faderift | OPEN: The Western Approach

OPEN: The Western Approach

WHO: Everyone!
WHAT: The Western Approach is a terrible place. You should definitely go there.
WHEN: Bloomingtide 15 onward
WHERE: The Western Approach
NOTES: This is open to everyone. Characters who would not happily go to the hell desert probably have to go anyway; it's a war, not a vacation.

Once these wastes were a land of plenty. Can you believe it? The rain came north over the Gamordan Peaks, turning the plains green and verdant for three months of the year. Eight hundred years ago, that changed. During the Second Blight, darkspawn spilled out of an enormous crack in the earth, corrupting it with their foul blood... and it never recovered, even after they were driven back underground. The Grey Wardens built Adamant Fortress to stand watch over that chasm, but eventually even they abandoned it to the wind and the biting sand.

What few of us eke out a living in this Maker-forsaken place do so knowing that any number of deaths await us: darkspawn raids, dragons, bandits—not to mention starvation from the lack of water and game. If we stay, it is because we know there are treasures buried in the bones of this place, ruins from the time when Tevinter ruled, and even earlier. We pass tales around our campfires of the things we have seen shrouded in the dust storms. My favorites are the ones about relics that could restore the Western Approach once more... but I don't believe them. Truth be told, on nights when the wind is calm, I can stand on a hilltop and see for miles in the moonlight over a stark beauty of which no other Orlesian can claim to know the equal. On those nights, I hope it will never change.

—From Lands of the Abyss by Magistrate Gilles de Sancriste

I. THE DESERT

When Scout Harding calls somewhere the worst place in Thedas, that's probably a bad sign. Even when nothing in the Western Approach is deliberately trying to kill you, there's nothing kind or forgiving about the landscape: bare and arid, carved through by sharp-dropped canyons, dotted with abandoned mines and signs of the deaths of lost travelers. Winds sweeping through to whip stinging sand into uncovered faces, and periodic dust storms obscure visibility entirely. It's warm enough to be dangerous but not so hot, at this time of year, that heat exhaustion and dehydration can't creep up on you while you aren't paying attention.

And at any given moment, something probably is deliberately trying to kill you. The food chain in the region is top-heavy, with quillbacks, phoenixes, hyenas, and varghests roaming hungrily and as likely to attack one another as the sparse local prey population. Compared to their natural competitors, the Inquisition's forces look like easy marks. The camps the Inquisition scatters at lookout points throughout the region require constant watch, and going anywhere alone is inadvisable. Not only because of the hostile local everything, but also because it is incredibly easy to get lost. One rock formation looks much like another after hours in the sun or bathed in shifting moonlit shadows, and good luck finding many other landmarks. There are a few: chunks of pillars or arches from some ruined structure, or the occasional odd pillar that might, if someone investigates, prove to mark a trail of sorts.

Plus: the only people who seem determined to survive out here are cutthroat bandits and stray Venatori. Double-plus: a high dragon makes occasional fly-bys, scouring the ground below for anything edible, armored or not.

Some reprieve comes at night, relief from both the sun and the area's primarily diurnal predators. But that's when the darkspawn come out.

II. GRIFFON WING KEEP

Bloomingtide 16-17: Taking the Keep

Only a small force of Tevinter cultists remains in Griffon Wing Keep when the Inquisition arrives, seemingly on their way out the door already, but the sight of Inquisition banners is enough to make them stay and fight. There's no need for siege equipment, but there is call for a little bit of patience. With it, a small battalion is able to evade the mages and archers on the walls and storm the doors with few casualties. Fewer than three dozen warriors wait inside. It's a quick, brutal fight; it only takes a night.

Bloomingtide 18 Onward: Home Away From Home

Once the Keep is cleared of occupants, it's ripe for the Inquisition to… occupy… But with implicit permission, at least. Those who aren't needed for fights elsewhere may be put to work clearing out debris and small animals and the remnants left by the cultists, and within a few days the fortress is a serviceable outpost, much more hospitable than the camps out in the sand. Barracks mean even those who don't have beds at Skyhold may have one here, and it takes less than a week for an enterprising merchant to arrive with ale.

III. THE STILL RUINS

Despite signs of recent activity, the lavish Tevinter palace tucked incongruously into the canyons is quiet and still, when the Inquisition discovers it—quiet, still, but not empty. The ancient ruin is brimming with demons and Tevinters in incredibly outdated fashions, all frozen in place, as they have been for hundreds of years. No one breathes or blinks, but their skin is still warm and alive to the touch.

Beyond the entryway and halls and through the courtyard, there are signs of research and experimentation, and one man stood unmoving with his hand clasped around something unseen.

Perhaps someone will discover the cause. Perhaps someone will undo the spell that's been cast over the palace. Perhaps, if someone does, someone will take the opportunity to not immediately murder all of these valuable sources of ancient information, and instead only murder most of them. In the meantime, however, it is unlikely that anyone will ever be able to get this close to a rage demon without receiving a face full of fire. Take advantage.

