open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

[faderifting]

WHO: Inquisition Forces
WHAT: Inquisition forces cross the mountains into Orlais to deal with Emprise du Lion
WHEN: Wintermarch 25 onward
WHERE: EMPRISE DU LION
NOTES: This is a mingle-style log for the Inquisition camps, local tavern, and general/open Inquisition work, etc.

This time they hike down to the west, but the trip through the mountains is no easier. The snow is heaped up about the road where wagons have pushed it aside, stomped into slippery pack beneath the feet and hooves that have gone before. Of the main track it is ankle deep at best and in places it drifts, waist-deep on a tall man and enough to bury a dwarf who hasn't come prepared with snowshoes. Everywhere the wind howls, biting cold, and the sky hangs low, a pale flat grey that makes it difficult to judge distances. Those who know winter weather call it a snow sky, and near-daily squalls prove them right.

They set up camp in Sahrnia, across the broad expanse of frozen river that has trapped the villagers here upstream. Tents pop up in rows and in the shells of tumbled-down buildings, fires blazing and thawing the ground to mud. When the supply wagons roll in they re-open the local tavern, brightly lit with flaking paint on the walls that might once have been colorful and patterned tiles on the floor that seems to swim like an optical illusion after too many glasses of the cheap red wine that fills the cellars.

Even deadlier reds hold the hills: Red Templar sightings have been frequent and it is said they are operating in several locations in the region in significant force. Some of these men and women have become hulking, crystalline beasts. Many others are in the earlier stages of corruption: red-veined and -eyed, aggressive and superhumanly strong, but still visibly human and coherent if spoken to. Red lyrium is even easier to find, jutting out of the ground or cliffsides, filling caves-- the Tower of Bone, a fortress that has stood for centuries, now threatens to split from the inside out. The area's wildlife was none too friendly before, but now the wolves and bears have begun to be corrupted by the lyrium and many will attack on sight, without provocation. (The snofleurs that bumble harmlessly around the river seem unaffected.)

Everywhere there are ruins: broken bridges, crumbling colosseums, and the great hulking mass of Suledin's Keep tucked between the distant hills. Scouts reported that Red Templars hold it as well.

RIFTER ARRIVAL - SAHRNIA - THE HILLS - TOWER CAMP - A HANDY MAP

Comments

SAHRNIA

[faderifting]

The Inquisition's largest camp lies just outside Sahrnia, an increasingly dilapidated village that's now half as populated as it was this time last year. Some of the villagers have died of illness or disappeared in the constant snow and ice. Many more have vanished more recently, and those who remain are afraid to venture past the village's barricaded border to hunt or collect herbs. The frozen river has cut off trade entirely. Unfortunately, the Inquisition doesn't have rations to spare, but those who feel sorry enough for the locals may share their food or go out hunting on their behalves. The Inquisition will also ask those with time on their hands to specifically hunt snoufleurs on the frozen river--they're ugly-adorable, non-aggressive, but sadly with very useful skin. And their meat can feed the villagers as well as anything else.

The only thing the village has plenty of is wine: the local tavern is still warm and still bustling, with many apparently trying to drink their daily caloric requirements, since there's no way to trade the stores of wine and liquor for anything more useful.

[gatheringstorm]

[Korrin actually spends as little time in the tavern as possible. There's so much that needs to be done in the region that she feels guilty for taking more than a moment to share news. What she is doing, aside from sharing the contents of her latest care package with the locals, is hunting. Those snoufleurs may be cute in their own way, but with lives at stake, she's not having any crisis of conscience. Encounter her either on the way to hunting them or on the way back, hauling their remains back on a sled for the villagers to strip of hide and flesh.]

A tiny jump forward after his arrival

[maladgogo]

His hand was thrumming, throbbing, the only thing he could feel now besides the cold. His toes were numb, he couldn't feel the fingers of his right hand, and both it and his left were crammed up under his armpits for the last bit of warmth on him. He had to find some kind of civilization, and fast.

The road. The road meant people, and praise the fucking spirits, it was recently used. So it was easy enough to follow between the snowdrifts, until the village came into view. Old, rustic-looking, and very much ghost town in aesthetic. Eri and Ara might have liked to see this, if they were here...they probably weren't, though. He'd be able to feel Eri if he were around, at the very least.

