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!

Threaded | Flat

{ at the medical tents }

Christine stands when the rifters arrive, because the guards are quickly spreading the word and hearing that this group of people fell out of a rift has definitely caught her attention. Of course she's heard of the same happening to the Herald, and this means something big. For the moment, however, she waits patiently, hands clasped, to see if any will be directed over to her for healing after their battle with demons.

{ examining the mark }

She's one of the mages tasked with examining the marks on the rifters' hands and she holds out both her hands, asking for permission to see.

"I won't hurt you," she says soothingly in a soft Orlesian accent. "I only wish to see if this mark can tell me anything." She'll then proceed to question the person much like the others at Haven did: What were you doing when you fell through the rift? Do you have magic? Are you feeling ill? and other such queries in the hopes of making sense of all this.

{ examining the mark }

Ellana is happy to come help the newcomers, especially when she hears rumors that they aren't from Thedas. She doesn't know how that could be, but it's exciting, because think of the places they've seen! However, she's self-aware enough to not start overwhelming the rifters with a million questions about their lives back home. Not yet, at least. She can't make heads or tails of the mark, and she'd never seen the Herald in person to even know what hers looked like, so she helps the quartermaster's assistant distribute food and clothes, a friendly smile on her face.

"Would you like some bread?" she asks, wondering if there even is bread in their lands.

{ later that evening }

Once the rifters are more settled, she makes the rounds again, asking if she can get them anything. She isn't sure what to make of them, but they're scared and confused, surely. She doesn't want them to feel like prisoners, so she tries to get them what they request or just sits to talk with them awhile, happy to fill them in on what she knows of Thedas. Admittedly, she doesn't know a lot. A Dalish elf grows up isolated in a clan, and it's only been recently that she's seen more of the world. Ellana is still learning herself. Maybe she and the rifters can learn together.

As one of those agents freshly returned from Haven, Korrin remains near the rift-folk initially in hopes of preventing any incidents...from them or others. She keeps glancing at the marks on their hands, unsettled by the echo of the Herald's power and the reminder of its cost still fresh in her mind. At least they seem to be stable, as far as she can tell, but that's not enough to reassure her completely.

The Vashoth mage will linger to answer questions -to point them to someone with the relevant information- and ensure that everyone receives aid, whether medical or otherwise. Whatever she thinks of their arrival, the fact is that they haven't proven hostile, and until ordered otherwise (with a very good reason), she'll treat them as extra refugees. Granted, these refugees will be watched, but she told them to expect as much.

Afterward, she'll make a beeline for the tavern. Bone-tired but needing to relax, Korrin will linger there as long as possible before leaving to crash. If she can vent to someone while paying for their drink, even better.

Examining the rifters

[ Mage she is not, but Maria is too interested in the results to simply sit and wait to hear them later on. She strolls through the courtyard, catching a piece of information here and there from the various conversations. Every once in a while she stops to speak to one of the waiting 'new arrivals' or one of the mages that had examined them, looking for anything that may be of use. ]

A moment?

Training grounds

[ There are no answers. No explaining the new arrivals and the only thing from the powers that be was to save keep a close eye on them. A task she can only hope everyone had planned on doing anyway, and one she will be fully participating in. Once she's had a chance to clear her mind. For now, keeping an eye on the rifters is done along side hitting a wooden dummy with a dulled blade, shoving the annoyance of not knowing yet another mystery into her blows.

Of course, living opponents are always preferable to false ones. If anyone new or old passes by the training arena (but particularly new, knowing what combative abilities these new arrivals have would be useful), Maria will call out.]

Looking to practice?

Edited 2015-10-26 00:18 (UTC)

{Mages needed}

The sudden uproar in the courtyard is a bit unsettling, watching as guards try to clear paths for new arrivals as current residents flock to see. He's thankful that they're trying to keep the peace the best they can with all the different news going around. The word about the Herald's body is most upsetting.

