𝒊𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒙.

[thunderproof]

SENDING CRYSTAL | WRITTEN CORRESPONDENCE | IN PERSON

Comments

delivered to the gallows, by a footman in green vauquelin livery.

[elegiaque]

( A package wrapped in soft paper and string. It contains a brand new fur-lined cloak in deep grey fabric and white fur, with matching hat and gloves, and a note; )

Don't wear them casually about the city unless you want to get arrested by a bored guard who decides they look stolen. Excellent for Inquisition excursions. Will serve you well if you ever visit the Emprise.

I keep accounts current.

( She assumes she doesn't need to sign it. )

Crystal

[justice_is_blond]

Adalia. Do you have any interested in being involved with mage matters in this world?

[thunderproof]

Anders! I might, but — I don't know, seems a bit disingenuous, doesn't it, my being involved. I'm not from here, I haven't been through nearly the things you all have. It'd be like... fitting a hexagonal peg in a round hole. It's vaguely the same shape, but not exactly, you know?

❰ she's not ignorant of the ways in which her "take no shit from the normies" attitude would no fly here, she's just personally disinclined to care. getting involved with mage business on a larger scale... could end poorly. she has a tendency to speak her mind. ❱

after Marisol's ... thing, action;

[faithlikeaseed]

It'd been hard to miss the denouement of Adalia's argument with Marisol over the crystals, hard to miss the peculiar tone she'd signed off with, evidence of a verbal blow that had landed. Myr had wrapped his own more mannerly argument with the woman (swallowed the uncomfortable reminders of his own naïveté about the world; as if he needed any more reminding they didn't belong out here) and straightway gone hunting for his friend.

Well--almost straightway, with a stop by the kitchens first, but that was nearly on the way back to the mage tower.

A few minutes more see him standing outside her door; he knocks, gently, but forbears from announcing himself as is his wont. If she's not in there--or doesn't want to see him--it seems easier not to disturb the hall.

[thunderproof]

At first, there's no response to his knocking. In fact, for quite a few long moments, there isn't even any sound of movement, or any indication at all that he's been heard. It may seem, for those few moments, as though Adalia simply isn't in, or that she's uninterested in company.

And then a bracingly cold breeze blows under the crack between the door and the floor, and Charis snorts angrily from behind it. Mother is upset, thank you, no unannounced visitors today! How can he be sure you're not the one who upset her in the first place, hm?

during the blue flu

[wheretheferngrows]

The Gallows feels even more uncharacteristically oppressive now that everyone seems to be either afflicted by the strange illness or fearful of it, but that doesn't prevent Fern from doing what little she can to support the rifters in her lives that she's grown to care about. (It's a fairly small list: Adalia, of course, and Maedhros, and Cosima, and... and Chloe.)

"Adalia?" she asks, peeking into her room, and startling a little at the sight of the ice castle that Charis has evidently constructed for himself.

[thunderproof]

"Come in!" comes the distracted reply. Adalia's sat at a desk against the far left wall of the room, books and vellum spread out in front of her, a bag of herbs and other miscellaneous ingredients sat on the floor next to her and bottles scattered all around.

"Are you here for sleeping draughts or something else? I'm working on a batch now, but — oh!"

She starts upon seeing Fern, and Charis pokes his head out of his castle with an inquisitive noise, but the surprise quickly turns into laughter.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was you, Fern. Hi, how are you?"

after sundermount.

[dirth]

When the dream starts, it looks somewhat familiar - the world opens to Sundermount, closer to the peak than away from it. There's no sense of time or weather, nothing that pinpoints where or when the dream is taking place, just the sudden, overwhelming feeling of presence, as if someone is watching and waiting to see what moves will be made, what might happen. There's the weight of expectation, of judgement, something nipping at the heels and urging forward, and it's almost as though there's a gentle fog rolling around the open space, blinding and flickering.

A wolf howls. The fog Fades; it was green, and in the light of some kind of the entrance to Pride's End opens up, a gaping maw that echoes with promise. From the darkness, a figure emerges, not human or elven or anything like it - a wolf, head tilted and eyes focussed, intense and sure, relaxed in its stance. It doesn't speak, but it feels as though words are said anyway: follow. Then it turns and moves, heading deeper and deeper into the cavern, sliding through and finding its feet in the depths.

Rather than the cave being a cave, rather than it being anything familiar, it opens up into a ruin of some kind. There were once high rising columns that have fallen to ruin, white stone broken into pieces around the overgrown grass. There are the edges of what might have been a room, or something like it, and half-surviving murals decorate the outskirts with shining colours of gemstones and gold, beautiful representations of godlike beings that have been lost to time.