"'Ey," he called out as soon as he found the walkway down through the gates at the edge of the village, shivering violently by now. He didn't know if anyone would answer, or even notice, though that wasn't such a bad thing, he figured. Especially if he could find a place to get out of the cold. Even just bunkering down in one of the emptied, crumbling cottages would be better than staying completely exposed to the elements out here.

Voices. Voices nearby. The sound of a door opening and closing. People. He was barely standing by the time he reached the tavern, leaning his shoulder heavily against the doorframe and looking in.

Well, there's a little more of that culture-shock. Everyone was, reasonably, dressed, and everyone was in cloaks and furs and robes and what the hell was he doing, standing there with the door wide open and wearing only a pair of plaid-patterned red pajama pants, his hair falling over his face, glowing hand hidden away under his arm. He offered the smallest, most uncomfortable smile to the first person that looked at him, before shuffling inside and moving along the wall until he was close to the fire. The shivering wouldn't stop for a while yet.

[laurenande]

Camp:

Sahrnia had a terrible, desolate sort of beauty. It glittered, frozen and unforgiving, in the daylight. It hurt to look at it and every inch was permeated with despair, with the bitter pangs of hunger and fear. In the river valley, Galadriel could hear the old song. It rose up in the distance, against her heart and mind, like the roar of ocean waves. This place was not ugly, it didn't stink of death and illness, but it was easily worse than the Fallow Mire could have ever been.

Between the song thrumming in her ears and the blistering cold, the Emprise quickly stole the kindness from her face.

The Inquisition had its business here, business which Galadriel intended to assist, but unlike the Fallow Mire all was not yet lost. They had not come to the aftermath of a disaster, but to the disaster itself, and there was still something that could be done for these people. The song made her grim; it put an edge on her temper and wore her patience thin. She could not remain idle and sane. Until she was needed elsewhere she would put her skills to use.

She had brought a staff with her. It was a simple affair, for she knew little of staves, but had a long, wickedly sharp blade bound to its base. Unfortunately, she had not yet mastered spellwork and a glaive, however sharp, was a poor weapon for hunting. There were too few supplies to equip her otherwise, but she was not helpless. Once she had done her lot setting up camp, Galadriel took to the nearby wood in search of a fitting bough.

It would take little time or effort to carve it, and even less to string it. Arrows were less precious than the bows that fired them, she didn't expect they would be withheld. If she was wrong, she would simply steal a few. It had been an age or more since she had wielded a bow, but she was not so poor a shot that she couldn't hunt simple game.

(Feel free to follow her into the woods, watch her carving a bow at the fireside, or catch her taking arrows from the supply wagon. Prose or action are both okay.)

Hunting:

The grey morning light made the river valley look bleak and lifeless. Sahrnia was in shadow against the rocks and the frozen river was silent, the air heavy with the weight of the ice below it. Snowfleurs were easy game, they trundled across the ice, quiet but careless. Their vision was poor and they froze when startled; picking off whole groups was a painfully simple affair.

It was a pitiable creature, the Snowfleur, and normally she would have been loathe to slay them, but the winter had already made her brittle. She felt no remorse for the beasts as she struck them down, nor as she bound them together and carried them to the town. They were poor food, though, despite their girth, and there was no use in slaying dozens of them. Galadriel cared little for the value of their hides, the Inquisition could do what they would with them; she was hunting for food.

So, in the hour before dawn she waited for more useful prey. Her white gown would have been well suited to hiding against so much snow, but her plain clothes did well enough. The deer that moved through these woods, blue and grey where they danced between the trees, were very keen and very quick. It would have been simpler to track them in all white, but that was hardly worth dwelling on. The animals were not so keen that they could spot an elf stalking them, nor so quick that she would leave without a kill.

She would only be able to fell one, perhaps two before they scattered across the river, but it was something.

(Any archers want to slide on in here, or someone meet her when she drops off kills? Have at.)

Ice Fishing:

The sight and smell of blood were wearying and Galadriel could only tolerate hunting for so long before she was forced to stop. Despite all that had been done, by herself and others, there was still far too little food. It wasn't surprising, between the town and the Inquisition, but it was frustrating. Settlements on rivers were tied to them, bound to the fate of the water, and these humans lacked the power to break the ice.