Regardless, Sam offers his assistance where ever it is needed. He's not certain how helpful he will be with getting answers about the mysterious marks, but it's worth a shot. There's a decent amount of mages stepping up to help besides him, but there are still only so many of them willing to face unknown people who seem... not of this world was it? His curiosity has him eager, but cautious.

There is blankets and food available.

{Looking for familiar faces}

After tending to marks and injuries, Sam makes a point in looking for the party responsible. He hasn't seen a few of them since they left and he's rather curious and worried.

{Wildcard}

It's been a long day. So many questions. Maybe a visit to the tavern? Any gossip? Have at it.

Edited 2015-10-26 01:24 (UTC)

He'd been half expecting to be put under arrest the moment they'd walked through the gates, and the fact that they hadn't been was actually a bit of a surprise. Still, he wasn't going to assume he was out of the woods there - not just yet. If whoever was in charge here decided they were going to be a problem, there was likely somewhere around here that had a cell or two or ten that could hold them. Best not to make waves, especially when he still wasn't sure what was going on.

So while he'd retrieved his own dagger after the fight, he made no moves to do anything that made it look like he was going to use it, leaving it sheathed at his side and doing his best to put up with the poking and prodding and the inevitable questions that came along with that. It'd been a long couple of days, though, and it wasn't long before he longed to do something - anything - other than just stand around, something that showed in his face when he caught sight of someone approaching the wall in the courtyard that he'd wound up leaning against.

"Look, I don't know how much good anything I can tell you will be, but if you've questions or want to look at this mark-thingy, then go ahead. But if you don't mind, do you suppose we could do it sitting down? Or over a drink? Ah, if there's any place to do that around here, that is."

[OOC: prose or action spam is fine! Will match format.]

medical tents;
After the cold hike to Skyhold when she's used to much warmer climes, she makes a beeline for the fire by the tents, stealing glances at the folk about her as she attempts to remember what being warm feels like. It shows off the mark on her hand but she's honestly more concerned about keeping all of her fingers in working order at this point than drawing attention.

Still, she makes herself smile to hide the nerves, willing to provide answers to any questions about her arrival even if she doubts she's offering anything particularly useful.

tavern;
No one can actually prove she stole the brandy. Well, maybe one or two people might be able to but brandy seems to be at the bottom of the list of things to worry about, until it runs out at least.

Not that anyone could blame her, given that she's one of the group that caused such an uproar here. Anyone who promises not to touch her hand or call attention to the fact that she's trying to hide it to see if out of sight and out of mind applies to body parts will be allowed the great honour of a share of the absolutely not at all stolen brandy.

{ 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! )

Like many others, Maxwell headed outside to take a look, peering over the wall in the upper-courtyard and down into the circle of medical tents. He wasn't sure what to make of the new arrivals. If even half of the whispers going around the castle were true, the darkspawn magister might not be their only concern anymore. Perhaps not even their biggest.

As difficult, and troubling, as that was to imagine.

Still, as curious as he was about these strange people, his eyes did begin to drift after a few moments, looking for more familiar faces. Hoping they had managed to return safely.

1 - In the courtyard

Skyhold

The fortress, for that was certainly what it was, was very old and impressively built. While it lacked elegance, its walls had been built for strength and endurance, but without a care for artistry, it was no small thing to place a stronghold in so precarious a location. It stood, firm and strong, in the cradle of towering mountains, surrounded by a basin of staggering depth. The distance yawned beneath them as they crossed the causeway toward the open gates.

This fortress could be taken, but only at great cost. Its walls were far too tall and strong to strike from afar, and no ladder would reach the battlements from such a dizzying drop. There were two paths to conquer this place, either by this narrow bridge or by air, and nothing else. It could not be stormed with anything less than a convocation of Great Eagles or a winged dragon. As a foothold it was, truly, very impressive.