The nature of it is obvious - elven, but not the kind seen in books and studies of the Dales and the Cities, but something older. There's a sense of age, of it being longer than time itself. It's as if the world was reborn after this came to be. They're beautiful, designed in a way that is almost reminiscent of Chantries and murals to the Holy Andraste, but decorated with greens and browns, with the colours of the People, magic prickling around and colouring the very essence of the landscape. It's beautiful, even in ruin, and the wolf prowls with a low hanging head, sad and lonely, the soft, huffing sounds of breathing slowly disappearing.

It howls again, sad and low and mournful, distressed and alone.

Slowly, the wolf moves forward, guiding the dream as much as its a part of it, and wanders around the ruins. There's time to explore, to wander, to take in the sights, to explore and see whatever they might like, as if time is meaningless. The light of the sun - if that's what it is - doesn't seem to fade at all, lighting up the ruins for the wanderer to see all that there is to see, to witness the world that once was, crumbled into nothing and left to rot and age over time. It's a representation, a whisper -- this is what the world was, what it had been, look how far it has fallen.

What can you see? it seems to ask. What can you learn? it wonders. What more is there to understand? What is missing?

A wolf howls, the world goes dark, faded with tinges of green, a mist that seems to cover the eyes.

Then there is wakefulness, the echo of a howl left with flickering pictures of a world that once was.

[thunderproof]

Adalia is not, shall we say, unused to the sensation of being watched in her dreams. It's been a while, certainly — Alacruun can't reach her in Thedas, it seems, so she's been left alone in her dreams ever since she fell through the rift — but the feeling is not so unfamiliar that it bothers her.

She's more aware in dreams here than she was in her dreams on Toril — something about how sorcerers here interact with the Fade, it's like lucid dreaming but always, and also not as much? It's strange. Despite the strangeness, Adalia doesn't see much trouble with following the urging of the dream, so long as she keeps her wits about her — demons tempt sorcerers through their dreams, here, and while Adalia's rather certain her soul being tangled up in another deal precludes her from making any more, she's not exactly eager to test that theory. As she makes her way up Sundermount, she takes note of every strange thing, the rolling fog, the howling wolf, the Fading —

and then she is at a cave and a wolf actually appears, and Adalia blinks at it in confusion for a moment before shrugging — sure, wolf spirits come to her in her dreams now, why not — and she follows it without question, wandering into the depths of the cavern. Unlike the sorcerers here, she has never learned to be wary of her dreams, and even if she had she would never be so cautious as to completely ignore something so strange — her curiosity is much louder than her common sense, always, and in this moment, that's hardly a bad thing. The ruins open up around her and Adalia gapes, looking around her with wonder and delight and just a little heartbreak — whatever these ruins were, it must have been absolutely beautiful.

She's about to run to a mural, reaching for a pack that is suddenly on her back to pull out a journal and charcoal, when the wolf howls again and it stops her in her tracks. Animals are not Adalia's area of expertise by any stretch, but there is no mistaking the note of loneliness in that call. It arrests her as surely as hearing her own name would, and she turns to the creature with pity in her eyes. Before she can think better of it, she lowers her pack to the ground and steps forward, one step, two — until she's mere feet from the wolf, and she slowly lowers herself to her knees and holds her hand out for it to sniff.

"Hello, boy, was this your home? Are you showing me your home?"

{ after adalia's question about mages on the crystals }

[serannas]

Ellana hadn't answered Adalia's question, seeing how she hadn't really been sure what she considered magic to be to her. To the Dalish, mages were to be cherished, but the Keeper had mentally messed up Ellana enough that even today, she can't put words to how she feels about being a mage. But she did listen in to the unlocked conversations and gathered knowledge about how the others viewed themselves. It's not too long after she happens to spot Adalia out and about, so she moves to meet her.

"Long time, no see," she begins with a demure smile. Part of that could be considered her fault. She could have done more to see that Adalia and her dragon had settled in after returning from Nevarra. "I heard you talking to people on the crystals. Your world really has a pantheon of gods?"

[thunderproof]

Adalia's sitting on a bench in the Gallows courtyard, reading the book Solas gave her while Charis flies around above her. When Ellana approaches, she looks up and smiles, slipping her index finger into the book to hold her spot as she closes it to give Ellana her full attention.

"Long time no see indeed! I hope you've been well." There's no judgment or disdain in her voice — life is a lot, here in Thedas, and she and Ellana had only ever had the one conversation. That Ellana never checked up on her doesn't seem weird at all, in light of those two facts. "It does! There are... quite a few. The Dalish have a pantheon too, don't they? That makes much more sense to me than this Maker business."

not too long after the illness

[paladingus]

There are many things Simon will trust with nothing but Myr's endorsement to recommend them, but this time, he doesn't need to rely on that. He's felt firsthand the efficacy of the potions he'd been dosed with during the mad blue fever, when nothing short of them could calm the writhing in his blood enough to let him even sit down, let alone sleep--and they'd worked as well as anything on Thedas when the lyrium-nightmares had left him too fearful to close his eyes.

