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RikuXIII

Normally, burying himself in his work meant his mind was too busy to acknowledge the darkness that loomed over him. But here in this place that'd seen so much upheaval, his job was to wait. Idling on the sidelines while his past hung over him like a thousand blades, ready to fall and impale him for each of his sins.

Standing on the edge of the river with his hood raised to shield him from the weather, Manis' mind played back memories of Haven's history. Some his own and some he gleamed from the fade and the spirits there. His eyes fell upon the icy lake and he peered through at the corrupted templars whose tomb this place had become. They always preached of the dangerous of a mage, the risks of ambition and yet...here lay the scores of the chantry's forces, done in by their shortsightedness and arrogance.

But that was enough focusing on the past, he needed to busy himself and stay distracted, even if he had to wait for orders.

Manis turned away from the lake and started the march back to the campsite. He'd been stationed at the lake camp but had yet to meet any of the others stationed there with him. Typically he'd avoid new people, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He'd heard that the Mortalitasi had sent an agent and that he was not the only mage of the rebellion to be assigned to this task force. Some semi-familiar faces would be a boon.

The camp really brought back memories. Flashes of the attack on the newly formed inquisition layered over reality as the tents came into view. Templar abominations rushing forward, a desperate stand made by the commander and his men. The elf shook his head, waking from the daydream and subduing the nightmares as his hood feel. The cold wind kissed his cheek, blowing into their camp and taking him with it. He glanced around, seeing his tent with his staff leaning against it and then the tents of his allies.

"Hello?" Manis called out. "Anyone home?" Moments like this he wished Keenan were still alive so that he would not face such awkwardness alone.

CozyRanger · Dec 7, 2024

Bryliax Ralaferin
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RikuXIII

She had never seen Haven. Even when she had been a nomad her clan had stuck to the forests and greenery of eastern Fereldan, and when she had joined the Grey Wardens, she was at Vigil Keep. This journey was unfamiliar, though the prospect of seeing new sights had the human feeling excitement.

At least, she was excited until the bitter cold wind and snow sliced her exposed face and the tops of her rounded ears. Ears, among other things, that had always made her so obviously different from the elven clan she'd grown up in. Finally having found a place in the Grey Wardens, she was now thrown back out to meet a new group of people. The idea of it made her nervous. She had never been good with people, never known what to say or how to say it. The blight waited for no one though, so Bryliax made her journey through the snowy mountain peaks to Haven.

She sought out the lake when she realised no one 'official' was ready to make introductions yet. She didn't mind, knowing the calming water would do well as a location for her to relax her mind. She was given very little details about this new 'threat' that was potentially going to knock at their doors, only that there had been need of an expert on the blight. Who better than a Grey Warden to advise on such issues?

Lugging her pack up to the lake, she decided to drop off the extra weight in her tent before exploring nearby. She was a strong woman, broad shoulders and a muscular physique only lending to her tall height. Hair was shaved around the sides, but braided at the top and down the apex of her neck. Long strands slipped under her coat that protected her from most of the chill. She much preferred warmer climates, but by now she was used to the discomfort of the wilds as much as she was the brutality of a battlefield. Not one to complain, her expression was relatively neutral until she heard someone calling out.

"Almost." She called back in response to the question as she approached from behind the mage. Her voice was deep and shadowed green eyes revealed her fatigue. Still, she offered a smile, the elven tattoos around her face wrinkling a bit from the expression.

"You must be here for.." She paused, realising her lack of knowledge meant she wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. "..Whatever trouble they've summoned us to fix." She decided on finally, thrusting a hand out in offer of a shake. "I'm Bryliax. Grey Warden."

ThatGuyWithSouvlaki · Dec 7, 2024

Name:
Johana Marie de Penthièvre
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N/A
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N/A

Johana stood in front of the monument, staring up to it and the stone slap which all the names of the victim of Haven carved into it. She was not sure why she was here, starting up at it, what she expected herself to feel seeing all those names. She felt nothing, just a numbness which she was not sure whether it was her lack of feeling on the frigid cold of the mountain side. Even finding a name that should at least bring some sort of emotion from her. Tessa, one of the apprentice apothecaries that helped with her injuries after being rescued from Radcliff castle. She was sweet and attentive, as well as pretty. Tessa even brought out a smile from someone as deep in a dark hole as Johana was at the time. Johana did not know it then, but she was sweet on her. Not that it mattered, as Tessa was of course one of the victims of on the red Templar attack on Haven. And yet Johana found the name, read it and felt nothing.

Since what happened at Redcliffe Castle, she was singular in her purpose to get her revenge on those harmed her and hers. Yet with the death of the Elder One and the break-up of the Venatori and Red Templars, in Southern Thetas at least. She had lost her objective and drive, going through the motions within the Inquisition day by day, year after year. Just doing her job and nothing more. She tried to find a way to help the new College of Enchanters, but they had no interest in someone like her, and she had no patience dealing with this sort of politics. This new threat of the blight, should have given her some form of purpose, to help save the world again. Who does want to have the blight take over the place? And yet once more she felt nothing, no drive just plotting along. She did not know what was wrong with her head. What was she waiting for?

