faderift | [closed] Maker, though the darkness comes upon me

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[closed] Maker, though the darkness comes upon me

WHO: Cassandra Pentaghast, Nathaniel Howe, Morrigan, Korrin Ataash, Thranduil
WHAT: Recover Magical Gadgets from Vinmark Chasm (War Table operation)
WHEN: Mid-Havestmere
WHERE: Vinmark Chasm
NOTES: Hawke you had one job

The prison is gone.

That much, Cassandra had not counted on. But where once - allegedly - high stone towers had stood, now there is nothing more than rubble, falling down and down into a deep chasm.

Cautiously, she steps closer, peering over the edge. The descent is not so steep as to be impassable - as long as the rubble doesn't collapse beneath them, sending them crashing down to their doom, bodies lost deep beneath the earth forever.

This is fine. Probably.

All the same, she holds up a hand, warning the others to stay back for a moment as she debates. It might be more prudent to turn back now, citing the danger of the collapsed prison; if nothing else, they might send a team of engineers from Skyhold first, to construct a safer way down into the chasm. But they are here, now, and the Vinmark Mountains are a long way from Skyhold. Turning back could mean a delay of months, leaving the remains of the prison and everything in it entirely exposed to grave robbers, explorers, or Corypheus' forces themselves. Onward it is.

She turns back to the ragtag team behind her, surveying them. A couple of low-level Inquisition soldiers (looking terrified already), one Warden, two apostates, and a strange elf from another world.

They will have to do.

"I will lead the way," she announces. "Follow me, but stay a few steps behind. Walk only where I walk, and step carefully. The rubble may shift at any moment." With that, she turns and begins picking her way carefully down the slope and towards the chasm below.

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Kirkwall still clings to her in places (going back to Skyhold would mean going back to Kieran, and leaving him as she did before when the truth is laid bare is not quite so easy as it was in Orlais) and in the lines of her mouth, the set of her shoulders as Morrigan shifts the grip of her staff from one hand to the other.

Ruins she knows well. The past ten years have been ruins, picking over and through them but always alone, and seldom beneath the earth. After Kirkwall...

She rolls her shoulders back, peers down.

"I am not limited to this form, should it become necessary to send word back up." Hardly a secret, not now that she's taught others after all.

Korrin just raises an eyebrow upon hearing Thranduil. "You could have just asked me directly, you know." She would even have agreed with him, but something about speaking around her rather than to her irritates her a little. Not that it'll stop her from doing her job, though.

Certain she'd be a better fit continuing rather than being a lookout, Korrin doesn't volunteer nor will she stand for being volunteered. Glancing over at Morrigan, she nods approvingly. That seems to solve a potential issue without splitting up the group. "A good point. Let's hope it's not necessary, but it never hurts to be prepared. Onward?"

"And presume to enact a plan when it is the Seeker who leads us?" he ask, sweetly. "Oh, no, no. I would never. And beyond that, it might be myself who is the largest."

Even though he and Korrin are close in height. She does have the heavier armor, but he's solid-- they wouldn't know until they weighted themselves properly, and while he might ordinarily trouble Cassandra so, they're here for a very important reason, so he'll settle for being mostly respectable and utterly obedient during combat.

He turns his attention to Morrigan, looking back at her briefly as they pick their way down. "If I may request that you refrain from making yourself a spider?" Old habits, and he doesn't-- well, trust is the wrong word. He doesn't wish to break a habit for the only friendly spider he might meet.

"I can remain, if need be," Nathaniel says grimly, "but you would be losing your only Warden. I'm of better use to you if I come along."

The truth is that he's curious to see what he can of this Warden prison. He might catch things a non-Warden would not. And there could be darkspawn.

Once everyone's had their say, Cassandra nods. "It is settled, then. We will press on." She shoots Thranduil a look over her shoulder. "If you are still concerned for your own safety, I advise you tread lightly."

With that, she turns her attention back to the path, and leads the way, slowly but steadily, down the mountain of rubble into the darkness below.

After a rather noted reaction (to say the least), Morrigan cannot help but offer some helpful advice. "If you would like, Thranduil, I might provide a rope. Of sorts."

There's even a smile, or is that a smirk? It can be so very difficult to tell with her after all as she raises her staff and allows some light to radiate at the tip of it, the better to light their way. Eventually she might change her shape but preserving her mana for the moment seems the safer bet.

