※ inquisitor cecily trevelyan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
closerift) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel_logs2016-02-29 09:25 pm
closerift) wrote in hadriel_logs2016-02-29 09:25 pm
Entry tags:
and those who loved before will be brought back together
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! )
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. ]
no subject
He'll never agree if she says it aloud, so Cecily just sighs, dipping her chin. ]
I only hope there weren't many others. [ The Inquisitor says, finally. ] I don't remember seeing another of those beasts, but I can't have been the only one.
[ Not when so many people were talking about it and the tainted meat was available to everyone. ]
no subject
He doesn't. There's no such thing, and the idea that there could be - even the idea coming from her - is so offensive that he can't control the anger showing in his face before he gets it under control again.
She's upset. People do all sorts of irrational things when they're upset. Maker knows he's familiar with that.]
I saw at least one other - two more if you count the friends ones that made the network post that alerted us to the condition. So it wasn't just you.
As I said - it was not a thing you could fight, and it was something we didn't know to prepare for. The fault was on you no more than it was on the others. We know now, everyone is safe now, that's what matters. We keep vigilant and we continue on.
no subject
"In peace, vigilance?" [ There's a weak sort of smile. ] ... Everyone is safe for now, but how long until the next attack? Until it's our water that's cursed, or until we see each other as enemies? They can so easily influence us, I don't think we've been properly afraid. Surely not properly prepared.
[ Though, as he's said, how could they prepare for what they can't expect? ]
no subject
He shifts his weight as he stands, crossing his arms then uncrossing them, a hand going to Cecily's shoulder again.]
... Then we prepare to be forgiving of one another - and of ourselves - for things out of our control. If it had been Cullen, would you have held this against him, consider him a weaker man for being blindsided by it?
[It's a low blow and he knows it, but he's trying to get a point across here.]
no subject
I wouldn't have held it against any of you. [ Not Cullen, Rainier, Dorian, or the other friends she'd made in Hadriel. How could she? ] You notice I haven't been sitting on a throne, here, shouting condemnations at local wrongdoers.
[ Okay, her lip twitches upward at that; it's common knowledge that the Inquisitor hates having to sit in judgment, having to be the one to bring down the metaphorical guillotine, even if it's been labeled as one of her duties. ]