She lacked the power to break the ice, at least in whole, but she was not so incapable that she couldn't puncture it. It took monumental effort, the staff she carried was just another obstacle in the face of such a task, but Nenya was the ring of water and the Veil was thin here. She took to the deepest stretches of the river, far from the banks, and knelt as she forced her power up from the water below. The sound the ice made was concussive, like the rolling of thunder, but it was passing. As it always did, the water below caught the sound and smothered it with speed.

The hole she made was imperfect; it was oblong and jagged, just wider than her staff was long, and stretched down almost twice as far. Breaking ice so thick was unpredictable and dangerous, but this was not the sea. Cracks spread like a spiderweb from her puncture, but there was nowhere for them to go, no space to claim or shift about in. The pieces of broken ice were locked in place. No matter how they groaned and cracked, they were locked, and they would likely freeze back together within the hour.

She ignored the sound of the ice beneath her shifting as she unstrung her hastily built bow. An arrowhead would serve well enough as a hook, angled as they were, and Galadriel tied one off as she took a seat at the edge of the hole. Dark water welled up through the ice and the depth of the hole was lost as it did, she stared at it for a long moment before casting her line into the abyss. She had no idea if fish still lived in this river, but if they were alive she would catch as many as time permitted.

(Want to go ice fishing with Galadriel? This really takes her back. Or maybe you want to yell at her for using weird Rifter demon magic to literally break the ice. Please join in the wintry fun and long awkward fishing related silences.)

[nofury]

Hunting

[ Maria's tracking skills have improved a bit since joining the Inquisition, but are still nowhere near the level she'd like for this sort of mission. Characters with tracking skills would be welcome to join her in a paired hunt as she leaves the city to find tamer game, otherwise she sticks to the most obvious kinds of animals she can find. This afternoon, as often seemed the case on these missions, it was a bear. Following Maria charging it, a now angry bear.]

It's for the greater good.

Camp

Maria hadn't lived in the outdoors most of her life without picking up a few lessons on doing basic repair work with very little. Most of the major structural problems in the village are beyond her ability, but when she takes down time away from trudging through the snow she can still weave rope and prepare basic patches for roofs with the best of them. Rather than in the tavern, she can be found bent over such tasks around one of the outdoor fire pits, staying just close enough to get warm. Any help, of course, is more than welcome. As is food.]

Wildcard

[Write your own opening, Maria will appear!]

[stabsbooks]

Red Templars. As if this place wasn't awful enough. As if its people hadn't suffered enough, between the snow and the rifts and the dragons.

But there's yet another threat to the people of Sahrnia - or to what is left of them, anyway. Cassandra had volunteered for the mission to the Emprise du Lion to stop the Red Templars, yes, to save the people - but also for another reason.

Gordon the Frank. He had escaped the Seekers' clutches for far too long, along with a handful of others Cassandra had had neither the time nor the manpower to spare for since founding the Inquisition. But he's here now, and it's time to put a stop to him at last.

She sits in camp at Saharnia, sharpening her blade, ensuring that her healing potions are fully stocked and her armor is in good condition before heading out. The villagers had spoken of a mage camping near the tower on the river. It seems a strong lead.

[ ooc: Unfinished Business quest! This will be a single thread with whoever wants to help Cassandra track down and kill an apostate mage (this can be a few people, or just one). Good times.

[wickedchase]

♠ HUNTING ♠
[Though most of his years were spent training with the Keeper when he was still part of the clan, he'd watched the hunters do this plenty enough that he has an idea of what to arrange. That, and after leaving, Fate had found himself needing to provide to himself.

Not that he has any real proficiency with a bow or anything. So he does this his way.

Quietly, in thought, Twisted Fate is arranging traps for the locals, and he plans on instructing them where he'd left them and how to safely remove the catches of the day. That much, he can do to them. One can hunt for people, better to show them how to provide for themselves.]

♠ TAVERN ♠
[And of course, how could he not be here? Twisted Fate gladly takes to their wine, glad for it, and certainly has a deck of cards on his person should anyone care to join him.