She tried to think of the time before Redcliffe castle, what drove her before she was set to her last objective. However, the attempt brought no memories, just a piercing headache. She groaned as she attempted this in front of the monument, pain mixed with the ground around her spinning enough to make her close her eyes and stumbled back only her staff supporting. It took a few moments for the spinning to pass and the pain reduce enough for her to gather herself. It happened each time. What was it? A parting gift of the Venatori? What else could it be? They have taken so much already what was memories? Anger filled her, she gripped her staff tightly as she was tempted to use to lash out and break something, and she did not care that it was the monument.

KingofAesir · Dec 7, 2024

coded by xayah.ღ

Octavia Reinhardt

Haven Memorial

Objectively, she was having a terrible time. Awful. It had all started the second she stepped foot on Fereldan soil from the ship that had taken her across the Waking Sea from Cumberland. There was so much mud. The boots she had been wearing, which had been such a nice pair of Tevinter leather, were broken magnificently and were immediately soaked through and ruined. Octavia had a feeling she would be mourning those boots for a good long while to come. But, she was not one to have her mood soured completely by the little things, and she was determined to keep a positive outlook. Fereldan was just so terribly dull. The trip took those few of her compatriots and herself close to Lake Calenhad for almost the entirety of the journey and as much as she did enjoy the quiet, looking out over the lake stretching far past where her eyes could see made her uneasy. She'd briefly spotted the Calenhad Circle tower, Kinloch Hold she was informed by a local, and found herself even more uneasy at even the thought of being constantly surrounded by nothing but lake and mud. The arrival in Haven did not help matters much. It was so dreadfully cold that she thought she might die of hypothermia before she'd even had a chance to do any history-making at all. Thankfully, her penchant for dramatics was all that threatened her, and she'd gotten a new pair of boots that she thought were even sturdier than her last. The bright side she supposed, was that people who live in cold places make warm boots.

Now, the only problems she had to deal with were the fate of Southern Thedas, eventually, and her bone-aching boredom. Haven wasn't large by any means which was quite alright with Octavia as that would have made it a pain to get around in, navigation of the Necropolis and its ever-changing nature was a skill that did not often translate well into a stable and non-shifting city. So it had not been incredibly difficult at all to find herself coming upon a memorial. Octavia found such a place a small comfort in a land entirely unfamiliar to her. As she walked, examining the shoots of wildflowers sprouting up from the dark soil, she wondered about the possibility of cultivating some of the Necropolis' flowers here. A proper, intentional, garden would serve it beautifully. Octavia had half a mind to fetch someone who looked after its upkeep and ask, but realized quickly when she found herself looking for a wisp to send to gather just such a person that Necropolis flowers likely would not even grow here. Wildflowers would have to do.

Speaking of wildflowers, as she came closer to the crux of the monument, Octavia was greeted by the sight of a rather incensed-looking woman swinging her staff around like a maul. Curious as she was, the Watcher approached with only the appropriate amount of hesitation required around a staff-swinging maniac and was still nearly toppled at the knees. Fereldan. What a lovely place.

"Are you quite alright?" Octavia cocked her head, a sly little grin gracing her features, "or is swinging weapons a normal occurrence in Fereldan memorial gardens? I have to admit, this is far from the burning pyres I was expecting." She breathed in a lungful of cold air and glanced around as if demonstrating her curiosity.

"I was under the impression Fereldan's burned their dead. Was this incorrect?" She'd all but forgotten the staff swinging from before, far too interested in answers to her questions to be at all concerned about being hit over the head. Octavia crossed her hands in from of her, the grin from before now a polite sort of quirk.

"I do hate to be wrong."

Fereldan. What a lovely place.

ThatGuyWithSouvlaki

cwosont · Dec 7, 2024

seeker gael parth.

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mood

regretful, surprised
outfit

seeker armor w/o the plating
location

haven chantry
interactions

blue UP

In a cruel twist of fate, Gael was sent to the very place that haunted his dreams: the village of Haven. It had been ten years since Gael witnessed the horrors of red lyrium Templars and Inquisition soldiers clashing on the Frostback Mountains. Blood, sweat, and tears stained once pearly white tufts of snow. Gael can still hear the screams of men and women echo in the back of his mind. If the sound of war was not enough, the chilling screech of a high dragon infected with red lyrium... it was enough to terrify anyone who was not drugged out of their minds. Gael did not blame the Inquisition for their decision destroy Haven. In fact, he was grateful for their desperation as it had saved his life.

When Gael had departed from Haven, the village was nothing more than a graveyard of rock and snow. Seeing the village rebuilt came as a small relief to him. The guilt of his part in its destruction still ailed him, but now Gael had the peace of knowing that those better than him were able to overcome his mistakes.

