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

As Anders had predicted, Hermione's ability to simply generate clean water from her wand is something of a godsend, especially given their current locale. She's more than happy to refill the waterskins of anyone who asks, but she finds that, between the heat and the sand and the generally uncomfortable conditions, she can't keep this up indefinitely. It's all exhausting, and she has to take constant breaks in between, often hiding away from most people and focusing on physical activity rather than magical.

It's during one of those attempts to find a place where she could sit for a few minutes that she happens across Anders, who seems to be in the process of healing someone. It makes her feel even more inept, given that the one good thing she's been able to do with her magic can only be done in short bursts. Sighing, she waits until he's done before approaching him, trying to look more friendly than drained.

"Hello, Anders. Still helping where you can, I see?"

"I'll let you know when I've figured out what a break means." He gives her a smile as he sends the patient off and turns his attention fully to her. "How are you doing? Enjoying the heat?"

It might be a little hotter than he's used to anymore, which makes him rather glad that he's not wearing black out here. The fact that he's lost his ability to simply enjoy the heat makes him a little sad, though. "And whta can I do for you?"

She automatically assumes that his comment about enjoying the heat is nothing more than sarcasm, leading her to reply in kind. "If you don't take breaks, how will you ever work on your tan?"

Cracking a small smile and shaking her head, she remarks, "I only came by to say hello. I've been helping with water throughout the days and fires throughout the nights, and it's all been a little exhausting." Hesitating for a moment, she adds, "Using magic never used to tire me out like this. Large, difficult spells, certainly, but that's mostly because of all the preparation and concentration involved. Is this how it is for all mages here, or is it because I'm a rifter?"

"Walking and riding is when one can work on their tan." He's not actually working on one, though he remembers Zevran suggesting he should one day. Or something along those lines. It doesn't matter. There aren't really times for taking breaks here.

"And the answers to your question are no and possibly. The ones of us who are tired are tired because we're working constantly." Like him. Thanks, Justice. "Generally, spellcasting doesn't take everything out of us except when we have to cast over and over and over. If you're making water and fires non-stop, you should rest. Thedosian mages can make ice and it melts rather quickly in this heat."

"Assuming a person can stay upright for any decent length of time. Some people push themselves just a little too hard." That isn't a rib, not at all, because she knows she's definitely not one to talk about that sort of thing.

"There isn't much I can do if I choose to rest," Hermione remarks, not so much bitter as she is disappointed. "I didn't bring any books because I assumed it wouldn't be entirely prudent to bring the entire library with me, and Thedas is lacking in most other diversions. And anyone that I would want to chat with for any amount of time always seems to be busy."

Like you, Anders. Thanks for that.

"Or perhaps you simply shouldn't get much downtime if any at all gives you opportunity to jab twice in rapid succession." His smile is wryly amused. "I'm a healer. Not pushing myself isn't truly an option... but I can still talk while I work. In fact, I prefer it. Even if not all my patients do. Or maybe that's why I enjoy talking the most."

Sometimes he makes an effort to get along with people. Sometimes he doesn't feel like it, especially if they're the types that are angry he's alive.

"You're here now, though, and I'm out of patients, so talk away."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," she returns dryly, her smile as she glances down saying otherwise. She still shrugs, though, remarking, "No, I know you're busy, and you're trying to do good work. I'd be doing the same if any of my healing charms were worth anything here. As it is, I'd still rather not point my wand at a living thing unless I don't like them, just in case what ends up coming out isn't what I'd intended."

And wandless magic isn't something she's going to so much as think about unless she's in a truly desperate situation, since that has the potential to go drastically wrong even back home.

"But I'm sure me complaining about my magic again isn't your preferred topic of discussion during your downtime. Do you need any help with anything? I can still provide clean water, if you're running low."

The one leads to an interesting question, really. Would she point her wand at someone she didn't like? Considering how a previous conversation had gone, Anders leans toward no. But that's not really a question for now. Later. If something comes up where it's relevant.

"Let's give you a break from water duty, shall we? But we can still have magic talk." He glances out across the sand. "We're far away from Skyhold, near no populations. We could finally try out a staff, if you'd like."

Hermione's done her fair share of unsavory things to keep herself and her friends alive. If she sees a known Death Eater in Thedas, there simply isn't any way that she's going to allow them to get a foothold with the Inquisition. Whatever comes out of her wand, she'll deal with the consequences, no matter what they might be.

She's grateful enough that he's not going to ask her to do simple parlor tricks like making water or fire or some such thing, though her eyes light up - possibly with more anxiety than anything else - at the mention of a staff. "Oh-... well, I suppose it would keep people from being hurt, but... what if it doesn't? I'd hate to think that I've turned an already-difficult journey into something unbearable. I am curious how a staff would work, though...."