The lyrium flows steadily again, only a touch less satisfying than before--but that small edge makes all the difference, when his body craves just enough of it by the end of the day now that the nightmares are beginning to creep greedily in around the edges where they hadn't before. He can't very well will them to stop.

Armed with the name of the potion artist, if not a physical description, he sets out to find her. She can't be that hard to spot. She's got a dragon.

"--Adalia, is it?"

[thunderproof]

Adalia is not, as it turns out, hard to spot. At least not today — she can be harder to spot, when she's sequestered herself away in the library or taken Charis out to Sundermount for flying practice. Today, though, she's in the Gallows courtyard, reading a book while Charis flies between building and chases birds above her.

When Simon approaches, she looks up and smiles.

"Yes, that's me. How can I help you?

crystal.

[elegiaque]

( after this )

Someone needs to talk to you about sex.

[thunderproof]

❰ insert record scratch noise ❱

Um... I'm sorry?

two deliveries, separate.

[elegiaque]

( a fine wooden box is delivered to adalia's room, locked tight. within is an exquisitely made carved bone phallus (slightly smaller than the average size of a human man) resting upon velvet lining, as well as instructions to it use (straightforward, practical, perhaps more blunt than is entirely comfortable to read—but the more useful for it), which can only be discovered after having received the short note that goes instead to adalia at the project office for elven artifacts, with the key. )

𝒜𝒹𝒶𝓁𝒾𝒶,

𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓀ℯ𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 ℴ𝓅ℯ𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒷ℴ𝓍 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝓂𝓎 ℊ𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝓉ℴ 𝓎ℴ𝓊. ℐ'𝓋ℯ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓃 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓊𝒸𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 ℐ 𝒽ℴ𝓅ℯ 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈ℯ𝓇𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓌ℯ𝓁𝓁, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝒸𝒽ℴℴ𝓈ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝓊𝓈ℯ 𝒾𝓉 (𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓂). ℐ 𝓇ℯ𝒸ℴ𝓂𝓂ℯ𝓃𝒹 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝒾ℯ𝓃𝒸ℯ, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓅ℯ𝓇𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒾𝓃𝓋ℯ𝓈𝓉𝒾ℊ𝒶𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃 ℴ𝒻 𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝓉ℴ 𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓈𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀𝓃ℯ𝓈𝓈. 𝒴ℴ𝓊 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝒶𝓁𝒸𝒽ℯ𝓂𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓈. ℐ𝓉'𝒹 𝒷ℯ 𝒶 𝓇ℯ𝓈ℯ𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽 𝓅𝓇ℴ𝒿ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓇ℯ𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒾𝓉𝓈ℯ𝓁𝒻 𝓊𝓅ℴ𝓃 𝒸ℴ𝓂𝓅𝓁ℯ𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃.

𝒢𝓌ℯ𝓃𝒶ℯ̈𝓁𝓁ℯ.

crystal.

[elegiaque]

There's an elf in the Inquisition now—I mean, there's a hundred fucking elves in the Inquisition, but there's one named Pietro. If he says something about me—

I appreciate what you did, before, but if it's Pietro, leave it.

( a beat later. )

You don't have to get hit on my behalf at all, obviously. Ever. For the record.

[thunderproof]

❰ give adalia a moment to switch mental gears from "rifter problems" to "elf problems". it takes a moment. ❱

So noted, I suppose. Though I can't promise I'll be able to hold to that if he says anything particularly vile.

❰ as for the second — ❱ I don't know, isn't that what vaguely-friendly-but-also-vaguely-wary acquaintances do for each other?

❰ she makes it sound like a joke, but also, she's kind of serious. someone friend her, for god's sake. ❱

The Tourney

[coiledscales]

[ He, perhaps, should not be that shocked, but there's still something incredibly jarring about having Adalia come creeping back into the tent with a certain... scent hanging around her. Sweat and something sharper. Nto to mention the disheveled look of her clothing and the way her hair is completely askew - oh, and the rather obvious marks on her neck. He's been taking some time to himself to check his notes and contemplate the Antivan he was assigned to look after, but those thoughts flee as something reaches up out of his gut and squeezes his heart.

He doesn't like the way that feels.

Wasn't it only a week or two ago that she'd been pouring her heart out to him and drunkenly sprawling in his lap? Wasn't she supposed to be his?