Forcing himself out of his own misery, a heavy sigh escaped Gael. He was in need of Andraste's guidance and there was one place which would amplify his call. Gael approached the wooden doors of the Haven Chantry with some relutance. His stomach churned uncomfortably at the small bows of respect clergy men and women offered him as he entered. The sigil of the Seekers of Truth earned their respect, but Gael himself was undeserving of it.

Venturing further into the Chantry, the altar and pews were not hard to find. Yet Gael hesitated as he stood in the doorway and watched a handful of others bow their heads in prayer. He did not normally mind the company of others, but given the circumstances, Gael felt it best that he pray in private. The Seeker turned away from the altar and wondered if the Chantry's basement had been rebuilt as well. He found its entrance and carefully made his way down the winding stone staircase.

As he reached the base, the light and warmth of the first floor disappeared. The basement was dimly lit and much colder due to some sort of draft. Gael frowned and squinted at the looming shadows. He made way to a nearby candle, one of the few lit, and worked to bring more light into the dreary place. Focused on his work, the Seeker did not notice a shorter figure exploring further into the basement until he had lit the last candle. Gael turned, wiped the lingering wax from his pale hands, and finally laid his eyes on the man.

"Maker's breath,"

he hissed, clearly startled by the dwarf. Gael quickly recovered from the small fright and cleared his throat.

"My apologies, I did not... notice you there."

He intended to excuse himself and leave the man be until he recognized the markings of a Carta dwarf. Another unexpected surpise.

"Are you here at the request of the Chantry? Or are you here to smuggle something through their basement?"

son of nyx

hozier

♡coded by uxie♡

RikuXIII · Dec 7, 2024

Aasha
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"Can you taste them, poppet? The echoes of pride and desire of the fallen? Frustration turned to hunger. A need for recognition turn to a want for power. Such can be the fate of the foolish. But that need not be yours. With me, you can know the rapture of your desires made real with no fear of failure. You just have to trust me..."
Aasha shuddered as the voice in her mind reveled in the aura of Lake Haven. It had been quite for most of the journey here, but now it chattered with glee. Coming here seemed part of it's plan, whatever it was. But if it kept it away from home and the little one, it was worth a risk. And if the forces of this Blight proved too strong and ended her life before the demon could complete its work, all the better.
Adjusting her fine leather coat around her, Aasha pushed on. Had she been in a better frame of mind, she might of admired a form of desolate beauty about this place. The cool, brisk air was actually refreshing. After years on the seaside, she had nearly forgotten what it was like in the mountains. Not someplace she'd like to live for long, but a refreshing change of pace from time to time. The history of the place intrigued as well. It seemed to attract Bas like a whirlpool, to either fight their way out or be drowned by the inevitable. And here it was again, enacting the same siren's call in a moment of desperation.
"Wonderful, isn't it?"
Ignoring the demon, the Qunari forced herself to focus on signs of life rather than the echoes of the dead. After a few minutes of walking, she caught sight of a figure bu the waterside. She proceeded quietly, unsure if it was another intended for the meeting at Haven, a simple peasant, or a bandit. As she got closer, her golden eyes got a better look at the figure. Elven by the look, he wore robes that discounted him being a simple farmer or somesuch. The style of the robes didn't match what Aasha knew about the Dalish, so either born in an alienage or adapted to one of the human cultures later. Finally making out the staff on his back put it all together.
"Saarebas." She growled softly, bile rising in her throat.
Years among the bas had made her a bit more accepting to the mages in she had met, even befriending a few circle mages that resided in Jader. But the damned Venatori mage who saddled her with the demon made any sympathy evaporate from her, leaving only a sense of fear and loathing. Images of throttling this elven mage with her bare hands filled her mind, so vividly she thought she could smell him.
"He's small. Weak. You can get close without him noticing. Let's see him cast spells with broken hands and no air in his lungs."
Aasha closed her eyes and pressed her fists against her temples.
"No." She thought back at the demon. "I am here to serve the interests of the Ben-Hissrath and the Qunari. I will not endanger that over one mage."
The images evaporated, leaving her to get her breathing back under control. A feel of satisfaction drifted through her mind, but she couldn't tell if it was hers, or the demon's. Squaring up, she strode forward to meet the mage.
"Though at any sign of treachery" She mentally promised, "will be his last."
As Aasha moved closer, another figure joined the mage. From the size, Aasha at first though it was a hornless Tal-Vashoth, but a second look revealed it was a human. The markings on her face looked elven, unusual for a human to wear. Perhaps a close connection to the dalish? She rather wished this individual had turned up at her tavern before all this started so she could get this human's story over drinks. Now, with the state of the world and herself, it was best to not get too close with others, especially bas. She caught the human's introduction as she closed on the two new faces.
"Good to hear the Grey Wardens are takin' notice." Aasha said as she reached the human and the mage.
She spoke with an odd accent, a mix of Qunari and Orlesian. She had tried to drop it after being exposed, but it seemed to stick around no matter her efforts.
"Not sure I could convince the Ben-Hassrath to commite reasources to a problem like this without Grey Warden involvment."
Aasha nodded to Bryliax, then to Manis. She made sure none of her animosity for mages showed in her actions or eyes.
"I am Hissrad, an agent of the Ben-Hassrath, here to represent the Qunari for the proceedings." She introduced herself.
"No, you don't get to keep things formal and at arms length." The demon spoke in her mind as Aasha felt her muscles taking orders from its will now.
With no outward sign as to what was going on, the demon gave Bryliax and Manis a smile with Aasha's lips.
"But most call me Aasha." It said, using her voice and tone.
And just like that, the sensation of being a puppet was gone, leaving Aasha back in control. She wondered why the demon forced that tidbit out of her, but not try anything more. She maintained the smile it had given her, though her eyes flickered to the mage. Could he sense what was going on here? Not that it would bring much comfort if he could.

