and those who loved before will be brought back together

[closerift]

Who: Cecily Trevelyan and YOU.
What: The Inquisitor and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day... AKA, Cecily wakes up after her time living and dying as a wendigo and has a hard time.
Where: Hope's temple, Chez Thedas, and then Hope's temple again.
When: 3/1
Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, and an angry, naked lady.



[ morning ; closed to cullen rutherford: ]

[ She wakes with a start, breath coming in one loud, sharp gasp, sitting bolt-upright on a stone slab. Immediately, she shivers, and before her mind works to process the really unpleasant things, it moves through the simple ones. One of the temples. Unarmed. Naked. Instinctively she wraps her arms around herself, the chill of the room seeping into her bones. The anchor fizzles briefly on her palm as if greeting her and she shakes it, the pain an unfortunate reminder of all the many, other things that are settling into her mind and making themselves at home.

Cecily remembers from beginning to end. Human meat, insatiable hunger, a failed cure. Friends, concerned, come home. Self-imposed exile, pain, violence. After that, she wasn't herself at all, went from sharing her body with a malicious spirit to being only the spirit, her own soul and will snuffed out in a hunt for food and death. She'd struck a few people, at least, hadn't killed any that she could remember, not before a few impossibly-hot bursts of fire ripped through and took with it the demon. Then... nothing, until this.

She has no concept of how long it's been, but she knows she's still in Hadriel. She knows she'd died. Died, not almost died, or suffered intense wounds, but lost her life and was brought back by... Hope? Shaking, she casts her wide gaze around at the temple, slinking from the tablet to press her back to it, facing the opposite wall from the door. Panic begins to fill every corner of her, threatening to drown her in the enormity of what had happened, and she has no strength of mind at the moment to try and calm herself in any way. As the Herald, she should feel compelled toward the Chant, but she feels like but blinding fear in this moment and finds herself staring hard at her body, her skin, waiting for the nails to lengthen and curl, for the veins to rise, for all the color to leave until she's a stalking, white horror.

It's almost an hour until she tries to get to her feet, feeling weak and unsteady. At another time, she might have been annoyed and angry to be inexplicably without any clothes, but such emotions aren't quite returned to her, not with how brightly they'd burned when she'd been possessed. All that's left now is logical purpose, to get out of here and to go back to the home they'd made for themselves, to find someone who can tell her that none of it was real, after all. So, like a sleepwalker, she staggers toward the houses, oblivious of most of the people who may be out this early, but avoiding those she can, eyeing them with a paranoia that lingers and suggests that any of them might run at her and try to take her life again, in seeing a monster. None do, so eventually, she makes it to the front door which is mercifully unlocked.

The Inquisitor takes one step inside and collapses to the floor, curled on her side and trembling violently. ]



[ evening ; ota ]

[ She returns to Hope's temple within the same day. Dressed and with her weapons, eyes blazing as a part of a furious and resolved expression, the Inquisitor stalks through the city and makes a beeline straight for the place where she'd woken that morning. In addition to the bow that's now at home again on her back, which she'd retrieved from her room, where she left it, Cecily carries a one-handed sword. It isn't a weapon she fights with or has any real skill with, but for her purposes, it'll work much better than a bow. She enters and finds herself shaking again, as she had when she'd woken this morning, but this time it is with barely-contained fury. Unfettered by much, she releases a loud, angry yell that echoes around her in the barren chamber, screams until her throat is raw and she's blue in the face, tears stinging again at her eyes. Then, when she feels weakness forming over the anger, she withdraws the sword and smashes it in broad strokes against every part of the temple she can reach, including the altar where she'd woken. ]

Lying... damn... son of a bitch! [ She exclaims, hacking away at the stone, the echo buzzing like a swarm of bees. Most of her cries are unintelligible, just violently unhappy shrieks drowned out by the metallic strike of a weapon against unyielding stone. Originally, she and Sharon had joked about burning the place down, but she doesn't think fire would do any good against the material. They needed something much stronger, something that she can't quite imagine at the moment that could crush the temples of their captors completely and absolutely.

Slightly less crucially than that, she realizes with a start that she wants nothing to do with fire, particularly not one that's out of control in the city, set by herself and another or otherwise.

Eventually, red in the face and out of breath, hair sticking to dampened skin, she slides against one of the walls. The sword clatters to the ground, lying still, its purpose finished. The Inquisitor herself does nothing but breathe, just as angry as before in her inability to enact any change, yet again, in their situation. She tries not to think about her time being possessed, but memories creep into her mind when she's trying her hardest to ignore them, reaching out to tap her on the shoulder and speak up about when she might have killed her friends, when she'd been too weak and stupid to find an answer before she was too far gone.

Cecily draws her legs up against her chest, burying her face beneath her arms. There isn't any place in Hadriel that would make her feel better or more comfortable right now, but trying to destroy one of the temples is as good a place as any to start. ]


( ooc; feel free, in the evening scenario, to encounter her on her way to the temple if your character wouldn't naturally be found in/around it! )

Comments

evening -

[hedgings]

[ If anyone expects that Julia comes to the temple to worship or whatever the fuck it is people do in a temple - they were dead wrong.

Granted, Julia didn't exactly explain what it was she did in any temple she visited here. She didn't really want to talk about it. Not to herself or anyone else. For a number of reasons. She suspected people of listening for instance. And she didn't trust a single damn soul in this place.

When she hears someone coming, she ducks behind a one of the pillars. Out of sight, out of mind. For her. She doesn't pay much attention to the other soul until she hears the screaming. Then she quietly edges around one of the pillars, keeping her distance from... shit what was her name again? She actually liked her some too. Si-- Ce-- Cecily. Cecily. That was it.

Cecily who's angry, fighting off weariness and sorrow with a blade at walls that don't crumble to her. This place cares nothing for her anger. It doesn't care for her at all. They're just bodies populating space. Pawns on a board they never asked to be set upon. She knows the feeling all too well. For her it's nothing to do with here, she was broken before she came here. For Cecily, she can't tell. But no doubt these recent occurrences have played their parts in everyone's misery.

Once Cecily looks truly beaten by the temple, Julia finally steps out fully. She walks the length of the temple and comes to stand before the other girl, who's face is buried in her arms. Julia hasn't known pity in far too long, but she can recognize something of a kindred spirit. ]

Didn't help, did it? [ Her voice is flat and even. It's less of a question, and more of a fact that she doesn't find surprising. ]

[closerift]

[ The voice draws her from her arms gradually and she looks up at the other woman (Julia, she remembers, after some thought) with the look of someone with too much energy and no way to spend it. That's how she feels, like a fire burning but with nothing to consume. ]

No. [ No, it didn't help, it didn't make her feel better. Even if she could completely level the place, she suspects it could be restored, and would, before any real time passed. The Inquisitor sighs, getting to her feet. ]

I hope you weren't fed the human meat. [ She says quietly, but seriously. The unspoken "too" at the end of her sentence hangs there, loud in its silence. ] ... I wanted to make them feel a little of what we've been through, in all this. I just can't believe- can't accept that I've been here nearly six months with nothing to show for it.

[ She's no closer to finding a way back home than she'd been when she'd first arrived. They're still the playthings of three gods who couldn't care any less for them, and there could always be more of the fickle beings on the way. ]

[hedgings]

Kind of hard to do when you're not a god. [ It wasn't a comforting though. It was probably more damaging than helpful. Julia's not here to build anyone up. She doesn't need people she has to drag through the muck. She needs people who can keep up with her. Other magicians would be ideal, but she's working with what she's got.

Which is not a lot. Thanks for fucking nothing Hope.

Her eyes drag away from Trevelyan. She searches the temple, as though expecting to spot Hope fleeting around in some corner. Watching. She just assumes always watching. If she were a god with a bunch of prisoners, that's what she'd do after all. And even if not Hope, there are two more. ]

We shouldn't talk here. [ She looks back down to Trevelyan. At least this time she's managed to scrounge some clothes together that aren't covered in blood. Even some boots so she doesn't walk on anything too dangerous. Better than the last time she met the woman. One day, one of them might not be on the verge of a breakdown when they speak. ]

I don't like making things easier on them.

[closerift]

[ "Easier on them." She almost laughs, but can't summon the levity, even in bitterness. ]

They can hear and see us everywhere, I'd imagine. [ Cecily says, deadpan. ] And there isn't much more they could do to punish me.

[ At least, she thinks, dully, she isn't powering any of them at the moment. She doesn't feel much in the way of hope or fear.

... Rage, though- damn.

With a sigh, the Inquisitor begins moving toward the door, following Julia's advice if only because her violent spree had come to a temporary end. ]

Is it easier, not having anyone you know here with you? [ She muses aloud, suddenly. ] Not having to worry about them being buried alive, or worse?

[hedgings]

Everyone I loved was killed in front of me. So no. I'd rather they were here right now, helping me work through this, than be dead. [ It's hard to tell if she's being serious about it or not. Her voice and face don't seem to change. Not even a flicker of emotion that hints that the confession hurts her.

She's already dead inside. So who gives a fuck about talking about it? It's done. It's over. It's gone. ]

Instead, I've got you people. [ There's an edge of disdain in her voice. It's not even fair, and Julia knows it. Then again, maybe that's the emotion that relays to the dead. Because feeling what's natural is too much for her. She'd rather pin her problems on something she can attack then let them be what they actually are. She doesn't mean to make Cecily her punching bag, but well... She does actually wish she had her friends' aid. Cecily has no magic in her.

It'll be harder. But not impossible. Fuck impossible. Julia wasn't staying in this shit hole. ] You're probably right. They can probably hear us wherever we go.

But I'm not going to make it fucking easier on them. And if you want to stop watching your friends get buried alive, then help me figure out how to get us the fuck out of this god damned world.

Evening, outside Hope's temple

[isacrowd]

[On the day that all the possessed humans had been killed, Z had started hanging out by Hope's temple, watching it for when the slain would come back. She'd figured they might be dazed or something when they came back, and they might need a hand fighting off any monsters that could be lurking in the city, or just walming back. Having never died before, herself, Z isn't really sure what it feels like.

The nudity thing had been a surprise, but she had taken it in stride, avertig her eyes once she'd seen that people were able to walk just fine. No monsters had appeared, either, but Z had kept guard anyway, just in case.

In the evening, there are hardly any people coming out of the temple, and absolutely no one is heading into it -- so the woman with the weapons and a fierce look on her face easily stands out. What does she see that Z missed? Z needs to find out, needs to offer her help if this woman or anyone else is in trouble. She leaves the shadows of the alley she's been hiding in and heads over to the woman, her posture open so she seems as nonthreatening as she is.

When she's close enough to not be shouting, Z calls out to her.]

I'm here to back you up. I'm Z.

[closerift]

[ The voice brings her to a slow stop, and Cecily peers curiously, her questions overtaking her anger for the moment, at Z. ]

"Back me up?" [ She repeats, brows flickering together. ] ... I don't know what you mean. I was just going to try and destroy the place, so if you've any interest in that, you're more than welcome to come.

[ If she has an issue with it, though, they may have problems. ]

Z. [ The Inquisitor repeats, heaving a sigh that's meant to try and steady herself, though it doesn't accomplish that at all. ] My name is Cecily.

[ She doesn't think it necessary to explain why she might be so angry with one, or all, of the gods that it warrants reckless violence. ]

[isacrowd]

Oh, I thought-- [Z shrugs.] I thought you were going off to fight monsters or something in there. I'll pass on wrecking it. [Property damage isn't really Z's thing. Well, unnless it's an accident.]

Why do you want to trash it? [She can hazard a guess, but it's not exactly tthe best idea, making assumptions about someone angry enough to admit they're off to cause some destruction.]

[closerift]

No monsters here, now, save for our hosts.

[ Yes, her only plan now is to take out some of the heaping angst she feels by smashing up the temple. First Hope's, then the others, if she feels up for it. Those may be projects for another day. ]

Are you serious? [ She doesn't mean to sound patronizing, but she does sound incredulous, lowering the sword a little to peer at the other woman. ] After all they've done before, and then to feed us human meat- which we haven't stopped to question where it came from, by the way.

[ The Inquisitor realizes this all at once, her stomach turning sickeningly. ]

I won't let it go without sending a message, however I'm able to do that. We are not their playthings.

[unitas]

[ The yells draw Sharon to the temple, and the closer she gets, the more she recognizes the sounds that come from within. The shouts, the anger, the clang of steel against cold, hard stone. It evokes a sense of desperation, and despair: a fight against an invisible monster that won't be brought down.

It chills her to the core. She remembers Fear's temple, and the state she left it in. She remembers the blood, and the fire, and the smoke that threatened to choke out the ceiling above. She carved her name into his temple because it will be hers in the end, and she will bring it down one day.

Sharon stands outside the looming double doors, torn between entering and leaving. It's only until metal clatters, and the sound of battle done that she finally pushes the doors open. ]

Cecily? [ It looks like the woman lost her patience with planning, and Sharon can't blame her. ]

[closerift]

Sharon.

[ The Inquisitor doesn't turn at first, though she does raise her head and stare hard at the wall opposite. Yes, she'd been trying and failing to show her ire as physically and violently as possible. No, it hadn't accomplished much of anything, except that now she's faced with her absolute inability to take real action in Hadriel, and not for the first time. ]

Go on, call me a hypocrite. [ Her gaze flits to the other woman's and then away, as if she's at least faintly embarrassed by the display. ] I know it hasn't done anything. [ "It" being swinging a sword around at the structure of Hope's temple. ] But I couldn't do nothing, not after I came back.

[ Came back. Like she'd been on a trip and hadn't turned into a monster and then burned to death. The Inquisitor shivers suddenly, violently, and wraps her arms tight around herself. ]

I... don't think I saw you, when I- [ After she'd become a wendigo. Cecily swallows with difficulty, looking highly uncomfortable. ] ... Did I?

[ Maker. If she'd hurt more people than she could remember... ]

[unitas]

No. [ Sharon replies quickly in an attempt to alleviate Cecily's worry. She'd been lucky to have very limited encounters with the creatures, with nothing turning confrontational, but the shrieks they made will haunt her for years to come. They weren't the same as the monsters that stalked the streets and buildings of Silent Hill, they were somehow worse. ] No, I don't think we did. I mostly kept indoors when things got messy.

[ A selfish decision on her part, but her safety is paramount until she can find a way back to her father. ] And who cares if you're a hypocrite. [ She punctuates her words with a shrug. ] This asshole doesn't deserve a nice temple.

[ nor do the rest of them. ]

[closerift]

Good.

[ This is good when not much else is. She remembers seeing Dorian, a woman who... had bust into flame, but not in a way that hurt her, and... there were other people, too. Faces she didn't recognize, both human and wendigo.

Cecily shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. ]

No, he doesn't. [ She agrees, finally, allowing the show of the tiniest of smiles. ] They don't deserve much at all, but here we are, providing their energy for them against our will.

[ That's one of the worst parts, one of the most frustrating things. What can they do about their emotions, after all? The answer is apparently 'not much,' despite her best efforts to melt down into a stoic being out of spite. ]

[theresolve]

[It's only after her attempt at destruction that another form darkens the temple's doorway. Rainier avoids all of them, even the empty ones, as course of habit. He had to find their Inquisitor though, so that strengthens his will to go inside.

Cecily looks normal now, like herself again, and even if she was still something else Rainier isn't certain he'd be able to properly fear her. The trust runs too deep there. Fearing for her was the only option.

Seeing her like this, well.

He drapes the blanket he'd been carrying with him over her shoulders. It smells like the house, where he took it from.]

Inquisitor... Cecily.

[Rainier's voice in questioning at first, easing into something more gentle when he says her name. He holds out a hand to her.]

Come on. Let's get you home.

[closerift]

[ If he'd seen her in person, as Cullen almost did, as Dorian certainly did, he might have feared her. He saw her before she was more wendigo than human, before she didn't have enough strength of mind to keep from lashing out, almost lethally, at someone she cares about. She can't get the image from her mind, that of the long, spindly body, stark-white with crooked teeth and movements too fast to comprehend.

She looks normal now, but sometimes she forgets that she's human and whole and sees spidery veins and hears the shrieking and it sends her farther and farther into an untamed panic.

It helps when there's a soft warmth over her shoulders, like a silent reassurance that she can feel, that she's herself. The Inquisitor looks up slowly, trying not to look as defeated as she feels. Vaguely, finally, she nods, taking his hand and letting him lead her out like a lost child, clutching the blanket at her front and leaving the sword where it fell. ]

I was wrong. [ Cecily says, once they're outside, voice even and detached. ] I thought I could find a way, a real cure, without Hope. I thought I could withstand it.

[ Instead, she'd hurt people. Almost fatally. ]

[theresolve]

[Rainier keeps close to her, a steadying hand on her arm, protective as always. His main concern is the troubles he can't fight, though. The ones attacking Cecily from inside, the doubt and guilt no doubt plaguing her.

He knows a thing or two about both of those. It's so much easier to fight something you can swing a sword at.]

Probably something poetic to be said about that - hope in the abstract, not the git we got saddled with.

[closerift]

[ She has worse than doubt and guilt gnawing at her mind, but those have always been there, have always troubled her. Never more so than now, after... ]

Probably. [ Cecily repeats quietly. ] But poetry or no, I wasn't able to remember myself. I put you and all the others in danger.

[ The blame is mostly not her own; she's guilty, but not unnecessarily self-deprecating. Still, some of it is meant to weigh down her shoulders. ]

I'm sorry for that.

[smited]

[ it's a shameful thing, but cullen hesitates when he sees her enter the house. he watches as she falls to the ground, curls up, and trembles almost violently. while a part of him is screaming help her!, another part is yelling nothing can be trusted!

she died. dorian killed her, burned the abomination she had become. but hope can bring back the dead here, or so he says. it doesn't feel right, trusting hope. believing that something as miraculous as a true resurrection can happen. especially in a place like this. so he hesitates and watches with a lump in his throat as she cowers. it's not until pup trots over to her, noses at her arm and curls himself around her to try and keep her warm that cullen starts to believe it's actually her. mabari are known for their good sense after all, and pup knew when something was wrong.

the dog looks at him, clearly asking what are you waiting for? and it spurs cullen into action.

he drags a blanket off the back of the couch and slowly walks over to cecily. he drapes the soft knit over her and brushes her hair out of her face. she's alive, and whole, and as far as he can tell, untainted. ]

Hello. [ it's a terrible greeting, made worse by how hoarse his voice is (and possibly by how exhausted he looks and how he's clearly still healing) but it's what he's got. ]

[closerift]

[ She's dazed and half-wild within herself, all the pieces of her mind and soul trying to find their places after death and resurrection. It's freezing, which is a bizarre sort of comfort, the fact that she can feel so vividly. Her skin is no longer armor-like, impenetrable. Except for fire. The fire got through, searing hot and agonizing, cut through her skin like the thinnest fabric. The fire tore her apart and took her life and the demon escaped, in the end.

Cecily curls up even more tightly, tears slipping down the side of her face in crooked lines. This accomplishes nothing, a voice chides, but it's too quiet to get through in any meaningful way. Pup's contact at her side almost surprises her and her heart speeds up rapidly, but she calms a little when she realizes, offering a shaking hand to lay over his back, fingers curling weakly into his fur. Soon after, a hand is at her face and she knows without looking who it belongs to, has long-since memorized those callouses and that touch.

"Hello." As if she's just been out for an hour. She almost laughs, but it withers far before it reaches her voice. ]

I- [ Cecily is almost surprised by the waver in her voice and she's still so angry, feels overwhelmed with the knowledge of what she'd been and done and how it had happened to her. Gradually, she manages to look in his direction, eyes wide and fearful.

She doesn't want to say it, knows how childish it sounds, but the words slip out without resistance. ]

Tell me it didn't happen. Tell me it was anything else, that I didn't-

[ Get possessed. Become an abomination. Die. ]

[smited]

[ cullen slumps to the floor beside her, sitting with his back against the wall. ]

I wish I could.

[ maker, how he wishes he could. it would be easier to deal with if it had been a dream, or an illusion. something that they thought they lived through but didn't really. but it wasn't, and so they must find a way to pick themselves up and move forward. ]

We should get out of the hall. Get you cleaned up a bit.

[ the first step of moving forward is a warm bath. then clothes. and then... well, a good cry is probably in order. that and the bath can go hand in hand. sometimes it's good to have that happen. cullen knows that from experience, but good luck getting him to admit that. ]

Can you stand? [ pup nudges cecily's arm with his nose. ] I can carry you if you can't.

