[IC/OOC] Fade Rift Inbox & Contact

[faithlikeaseed]

(( Need to get a hold of Myr? Drop him a line. Notes, in-person visits, sending crystals, spooky Fade dream shenanigans, you name it. Just specify the type of contact in the first comment of the thread and away we go.

Need to get a hold of the player? Plagueheart#0051 @ Discord or a DW PM is the easiest! ))

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[nadasharillen]

“And if she does not?” Nari demands, “We what? Let them smile smugly and erase that the Liberator’s charge with one hundred into a cloud of arrows to try and save her from her pyre before ten thousand of her own people dropped their swords was us? That his people were the People?”

She remembered that; the afternoon Andraste died, Cade’s reading gone solemn while she smoothed the planes of the Bride’s face.

Her rage melts into powerlessness, eyes stinging. “Again. It’s always like this. It’s not...” what, fair? What is? “It could be different, with the Inquisition. There are resources, we could find... something, make the Chantry have to change its ways or be exposed.”

There’s a deep sigh and then, slower, “Abelas, Myr, I—this is nothing new to you. I don’t mean to drag everything up again.”

[faithlikeaseed]

"No." There's something hard and sure and implacable behind the word, for all Myr's tone is mild once more. "What's been brought back to light can't be hidden again, now that they've the People among them. We'll see the truth restored, however long it takes. The Maker's hand guided the Divine in returning the Dissonant Verses; it's on us now to carry the rest of His work forward. He'll provide a way."

If there's one thing he's sure of in his life, it's the Maker's intention for all of them. (Whether it would be met--whether it was meant to be met, in his lifetime or ever--that's a little harder to believe, some days.)

"And maybe the Inquisition is that way," though he's other reasons to suspect not, to suspect with so many hands trying to twist it as a tool to reshape Thedas, they'd get nothing useful done in the end, "though I mislike the thought of forcing a change out of the Chantry for fear of what we'd say--anything like that, that's not rooted in the heart, is bound to wither and die."

Or the rot would consume it. He presses the back of his hand to his mouth, musters his self-control. "It's new to you," he observes at last, "and I'm glad of your passion for it. So don't worry--it's worth it being drug up."

[nadasharillen]

There's a thump and the scratching sound of wood across floor that heralds a chair being sat in heavily.

"Everyone keeps saying the Chantry can't be forced, that the good will has to grow and be nurtured, and it's absolutely infuriating to have to treat this powerful monolith that has always dealt in iron fists with soft open hands and kind words and kneeling to beg for what's rightfully ours. Why can't we just--" [Disgusted noise], and the quiet rustling sound of hands dragged through hair.

"What do we do then. Find something? Someone's journal, a carving, a... something else?" Nari sounds resigned, but she's still doggedly moving forward. "If it's on us to find the Maker's way, why not us."

[faithlikeaseed]

"Not 'can't,'" Myr replies, ruefully. "Shouldn't. Mages were forced, once upon a time, and we see what's come of that. Which isn't to say we need to beg and scrape, or shy away from any firmness whatever--only it's trickier than blackmailing the whole Chantry. Blackmailers can disappear." Especially if they've got pointed ears.

The mention of finding a something else brings a twitch of a smile to Myr's face--a hopeful little sprout of a thing. He hasn't...spoken to anyone of this before except Simon. It's heartening to have another co-conspirator. (And from so unexpected a place--Maker, how mysterious Your ways!) "Not a carving or a journal, no--we need to find a woman.

"We need the next Divine."

[nadasharillen]

"...We need the next Divine?" asks Nari after a moment, repeating Myr because she wasn't sure how else to respond. "Isn't that... doesn't the Chantry choose that?"

It occurs to her that she has no idea how Divines are chosen. She'd never cared before. As far as she knew, one was much like the next. They were distant voices she never heard, that never did anything to curb the effects of their March. A figurehead at best, a danger at worst.

[faithlikeaseed]

"The grand clerics come together and elect her--or would, in the ordinary way of things." Such is his determination on this he can keep the faint twinge of melancholy from his voice. "Though the College can be months about a choice, discussing the matter and letting the Maker's inspiration work until they've come to a unanimous decision.

"But--there's always outside influences involved in the choice," and there's something of disapproval to how he says that--but it's useful now, so let it be, "and they've been known to bend to popular sentiment or...other kinds of persuasion. That's who we'd need to push, if we do push anyone--"

Well. He's already said once he'd prefer a cleaner solution, without coercion; no use in vain repetition. He tips his face down as if regarding the table. "--Well. It's something the Inquisition's already at work on; a Divine who's friendly to us would make all the difference in working with the Chantry."

[nadasharillen]

"I suppose any Divine friendly to the Inquisition would be a more worldly woman by necessity," muses Nari, "from whom do they choose? One of their own?"

[faithlikeaseed]

"She would--or more practical, at the very least." He turns the thought over in his head, not knowing if he likes it. Justinia had been--well, worldly would have described her, in some ways, wouldn't it? But never out of touch with the Maker's will--

"Usually, though there's been a few who weren't. The Maker moves in mysterious ways, you know." There's a wry twist to his mouth at that. "And accomplishes His will with what He has to hand."

[nadasharillen]

There's a pause as she mulls the idea over, and then the puff of a chuckle through her nose.

"The quality of the work does depend on the quality of the tools," Nari says, wryly amused. It had never occurred to her that way before. That perhaps they were the tools, rather than the art. That they weren't what the gods wove, but the loom on which it was woven.

Huh.

How much do her myriad knives, chisels, and picks know of the movements her hands make or why they make them? Why she chooses one over the other for a certain cut? Not seeing everything, wouldn't they struggle and chafe at her choices? Would she not want them to trust her to use them well?

She'll be chewing on that for days.