"How much is known of this place that did not come from the Tale of the Champion?" It seems a sensible enough question though she only cared to read the parts concerning her mother, the Dalish and eluvians, and the war when she was on the move as she was.

Korrin just rolls her eyes at Thranduil and turns her attention back to the mission at hand. If he wants to bait the Seeker, that's his own business. She's right behind Cassandra, carefully moving along the rubble and more focused on safety than speed. And though her attention is largely on herself and her own movements, she tries to remain alert to signs of trouble from her companions. If they begin to slip, she'll be ready to take action.

Morrigan's words get her to smirk a little, as she was looking forward to seeing her take the shape of whatever she pleased. Shapeshifting is awesome to see in action, so she'd never think to restrict her. The question has her arching an eyebrow, not exactly an expert on the topic herself. "That's all I've heard of it, personally. If there's more, then it'd be best to share that now."

"Enough for me to hang myself with, I am sure." He smiles back at Morrigan, kindly offering his hand after a particularly steep step, given how she's their light source. He's terribly fond of her, after all.

"Ser Warden? Have you anything to offer?" The stink coming up from under the ground was obvious to him, as was that particular nastiness that followed all the Wardens, but he was inclined to brush it to the side.

Nathaniel has turned and allowed Lady, his miniature mabari, to jump into his arms to be carried. He tucks her in his pack and adjusts.

"For a time, this prison was one of our darkest secrets," he answers, eyes on the path as he takes up the rear guard. "Warden Sashamiri was the one who captured Corypheus. She wanted to study him. See if we could use his power of controlling the darkspawn. It was discovered he had just as much control over us as he had over them, and so we imprisoned him here. Locks within locks, traps within traps."

Edited (quotation marks oops) 2016-10-25 13:01 (UTC)

"And none of it enough to hold him." The light fades as they descend deeper into the ruins, and Cassandra glances back to where Korrin follows closely behind her. "A light, if you please, Knight-Enchanter."

She continues talking as they make their way downwards, adding her own input to Morrigan's question. "We have Warden Alistair's notes, of course - though I do not see how his...portrait of the Champion will help us much." Portrait is being terribly generous. She had had to have Alistair tell her that the unhappy face scrawled onto a scrap of parchment was meant to be Hawke's. "He did, however, provide a map. Of sorts."

As they reach the first level of the prison and a more or less intact floor, Cassandra stops and pulls out the map in question. "Fortunately, it seems that Corypheus himself was held in the uppermost levels. If the artifacts that bound him are still intact, we should not have to descend far to find them."

A smile sharp as a blade for Thranduil though she does accept the hand for a moment when he's been such a veritable fount of information of late. She misses having the eyes a wolf or a cat would have, anything that sees better than her, hears better too but there are always limitations.

There's a soft huff of laughter - Alistair is Alistair, time has changed them both, has tempered her sharper edges and Kieran allows them a better understanding enough that there's a fondness she feels. "Tell him that and you are liable to trip over his pouting, he will find a way to ensure that you do." None of you say anything about said fondness in her voice if you want to make it back to the surface either, only she can fly so neatly.

"Is there aught between us and them more than the prison itself?" More she's asking just how much there's likely to be after the things she's encountered in elven ruins. Hopefully not shrieks. She is not fond of shrieks.

Korrin complies with the request automatically, a brief twitch of her lips as she sheds her staff's light for the benefit of the party. She can only imagine what Herian would think if she'd heard an apostate mage being called such a title. But, fuck it; Korrin had earned that right and from one of the most loyalist mages that exists in Skyhold. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with the Iron Lady herself.

Upon reaching the first level of the prison, the Vashoth woman peers around curiously before having a brief look at the map and nodding. "Good. I'm all for going where we need to, but the less time spent here, the better." Glancing over at Morrigan, she flashes a weary smile. "Now that you ask, it'll definitely happen, you know. Something big and annoying, I bet."

He's curious about darkspawn, the closest thing here that matches the yrch. They will no doubt encounter a few, being loud and obviously here. "I assume Ser Warden and our mages prefer fighting from a long range?"

Which means he ought to move to the back of the group and sandwich the long-range fighters between himself and Cassandra. This path seems to be so thin that they cannot risk walking two abreast in some places.