"If we let all of the what-ifs stop us, we'd not get anything done. The call is yours whether we try or not, but there's no telling what's going to happen. It may do nothing. It may be useful. It may set a great many things on fire, which is why it's good that I can cast ice."

He steps over to the side of the tent and grabs his staff, easily slipping it into the straps on his back. "So shall we? I don't know when we'd get a better situation for it."

Despite herself, Hermione chuckles at Anders commentary about being able to cast ice. "I suppose it would be better to practice with it now, while I still have my wand and can manage my water-making charm without too much trouble. I never was one for putting things off until the last minute."

Even so, trying a completely new and foreign sort of magic is just as frightening a prospect as it is exciting, and so she can't exactly help the fluttering feeling in her stomach as she smiles, moving to follow him. "There's no time like the present, I suppose."

"Exactly." He offers a hand to her as he starts heading out. She's young yet, close to being an adult but not quite there, and so a hand may come as comfort and encouragement. Or she might feel it a little too immature a thing to take. Kallian likes gestures of affection, but everyone's different.

"There is absolutely no way to predict what will come next. A rash of patients, a rasher of bacon... The former is far more likely than the latter. I've actually only read about a rasher of bacon, honestly." Babble is a good thing to use as they seek to put a decent distance between themselves and the camp, but not too far to get help should need arise.

Edited 2016-05-30 07:21 (UTC)

Whatever else she might think about physical affection, Hermione isn't one to shoot down such a gesture if it doesn't cross any of her personal boundaries. So while she's surprised to see him hold out his hand to her and even hesitates for a moment, she eventually decides that there's no harm in slipping her hand in his, enjoying the feeling of friendly connection. After all, it isn't as though Harry or Ron are around.

"You've never heard of a rasher of bacon?" Hermione asks as she follows him, clearly pleased that he opts to keep the conversation light for now. "They do have pigs here, don't they? You can use just about any part of them for food, so I'd hope those that are less well-off than the majority at least know about all the different ways they can feed themselves. Even bacon, though that's not a particularly healthy regular choice."

"I've heard of it. I've never had one. If I'd not heard of it, how would I have said it to begin with?" He likes the silliness the topic has taken. It's far more relaxing, despite how he doesn't think something will truly go wrong with his staff.

"And meat that isn't squirrel or rabbit isn't that easy to come by for the poor. Chicken and nug are sometimes available, but generally pork is very rare." They may be far enough now, and he glances back at the camp. "I think we may be good here."

"Are you arguing semantics with me?" Hermione asks, thoroughly amused by the mere prospect of someone actually doing such a thing. "Either way, I wouldn't recommend bacon to anyone. It tastes all right, I suppose, but it's so greasy and unhealthy that it should be a rare indulgence, or else a last resort when nothing else is available."

It does remind her that there aren't any local stores where she can just pop in and buy a package of bacon and prepare it for Anders or anyone else who might want it, but she tries not to think about that, especially when he seems to be saying that they're far enough away to be able to start practicing. Anxiously rubbing her hands together, she looks back towards the camp, asking, "Are you sure? I'd hate for something to happen and for-... well, for you to get in trouble, or any such thing. Not that I'd let you, of course. I just wouldn't want anyone thinking I'd done anything on purpose." Or that he'd tried to do something on purpose, given how recently certain wounds had been reopened concerning his past.

Greasy and unhealthy sounds rather delightful, but right now isn't the time to be thinking about food. Especially food that he may not ever try.

Patiently he lets her voice her worries, before shaking his head. "We're following up on a legitimate question regarding the nature of magic in this world and others, in sight of the camp, but not too close to put it in danger. We're not hiding; I'm not running. But if you'd like some sort of backup, you can send a message by crystal to someone now, let them know what we're doing and why."

He's in no rush. Rushing, actually, would be a very bad idea.

"Do what you need to do to feel comfortable with this, Hermione."

Anders is unnaturally good at soothing over her concerns, and Hermione wonders if that's really that much of a comfort or if it just makes him more dangerous. She's forgiven him for what she'd learned about him, as much as it was in her power to forgive him, since that had all happened long before she'd ever even heard of Circles or the Chantry. And she doesn't think he's a violent man by nature - he's a healer, after all. But at the same time, she's come to respect him much more than she really should, considering the murkiness of his past.

But then, Sirius had had an awful reputation, too, and Harry had had literal propaganda routinely printed up about him, so Hermione clearly has a penchant for ignoring public opinion and acting off of what she sees of a person's character. And for all his flaws... well, Anders strikes her as a generally decent sort of person, which she appreciates more than she knows how to say, by all accounts.