[closerift]

I can do it.

[ The response is automatic, but a little mechanical. It's the response of someone who speaks before thinking much about it, and a troubled look blooms on her expression as she mulls it over. Yes, I can do it. Though she feels as though her legs are made of lead, though she half-expects those long, ghostly limbs to appear from her torso at any second, she has to be able to get to her feet and walk again. So, moving away from Pup, the Inquisitor begins to work on it, pressing a hand to the wall for support, shaking in her own instability.

Eventually, she manages it, though she staunchly avoids eye contact with Cullen throughout. There are a lot of things she thinks she needs to say, but their actual content is muddied in her mind, out of reach. So, for now, when she finally looks at him it's with a faraway expression and eyes that haven't quite regained the same life as the rest of her. After, she begins the somehow-difficult journey to the bath.

Once, they'd argued about the great dangers of a twisted ankle. Maker. That had only been a few months ago. ]

evening

[sparkler]

[He has not been able to bring himself to face her, after everything. After what passed between them. Dorian is aware it's not either of their faults, but knowing that doesn't make it feel true, and knowing it needed to be done didn't make it any easier to turn his magic against his friend.

But he doesn't want to avoid her, he doesn't want her to feel as if she's done something wrong. So though Dorian does not seek Cecily out immediately, he does seek her out, once he knows that she's had time to - not recover. That might not be possible, and certainly not so quickly. But time to find her balance, perhaps.

He seeks her out at the temple, because he knows she would likely be drawn back. The anger is something Dorian understands very, very well.

He walks in with quiet footsteps. He left his staff at home - it's less safe that way, but he should not need it. He doesn't say anything yet, only walking over to Cecily and lowering himself down next to her, back against the wall.]

[closerift]

[ If 'find her balance' means 'smash up Hope's temple,' then, yes, she's had the time. After wandering, listless, to their home and then storming back to the temple again, she's had more than enough time to inflict useless violence on the structure. She can almost guarantee that the damage won't last, let alone attract any meaningful attention from the gods, but it had felt at least mildly therapeutic.

Unfortunately, not much will cure having been a wendigo and then immolated, however rightfully the latter was done.

She hears the footsteps but doesn't yet lift her head, instead waiting and listening. The figure settles at her side, and eventually, the Inquisitor peeks out from over her arms. Dorian. She knew she'd have to face him eventually, but what can she begin to say? He'd had to do something awful for her and she can't imagine having to do the same for him, or the others (though she would, for them, do anything). The pain is still incredibly vivid, and for a moment as she looks over at him, she can feel the ghosts of fires up and down her body. ]

Thank you. [ Cecily says finally, at almost a whisper. ] Without you, I'd likely have gone on and done much worse.

[ Speaking of. She raises a hand to where she'd slashed him, hovering, and then withdraws it again, fingers curling into the mark on her palm. ]

I'm sorry.

[sparkler]

[Dorian has not really thought much of the wound. It was painful, yes, but not debilitating. If anything, he saw it as a price to pay, a reminder that he can't simply kill a friend and suffer no ill effects. Not that he could ever have anyway. Even for someone who doesn't flinch from battle, such a thing isn't easy.]

Think nothing of it. And don't thank me - I am not proud of what had to be done.

[He doesn't want to be thanked. He doesn't want it to be something she's thankful for, because that should never be the case. He killed her. Being thanked for that feels wrong, horribly wrong.

He looks at her, quiet.]

It wasn't you, Cecily. None of it.

[closerift]

But you did it. [ No, of course, he wouldn't be 'proud,' but he'd done the necessary evil despite its enormity. Without him, she might have gone on like that, potentially doing much worse damages, until Rage finally stepped in. ] It was an awful burden. I can't imagine what that was like.

[ Yes, she imagines she would do the same for him, Rainier, or Cullen. For any of the Inquisition. But, since it hasn't come down to that, she can't say for sure whether she could be so strong-willed in the face of such heavy grief. ]

I know. But I did choose not to go to Hope. I thought I'd found another way, but by the time I realized the cure hadn't worked, I... I don't know. [ She glances away, expression distant. ] I'm not sure if I chose to keep from going there, or if it was... the spirit. Or both of us.

[ And is it really worth bemoaning now, far too late for any related action? ]