IV. CORACAVUS

Signs of the Venatori point upward: up the hills, up ladders and towers, and into the ancient Tevinter prison, Coracavus, that was built into the mountainside. The ruin is filled with sand now, with half-collapsed walls and anything not made of stone worn away by winds, and the Venatori are long gone, their hunt for relics from the glory days of the Imperium abandoned when an excavation attempt opened the prison to darkspawn, instead. The darkspawn have retreated as well, but there are signs of their presence. Namely the smell and the half-eaten corpses of slaves—primarily elven and dwarven—who were left behind to their fates when the Tevinters fled.

There's no sign of them now, but digging through their abandoned camps may turn up a name, if anyone would like to see that he pays.

V. ADAMANT FORTRESS

A day's determined walk from the nearest Inquisition camp, Adamant Fortress overlooks the vast chasm—dubbed the Abyssal Rift—from which darkspawn poured during the Second Blight. It stood abandoned for nearly 150 years before the Grey Wardens' recent reoccupation, and it's abandoned again now, emptied out well before the Inquisition's forces arrive. There are signs that the retreat was a hasty one: scattered belongings, opened doors, abandoned meals, and no fewer than fifty bodies left on a mass pyre that only half-burned without anyone to tend it.

The Veil has always been thin here, and it's thinner now, where demons have been pulled through from the Fade. Rifts hang over the battlements and in the corridors, and escaped shades lurk in the dark corridors, siphoning away the willpower of those who linger until they come close enough to attack. Those who visit the Fortress set up camp outside of it rather than within it, wisely.

There are clear signs of blood sacrifice, for those who look: the bodies, blood stains on the stone floors, neat lists of names systemically crossed through. Sorting through documents left behind may turn up vague notes in a mage's runic shorthand or the journal of a trepidatious new recruit (Lourde, a pickpocket, crossed through on the registers). Behind a locked door in the lowest rooms are the bodies of sixteen mages, still in their Circle robes, left lying where they fell when the Joining took them. Mages who were among the rebels in Redcliffe may recognize a face or two as belonging to the hardliners who left with the Tevinters.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"On it!" Firing at someone above them isn't the best strategy, but it's chaos yet, and he'll not go running around blindly. Malcolm peppers the area with a few arrows, if not to harm, then to at least distract for a few moments where they can't fire so he can angle himself into a better position--to take aim and to not be in immediate danger of having an axe swung at his head. When the archer next pops back up, Malcolm's aim is true enough to land a grave hit. "There'll be more where that came from. Watch your head!"

"Just suppress them!"

She can't watch for arrows and for swords swinging at her at the same time. Cassandra tries anyway, sparing one eye for the upper level as often as she can, even as she charges forward, sword flashing in the sun.

The remainder of the cultists before her go down with little fuss, and their party advances slowly but surely, up to the next level and then the next. Before long, they're at the top of the keep, fighting the last few cultists with a trail of bodies behind them. Those left seem to know they've lost, however, and their fighting is much less enthusiastic than those of their comrades.

Cassandra, however, is just as passionate as ever. She advances on the warrior before her, focused entirely on the battle, and fails to note the last archer on the battlements or the arrow trained on the back of her head.

It's also hard for him to find good places to take aim while also watching out for any errant swords and axes coming at him, but that's what he's relying on the likes of Cassandra for.

As the fighting goes, he distracts and dispenses of several more archers, with the help of the mages. And some Venatori mages are taken out with help from him. They're well-prepared for assault, though not a full invasion from the Inquisition. That does not make them any less dangerous, even as their numbers diminish.

Up on the battlements provides a much better angle for firing and a better view of who's left. He fires a few at the back of a soldier before moving down the line. Oh. There's still one more bugger up here with his sights trained intently. Malcolm sprints, closing the distance, and catches the archer in the side with his shoulder, tackling him to the ground. The aimed arrow flies and goes wide, bouncing into the ground by the feet of Cassandra's enemy, harmless.

He's already got a fresh arrow trained on the bloke's throat by the time the Venatori has recovered. "I'd like to take you prisoner, but go on. Give me a reason. The rest of you have already fallen." Even shaky, even defeated, the man reaches for a dagger on his belt. Malcolm slams the arrow in. "And there's my reason, thank you." He takes up the now unoccupied space to take deadly aim, not wanting to waste any more ammo on just a few left.

Cassandra delivers the killing blow to her own adversary just as the arrow hits the ground before her. She looks up to see Malcolm struggling with the archer on the balcony and draws in a sharp breath, ready to call out to him, but stops herself before she can. Distracting him at this point would only put him at risk, and she has her own enemies to take down.

She turns away, raising her shield just in time to deflect a blow from a cultist who had thought to take her unawares. He goes down easily, as do the rest, and soon enough the bottom level is secured and she glances up, her eyes finding Malcolm where he stands guard on the battlements.

She doesn't call to him; she doesn't need to. He's standing, bow at the ready, and she simply catches his eye, giving him a miniscule nod. He is likely too far away to see the relief in her expression.

But relief is palpable all the same--from everyone fighting. Malcolm does a sweep from above. The battlements that he can view, the veritable arena down below, even beyond the walls of the keep, lest they be caught unawares by reinforcements. Only when he's satisfied there isn't any immediate, visible danger does he descend a ladder to return to the main party's side.