Taking a deep breath, she murmurs, "It's not about back-up or about not feeling comfortable with you, Anders. I just don't usually do things without researching them first, so I can be aware of the risks and know how to handle them. I've gotten better with that over the years, but... there are still a lot of variables to this, and the thought of anyone getting hurt just because you were trying to help me...."

She lets out a dry, mirthless sort of chuckle before shaking her head. "It sounds very melodramatic of me, especially when the world isn't likely to explode just because I've touched your staff." And then, after a pause, she looks up at him uncertainly. "It isn't, is it?"

He listens, and he nods, only shaking his head as she asks her question.

"No. I've never heard of an explosion coming from simply touching a staff, or even simply casting through one. I assume someone could set up a trap if they wanted. I can assure you I've not trapped my staff." Anders pulls it off his back and holds it between them, offering without being in a rush.

"There's been no research truly done on mages from other places and our staves. Galadriel, one of the rifter Elves, did splinter her own staff when she first tried to use it, but from what I gather her magic as whole is... overwhelming. I've felt it, and there's a staggering, impressive amount of power there. When you've cast before, the flames or the water, I've felt small stirrings, something, but nothing on a par with hers. Not to say you're weak, because you're not. Simply to say that I think you're safe, as much as it's possible to say you're safe."

The worst thing Hermione's heard about mishaps with wands have been hexes being rebounded back onto the caster, up to and including the Killing Curse (though that had, admittedly, been a special case that she doubted would and could ever be properly replicated outside of the situation with Harry and Voldemort). Even so, it isn't so much that her magic would ricochet back at her that bothers her; it's that it might hit someone else or otherwise misbehave that has her worried. After all, mages and rifters each have enough to worry about here without her making things worse.

She knows her magic isn't as strong as it can be, even among her peers from back home. All she knows is what she's studied, and that's another reason this whole thing makes her nervous. She hasn't studied this, and Anders still seems to be convinced that nothing too terrible will happen despite that. It's appreciated, but also undeniably nerve-wracking.

Still, there's no use in just standing there, staring stupidly at him as he offers her his staff. So she takes a breath, slowly reaching out and gingerly brushing her fingertips against it. When nothing immediately happens, she carefully wraps her hand around it, testing the grip of it in her palm and trying not to instantly compare and contrast it to a wand.

"Well," she says after a moment, looking up at Anders with a small, but still anxious, smile, "nothing's blown up yet, so I suppose things could be worse."

He looks at her for a moment, a little taken aback by the choice of words before it clicks that she was simply referring to her own fears, not his past. Then he blinks and nods, hastily, attempting to cover that up.

"Yes. Yes, they could be." She doesn't expect him to blow more things up. Anders exhales, something that could maybe be mistaken for a chuckle, before he jerks his chin toward the staff.

"Can you feel magic through it? The Fade, or however you access yours?"

Hermione notices the way Anders looks at her, and at first assumes that he's aghast that she would assume anything so awful would happen just because she'd picked up his staff. It isn't until he starts talking that she realizes there'd been another explosion not too long ago that would cause that sort of a reaction from him, and she instantly feels terrible for the comment. He's already started in on something else, though, and she isn't about to dredge up negative feelings if he's trying to steamroller on.

So for now, she closes her eyes, trying to feel the thrum of magic in the staff in the same way she does her wand. After a few moments, she murmurs, "I-... feel something, yes. Different from my wand, but I don't know if that's to do with it being a staff or because it's more closely connected to the Fade than my wand is."

Opening her eyes, she looks up at Anders and asks, "Is that how it works? My wand has a magical core that helps to act as a focus point; does your staff have a core that connects it to the Fade?"

He shakes his head. "No. It's enchantment worked into the wood, the runes, and if there's metal to it, that too, but all it's meant is to strengthen the channeling. There's no magical core; there's magic in all of it. Unless I'm misunderstanding the question, which is entirely possible."

His staff gets a considering frown. "Is your magic... you, or is it connected to something else?" Rifter mages can't be touching this Fade, or could they? Maker, sometimes he wishes mages had been free to delve into the nature of magic so much earlier than this.

Hermione moves to pluck her wand out from inside her sleeve, meaning to show him just what's meant by a core. But Anders' question surprises her, and she looks up at him curiously.

"Do you mean do we have something like the Fade? No, not as far as I know. Magic is just a form of energy that exists in the world around us, and those of us who are born as wizards or witches are able to sense that energy and utilize it. The wands help with that, at least insofar as focusing it to our whims... though, of course, it still requires quite a bit of practice as a child to get things working just right. That's why even with seven years of schooling, there's no guarantee that any young witch or wizard will be all that successful in a magical career."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

OPEN: The Western Approach

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject