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

"Nightingale."

Bethany's voice is weary, but firm, as she approaches the other woman underneath her tent, leaning on her staff as she meets Leliana's gaze, and holds it. She can see the tension and pensive nature around the other woman, and she would not care to see how her own expression fares.

She just hopes it is empty of grief, and lined with purpose.

"May I please have a moment of your time, for an important matter?"

"You have it." Leliana's rely is crisp, though her focus remains on a letter she is finishing up. She sprinkles powder over it to ensure the ink does not smear, taking just a moment to roll it up and pass it to a nearby scout. "Bonheur," she instructs, "Send this via Ser Quillby, if you will."

The scout nods and moves off at a steady jog, and Leliana finally looks to Bethany.

"News from the field, I take it."

"Yes. I have the numbers for you and Commander Cullen, of how many Wardens were there, and who they were." She took a scroll from her satchel, holding it in her hands. She frowned at it, then up at Leliana.

"We remaining Inquisition Wardens wish to know where the demon army has gone, if you have any idea. We want to hunt them and finish them off ourselves, before they get out of hand." She holds out the scroll. "We owe Thedas that much."

"Who?" That is a surprise; she had almost anticipated the Wardens guarding the identities of their fallen as closely as other secrets. Accepting the scroll, Leliana considers it for a moment, brow knitting together. More lives lost to Corypheus, and so senselessly. Leliana had seen too much of the world to suppose that all Grey Wardens were heroic, were pure and noble souls, and those illusions had been cast aside long ago (by Jonas, in truth, by knowing of Loghain and unravelling more and more about people the longer she has lived.) Such a gruesome death, though, and when so many of them could have been desperate enough to make it mean something good for the world - in death, Sacrifice.

Their very words had been turned into a sick joke.

"There are possibilities that present themselves. Certainties are not yet known." But they would be. Somehow, she smiles, a brittle sort of thing that should carry a hazard sign. "All things considered, they are already out of hand." If all the deaths were not to be disregarded, in any case. She is aware there is always something worse to happen.

"The Wardens who died at Adamant." Bethany repeated, weariness dragging at every word. There was no reason to hide who they were - their sacrifice (crimes? senseless deaths?) should be recorded, and the Inquisition deserved to know what they were getting into. "Mostly warriors, so we might be dealing with as many demons... but not any more than that. They have run out of mages. They tried turning those in the basement ... and that failed."

She isn't surprised - if these were the holdouts who agreed to Corypheus, she doubted they had the strength to survive the Joining. "Their journey to Weisshaupt will most likely be to gather more mages for their blood ritual. The Inquisition should look to guarding the mages in their ranks."

The faintest of derisive noises from her throat, as she looked out across the desert. "That they are ... but that does not mean we should not take care of them as soon as possible. I would not see their numbers swell anymore than they already have."

That is what stands out to Leliana, then, and she disregards the rest for now so she can focus on that one point. Other points will be addressed later, she decides, so they can pick through it precisely.

"Do you think it would be necessary for us to keep any mages from attending?"

Curious, interested, assessing - not accusatory, though she speaks with a certain inherent coolness these days that perhaps it all sounds the same, regardless. "Sending only those without magic and Templars, for example, for a more effective counter?"

Bethany herself pauses, considering that. Then she shakes her head. "No - they have not been through the Joining, so they are safe from the ... false Calling that we hear. They should be safe to travel, even to handle what is to come in Weisshaupt. Just make sure they are not left alone - I do not know if the Venatori would kidnap them, but I would not put it past them."

She sighed softly, looking out across the desert. "I myself will not be going to Weisshaupt, so no danger there. Velanna should be safe - her magic is that trained of the Dalish. They are more resistant to any kind of possession."

"The false calling, but not necessarily the other dangers."

But, with a sigh, she leaves it be for now. "Your expertise will be needed in other places, but I can imagine not going to Weisshaupt is... difficult." She is colder, yes, but not without sympathy. They had both of them been saved by different things; Leliana by the Maker, and Bethany by the Wardens.

"No, but those dangers have always existed for mages. As different dangers present themselves for the army." Is Bethany's simple response. "Mages are built to endure, Nightingale. We have had to."

Something in her expression shifts then, before she looks off into the distance, "I have my ... concerns, but I understand why I cannot go. If Clarel has already infested the rest of the Order, then the danger to me is ten-fold. As Velanna and I might end up being the only two free Warden mages in all of Fereldan and Orlais ... I am needed here, so I will stay here."

Her fingers grip her staff. "Besides, someone must pay the butcher's bill."

"That is Thedas' curse," she muses, softly. "Forcing all of us to endure."

Enduring was not the same as living. Enduring might be done at the expense of others, might be an excuse for all manner of cruelty. Leliana herself endured, and she did not recommend it.

"Very well," is all she says. She has no disagreement or counter to offer. And, after a moment of consideration, Leliana's gaze shifts back to the desert. "What is your hope for the future of the Wardens, Bethany?"

"It must be for a greater purpose. We would not be forged through fire if we did not need the strength to survive whatever is coming." Bethany stated softly, because there was no way this did not have meaning.

She couldn't believe this was all just random chance. It was just ... too perfecting fitting.

Bethany paused at the question, before she stated simply, "That the Order finds a way to survive this. Despite the actions of the mad -- the Wardens are still needed." She paused again, "However, if it is all possible for me to find the cure ... they will have to move forward without me."

"A cure?" Ambitious. Fascinating. Concerning? Or a relief? "Do they know you are looking?"

It hardly seems likely they cannot, and yet... Wardens have their ways. Wardens do not simply cease behing Wardens, even if they leave ranks. Anders was proof enough o that.

"Not yet. I am sure they will." Her mouth twisted faintly, as she looked back at Leliana. "You see, I decided after what I saw in the Adamant's basement. We all have a line, somewhere, that we will not cross. Where we do not bend, and we do not break. I know we must do anything for the Blight -- but this was not for the Blight. This stank of desperation. And fear."

Her voice quieted, "And for this, good men and women died for no reason at all."

No, it was not for the Blight. Leliana could well agree with that, and nods her understanding.

Not all good, she has a mind to say, although she doubts it will mean anything, that it would be any actual comfort. "And if you cannot find a cure?"

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OPEN: The Western Approach

Wildcard - 16th Bloomingtide

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