ThatGuyWithSouvlaki · Dec 8, 2024

Name:
Johana Marie de Penthièvre
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KingofAesir
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Johana given in to the desire in a moment of weakness, striking at the carved symbol of the inquisition. The eye staring at her seemed to particularly be offensive to her at her current mental state. She had taken a few swings before she paused to catch her breath and master herself before she heard a female voice behind her. She groaned internally as she fought against showing her surprise and embarrassment at being seen. Stupid, Stupid... She gathered herself and turned, she did not recognize the person, so she was definitely not from the inquisition, which was a relief. "I am fine. Just brushing off some snow from the symbol." She said coldly as she set her staff down. It would have been evident by her accent that Johana was not Ferelden, but Orleasian. The excuse she gave did not exactly stand up to scrutiny but she was not going to reveal the truth to a stranger.

Why did she come down of all times. She thought, still trying to recover from her earlier headache. She was not that social in the best of time and she felt she had little patience to be asking questions. Still she felt the stranger's eyes burning at the back of her head, more so she was told that she needed to make nice with the inquisition potential allies so she could at least answer the question. She gave audible frustrated groan to indicate her state of mind. "They do. To stop the forces that attacked Haven, the inquisitor had to cause an avalanche." She explained with clear reluctance. "This buried all the victims. Some attempts were made to dig up the victims but it was difficult to tell who they were and considering the various backgrounds of people, it was deemed best just to bury everyone where them back were the were found."

She studied the stranger. She was pretty and there was a sense of nobility from her but there was a paleness to her that was curious to her. "It is not really what we call a memorial garden either... Well not a garden... You are Navarren? What does the "slapdash" nature of the treatment of the dead hear offend you?" She asked accusingly. "We didn't really have the time and resources for proper necropolises here in the south. There was an evil to sort out first."

LadyOfStars · Dec 8, 2024

Manis Beauchamp

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RikuXIII

Ah, finally a voice to drown his memories, he was no longer alone. Manis turned with a polite smile on his face to greet the stranger, but right away it faded. Vallaslin. His mind raced with possible explanations for this human to possess such markings, Dalish markings, but none of them made sense to him .How could a human have enjoyed the freedoms of the his kin while humans stole his freedom and trapped him in the Circle? Manis felt his blood bl=oiling, his nails dug into his palms, and just as he was about to explode in envious fury he heard an Orlesian accent. Though it was messy, muddied with something else, sound of an Orlesian voice always brought back memories of happier days.

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he let go of the breath he'd been holding in. "A Dalish Human with ties to the Grey Wardens? Like something out of a human child's storybook." Manis quipped in a show of restraint. Immediately he started to wonder what life must have been like for her, what must she have learned from the nomad elves, but he also felt jealous of the sense of community she had to have experienced. Something he still felt he had not found.

The gods must have been having a go at him, karma finally coming around to get him for his past deeds. Not only had he been settled with a human pretending to be an elf, but a Qunari spy. "Manis Beauchamp, College of Enchanters and now...whatever this operation is to become." He bowed his head slightly as he introduced himself.

When he raised his head back up he looked to the last to arrive. "Do I detect...a bit of Orlesian in your speech Aasha?" It was very clear from his own accent that Manis had grown up in Orlais, albeit his was more clear. "Was that where the Qun sent you to work as a spy?" It was probably not right to ask such questions, but knowing how Qunari viewed and treated mages he could not resist letting her know he had some bite to him.

CozyRanger · Dec 8, 2024

Bryliax Ralaferin
Interactions:

RikuXIII

The sounds of another speaking had the human turning to face the direction of sound. Her eyes naturally looked down, a habit quickly learned by someone who was usually the largest in the room. That lead to.. awkward eye positioning until she quickly trailed her gaze up, up, up to the Qunari. The other woman stood only 2 inches taller, but it was enough to put Bryliax on the backfoot momentarily.