"You could ask," Nathaniel says somewhat gruffly--a very common tone from him, and it's nowhere near rousing the sleeping bear. "And Ser Warden would say he is fighting at close range these days as often as long. Hopefully we won't encounter any fighting, at any rate."

"I have been in many ruins, all across Thedas," Cassandra says dryly, "and I have yet to find a single one that did not require some sort of battle to escape." She shoots a glance back at Thranduil. "If we are very lucky, Morrigan will be the only giant spider you need worry about."

But the narrow path widens shortly, opening up into a larger space. Cassandra glances from one side to the other - if they are ambushed, this would be a terrible place for it, with no cover to speak of. Still, there's no turning back now, and she steps forward, allowing Korrin to follow with the light.

It's a long, wide bridge, the chasm falling away to nothing on either side. At the other end, past rubble and broken statues, stands a tall tower made of stone. She looks at it for a long moment, consults the map briefly, and then nods.

"That is our destination."

"You assume wrong. As she said, I'm a Knight-Enchanter, so I'm on the front lines." Korrin pats her sword hilt, the blade currently absent but a glowing whirwind in battle. She doesn't mind talking about what she is or can do, the better to plan for battle when it comes.

When they reach the bridge, Korrin pauses to stare as far as her light will extend. That tower gets a raised eyebrow; yep, she's pretty sure that's going to be trouble in some form or another. But they knew going in that such could be the case, and Korrin's pretty confident in the abilities of those she's fought alongside already. "Alright, let's do this. I want to see what's inside."

"Tis unlikely we shall face golems and paragons at the very least," Morrigan mutters, and it has the air of tempting Leliana's voice to ring out over the sending crystal since that's still such a sticking point right there, the matter of the Anvil even ten years later. (Some people have wet towels, some people have weird dwarven smithing abominations, six of one, a half dozen of the other really.)

Aware as she is of Thranduil's feelings regarding the Wardens since their exchange of letters, she's curious to see just how he might fare the longer they're down here as she moves to fall further back.

But if Korrin is up front, Morrigan will stick to the back, used to fighting in that position unless shapeshifting is required. "I fight best at a distance Thranduil, I will keep to closer to the rear."

"Small mercies," he says, despite having no idea what those two particular beasts are. He'll inquire later. "Morrigan, as much as I do so enjoy the thought of having you where I cannot see you, I must ask how often it has happened that the enemy is so kind as to only attack from what you term the front?"

This is team-building, right? This is banter? Morrigan's right to assume that the further they go, the more ill-at-ease he feels, which is ruining his ability to better anticipate trouble. The bridge screams trouble, but he crosses it with the rest of them, sparing a glance over his shoulder. They are not so far down, though the air is stale and heavy with corruption.

"We are simply seeking anything that might be of use?"

"Anything down here," Nathaniel says quietly, "is rather more likely to attack the more noise we make. I can only sense darkspawn. Everything else has to be seen or heard. Lady Morrigan, you may take any position you please."

Cassandra sees no use in speculating on what enemies they may or may not face. As for strategy, hers can generally be described more or less as "charge in with blade swinging," so she doesn't offer any input on that, either.

To Thranduil's question, she replies, "Stone and steel alone could not have held Corypheus. We know that the Wardens used magic to bind him. It is likely that the spells were bound up in objects themselves, artifacts left here to keep him trapped when the Wardens sealed the prison. If those artifacts still exist, they may provide some clue as to how to stop him."

She falls silent as they step further onto the bridge, alert for any sound, either of darkspawn or other creatures below, or of the bridge itself beginning to fail under their weight. But the stone holds, and soon enough they're (relatively) safely across the bridge.

The doorway into the prison has been torn from its hinges, leaving a dark, gaping maw behind. Hesitantly, she reaches a hand out - but there's no shimmer of magic blocking their way, and after a moment, she steps forward into the darkness, hand on the hilt of her sword.

Korrin's tread across the bridge is careful, alert, but she relaxes slightly when they're all across. That in no way mean she's letting down her guard, however. The Vashoth woman frowns upon seeing the ripped-off doorway, pausing to see if she senses anything particular about the place, but as Cassandra continues, so does she, once again acting to shed light where they can.