There was danger in Skyhold's security, however, for there could be no retreat from this place. Should the causeway collapse, it would be nearly impossible to repair from the fortress's side. To scale the cliffs it stood upon was madness. It could be held, but it could easily become a tomb as well.

As wary as she should have been, Galadriel was at ease as they entered the fortress.

Walking beneath the archway and into the stone walls of Skyhold was familiar to her. The sun was high and, surrounded by the peaks of unfamiliar mountains and the chill bite of high winter cold, Galadriel felt as if time had turned back. Their group was given a wide, suspicious berth and Galadriel exploited it. She moved to the center of the lower courtyard as their company trickled through the gates. The guards moved to surround them and, as she heard their armor resound off the stone, she knew there were many.

A cold breeze whistled through the fortress. It stirred the tents in the courtyard and heavy cloak she'd been gifted. It was impossible, but she imagined it carried the scent of cold stone and new dawn, that it was chased by the lingering vestiges of starlight and untainted night. Galadriel pulled back her hood and looked to the sky as she drew a deep breath. She smiled at the feel of sunlight on her face and imagined the fondest moments of distant, darker days.

She was not alone for long, little more than a few a few moments, before need and urgency cluttered the courtyard. The others gathered there as well and, at once, the group became a spectacle. The people of Skyhold were many and varied, as were their reactions to the company that had arrived. The ones who sought to study their marks were polite, if insistent. They left Galadriel to herself as she savored the sun. It was not until the announcement that she stirred; the Herald's body had been found?

She knew not who the Herald had been, but she had no doubt that their passing was at the heart of the grief in Haven. She felt for these people, truly, but this fortress provided the barest reminders of home; this place was familiar, in a distant way, and she was deeply reluctant to relinquish the comfort it provided. She would not grieve with them, but she would not hinder them either.

For now, she drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and simply basked in memory and mountain air.

2 - The Library

The courtyard could not remain peaceful forever, there was far too much work being done within the walls of Skyhold to allow for so central a location to remain undisturbed. They were not to be jailed, they had committed no crimes, but still the people of Skyhold remained wary. Galadriel had, long ago, ceased to suffer under the weight of mortal eyes, but she was not entirely without purpose. As long as she was, if only by implication, a captive guest, she saw no need to assist in either their works or progress. She would not strengthen the walls that, ostensibly, held her, but she would not be a hindrance either.

If she could not enjoy the peace of old memory, there was much she needed to learn, and there were few fortresses that lacked a storehouse of knowledge.

She found the library with little assistance and, to her mixed amusement, found it full of carefully bound tomes. The artistry that went into binding them was fine, particularly for human hands, but a problem arose as she opened the first book that caught her eye. Beneath its neat stitching and delicate artistry were hundreds of pages, each of which was scribed in letters she did not know. She flipped through the book, replaced it, and searched for another. The second was much the same and, as she examined the script, resignation settled in her chest.

It was not the first language she had ever been obliged to learn, but it was a difficulty she had not foreseen. The spoken tongue was so similar to Westron, she had not imagined that the written word would be so different.

True, it was conceivable that an elven work lived within the shelves, but she did not harbor much hope. She had yet to meet an elf who spoke even the barest Sindarin; the likelihood that the elves of Ferelden used the tengwar was beyond remote.

3 - Other

(Galadriel will be moving through Skyhold, going anywhere that is not immediately restricted. If you want your character to watch her swan through somewhere, or literally walk into her in a corridor, or what have you, go for it.)

The Tavern

And here is the strange twist he's expected. Nothing like holes in the sky spilling demons isn't strange but the fates, he's noticed, tend to leave a bit of flair for those supposedly hopeless moments. Rescue by a witch of the wilds, mercy at the hand of a mark, armies ready despite their troubles. With the tensions high and the Herald gone, Zevran has been waiting for some new knot in the thread of this particular tale. People that fell through the rifts, or so the rumor went? Fits that neatly.

