(002.) hello fade rift my old friend

[dashing]

FORM: crystal
SENDER: Herian Amsel
RECIPIENT: all the Inquisiton
WHAT: sup
WHEN: whatever today might wind up being in fair Thedas.
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Hello! So Herian's background has some dark themes,
and she has some pretty harsh attitudes about mages, the Dalish, and pretty much anything that takes her fancy. I've got an opt out post if there's anything you want me to avoid touching on.

I fear it had been overlong since last we spoke, Inquisition.

( Crisply spoken words, the touch of Starkhaven shaping each sound. )

For those not yet known to me: I am Herian Amsel, Knight Enchanter of the White Spire. For those better acquainted with me, I apologise for my abrupt absence. My orders bid me elsewhere.

( ... and that's all she has to say about that, smoothly moving on. )

I hope the seasons and the Free Marches have not treated you poorly. However, I am bound to lament our residence in any portion of them that is not Starkhaven.

( There is just the faintest touch of humour, maybe. Possibly. You probably imagined it. )

Maker willing, Kirkwall will treat you all with kindness.

Comments

[sulena]

Hideous, truly. Even Ainsley used to find you so very easily.

( There is a light laugh, one that is full of old memories of a life that neither of them have lived in a long, long time. It was a time before worry, magic or Circles. At times it almost seemed as if she simply viewed the life of someone else. )

It is no issue. I have need to return to the Gallows and set in my reports for the week. Did you know that the Inquisition has established a group dedicated to building our ties to the Chantry? ( Saoirse sounds all very proud, happy even. ) You should consider us if you find yourself in need of something to do. I believe we can truly help.

( Her trip is thankfully an easy one. There was always worry that struck her whenever she neared the Gallows. Memories flooded in so easily, eating away at the layers she had built up and threatening to expose the small girl that would lay in a cell and cry herself to sleep.

Thankfully, she arrives and spots a familiar mess of dark hair. It has been years but some things never change and the only warning Herian gets is a burst of joyful laughter before a small blond elf wraps her arms around the other woman. )

Maker... it truly is you. ( She mutters, teetering between happiness and possibly crying. ) It has been far to long too!

we can totally handwave if you prefer btw i know this is hideously late

[dashing]

Ainsley— ( Maker preserve her ) Ainsley cheated! You know that as well as I!

( But her indignity is a mumble, and lost to the bewildering prospect of seeing someone from before, in all senses. Before the Spire fell, before Starkhaven burned, before the Circles and before her father.

There is a great deal of "before," and it would be a lie to say she doesn't consider running. The thought shocks herself, that she could come so close to buckling into cowardice. She is not afraid of Saoirse; she is her friend. She does fear, though, the judgment. The being deemed something... unworthy of the memories they share, that they might no longer be kin of the sort that is forged in an alienage, no matter if you are tied by blood.

She's struggling to breathe properly when Saoirse arrives. It's— an uncomfortable sensation. The hug, strange as it might be, is a relief. )

Many years. ( A slightly croaked agreement, as she stiffly raises her arms to hug Saoirse in return. It is not reticence, so much as shock. ) It is— hard to fathom.