It's warm and better than sulking outside, anyway.]

♠ WILDCARD ♠
[YOUR CHOICE, BUDDY.]

[hugeinorlais]

Tavern

The Emprise du Lion was, without question, the most terrible place Varric had ever been. True, the Deep Roads had been pretty awful, but the Deep Roads didn't have snow and starving packs of wolves. He'd known this place was going to be bad, he'd had a sinking feeling in his gut since he'd seen the scouting reports, but he hadn't been prepared to see just how bad everything really was.

There was Red Lyrium everywhere. Everywhere. It was growing out of the snow in spikes, like horrible, poisonous, crystal wildflowers. It sprouted in the ruins of every burned out, collapsed house, and at night he could even see the glow of it, faint and awful, in the distance. It had a sort of miasma around it, gave off a cloud of crazy, and just the thought of it made his skin crawl.

This place was the worst, hands down, and Varric did what any other sensible dwarf would do when confronted with his worst nightmare consuming the countryside of Orlais: he posted up in the tavern, tipped heavily, and tried his damnedest not to think about it. Eventually he would have to, the red stuff wasn't going to go away on its own, but he intended to be at least one sheet to the wind before he wandered anywhere near any of it.

Tavern

[make_my_mark]

The mountains were all wrong; she didn't recognize the shape of them. She couldn't even place the plants she found growing along the road. But there was a road, and it was free of those - things. That alone boosted it to the top of her "possibilities" list. It had to lead somewhere, and then she would have answers. She could find her way anywhere, once she knew where she was.

Unfortunately, the little village she stumbled into provided only more questions - her therapist might have been a Trinity mouthpiece, but maybe he'd been onto something, if she was imagining herself in some Tolkien novel sprung to life - was that an elf?

She wanted to ask. Was afraid to.

Keep it together, Lara, she coached herself. One thing at a time. Figure out where you are, then worry about whether or not you're crazy.

Taking a breath, she pushed on, heading for the building - with an oddly familiar sign - that the most people were coming and going from.

It was warm inside, at least, and the scents of food and ale were strangely comforting as she stood there, looking around, left hand curling gently, green light flashing softly.

tavern. closed to martel.

[glandival]

[ The pint of ale is almost as big as her head, if you do not include hair volume in that metric, and yet, Sabine is almost done with it at least several fingers before Martel has finished his own. The last few mouthfuls are slid back with the finesse of someone who has probably done so before to applause, setting the empty tankard down as she ensures her current mouthful is all the way down.

There. Much better.

She is dressed more the part of an Inquisition scout than serving wench, in light leathers, gloves exposing only the tips of her fingers, and her hair since freed of the tight braid that had been falling apart slowly throughout the day anyway before she finally gave up on it once out of the bracing, snowy wind.

They got in late, and as such, the dinner crowd has melted away to the more dedicated drinkers, still bustling and rowdier, as if to make up for the lack. ]

And then she was like, 'I can set your arrows on fire', [ Sabine is saying, gesticulating with her emptied tankard. ] And I was like, 'Why would you do that?' But she meant she could make them be on magical fire, and then I shot the demon between its eyes. And it died.

Do you want another?

[issala]

Tent (with Cecil)

Kas had imagined sharing a tent would be like sharing a tent with the scouts - several people in one tent, sharing bedrolls in shifts and going over mission plans. Not just one person he had never really met before.

The teen wasn't sure if he should be happy to have more space or feel really awkward about it. What kind of name was Cecil anyway?

Hunting

As a city rat, hunting animals didn't exactly come easy to Kas. Not even with his newfound skill with a bow. Still, people were hungry, and he knew so well how it felt to be hungry and frightened.

The snoufleurs pretty easy targets, even if they were skittish. If he missed, it would just run away - and he still wasn't that good at moving shots. Kas only managed to hit one with his arrow on the first try, but he felt pretty good about it.

One down, more to go.

Foraging + Tavern

Herbs were slightly easier to pick out among the snow, even if they were frozen and tended to shatter in his hands if he wasn't really careful. He had no idea what he was picking other than the elfroot, but someone else could sort that out later.

...namely you.

