008.

[dashing]

FORM: crystal
SENDER: all
RECIPIENT: Herian Amsel
WHAT: Chantry Relations stuff, Chant of Light chats
WHEN: early Cloudreach
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: if you'd like to do an action thread feel free to have them drop into Herian's office in an action response to this post

Good morning, Inquisition. I am happy to report that the Committee have selected a design for the memorial gardens, with some modifications to make it as precisely to their satisfaction as possible, and we have progressed to its construction and landscaping.

For those Rifters freshly arrived who I have not yet had the pleasure of speaking with, my name is Knight-Enchanter Herian Amsel, and I presently serve as head of the Chantry Relations project. If there are any matters that I meant lend assistance with, or matters you require clarity on, please do not hesitate to speak with me. I am oft located in the Chantry Relations office within the former Templar tower of the Gallows, but so too can I be contacted by crystal. I am afraid what I have to speak of next may be a matter of some confusion without context.

What I wish to speak of are the Dissonant Verses. I imagine the name may be unfamiliar to most; they are not well known even amongst the faithful. They are the Canticle of Silence, the Canticle of Maferath, and the Canticle of Shartan. It is the last with which I am most concerned, this day.

Shartan the Liberator was an elf who fought alongside the Blessed Andraste, when they rebelled against the Tevinter Imperium. He was leader to the elven slaves who joined her numbers, and an essential force of her cause. When Andraste was sent to the pyre and the flames rose about her, Shartan and the elves set themselves upon the pyre in a desperate attempt to save her, but all of them were slain.

In recognition of their heroism and sacrifice, the elves were rewarded with a new homeland in the Dales, but when... with the Exalted March on the Dales in the Glory Age, Shartan's verses were removed from the Chant and deemed heretical. They were published in the New Cumberland Chant of Light six years ago, but their inclusion remains controversial, and given Divine Justinia's death, there is no guarantee that it will kept in future editions of the Chant, or even acknowledged.

I would be... interested in hearing your thoughts and feelings on the matter of the Chant of Light and the Canticle of Shartan, to gauge the Inquisition's general sentiments on this matter.

Comments

[dashing]

I have been advised that the half-elves of my world and others are not the same. We have been... ridiculed, by some. The offspring of elves and humans are always human, though we are deemed lesser than other humans, for our bloodline.

( She has to think for a moment. )


Mu tha thu airson a bhith buan, na teid eadar an té ruadh agus a' chreag.

( Mmm mmm mmm love that sweet Gaelic ripoff for that sweet Starkhaven life )

[sorcerised]

I see.

[ Aro frowns at first. Half-elves in her world are humans, yet still looked down upon the way he is. Nothing about that seems fair, but then of course prejudice is never fair. He knows that. ]

So...forgive me for asking, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to. But...half-elves here, they have human lifespans? And their ears don't come to a point? Your ears.

[ Because she identified herself as one of them, didn't she? ]

That language is beautiful, by the way. It's different, but it's not so very far removed from what I know.

cw brief ref to torture/mutilation

[dashing]

A human lifespan, yes. We are human. As for my ears, they are not naturally pointed.

( Perhaps a confusing comment, and she pauses to deliberate whether or not to speak further. Perhaps she has committed to it, now. )

My ears were both rounded at my birth. One was rendered pointed by an enemy blade.

( To underline what she is, or perhaps what she is not. Her heartbeat picks up with the memory, and unseen as she is, Herian lays a hand on her chest as though to quieten it. Calmer.

To speak of the Alienage language is to calm herself, in a way. ) It means, If you want to live a life that is long, don't die.

( Alienage humour, perhaps. Take that, Dalish snobs with your longing for unnatural sounding immortality. )

[sorcerised]

[ Aro touches the points of his own ears. No blade would need to put a point in them, it's already there. The thought of someone doing that to another person makes him feel ill. The prejudice here is disgusting. ]

Those are wise words. I'm very sorry for what happened to you. I can't even begin to imagine…

People like me are distrusted in my world, and often unwelcome, but I've never seen anything like that.

[dashing]

The Dalish do not look kindly on elf-bloods. I have heard rumour that they have some greater fondness for elves and half-elves that come through the rifts.

( She is of the same world, but too human. They are not of the same world, but look more like what elves of the Dales and Alienages apparently want.

(Not all, she knows. Many are prejudiced, but it is enough to hold some sting. )

I have suffered worse at their hands. This is simply a more visual reminder.

[sorcerised]

I don't suppose it's been easy to see strangers better accepted than yourself.

[ Aro's no fool. He knows that must sting. How could it not? For him, it stings somewhat that the elves here might accept him more readily than their equivalent in his own world. At least when you're an outsider, you know where you stand. ]

For my part, I think I have more in common with you than any of them. My father was an elf, but I never knew him. My human mother was a pariah because she had a child with him. People can be very cruel, no matter where you're from.

[dashing]

I am sorry your mother suffered so. My— parents were well-liked within the Alienage, but both had their struggles. My mother was a herbalist, and did much to serve the community. I think that dedicated service did much to... to allow people to look beyond their reticence, from necessity if nothing else.

( Her mother was a human child born to an elven woman, the circumstances never discussed. Her father, a man with good humour, from a family that seemed to produce too many mages. Both were difficult for the Hahren to match, a pair put together to make things easier moreso than because of pre-existing affection. They were good people, it seemed to be generally agreed, but neither were the sort you'd want to be bound to by blood.

All if this feels relevant, and all of it is raw and difficult to say. She is silent long moments, and holds her tongue. )

You speak truly, though. It is not easy, yet— that does not mean I should allow myself to be ungracious.

[sorcerised]

I don't find you ungracious, Lady Herian. Far from it, in fact.

[ He finds her sympathetic, and kind. She'd misunderstood him before, but given what she's been through, he understands why. ]

Thank you for telling me of yourself, and your kin. Personal matters like this...I know how private they are.