"Sounds good enough to me. Anything that stands a chance against that bastard is something we need. Even if it's not in the best of shape, it might still be useful." Granted, she's no Warden magic expert, but she's been in enough dungeon-delving adventures to see that much.

As soon as Morrigan changes shape, she'll see and hear more clearly, a comfort in the dark so long as there are no rat kings and no voices that sound like her son to echo in the darkness. The ground doesn't turn to cracking glass beneath her feet, the air isn't quite so fetid and she only turns every so often as she walks, pausing at the doors when others have passed to set her free hand upon them.

"There is little we can afford to lose. Whomever created such objects? Tis unlikely they left notes on how to replicate them, and Wardens cling to their secrets." For a given value of secrets, especially these days. "Even if there were notes, translating ancient tongues is a trial. We might spend until Corypheus ends the world and only find we have translated incorrectly or to have a fragment that is worth less than the parchment it is written on."

No one said how, exactly, she had to be helpful, only that she came to help and unfortunately there's only so much you can do even if you dig and scrape until you've broken your nails back to the quick, leaving them bloodied and caked in what you hope is only dirt. Repairing an eluvian is difficult but not so outlandish when one considers what it is - glass is a simple enough thing to replace with the touch of magic if one knows, if one has the will. But these? Morrigan is however rather uncomfortably reminded of a few other places of power, binding spells and rituals as old memories claw their way to the surface.

"Should we take anything to the surface that we please? Foulness will be thick upon anything we bring back. I am not terribly keen to have the light of day touch all these things." How are darkspawn made, anyway? The Blight is spoken of as an illness, and if plants can catch it, other things can fall prey as well. He's not too keen on being unable to finish his work due to an ill-timed touch or injury.

There's a variety of small things scattered on the floor, marks of inhabitants, of scuffs marking foot-- foot? prints, drag marks- the lack of light means little to a people born among stars, but there's something off in a corner that catches his eye.

He's not stupid; he won't separate from the group.

"Morrigan, might I borrow your expertise for a moment?" Pitched low and curious, but not urgent- nothing that poses a direct threat to his life or the lives of the rest of the part.

A familiar sensation crawls up Nathaniel's spine, but it is not so urgent that he can't have a look around. His boot carelessly kicks something that skitters across the floor. He looks down at his feet and spends a moment taking it in. That's odd. He leans down to pick up a few of the sizeable finger bones, and three of the spinal disks. Maybe a creatures expert at Skyhold can determine what they belong to, and why the rest of the skeleton is not present.

As he passes toward Cassandra, he picks up one of the relics on the central platform and carefully tucks it into his pack, where Lady sits on it protectively. Reaching the former Seeker, he quietly says, "There are darkspawn below us--a few levels at most. We should do our business and get out."

Cassandra turns her head towards Howe as he approaches her, nodding quietly. It's not good news, but it's also hardly a surprise. As she'd said, there's always something to fight on the way out.

"I agree." Turning to the others, she says, "Spread out - see what you are able to find. But do not go far. Stay within view, and stay alert." That done, she turns and walks a few steps away, scanning the rubble and dusty ground for anything that looks promising.

"Maybe not anything but some of it could be useful. I say leave it up to our resident Warden to decide." Not that Korrin is a huge fan of the Grey Wardens -she isn't- but it makes sense to defer to someone with expertise on the matter. Beggars can't be choosers, anyway. If there's something down here that can help them, they have to at least take it under consideration.

Nodding at Cassandra's instructions, she keeps her staff at hand to shed some light while she paces around for anything that might be significant or out of place. She frowns in thought, checking the walls, the corners, anything.

Turning at Thranduil's words, she keeps herself alert for the sounds that still haunt her dreams on late nights where sleep doesn't come easily; if this is an old place, there could be some of the emissaries. Those she does not relish either but it makes little sense to tempt fate so easily.

"Darkspawn themselves breach the surface." She pitches her voice low, replying only when she's at his side with her stave to cast light - dimmed just enough to see by as a precaution. "There are far worse things that walk the world without care than what we shall bring back this day."

Many of those things are so ordinary too, the simple tools used to shape the world into a place with Circles where so many mages went willingly like sheep, afraid of themselves.

But still, half a smile in the poor light as she glances up. "What do you wish of me?"