"It's a good thing I was watching your head for you."

"Was it really that close?"

She raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical. Malcolm is a reasonable sort, but she wouldn't put it past him to exaggerate, if only to try to scare her into being more careful in the future.

She nods to a soldier glancing her way, gesturing to him and calling out orders. "Sweep the castle. If there are any left behind, give them the opportunity to surrender, but do not hesitate to kill them if they fail to cooperate." That done, she turns back to Malcolm, nodding at him to walk with her.

"It has been a long time since we have been in battle together."

His head tilts at the question, a slight smile on his face. It's tempting to make a little fun, but the truth of the matter is more grave. "Perhaps he might have missed, at that distance, but I don't like leaving things like the lives of my fellows to chance, do you?" Yes, it was that close.

Malcolm clasps his hands behind his back as he walks alongside her. The adrenaline of battle is still thrumming through him and through the air, but he just flexes his fingers out of sight and keeps his breathing even. "It has. You have become even more ferocious on the battlefield than in my memory, which is quite the impressive feat."

"Are you saying I owe you my life?"

Her tone is light, joking, unwilling to face the more serious truth behind the words - but the smile she offers him is genuine, all the same. "You are right, of course. It is good that you are here."

She scoffs at the praise, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword as they walk. "Ferocious. Many people have called me similar things, and rarely as a compliment." She glances at him, studying him in thoughtful consideration. "Your technique has improved. As has your aim."

He merely inclines his head at her praise, an acknowledgement. He will not argue it. With age and practice and training comes improvement. Instead, he eyes the battlements as if there might be lingering threats. (One never knows.) Rather than paranoia, it's merely a place to direct his thoughtful pause. "I am glad to be here, as glad as anyone could be in a place such as this. I admit that...I fear I have been somewhat neglectful of my duties to the Inquisition, as of late."

And perhaps that will sound ridiculous to her, but it's the truth nevertheless. "At least, I feel that I have not done enough to earn my place. Being out and about, getting my hands dirty...is better."

Just as predicted, Cassandra frowns in disagreement. "You have been anything but neglectful, Malcolm. I have known few so dutiful." ~~He's even less fun than her occasionally.~~

Still, she nods in quiet understanding, turning her head to gaze with him out at the battlements. "It is always a relief, to be in the field rather than cooped up in Skyhold. The constant meetings in the War Room, the paperwork, people asking questions..." She makes a disgusted noise. "Sometimes it seems that it never ends."

~~Golden Nuggie for: Least Fun Person in Skyhold, Possibly Thedas.~~ There's amusement playing on his face and even seeping into his voice. "Forgive me for the observation, but you are someone not terribly well-suited for a life of paperwork and calmly answering questions and sitting at a desk. You are the one who leans over a map full of pieces, stabs a blade through it all, and charges out with her head held high."

Look, he's not saying she's incapable of planning, but between the two of them... "And as the Inquisition grows, your responsibilities that are not battle also grow. It's a wonder you even have time to sleep."

She shakes her head, not disagreeing. "It is...not what I had envisioned," she admits quietly, perhaps the first time she has admitted it to anyone. "But whether I am suited for it or not, it is my responsibility. My duty. As much as I might wish to leave it to others, and do what I am trained to do, what I am good at..." What she enjoys. She trails off, and then sighs, shaking her head firmly.

"It is of no consequence. We must all of us do what the Inquisition requires of us, or we will never succeed."

"Cassandra, I may not have the authority to lead anyone as another foot soldier of the Inquisition, but if there is anything I can do to help lighten your load lest you buckle under the weight of bureaucracy, I would be happy to do my share. Even if it's just making you up a plate of meat pie to make sure you're eating."

He huffs a short sigh. "Some days I wish I had not given up the search for the Hero and the Champion. Their wisdom and guidance would certainly help us all right now."

"You are hardly a foot soldier, Malcolm. You are a Seeker of Truth. Do not forget it."

Or he was, anyway. The Seeker Order may be no more, but the lessons they had learned, their determination and integrity, remain. Or so she hopes. "But...thank you. For the offer. I will keep it in mind."

She sighs, shaking her head as they walk. "We could only search for so long before it became a fool's errand. It would have been better if we could have found them, of course, but we must work with what we have." Which is...this. No Inquisitor, and the Advisors struggling to push forward and keep the Inquisition together with no clear leader. She frowns, the lines of worry that have become more and more common lately appearing between her brows.

"We will continue on, in whatever fashion we must. If they are dead or disappeared and taking a well-earned rest...then we carry on without them and do grand deeds in their wake." He has to believe that. As much for himself as anyone else. "The path is long and difficult, but we must succeed or the world is doomed. No pressure."

Cassandra smiles wryly, though she only looks more tired at the thought. "I suppose it is not the first time." The Hero of Ferelden had saved the world once before, as had others before him. And the Breach is closed; Evelyn had given them that in her sacrifice. She closes her eyes briefly, letting out a long breath. "If it is truly up to us, if we are on a righteous path, then we must trust in the Maker to guide us."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

OPEN: The Western Approach

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