Clearing her throat, she assumed the Evanuris were testing her by giving her two new faces to interact with at once. The comment from the elf was to be expected, she imagined it would be confusing to see a human with such markings. There was some immediate need to explain herself, whilst also a hesitation to revisit her past. "It's a long story, but one I'll tell you at some point across a campfire, I'm sure." She offered, reaching behind herself to remove the great-axe from her back and rest it upon her pack. A scarred hand rubbed at her left shoulder as she rolled it around. She'd been carrying that thing on her back for weeks, it was good to finally set it down without fear she'd have to reach for it again.

Most might've felt on edge around a Qunari and an elven mage, but Bryliax was confident enough in her own abilities to not worry. Perhaps she was foolish for such confidence, but she didn't harbour many of the prejudices most would expect from a human.

"I'm glad my company is so valued, then, for the Qunari to rely on it to send you." She extended a hand to Aasha too. She would've been blissfully unaware of any likelihood of spies had Manis not come out and said it. She blinked, her expression looking a little dumb as green eyes darted between them. "So a spy, a mage and a Grey Warden. Quite the trio."

Turning, she moved to sit down on a rock, resting her arms atop her knees as she studied her new.. companions? "What do you both know about the situation?"

blue UP · Dec 8, 2024

The Last Haven was what this place was called, a bastion for the humans to fight this oncoming disaster. What it looked like to Grem was a hewn-together set of buildings that were a breath away from being knocked over. One dragon fart, and they’d all go up in flame, and everyone would be out on their ass. Authentic craftsmanship was buildings made of stone, created to withstand the elements, time, and a mage’s temper tantrum. So, he felt no remorse as he spit on the ground, adding to the Ferelden murk around him.

How the Carta got involved in this mess was beyond him. They didn’t pay him to do the thinking or planning; they paid him to do the actions—and even then, they didn’t pay him enough. Maybe the third time was the charm on world-ending disasters, and the Carta wanted their name in the annals of history. Or maybe, they were tired of getting their shit confiscated every time a power-hungry “savior” decided to take and reallocate their goods. “For the good of Thedas,” they’d all bellow as they lit fire to the Carta’s hard-earned gold. They should say “for the good of the surface of Thedas. Everything underneath topsoil can suck our dicks.” That being said, Grem did have a small missive tucked between the folds of his clothing. One that stated to keep an eye on things and try to bend the currents of this “disaster” in the Carta’s favor. He wasn’t the only faction here tempted to spy, but he would probably be accused of it the most—unless the Crows were about.

Moving through Haven, the dwarf was barely noticed. Then again, the tall, surface folk rarely looked beyond their noses—and the qunari even less so. The cool air and brisk breezes off the top of the snow caused Grem to pull his fur-line jacket closer. He searched for a stable-looking building, if not for the break in the weather, and then for a roof over his head. The dwarf had been on top plenty of times, but only after long swaths of being stationed in Orzammar or one of many other “abandoned thaigs” the Carta called their own. And whenever he came to this absolute cesspool of a country, the sky was always doing something suspicious. The fat clouds that hung overhead seemed especially suspect. They might have rain deep in them. To think, these surface dwellers were more than happy to have the air above them drizzle all over their faces. Grem wouldn’t let the sky get further with him than someone on a second date.

He slipped inside one of the more significant buildings; the heavy wooden doors cracked open. Dim, crackling light permeated every nook and cranny of this space, glinting off of metal and gold-plated statues. There, at the end of the extended vestibule, was a tall and sleek statue; if Grem was being entirely truthful, it was a flared base away from being—oh, that was Andraste. Right. He rubbed the back of his neck and craned his head upwards to witness the sharp angles of her form. He’d once asked a human member of the Carta as to why she was so revered. He had explained that she was the bride of the Maker. Then he had to explain who the Maker was. This all boiled down to something called “The Chant of Light.” When Grem asked a shaper what that was, they simply stated that the chant was not allowed in the hallowed halls of Orzammar. Then the shaper asked how he got in there and what he thought he was doing.

Basically, it was a symbol of reverence. Yet, unlike their ancestors or the Stone, there was a lack of tangibility. Grem only believed in things that he could hold. He could hold a record of his ancestors. He could hold a stone in his hands. He couldn’t hold a figment of someone’s imagination or that figment’s husband.

Yet, he had enough decorum to excuse himself from this claustrophobic, yet holy, room. The back of his brain tingled, informing him of stairs. Into the stone, it said. So, he clopped down the stairs into the basement. It was entirely dark, but that wasn’t a problem for the dwarf. It took a moment, but his eyes adjusted enough to see the forms and shapes. It was a storage room, to be sure. He considered leaving because it wouldn’t take long for a human to find him and accuse him of ramming potatoes down his trousers and failing to escape. But this was the first place in a long time where Grem didn’t feel like a nug in a dress. So, he sat down in the corner of the room, removing his two blades and setting them neatly to the side. He then pulled his head scarf over his eyes and leaned back, letting sleep take him. The dwarf had arrived a bit early for the meeting, and he wasn’t in a good enough mood to try to make small talk—or big talk for the qunari.

