[Kinloch Hold is a marvel of ancient architecture, with tall ceilings and thick walls carved out of sweeping stone. The halls are dotted with aging statues and faded carpets and tapestries; it's the sort of place that could be very imposing and unsettling, should it ever become empty. Windows are high up and few in number, but the light filtering through elaborate stained glass indicates it's at least a nice day outside, and the air in the building is damp with moisture from the lake.
Beneath everything else, the whole tower hums.
It has the quality of a song played from far away, like only the most deeply resonant portions of a melody are able to reach this distance. It's not musical on its own, not yet, but it is pervasive and just slightly off-key. Easy to habituate to but hard to ignore once you've reminded yourself of it again.
You've found yourself in what appears to be a dining hall for whomever is meant to be living here— mages, mostly, if you're familiar with the concept, and a huge number of them, from children to young adults to the elderly. They sit together on wooden benches next to long tables, their food simple but plentiful, chatting and laughing. Scattered around the room are men and women dressed in polished armor, breastplates emblazoned with an image of a flaming sword. Some of them are obviously on some kind of guard duty, a stern ring of them flanking the whole circumference of the room, while others are here to eat, but all of them are armed. If anyone in the room finds it strange that you're here, not a single one of them shows it.
Anders is here too, and even in a sea of other mages dressed exactly like him, he's difficult to miss, seeing as he's been goaded (or has perhaps goaded himself) into standing on one of the wide dining hall tables. It's causing a ruckus, mages laughing and templars beginning to pull forward from the edges of the room, but their voices are muffled and distant. It's hard to get an idea of what's going on from the back like this.
A fluffy orange tabby cat slips between your ankles, tail curling when he stops to look at you expectantly. You have the option to stay here in the dining hall, take the stairs up to the libraries, or follow the doors down into the Tower basement.
The cat doesn't voice any preference.]
[ CONTENT WARNINGS for verbal and physical abuse, violence, gore, body horror, claustrophobia, and suicidal ideation, depending on where the calibration goes. I'll try to make judicious use of subject line CWs for anyone reading, but if you'd like me to avoid any of these topics in your thread with me, just let me know! ]
Anders
Beneath everything else, the whole tower hums.
It has the quality of a song played from far away, like only the most deeply resonant portions of a melody are able to reach this distance. It's not musical on its own, not yet, but it is pervasive and just slightly off-key. Easy to habituate to but hard to ignore once you've reminded yourself of it again.
You've found yourself in what appears to be a dining hall for whomever is meant to be living here— mages, mostly, if you're familiar with the concept, and a huge number of them, from children to young adults to the elderly. They sit together on wooden benches next to long tables, their food simple but plentiful, chatting and laughing. Scattered around the room are men and women dressed in polished armor, breastplates emblazoned with an image of a flaming sword. Some of them are obviously on some kind of guard duty, a stern ring of them flanking the whole circumference of the room, while others are here to eat, but all of them are armed. If anyone in the room finds it strange that you're here, not a single one of them shows it.
Anders is here too, and even in a sea of other mages dressed exactly like him, he's difficult to miss, seeing as he's been goaded (or has perhaps goaded himself) into standing on one of the wide dining hall tables. It's causing a ruckus, mages laughing and templars beginning to pull forward from the edges of the room, but their voices are muffled and distant. It's hard to get an idea of what's going on from the back like this.
A fluffy orange tabby cat slips between your ankles, tail curling when he stops to look at you expectantly. You have the option to stay here in the dining hall, take the stairs up to the libraries, or follow the doors down into the Tower basement.
The cat doesn't voice any preference.]
[ CONTENT WARNINGS for verbal and physical abuse, violence, gore, body horror, claustrophobia, and suicidal ideation, depending on where the calibration goes. I'll try to make judicious use of subject line CWs for anyone reading, but if you'd like me to avoid any of these topics in your thread with me, just let me know! ]