Walking into the tavern with a small basket full of Maker-knows-what, he puts it down in front of the first person he can see while trying to not shiver too much from the cold. "I got some... stuff. Is any of it edible or good in any way? I can go out and get more!"

Whoops

At the end of one day at Sahrnia, just as the sun was going down and he was getting back from an unsuccessful hunt, the teen slipped on a loose piece of rock and tumbled down a low crevasse - landing face first in a snow pile. Thankfully the fall wasn't very high, but Kas was definitely stuck down there without someone to help him out.

"Hello?"

Shit. It was getting dark, and Kas did his best to not panic.

Tent; (Cade and maybe Araceli?)

[gatheringstorm]

[Korrin doesn't intend to visit the tent very long, just for a fresh change of clothing underneath her armor and socks that aren't soaked. As to who's assigned to her own, Korrin doesn't know or expect to care. She doesn't demand much, just space to change and an opportunity to rest. Hopefully they won't mind if she provides qunari heating pad services to Araceli, who's less used to the cold. She made a promise, after all, and she won't back down on giving her word.

Acting as quickly as she can, Korrin slips out of her armor and then her top, back turned to the entrance as she reaches for a fresh one.]

[wontforgetyou]

Hunting/Gathering:
[It doesn't take long at all for Jamie to see that the villagers here are in trouble. With buildings falling apart around their ears, no trade to speak of coming in and people vanishing, something's got to change. He's not sure what that'll be in the long term, but in the immediate moment there's things that can be done, whether it's going out to hunt snoufleurs or other animals or gathering up some of the herbs by the frozen river - and both of those he's more than willing to do, meaning he can be found out tracking or with a satchel full of elfroot. While it may not be much just yet, it's still a start, and maybe that will help until they're able to solve some of the larger problems around here. ]

Tents:
[Sleeping in strange and unusual places is nothing new for Jamie. He's long since gotten used to having to catch sleep on the go, and having to share a small space with another person or a couple of people doesn't normally bother him. This time around, however, he's wound up feeling a bit restless, and decides that spending his down time visiting people elsewhere is a much better idea. The problem there is that the tents all look the same, and while he tries to go see the people he knows, there's always that chance that he'll get turned around enough to wander into the wrong one. Hopefully whoever he winds up running into won't be too bothered by having a strange rifter appear in their midst.]

(ooc: open to any and all awkward tent cr. And either prose or action is fine - I'll be happy to match whichever you prefer!)

closed to sam

[aforethought]

tent 11 (sam)

Samwise Gamgee. Got a name, got a tent, got enough sense to check twice this time that she’s got the right one.

A dwarf, that suits her fine, and if word is this guy claims he ain’t one — well, no skin off her back to use some fancy name. But word is, too, guy’s got a shard in his hand to match Mal's, and that’s something worth knowing on.

Melys waits, sitting cross-legged to slowly layer bandages about the stump’s end. Hurts like a right bitch to bang it wrong these days; if she’s gonna need to knock about any, then it’d best be well-padded. The cold’ll help that some: It’s already soothing the fire in the old fingers, smoothing down the past weeks’ nerves.

Or maybe that’s just being out of Hold walls.

Melys glances up when he enters, quickly tying off the wrap.

“You the Gamgee fella?” She smiles (for all it doesn't quite reach her eyes), and stoops her way up, hand out to shake. It’s less trouble than it might be to act a kindness to him — he’s got information that she’s determined to have. “Budge anything about that you need to, I don't take much room.”

[haseki]

It takes Zafire a little longer than it should have to reach the village, not least because she wants to be very certain she's looked everywhere for a clue as to her surroundings. Unfortunately, the presence of some monstrous entities previously unknown to her is a deterrent for sticking around, as is the horrendous cold. She has to stay on the move to keep from freezing, and to distract herself from the gnawing pain in both her hand (the unnatural glowing shard) and the pit of her stomach (pure non-magical anxiety).

She has retrieved her shawl, which she wears around her hair and face, but doesn't do a lot to keep her unobtrusive, since nearly everything she's wearing is white, silk, and threaded with gold. Her boots are blessedly holding up throughout the trek to civilization, but the hem of her dress is sodden with snow, half-melted. The sight of the village is simultaneously a relief and an object of fear. She has no idea how the people who live there will respond to her presence, but she also doesn't know what else to do, so she makes her way into the territory of strangers, footsteps increasingly unsteady the further she gets into what may or may not actually be some approximation of safety.

Her scarf slips, slides from her hair, threatens to come loose and fall entirely, but Zafire is too distracted with trying to remain upright. She is not going to pass out. She is not the fragile house-bound creature of pillows and palaces that she was only a year or two ago. She is not going to pass out —

But her knees buckle anyway, and she reaches for a nearby frost-covered tree to balance her palm against, looking both pale and tight-lipped in her self-directed agitation.

conTENTion. closed to adelaide.

[byblow]

[ It takes a lot of cold for Alistair to feel cold, but Emprise du Lion manages it splendidly. He shows up late, ice-crusted, and miserable; he stumbles around as directed; he needs several tries to make his gloved, nonetheless-frozen-stiff hands unfasten the couple of hooks that are keeping the tent flap from flapping, as its name implies, in the wind.

Inside he has to duck down awkwardly far. It's dark. It's probably a miracle of Andraste herself that he does not step on the tent's other occupant. The flaps need to be fastened shut again, but he tries pulling off his gloves first, in case that will make it easier.

One glove halfway off, and he stops, because that was a horrible idea. He contemplates biting off his own fingers to make them stop hurting. ]

Owwwwww.

Lexa | the tavern | open

[heda]

{ the tavern }

[ Sahrnia's only tavern is predictably called La tête du lion, a name the many Fereldans currently occupying it can't stop snickering about. The place is packed with them, both the long dark-topped bar and the many broad shared tables crammed with soldiers and laborers and hunters and scouts, most of them red in the face either from cold or drink, most of them loud, speaking over each other in animation or just out of necessity.

Lexa has carved out a corner of this madness for herself. A seat on the end of one of the long tables, a few empty feet of bench between her and the nearest person. She is not engaged in conversation but does have her head turned slightly toward it, listening in a way that's neither suspiciously discreet nor completely obvious, while still keeping an eye on each new arrival to come through the door, and the rowdiest of groups in the room.

She has a mug cupped between her hands, fingerless gloves in a drab slate gray that matches the cloth that half-covers and holds back long brown hair. While there's nothing specifically inviting about her posture she definitely looks harmless: a little shy, probably alone, and sitting across from one of the few open seats in the room. ]

Harding, camp | open

[lacere]

CAMP
Another excursion, another slew of problems to oversee. At least, this time, most were about how could they progress past Sahrnia itself and out into the hills and Emprise proper, and what they could do for the people there, rather than tents sinking into peat, or undead cats.

Harding sets to work easily enough, directing scouts and people here and there and spending time with the locals to find out if there's anything specific they need, if there's anything lost out there in the snowy landscape that they could perhaps retrieve. She makes sure people go as needed, checks in with them, writes up progress. All in a day's work for the Lead Scout.

TENT, WITH GAVIN
Gavin, of all people.

The last time they had shared a tent, he'd told her he was going outside to check on something and had actually meant, I'm going to check on the entire Fallow Mire.

Here's to hoping that won't be a repeat performance. She wistfully hopes so. The snow is better than the rain, but everything is just as soggy and she has enough of a headache without Scout Ashara disappearing into the snow. Not that that seems to be a problem, presently, with the night as cold as it is, Harding curled up in her respective corner and used to sleeping out in a tent, given that's where she slept in Skyhold.

Except that she didn't share it with Gavin, and Gavin had a habit of getting closer, and closer, and closer. Harding bunkers down in her corner, half asleep, ignoring that. He won't actually latch onto her for warmth. Surely not. He values his life more than that, doesn't he?

WILDCARD. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE!