It's an intense, jealous, sickening feeling, one that he hasn't actually felt in an age, a tab of dismay that goes beyond mere draconic possessiveness and greed and into something that makes him wish that he could actually assume his draconic form and tear the whole campsite apart in a fit of pique. Or maybe fly off somewhere and find a corner to sulk in (not that he'd call it sulking; a dragon does not sulk).

How dare she are the first real words that come to mind. He carefully closes his notebook with a very empathetic thwip. ]

I see you've been enjoying the... pleasures of the tournament.

[ There is something low and vicious and downright mean in his tone, beyond the usual arrogance and occasional cruelty he tosses around. It's certainly the first time he's aimed such venom in her direction (or at least the first time in a long while).

This shouldn't hurt so much. Should it? ]

[thunderproof]

❰ adalia had, somehow, blessedly forgotten the state of her entire life while with the lord vauquelin. she'd been aware that there were reasons that sleeping with him would be a bad idea — his being gwenaëlle's father, their estrangement, alacruun's existence, the lack of any true connection between them save physical attraction and the desire to be distracted from the more serious things occurring in their lives at the moment — but that hadn't mattered, not at the time. at the time, all she cared about was allowing herself to throw caution to the wind and do something stupid just because she wanted to, because she was curious. it's not a choice she regrets, especially not considering how good it's made her feel.

entering her tent to alacruun's derision, though, really doesn't help her to hold onto that feeling. adalia stops in place, blinking at him, trying to work out how to approach this whole... thing, and then slowly begins to make her way toward her own space in the tent. ❱

The drinks here are quite good, yes. I enjoyed what I could afford.

❰ maybe if she acts like she misses his point he'll pout in a corner on his own and not try to ruin this night for her. one can dream. ❱

same message that's sent to Aro bc why not

[sclavus]

Your sailing training might be a crash course. [ hi there, booboo, it's your friendly neighborhood pirate looking to take you on a field trip. ]

You hear what's going on in Minrathous?

[thunderproof]

❰ tightly, terrified but trying to hold it together, ❱ I am in Minrathous.

crystal.

[swordproof]

[ The voice comes cooly, quietly. She doesn't expect a reply, but it had to be done. Six is doing her best not to show her worry, but she's not entirely certain of her own success. ]

I will be waiting for you, when you come back. [ Her hands grip the crystal almost too tight. ] I will come for you.

[thunderproof]

❰ your sister loves you, six, even if she has no crystal at the moment. ❱

action ∞

[elegiaque]

( just because gwenaelle doesn't know what to say to adalia - they haven't handled each other gently, in the past - doesn't mean she can think of no one who might.

guilfoyle is a quiet step in adalia's office door. he folds his hands behind his back and doesn't presume to close the door behind him, yet. )

It is my mistress's feeling that you may receive some benefit from my memories, jeune sorcière. Forgive me if I intrude.

( they have crossed paths before, memorably with his lord, but this is the most adalia is likely to have ever heard him say. )

[thunderproof]

❰ well this is unexpected.

adalia looks up from her desk, blinking owlishly at guilfoyle for long moments. her reaction times are dulled, recently, her mind working sluggishly at things she could have responded to immediately prior to her time in tevinter. eventually, adalia waves her hand vaguely in front of her, gesturing away the apology as she turns her attention back to the papers in front of her. ❱

It's fine, do whatever.

❰ including share memories, if you really feel like it, but don't be bothered if adalia keeps at her work while you do it. ❱

a note, left under her door.

[dirth]

We need to speak.

- Solas.

crystal.

[thunderproof]

You're speaking to me now?

❰ if this were any time pre-tevinter she might have sounded quite rude. as it is she just sounds sort of dully interested, like hey, this is a thing i cared about once, i wonder if i could care about it again. ❱

crystal.

[byblow]

Adaaaaaaaalia.

[ Sing-song. It is possibly an obscenely early hour. ]

[thunderproof]

❰ there is a long stretch of silence, and then a muffled grumbling, and then a loud THUMP, and less-muffled grumbling. ❱

Mmmmrfgl?

❰ guess who was asleep and fell out of bed in her attempt to get at her crystal. ❱

crystal, during disappearance plot.

[rowancrowned]

I know [ halting, but not shaky. ] -I know you are returned, and I owe you comfort and shelter, Adalia.

I beg you forgive me. I need a few days alone yet.

[thunderproof]

There is nothing to forgive.

❰ gods damn it all, of course he's come to her first. she'd meant to be the one coming to him. ❱

I'd wanted to go to you as soon as I arrived, but with the inability to lie... I keep some secrets I couldn't chance sharing. I'm only sorry my delay means...

❰ hey how about we don't talk about gwen like at all, huh? yeah sounds good. ❱

Take your time. I'll be here whenever you feel ready.