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With a dull creaking, heavy wooden doors open inward flooding bright morning light and fresh salt air into the musty gloom of warehouse six. A small ragged healer steps into the twilight between the bustling docks and the empty darkness. She tests the rough planking beneath her linen wrapped feet and takes a deep breath, inhaling the chill air. A myriad, of smells mark the passing of what was, and in her mind, she sees what will be.
There is much to do, and she begins to list in her mind the work to come. She recalls who she may call upon, what she will need, what needs to be sent, and where. She goes over a list of apointments, trying to recall when clan Stonewall will arive, when she can expect other friends. First thing's first, a little light.
Abigail whispers an ancient prayer in the Celestial tongue; There is the faint surge of divine power before her frail form begins to shed a pale, cold light. The darkness parts before her eyes, receeding into the cracks and hollows of the old building, casting long shadows against timber columns and beams. A perfect, wide open space. She can see stairs at the back leading up to what must have been an office space. There is enough room for everything. A faint smile touches upon her lips, and she turns toward the entrance, calling out to the idle dockworkers outside: "Move it in here please. Just in the middle is fine."
"Aye lass, 'alf a moment" The group of rough men begin their work. The creak and rumble of wagon wheels echo through the warehouse as the wagon lurches into movement. The workers guide it through the doors, and Abby moves aside, watching the load of scrap timbers from Lady Meriadoc's shipyard slowley rumble into the warehouse. Her dark eyes drift to the bright streets outside as the clatter of timbers being cast from the cart echos about the gloom. Curious faces glance in from the thick press outside. Too many. Refugees, thin and sickly, grief etched in their faces, families broken, dreams broken.
The small nun wraps her wrist in her red cord and traces the sign of the Martyr upon her chest. "Keep hope, He has come and Sundren shall have a Sanctuary."
((Feel free to post about any contributions your characters made to the Sanctuary efforts here. You can describe delivering donations, labor or anything else. Keep in mind Abby doesn't accept any donation of coin left here and would direct people to the Sanctuary fund at Waukeen's bank who wish to donate coin. She also has a list of Meriadoc merchants to send doners too who wish to donate sacks of grain, blankets, healing supplies or any other of the many things she'll need to get started. Please keep murdering Abby and burning the building down to in-game interactions though.
)
There is much to do, and she begins to list in her mind the work to come. She recalls who she may call upon, what she will need, what needs to be sent, and where. She goes over a list of apointments, trying to recall when clan Stonewall will arive, when she can expect other friends. First thing's first, a little light.
Abigail whispers an ancient prayer in the Celestial tongue; There is the faint surge of divine power before her frail form begins to shed a pale, cold light. The darkness parts before her eyes, receeding into the cracks and hollows of the old building, casting long shadows against timber columns and beams. A perfect, wide open space. She can see stairs at the back leading up to what must have been an office space. There is enough room for everything. A faint smile touches upon her lips, and she turns toward the entrance, calling out to the idle dockworkers outside: "Move it in here please. Just in the middle is fine."
"Aye lass, 'alf a moment" The group of rough men begin their work. The creak and rumble of wagon wheels echo through the warehouse as the wagon lurches into movement. The workers guide it through the doors, and Abby moves aside, watching the load of scrap timbers from Lady Meriadoc's shipyard slowley rumble into the warehouse. Her dark eyes drift to the bright streets outside as the clatter of timbers being cast from the cart echos about the gloom. Curious faces glance in from the thick press outside. Too many. Refugees, thin and sickly, grief etched in their faces, families broken, dreams broken.
The small nun wraps her wrist in her red cord and traces the sign of the Martyr upon her chest. "Keep hope, He has come and Sundren shall have a Sanctuary."
((Feel free to post about any contributions your characters made to the Sanctuary efforts here. You can describe delivering donations, labor or anything else. Keep in mind Abby doesn't accept any donation of coin left here and would direct people to the Sanctuary fund at Waukeen's bank who wish to donate coin. She also has a list of Meriadoc merchants to send doners too who wish to donate sacks of grain, blankets, healing supplies or any other of the many things she'll need to get started. Please keep murdering Abby and burning the building down to in-game interactions though.
)
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