[apostasia]

( CAMPING )

( martel could not readily explain why, but he finds an odd sense of peace in the grim work that is searching, methodically, for the bodies of the missing villagers. he does not say 'for the bodies' when he sets out; it is a kindness that doesn't prevent those who still live from hearing it all the same. still, he finds fewer than he might, so perhaps -

perhaps.

he carries that quiet mood back with him to the main camp, to the tent that he currently shares with no one; whether because no one wished to share with him or because they looked at him and thought he probably didn't want to share with them, he doesn't examine it particularly closely, and likely wouldn't protest someone else deciding his space might as well be theirs as well. probably. he sits in the open flap of it, cross-legged, wrapped in fur, working his peculiar magic over the simple armor he'd acquired for this trip.

it's damned cold. he can at least do something about that. )

Task Assignment (Kain)

[gatheringstorm]

"What am I, a lumberjack?" Evidently someone thought so, given her assignment. Korrin doesn't do more than mutter under her breath, though, knowing the region is in dire need all around. Whatever needs to be done is more important than who's doing it.

So, she'll search for Kain to give him the news. It's not slaying dragons, but it's something to do. They'll see combat soon enough; of that, she has no doubt and neither should Kain.

Kaisa Daesun

[unbrokenoath]

Open-Tavern

It was cold. It was really fucking cold. Kaisa is Fereldan, they can handle the cold, but her Fereldan pride in the face of chilly weather has been blown to shreds in the constant snow and chill of this sinkhole of Orlais. It's little surprise that she winds up in the tavern a lot of her time, her dog cuddled up on one side, and a drink on the other. She's open to chewing the fat with anyone who wants to talk, and friend or stranger alike will be greeted with a smile and a lift of her mug if they come near her.

Garris-Skinning snofleurs

You can't skin animals with a giant sword. This is an unfortunate truth of life that Kaisa has learned after many years of traveling the countryside, having to provide for herself. So a dagger is procured, and she takes it with her to the pile of dead snofleurs, giving it a rather irritated stare before sticking it in her belt, and grabbing one of the stupid beasts, dragging the dead body onto the tarp provided for the grisly task.

Still, it could be worse. It could be dead people she had to handle.

Inquisition Camp (Araceli)

[gatheringstorm]

[Korrin had left for a brief supply run; Skyhold isn't far, and she knows the people of Sahrnia need all that the Inquisition can spare. The journey itself has evidently been successful, the carts full food, blankets and warm clothing. And yet, the Vashtoth mage doesn't seem relieved at all. If anything, there's a tension within her and she soon walks off after helping unload, not sticking around for fresh assignments. First on her mind is Araceli and giving her some terrible news, so she heads to her shared tent.]

pet rescue squad | asher, cade, hercules

[hlif]

[To not be a complete useless lump - or to do something more than stocking Sahrnia and the Inquisition with warm pelts - Asher has signed up for scout duty. If that means wandering around Sahrnia in the cold with a couple of random strangers then that's what it takes.

Mabari waiting at his side, he cups his hands around his mouth because what better way to find out who he's working with than to shout their names from the edge of the camp, anxious to be off and doing something.]

Cade? Hercules? C'mon day's wasting!

[Yeah you two can be the adults in this situation.]

Camp - Anders

[salvatore_underfoot]

He can’t decide what he hates more – mud, sand, or snow. The snow is winning, but that may be because he can’t feel any of his toes and his jaw hurts from clenching it so his teeth don’t chatter. At least he’s only sharing the tent with one other this time.

He’s got the blankets Alaryre had gifted him in the Fallow Mire, and he hopes they’re enough to ward off the cold. As it is, he’s bundled up in everything he’s got. An fed up face poking out of a mountain of quilts and one cloak.

outside a tavern. closed to alistair.

[glandival]

[ There's a small scuffle going on out the front of the tavern, the door kicked open and held in place despite the icy cold blowing inside. Indignant Orlesian curses begin to filter out along with shadows and the warm glow from within, and three silhouettes press out through the entrance. The two humans have worked out quickly that it was easier to simply heft Sabine up enough for her feet to barely skim the floor, in the same way that they worked out it was easier to manhandle her than to asking her to leave a third time.

She hisses in Orlesian curses, her boot toes scraping the floor while she twists between them like an enraged cat. Her hair had been bound back into a braid, but by now, some errant curls have gotten free, frizzed and fine.

As if legitimately concerned that she'd run back in, the humans heft and shove her out into the cold. A spike of laughter from indoors is cut off when the door slams, Sabine staggering a step and landing awkwardly amongst the snow and dirt, a gust of steam in an angry huff out. There's no effort to be made to get back in, however, reaching instead for the coat that was tossed out along with her. ]