ARRIVAL: FERRY Kirkwall is quite dirty. It smells heavily of alcohol. The stables on the ferry-side are cramped and unimpressive. The mental list of things Vega does not like about this place is getting long; she assuages her traveler's fatigue by selecting somebody to argue with.
"She isn't heavy." Her voice is sharp, demanding. "Would you look at her?"
'She' is a light-grey, dappled mare, standing with great patience down the end of the dock and lacking any opinion on whether or not she should be allowed to board the ferry to the Gallows. But Vega's cheeks are flushed with irritation, twin spots of bright colour in her pale face. She adds peevishly, "I suppose it costs more! Fine—I will cover it."
KIRKWALL The seat of the Orlesian Chantry once resided here.
There is a book tucked in under Vega's arm (Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, a beautifully embossed tomb), purple ribbon limply marking her place. She had come here to sit and read within hallowed halls, but now she stands, confused, in front of a beautifully abundant garden. It takes up most of the square.
Squinting at the bronze plaque to the side of it, parsing through a green patina, her voice rises sharply in a screech of horror.
"In memorial?"
MESSAGE (BOOK) (In an elegant, sloping hand,)
I will have some questions answered.
One, how far will a single message travel, via the sending crystal? Two, how many crystals are we allowed, each? Three, with their own crystal, could one shape it even smaller than it is now without breaking it physically or destroying the magic?
... Wait, one more—where exactly do these come from? Who collects and makes them?
Lady Vega Arany, Native OC
Kirkwall is quite dirty. It smells heavily of alcohol. The stables on the ferry-side are cramped and unimpressive. The mental list of things Vega does not like about this place is getting long; she assuages her traveler's fatigue by selecting somebody to argue with.
"She isn't heavy." Her voice is sharp, demanding. "Would you look at her?"
'She' is a light-grey, dappled mare, standing with great patience down the end of the dock and lacking any opinion on whether or not she should be allowed to board the ferry to the Gallows. But Vega's cheeks are flushed with irritation, twin spots of bright colour in her pale face. She adds peevishly, "I suppose it costs more! Fine—I will cover it."
KIRKWALL
The seat of the Orlesian Chantry once resided here.
There is a book tucked in under Vega's arm (Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, a beautifully embossed tomb), purple ribbon limply marking her place. She had come here to sit and read within hallowed halls, but now she stands, confused, in front of a beautifully abundant garden. It takes up most of the square.
Squinting at the bronze plaque to the side of it, parsing through a green patina, her voice rises sharply in a screech of horror.
"In memorial?"
MESSAGE (BOOK)
(In an elegant, sloping hand,)
I will have some questions answered.
One, how far will a single message travel, via the sending crystal?
Two, how many crystals are we allowed, each?
Three, with their own crystal, could one shape it even smaller than it is now without breaking it physically or destroying the magic?
... Wait, one more—where exactly do these come from? Who collects and makes them?