The shuffling first awoke him, and then he was further pulled from his dreamless nap by the slow rising of light. Grem pushed his headscarf up a bit to make out the form of a human in the dimly lit room. It seemed startled by him at first before calming itself and squaring up like a rooster in a hen house. His eyes flicked over the form quickly enough. Male. Human. The armor had a symbol emblazed on it that he wasn’t entirely familiar with. Still, considering the similarity to the flaming swords that the Chantry Templars bore, he assumed it was an offshoot of that.

The dwarf was there to play nice, and he was going to do so until the human opened his mouth. He’d clocked the carta markings correctly, but assuming they had anything to do with smuggling was plain racist. Slowly, Grem stood. He left his swords on the ground next to him, not wanting to call attention to them. “Sure, I was tryin’ to smuggle somethin’, because that’s what all dwarfs do… obviously.” He rolled his eyes, unsure if that translated in the barely lit room. ”But I’m a afraid I just ran out of mages to burn.”

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cwosont}

KingofAesir · Dec 8, 2024

coded by xayah.ღ

Octavia Reinhardt

Haven Memorial

Father always used to say that she was far too curious for her own good. He'd shake his head and frown heavily, sighing behind the glint of a wine glass clutched in his fingers, "One day that curiosity will be the death of you, Octavia. You must learn restraint, my girl." Of course, she never would. Perhaps that might have served her in situations like the one she presently found herself in. The woman, elf she noticed for the first time when she took the time to look, was perhaps a little incensed at the questioning. Never mind that though, she was presented with an answer to her question despite the rather frustrated tone used to deliver it. An avalanche. Octavia took a moment to look up at the Frostback's serving as Haven's backdrop and supposed that would make finding and identifying bodies an arduous task. Perhaps if they'd had someone like her brother or even any Mortalitasi from the Necropolis, this would have been an accomplishable task. But necromancy to identify their dead was likely not a thing the Fereldans, or most anyone among the Inquisition would have gone for. Oh, but how Pietro would have adored to help, carrying himself like a savior strutting around completely untouched by the mud. Octavia had to exert great force to keep herself from scowling. Pietro was not here. She was here. And making terrible impressions on her compatriots, it would seem.

She tried to imagine a great army of corrupted Templars marching through those mountains, led by a creature who had little respect for the Fade or the order of things. Octavia had heard of the happenings in the South during the Inquisition's founding, but that had been brief, unsubstantiated claims that her parents or Pietro had learned from foreign visitors and friends. It was difficult picture, even now standing in the shadow of that place and in the presence of the spirits who had been there. She wondered if any spirits might speak to her about it. They tended to be less offended than the living at her words.

"Offended? Hardly!" Octavia let out a brief sparkle of a laugh. She turned her gaze fully back to the woman in front of her and smiled once more. A thought that she might be well served to apologize for her rather sudden questioning crossed her mind but was discarded just as quickly in the face of keeping her unnecessary pride. She was far more interested in her questions than decorum at the moment anyway.

"I can understand a need to be met quickly." Octavia gestured broadly to the flower-strewn land around them, "besides, this is far closer to what I am used to back home than a pyre. I think it's rather nice. Though, it could use more flower variety." There was 'tsk' noise that escaped over the tip of her tongue before she could think better of it.

"Ah, but that gruesome business aside. I lose myself." She extended a well-manicured hand toward the elf, clearing her throat with another small chuckle, "I am Octavia Reinhardt, of the Mourn Watch. Charmed."

ThatGuyWithSouvlaki

ThatGuyWithSouvlaki · Dec 9, 2024

Name:
Johana Marie de Penthièvre
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KingofAesir
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Johana looked on at the Navaren somewhat bemused. Johana was clearly being unapproachable but this one was not taking the hint. Maybe it was her own fault, she had answered Octavian's question which may have sent out mixed signals. And yet that was something about Octavia that reminded her of Tessa which further put her out of step. It was more frustrating than the fact that Octavia being insisted. She did not know how to act.

"Yes well...Haven does not exactly have the climate for a large variety of flowers..." She pointed out trying to be her usual biting self but not really managing it. She tried to harden herself and focus, crossing her arm as she tried to put another cold glare at Octavia. "You really see a solemn monument of many dead and your first though it is not appropriately decorated. Maker, you necromancers are a weird lot. What i expect from people willingly sleep with the dead."

She did not take the offered hand, keeping her arms crossed over her crossed arms. "I suppose since we might be working together it is best you know, my name... Johana Marie de Penthièvre." She bowed her head. Curious to see if Octavia would show surprise at an elf looking person have the name of a an Orlesian nobility. It would not be the first time.

cwosont · Dec 10, 2024

seeker gael parth.