The darkest things are bred in pits. He knows this as he knows himself. Oh, men hurt and harm one another in new and more creative ways, but their are some things even their minds cannot conceive. Some things require-- outside influence. He wonders about the origin of darkspawn even as he beckons Morrigan closer, using the toe of his boot to indicate a bundle of papers. He won't risk touching it-- it's unclean, and the papers look as if they might crumble at the slightest touch, which is the excuse he will used if asked.

"Are these the sort of things we are seeking?"

"If it's up to me," Nathaniel says to Korrin, "if you have to ask, bring it back to Skyhold. Warden experts will be able to study it further there and sort out what to keep and what to throw out. But the more we collect, the more chances we'll have of bringing back something useful."

He picks up another chalice-like container as Lady climbs out and jumps to the floor. She begins sniffing about.

Leaving the others behind, Cassandra finds her attention caught by a small altar near the wall. Below the statue of a wrinkled old man, a few relics sit, and she frowns, going down on one knee to get a closer look. A knife, a scroll, a crown, and an urn sit on four hexagonal platters on the altar. Hesitantly, with a wary glance up at the statue, she reaches for the knife, picking it up and studying it.

Luckily, the altar doesn't explode when she does, and demons don't suddenly appear, as so often seems to happen lately.

If Lady comes near Korrin, the latter will definitely pet her for a moment. She won't distract from the task at hand beyond that, though. The Vashoth woman paces around, nudging at ash piles with her foot or running a hand along a wall. Her initial exploration doesn't yield much; a random lyrium potion, some old coins, some half-rotted scrolls. A glint beneath some rubble causes her to find a Grey Warden badge, which she'll turn over to Nathaniel when he's nearby. Spotting Cassandra by the wall, Korrin approaches, eyebrows raising as she notes the altar. Upon getting close enough to see the relics, she just stares and shakes her head.

"...lovely. It's like someone thought 'what's the creepiest thing we could possibly put down here' and went with that."

Like in Cadash Thaig, Morrigan thinks little of kneeling amidst the muck to search and retrieve. Elven ruins aren't quite so foul and she's more than likely to copy out what they've carved if she can rather than retrieve papers but well, she is nothing if not dedicated. Her hands haven't a single cut upon them though, so that makes her less concerned but she did survive a Blight without becoming ill despite all the battles they saw.

"More likely tis the scroll upon the altar by the Seeker we concern ourselves with," she admits though she lifts them since well, old habits and all that. "There might be Wardens who could make sense of it. Nathaniel, would you prefer to take charge of these?" (Look, she knows Wardens like to keep what secrets they can, she won't begrudge him this.)

But there's something beneath them, something off-white and-- oh. Oh that's a fingerbone unearthed as she rises. Though what left such bones behind she cannot possibly say, not when she stares for a few moments longer. "This would dwarf even Sten's fingers."

He recognizes the general shape as she does, recognizing what would need to be done to a normal bone to get it to look like-- that. He's fought the yrch before, he easily puts to bed whatever hopes that the foulness of this place was something less-- transformed than them.

Thranduil leaves Morrigan to her explorations, macabre as they might be, and the papers to the Warden, continuing to pick over the floor. Much is likely buried under the rubble, and well-aware of the precarious nature of caves, if only by reputation. He won't bother shifting it, but yet another thing catches his eye, this time for oddity of the shape.

Roughly sized to fit in his palm, the sphere lies covered in dust and tucked into a tight corner. He bends to touch it, halting suddenly when he feels the heat coming off it. It isn't cold down here, but the chill is noticeable in how the heat stands out. He closes his hand around it, picks it up-- nothing disastrous happens, and hee feels fine. He turns back towards the group, taking a few steps back in Cassandra's direction, and again calling out in a low voice.

"Seeker?"

Another strange man holding an orb is likely not she wants to see.

She scoffs at Korrin's comment, shaking her head. "They are not as bad as the bones," she points out. "But we should take them, regardless, and make note of their position on the altar. Whatever ritual was performed here, it may have had something to do with keeping Corypheus under control."

She looks up when Thranduil calls her, leaving Korrin to deal with the altar and the relics as she goes to meet him. When she sees the orb in his hand, she frowns, eyes narrowing as she steps closer.

"What is that?"

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[closed] Maker, though the darkness comes upon me

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sorry for delays, migraine brain

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