Zevran keeps to the tavern initially, the commotion surrounding the newcomers would pass and they would likely wander to somewhere they might find a meal, a pint, or information. In most any country he knows of that would be the Tavern. Most equally savvy individuals should likely thing the same. In the corner he picks at his lute, spinning light, pleasant stories or singing songs, trading out with whomever else might wish to have the spotlight. Should someone look particularly bedraggled he sidles up with a pint and a smile, promising nothing more than curious company. "You look as though you could use this, yes?"

The Stables

Later after the crowds have dispersed and he has grown tired of quite so much performing and questioning about his travels he slips away to the stable, seeking somewhere quiet where he might work on winding springs for traps or grinding poisons for his weapons. It is a delicate task best done somewhere he won't be disturbed- at this time of night? He cannot think of a better place than the hayloft. Until the hour is late the likelihood of being interrupted seems slim.

Wildcard

[ Hit me up with whatever you like! ]

Near the medical tent

He wasn't really that interested in seeking medical attention or supplies, only accepting a skin of water, he made sure it was boiled first, and a bit of bread to munch on. No, what he was more interested in was what people were saying and those wandering around. He had spotted others with a mark similar to him, though they were few and treated much like him, an oddity being coddled. He saw through the attempts at trying to sway how they viewed this "Inquisition.". The word held stigma in his mind, memories of his history classes teaching students about the infamous Spanish Inquisition rang through his mind.

For now he was going to keep an open mind and try not to do anything to gain the ire of these people. But anyone who looked closely may notice that he was on edge.

Training ground

This is a military force. That was most obvious as he watched groups of people training. His eyes calculating any corrections that may need to be made silently. Memories of missions and duties to train local forces were fresh in his mind, as if he were there yesterday. Training local militants to fight other militants, what an idea. Perhaps he could interject, giving tips here and there, but for now he would leave them to it, content with just watching for now.

Nighttime on the battlement

The night was just as unrestful as the day had been. People were still wide awake and just as active in the tavern below as they had been when he first arrived. For the moment he needed quiet though, a place to think and gather together what he had learned from the past few days. Magic is a real force here, this isn't a dream as near as he can tell, and the land is being torn apart by war, demons and some unknown force that he has yet to determine. But from what he could tell it was the same force that was responsible for the destruction of the small town he had original found himself in.

Sighing he glanced towards his glowing hand. It still hurt, but it was more of a dull ache by now. This is going to be troublesome, Walker could tell. Out from one fire and I to another. At least there's no fucking sand here. Then his ears perked up, and head turned to the sound of someone nearby. "Sneaking around?"

Martel has no real desire to linger in the courtyard.

He submits as briefly as possible to having his hand examined by a mage - politely declines any further treatment by the healers with a thin, wintry smile, moving his bloodied shirt to show the cleanly healed scar that Adelaide left him - accepts a blanket when it's given to him and finds a clean shirt that looks as if it won't split across his shoulders. He speaks quietly with one of those assisting and locates a barrel of water and a clean cloth - discards his ruined shirt and sets businesslike about sloughing off the dried blood, the sweat, the dust of the road and the lingering smell of his own bile. The scar on his chest, beneath the large silver amulet with a symbol no one here is like to recognize, approximates the rough size and shape of a broadsword, and is nothing that any man ought to have survived.

He should know; he didn't.

There are other scars, naturally, older and well-healed as well as the lingering bruises and scrapes that are nothing unusual to a man who's fought in plate armor. Scar tissue pulls taut over muscular back when he dunks his head to rinse blood from his white hair, shaking it out like a dog and rubbing his hands and the cloth over his face. It clears his head some, if not anything that feels like enough.

Damp and dissatisfied, he replaces the ruined shirt with the new one, a bit tight but a good enough fit for now, and leaves the courtyard to find the library he's overheard mention of.

Edited 2015-10-26 02:40 (UTC)

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! ]

Medical Tents

It's one of the few moments that Simon bothers to look like what he is, wearing the robes he carried with him all the way from Cumberland and the strapping the staff on his back. They're surprisingly well cared for in spite of how long it's been since he actually set foot in the circle, as if they haven't seen much use until very recently. Though most of the strange new arrivals probably won't think much of it if they notice at all.

Simon has stationed himself at the tents, doing his part to see to the 'rifters' in question. Whether it's mending injuries or just offering a blanket after the cold march up to Skyhold, it's something Simon is glad to do that isn't tailing his sister.

...he just hopes she can stay safe for at least a little while. Being away for even a moment puts his stomach into knots.

Wildcard

(OOC: Or give me a starter of your own!)

[Courtyard]

Even after a lengthy discussion with Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra, Cullen is still suspicious of the newcomers. Why now, why of all things, would a rift send them people not even from Thedas? Was this the Maker's doing, or was this some sick plot of Corypheus'? Cullen wasn't so sure what to believe at this point, but he did know that the other advisers were right; these newcomers needed to be given a chance.

He's off to the side, observing the organized chaos in the courtyard. The guards stationed around the courtyard are obviously on edge, but rightfully so. It's to keep everyone safe, and not just from the newcomers.

[Wildcard]

[Come at me, bro.]

The medical tents
While there were mages, healers, assorted herbalists all bustling about trying to see to both the old patients and the new, Krem was one of the number helping to shuffle things around to make room for them all, dressed down about as casually as he ever was, leathers and mail on but armor left off for the time being. He was trying to be careful not to step on toes here and there, but it was inevitable that he should bump into someone sooner or later.

"Apologies," he said quickly without looking around, his armload of thin blankets in need of repair nearly toppling.

The Herald's Rest
When all was said and done, it was nice to be able to retire back to his uncomfortable chair in his quiet corner of the tavern. He was watching people come and go, nearly poking himself in the eye with a bottle as his head turned to follow one or two of them. None of them were paying attention to him that he could tell, for which he was grateful; making a fool of himself was most certainly not a spectator sport.

But here he was, rubbernecking. These people weren't from Thedas, not even from the world they new, and so many of them looked dazed and just as confused about everything and everyone else as the natives were about them. Maybe he should offer a hand to one or two of them? Just to show that not everyone in a suit of armor was going to squint at them.

Courtyard, a short while after the announcement about the Herald.

"Andraste's Ass," Varric all but shouted as he swanned down the steps from the Great Hall. The casual blasphemy was enough to startle the guards and a good handful of the templars. Everyone else just jumped because he was shouting, which was just as good, really. "I haven't seen a party this strained since the year Hawke booked a magician for Meredith's birthday!"

There was scattered, startled, choked laughter at that, but mostly just silence. Several of the templars were more than slightly horrified that he'd made a joke that tasteless involving--not one, but two--dead, (in)famous people, and there were a good number of bystanders who weren't sure if it was offensive or if Varric, by virtue of being Varric Tethras, was allowed to make jokes about the late Champion. The mages didn't even flinch, of course, because mages never do, but he had everyone else's attention for the moment and waved his hands as he stopped at the first landing.

"If we're all going to get friendly in the courtyard, there really should be more alcohol," he chided loudly. "Maker knows, if anyone was staring at me as hard as you're eyeing the new people, I'd demand they buy me a pint."

As good-natured as his (loud) ribbing was, it seemed to get the point across. The tight crowd that had formed started to disburse (somewhat awkwardly, but with appreciable speed) and the more respectable people got back to being respectable. Sure, they may have slowed down as they went about their work, and they were all terrible at staring covertly, but at least they weren't a loud noise and a scream away from trampling everyone to death.

Of course, there were always people who couldn't be cajoled (shamed) into doing the right thing (not being nosy assholes), so a crowd remained, but they were much less impenetrable than they had been a few minutes ago. Varric ignored the remaining gawkers and regarded the gaggle of bizarre folks they'd dragged in from Haven. He sighed heavily as he walked the rest of the way down to the courtyard.

When he finally got down to their level, he addressed them all, as a group: "Alright, since you're not from around here and I have a soft spot for hard-luck cases, anyone who wants a drink at the tavern up those stairs? It's on me."

The way he motioned to himself was a touch overblown but, then again, so was everything he'd done in the last few minutes.

"Seeing as I'm basically shouting this, you probably won't need my name so much as a general description, but I'm Varric Tethras." It wasn't his most eloquent introduction, but it would do. He paused and shot the lot of them a glare. "Now, if any of you actually are demons waiting to murder us all in our sleep, try to wait at least until I've got the betting pool set up.

"There's enough things that want to murder us in our sleep, we might as well make a game of it, and ruining that after I went and bought you a round? That's just rude."

He leveled a look at the lot of them, the way he feigned seriousness was only mostly transparent.

"Alright, who has questions and would prefer not to ask the glowering people in full plate armor?"

Varric was a big personality, he liked dramatics and was often far kinder to people than he played at, but this was a bit much, even for him. The jokes were too loud, too crass, and this whole show had been more confrontational than Varric generally preferred. If asked, he wouldn't have an answer as to why he had abruptly decided to do something this idiotic, but the reality was actually very simple.

The Herald's corpse had been found.

They'd just found the body of the last person who had that sort of mark; she had been a good person, an honest to the Maker good person and, briefly, Varric's friend. Then, because the world hated heroes and good people, she died a heroic death and he could either sit around and think about that or he could get drunk and stand up for these people. The Herald hadn't asked to be marked like that and neither had any of them, there was no sense in giving them shit, not that Varric could see. Demons or no, it was obvious that mark was a death sentence; one way or another these people were screwed and Varric wasn't going to let them get kicked around in the meanwhile, not if he could help them.

Tavern - Later in the evening.
(Varric will be drinking and telling loud and increasingly outrageous stories that are, by literally everyone's reckoning, entirely comprised of lies. Feel free to run into him here as well.)

Edited (Silly me, word order error.) 2015-10-26 08:11 (UTC)

a) Medical tents
Eirlys hovers around the wounded with her arms bundled full of glass bottles and vials of potions and herbs, seeming most comfortable when there's something for her to do, whether it's administering potions, changing poultices or bandages, or helping to share out food and blankets. She shrinks away a little when she sees the mark on the rifters' hands, more out of her own nervousness of anything to do with the rifts or demons, but she'll tentatively examine them to see if the sliver has caused any infection that needs treating.

b) Kitchen
Places to sleep were getting harder to find, both with the influx of rifters and more joining the Inquisition from around Thedas every day. So far Eirlys has claimed a spot on the flagstone floor in front of the kitchen fire, making sure to keep out of the way of the cooks and not to inconvenience anyone too much. When she finally heads to sleep tonight however, she finds the floor packed, and someone has taken the moth eaten blanket she'd set aside for herself. Her face drops in disappointment but she doesn't complain, simply trying to squeeze herself in, shifting uncomfortably and trying not to roll into anyone else's space.

Tavern

The pirate queen can be found in her usual place in the tavern. Yes, it's only been a few days and she already has a "usual place." Cards are readily available, as are drinks. She laughs and jokes and has plenty of stories to tell, usually resulting in the loss of someone's dignity.

She smiles at whoever comes close.
"You look like you could use a distraction, Kitten."

Walls, overlooking the waterfall

Up high was where the place felt most free. It was bloody cold, though, admittedly. She gazes almost longingly at the waterfall and the river below, as if imagining it flowing out to the sea.

"Pity that's the only water to be found around here..."

Wildcard

[Hit me with your best shot.]

Threaded | Flat

Christine | OTA

Ellana | OTA

Korrin | OTA

Maria Hill (AU) | OTA

Samouel | OTA