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mood

regretful, awkward
outfit

seeker armor w/o the plating
location

haven chantry
interactions

blue UP

“Sure, I was tryin’ to smuggle somethin’, because that’s what all dwarfs do… obviously.” The dwarf rolled his eyes. ”But I’m a afraid I just ran out of mages to burn.”

The Seeker's eyes narrowed at the insinuation, and although he knew the man surely knew nothing of his past, Gael's heart skipped a beat nonetheless. He curled his fingers into his palm and exhaled through his nose.

"Aye, not all dwarves, but the Carta have a reputation and it's far from pleasant,"

Gael countered.

"And those are the markings of the crime syndicate on your face, are they not?"

Gael turned away and frowned at the lingering shadows. It was not uncommon for him to start off on the wrong foot with a stranger. Although he had a reputation for being cold and perhaps too critical, his fellow Seekers knew he meant no harm. The dwarf, however, understandably did not. Gael sighed in defeat.

"My intention was not to offend,"

Gael reluctantly offered.

"But it is clear that I have, so for that I offer my apologies."

He peered down at the dwarf with a pinched expression.

"If you are not here for a smuggling job, then am I correct to assume the Chantry or Inquisition requested the Carta's aid?"

Gael asked, eager to move on from his awkward apology.

son of nyx

hozier

♡coded by uxie♡

RikuXIII · Dec 11, 2024

Aasha
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Aasha's eyes narrowed as Manis recognized her accent and displayed unfortunate knowledge of what being a Hissrad entailed. There was doubtless going to be some in attendance at Haven who would know, but she had hoped the one to realize what she was would be more understanding and not a mage. Thoughts of the Venatori flashed through her mind, causing the demon to show her a few more images of harming the elven mage. Again, she pushed the thoughts aside and made the best of the situation.
"That is correct." She answered Manis, a little tightness in her voice. "Merely keeping an eye on local powers, and evaluatin' potential allies. Much like my purpose here."
That was all mostly true, which was good enough for the bas. Besides, her other duties while in Orlais were not applicable here. Even if the Bene-Hassrath determined that this alliance was of no benefit to the Qunari, they were unlikely to require her to sabotage it. A doomed force could still buy time for others to prepare.
Worried that her ire towards mages would spill out if she spent too much time engaging Manis, the Hissrad turned her attention to Bryliax.
"Don't take it as too much of a compliment." Aasha warned. "Legends say only a Grey Warden can kill an Archdemon. If one of your order wasn't here, then this gatherin' would be doomed to failure. The Ben-Hassrath has little use for empty gestures."
"Oh, so abrasive." The demon chided in Aasha's mind. "And I'm suppose to be the demon. Play nicer, poppet. Or I will."
The Qunari pinched the bridge of her nose as she gritted her teeth. This parasite was unbearable at the best of times, but it was made all the worse when it actually had a point. She was playing beresaad here as well as a spy. Keeping people happy was going to make her job easier.
"I must beg your pardon." She said to both Bryliax and Manis. "It has been a long journey here and I'm a little snippier than normal."
Removing her hand from her face, Aasha managed a smile with her new potential allies.
"My knowledge of the current situation is limited." She admited. "We had reports of the scope of this potential blight, but details were sparce and mixed with talltales. I am hopin' to put together a more complete account for my people."

LadyOfStars · Dec 12, 2024

Manis Beauchamp

Interations:

RikuXIII

Honest from a spy? A misdirect, a coverup, but to what shadowy deeds he may never know, not while they were here as allies anyway. But that was not the task given to him by the College. He had a part to play here and to his surprise, the Bryliax was not as abrasive as the Qunari. She was actually quite friendly. But Manis kept his guard up and a watchful eye on Aasha as she seemed to go through a bit of discomfort. His brow furrowed in confusion while he watched her, yet he decided to make no mention of her strangeness.

"I fear I know just as much as the two of you." Manis declared just as he pulled his hood back up over his head. "Rumors and threats abound these days, even reliable sources require extra caution." Such a warning was probably redundant to the Qunari spy, but Manis felt it should be said regardless, to avoid them spiraling with speculation.

"Since we do not know when we will be called upon, shall we share war stories?" As he spoke Manis made himself comfortable in the entrance of his tent. His long legs just poking out while the rest of his body hid from the cold under the thin canvas. "Surely a Grey Warden and Qunari Spy have some tales to wow a Circle Mage."

CozyRanger · Dec 14, 2024

Bryliax Ralaferin
Interactions: LadyOfStars RikuXIII

The warning had the tall woman laughing. She took no offense to the implication that her value was based on the fact she would be the only one to deal with an Archdemon. She also knew the sacrifice required to kill such a creature, but she kept that to herself. "That legend is true, though I've not sensed an Archdemon yet."

She turned her head to admire the beauty of the snowy peaks. She understood that travel had likely fatigued all three of them, but she was used to working without much rest. "If you need to rest, Aasha, this might be a good time whilst we're waiting to be seen." She gestured to the small camp set-up they had and leaned down to begin arranging some kindling to make a fire.

"Not sure a Grey Warden's stories would impress a Mage. I've seen the impressive spells you can cast." Bryliax offered a smile to Manis and looked thoughtful.

"I've been wielding an axe for as long as I can recall. My clan tried to get me to use bows and daggers but.." She gestured to herself. "I was too boisterous with such tools. Snapped a good few bowstrings in my time, and that pissed off my Keeper to no end." She chuckled nervously, the pressure of telling a tale one that weighed down on her shoulders more than it should. The spotlight was not a place Bry ever wanted to be.

"What sort of magic is your specialty?" She asked Manis, looking over his equipment. She didn't know a great deal about it all, but enough to hold the conversation at least.

blue UP · Dec 15, 2024

There it was. The humans’ need to be the most kind, the most gifted, the most wonderful in any conversation. To climb up a pedestal of their own making so they could tower over the other pathetic races. Grem fought the urge to spit. Not out of politeness but because he was pretty sure he’d be stabbed for soiling their precious Chantry in his dwarf spittle.

Even after the human apologized, Grem couldn’t let that insult go. Like a wild hair up his ass, it bothered him immensely and he couldn’t help but to grab at it even in public. “Oh yeah, because the Chantry’s reputation is as sterlin’ as Andraste’s taint, innit?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and stood in a widened stance, much like when a bird tried to dissuade a predator from attacking. I’m larger than I look, the position said. This was not the case here. If anything, he just looked like he was ready to wrestle an oversized nug. “Yeah. I’m here because the ‘quisition asked for a representative from the Carta. I guess you’re here because they need an expert on dwarf history and culture?”

^{MENTIONS none INTERACTIONS

cwosont}

KingofAesir · Dec 16, 2024

coded by xayah.ღ

Octavia Reinhardt

Haven Memorial

If Octavia were honest, she did not think Haven had quite the climate for anything, much less any flowers. It was simply a miracle of some proportion that there was even a Haven. It might be unfair for how little she'd seen of the place, but Octavia was quick to form opinions and nearly impossible to sway out of them. It was so unforgivably cold, that she shivered a little at just the thought of standing out here much longer.

"Quite right. I couldn't imagine a Dawn Lotus or Dark Embri-" Octavia cut herself off when her eyes caught on the rather surly glare her new acquaintance was presently giving her. Her face flashed confusion before nearly immediately morphing into something more akin to surprise, which was a strange emotion to the Morn Watcher. Spending your entire life in one place tends to make you familiar with all the nuances of the people within it, she had not been so taken aback during a conversation in quite some time. Part of her wanted to be offended, the other was nearly falling over with delight.

"Of course it is! The dead deserve somewhere beautiful to rest, do they not?" She turned her body in a circle, arms arched wide, "Do the living not deserve somewhere beautiful to mourn? We necromancers are of the persuasion they do." With a resolute nod, she allows for introductions to be made and finally learns her compatriot's name. Her head tilts at the surname given. Orlesian. Quite a refined Orlesian at that, she supposes it must be noble. Curiouser and curiouser.

"You're Orlesian then?" Octavia nods as if in answer to her question, looking a little thoughtful, "I had an Orlesian friend once, a mage who came to study the necromantic arts in the Necropolis. He did not seem at all perturbed by my sleeping with the dead." Octavia turns a Cheshire grin on Johana, "but, I hardly sleep with the dead." Octavia dismissively waved her hand, but the look on her face belied the gesture with a sparkling mirth, "I prefer my partners warm-blooded." She could not help the giggle that bubbled up and out of her throat.

ThatGuyWithSouvlaki

ThatGuyWithSouvlaki · Wednesday at 12:41 PM

Name:
Johana Marie de Penthièvre
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KingofAesir
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Johana remained confused by Octavia's positivity, despite Johana going so far to accuse the mage at necrophilia. Octavia seemed to take the jab as just another minor misunderstanding of what necromancers were liked. She seemed to continue not to take the hint. However, what was annoying her most was not that what Octavia was doing, but that there was something about her that gave Johana was drawn to her. "Is that so?" She said, trying to sound doubtful, but it came off more curious about the fact that she had met a fellow Orlesian mage. "Well, mages tend to overlook a lot of things for the sake of learning something new and becoming more powerful."

"Anyway..." She sighed as she looked back up and the memorial, focusing on a certain name on it. "I suppose... There is something nice about making someone resting place be as beautiful as possible. Something worthy of the fallen." She said sadly. "However, do you reallly think the dead notice all that work? Do they really care wherever they are. Maker side or not. It is not just something we do for our own case? A delusion you are doing something right or for them?"

The words seemed to come out expectingly but easily despite her want of privacy. She frowned as if realizing she had again sent out mixed signals about herself, but she did not say anything else. It seemed she genuinely did want an answer to the question. A rare moment of her being open and vulnerable.

RikuXIII · Saturday at 1:12 PM

Aasha
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