never stops learning. She may have tricks he has not thought of, and she? Certainly no Crow. Passing along what he knows is no danger.

If anything? It is a genuine pleasure.

"Well...I do not have dummies with which to demonstrate in here, but I do have some rough sketches. Come, sit, share my warmth and my wine or Brandy should you so desire- what I would not give for proper coffee, and I will talk you through the finer points of not getting stepped upon in battle. In the morning when the sun is high and the cold not so intolerable? I shall see if I cannot convince one of the Qunari to assist."

“Don’t say that too close to some of the scouts, there’s at least once who swears I’m really Rivaini but whenever he looked at me he saw the hand, got red and changed the subject. Still, I’m glad to be thought of as belonging.” Hopefully he’ll understand that, the need of an anchor in all this when she’s so curiously adrift without wishing to be and it makes her cheeks heat despite the chill and it takes only a moment for her to shift her sword belt round so both sit at the outer hip out of the way of jabbing someone in the side. Pro-tip: don’t ever land on your rapier hilt, you’ll have a pretty bruise but it’ll hurt when it’s right against your hip. At least she’s never been shy but girls who grow up in brothels, ships and taverns have little cause to be as she sweeps her curls over one shoulder.

A shame she has no pistols because she loves to teach people to shoot. Or her wonderful flintlock grappling hook though that at least sits in a cabinet in the palace with the other more ceremonial weapons. She knows a hundred knots though and how to use them in a fight, the right application of leverage not to break a neck or choke but to get someone off the ground and neatly tied up for whatever use you might have of them.

“I think the practice dummies look rather worse for wear already, it’s one way to vent frustrations but not my favourite.” But it was a nice view when she went upstairs to peek out, she won’t deny that. “I’ll stick with brandy though, wine is for dinner after all and it’s rude to get drunk on wine anyway. Or so I’ve been told by someone who owns family vineyards so I must defer to her authority on that matter. I thought we had Vashoth and Tal-Vashoth here, I had the differences explained,” she’s glad she remembered the words but she’s likely putting the stresses on the wrong things so it still sounds wonky. “You realise tomorrow someone will have to physically drag me out of the blankets or convince me that there's a reason to get up because waking up to snow isn’t going to be a happy awakening.”

"Well. They are of the race if not of the religion. It is all very nuanced and tricky- I try to stay out of the way when it comes to that." Too many levels and shades of truths and half truths and absolutes. It's too much like a round of politics for him to truly step into and he has nowhere near enough knowledge to speak on it with any manner of accuracy. "They are large, they are hardy, and they do not mind taking a tumble if given cause."

Mmm. Tumbling Qunari.

"Ah I always loved learning things like that when new ships came in," she explains, how could she not when everyone came to Castileos from every single walk of life? She's enjoyed it even more since she's been in Leandra's service after she learned a few more tricks to get the very most out of all of it. "Besides, I'm trying to make a good impression, the least I could do was find out the correct term for my rescuer and listen to the rest." Like the mages. No she doesn't want to think about that, it makes her imagine what that life of silence and shackles must be like, hwo muffled the world must be as if being behind thick glass, pounding with no one to hear or understand a single thing. "I suspect some of us must be careful with the tumbling, there's rough and there's bursting your spleen."

She might have met Gorse. He might be the absolute biggest person she has ever seen in her life though there is Korrin and she has incredible legs. What else was she to look at when she followed her up the mountain?

"That is what watch words are for. Or in our instance a watch signal- he was somewhat hard of hearing but highly appreciative all the same." Mmm. Taas. He is well enough for another tumble, perhaps, but later. For now he has the company of a lovely woman, brandy enough, and stories to hear. Or tell. It could be one of the best evenings he's had since he's arrived if only for the familiarity she offers- and the mystery in every word.

"The best option would be to make certain you land on top when you take that tumble. Or at the very least have a comfortable mattress or hay bale at the ready, as mattresses are few and far between in the hold."

"And I'm very glad the same concept exists here too." Somehow it's still a little bit of a toe-curling memory because no matter how close a mother and daughter are, there's an age where the thought of your mother doing anything more than mothering is embarrassing because you know enough to have mental imagines. Then she grew up more and realised that very few others were ever likely to know half as many tricks for free.

"If mattresses are few and far between then good sturdy beds with proper frames and posts must be worth their weight in gold." Oh how mournful she sounds, even managing to pout because fine, so long as it's clean and unlikely to collapse and hurt someone, pretty much any surface will do unless it's sand because you only make that mistake once. She's even mastered hammocks without flipping out of one but the thought of going without a good bed is honestly quite the crushing blow.

"Give it time. Mattresses and rooms for them will arrive as we gain more coin and influence." Sooner if he leans on a few associates but that remained to be seen. once he had word from Varric? He'd ride out and see it done. Until they they had to make do.

"Until that changes we've bedrolls and hay-bales. Hurrah."

“I can make do with those, so long as nothing gets somewhere it shouldn’t. Sand is bad enough.”

And yet everyone still feels the need to find out for certain so some parties have to deal with it more than once, the price you pay when you have friends who don’t come from countries with miles of white and gold sands and water so blue you can’t believe it’s real. It’s a hard life, truly. So she rests her head a little more on his shoulder because when did she last sleep alone? When has she ever, really, since she grew up and made her own life for herself where she did as she pleased so she’d be happy, always laughing and content.

“I suppose it can’t be any worse than the logistics in hammocks, there’s usually only one bed on a ship and it belongs to the captain. And blankets tend to be a hazard in those too.”

It’s not a good look to get caught in the blanket and cut off the circulation to your hands because neither of you can figure out where it’s managed to snag and tangle.

"Do not remind me. 'Let us make love on the beach' they say, 'It will be terribly romantic' they say. Well they were right about one thing: it is terrible. Sand everywhere, salt water in your eyes, and then? A wave crests over you both and you're covered in seaweed with a crab tangled in your hair. Never again." On a ship, in a hammock, against the wall, in the mud? Certainly. But the sand, the waves? Maker, no. He is content to not. Once had been enough.

He wraps his arm about her waist companionably, sharing the closeness and warmth he would often find in Isabella or- well- any other willing and cozy lady of the Hold, but this is more familiar for the sun baked into the both of them. The ache for something neither of them has in this place. "The fabric hammocks are not so terrible, it is the netted ones that entangle your ankles and trip you up as you attempt to flee."

"It loses the charm when a jellyfish is washed in. Some things aren't meant to swell in quite that manner." And she'd laughed. She'd laughed so hard she'd almost been sick even as she called for help and the poor boy still can't look at her all these years later without turning as purple as his poor stung claspers.

He has hair like gold this close, blessed with luck and fortune according to anyone from Zimevur and she almost tells him that but it feels like a thing that needs to wait until it's needed. "See, that's where I was lucky. I was never the one escaping the hammock, I got to enjoy the show, but perhaps you speak from experience?"

"From both sides of the equation, in fact! I have been the one watching the runner and the one running. One was terribly amusing and one I'd rather not go through again. Nearly broke my ankle trying to get out." An awkward landing can make all the difference. At least he landed easily and ran as fast as his legs could carry him to the nearest dock.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

We come from the land of the ice and snow

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i just really wanted to use this icon tbh

s'awright

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