OPEN: The Western Approach

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

Korrin, OTA

[gatheringstorm]

I.

Now that's a dragon. Korrin pauses, staring upward in awe at the great winged beast overhead. It's thankfully flying high enough above that its screech doesn't deafen her, its attention drawn by something else. Hopefully something edible and filling and not Inquisition people.

"Andraste's shapely ass, will you look at the size of that thing?!? Glorious...."

Her thoughts going to her own dragonslaying battle and what came of it, Korrin grins as she briefly touches the dragon tooth necklace at her throat. It's fortunate that no other wildlife is currently taking advantage of her distracted state, but fortunes can easily change in a place like this. Maybe prod her to move along, before that changes?

II. (17th)

The battle seems nearly done, and the Vashoth mage smirks as she glances around, pleased to carve a path through the Venatori. Encountering them throughout the desert keeps the boredom away, but it's not quite as satisfying as fighting them for a worthy prize. The keep will do nicely, once the Venatori filth are kicked out of it.

Spotting one of their mages readying a spell at a nearby comrade, Korrin narrows her eyes. "Incoming!" She blurs ahead, swinging that spirit blade when she's close enough. Fucking Venatori aren't going to claim anyone on her watch, not if she can help it.

V.

And in another episode of 'things we never need to see again', Korrin tries not to look as sickened as she feels when they pass signs of blood sacrifice. The thinness of the Veil doesn't help matters any, and though Korrin isn't the most attuned of mages, it's enough to set her on edge. She's trying her best to keep focus, but between the stains and bodies, the Vashoth woman is more tense than she's ever been anywhere else in the Approach. Only periodically touching her dragon tooth necklace keeps her calm.

That, and combat. While Korrin can't do anything about sealing the rifts, she'll provide a distraction for those who can, blasting or slicing her way through any shades or other menaces. Never let it be said that battle-therapy isn't a thing.

[foxsays]

The heat of the Western Approach might be dry without even a flicker of the sea air but it's still heat, and Araceli might be smug that it doesn't bother her at all, clad in light, loose layers. Still, there are perks to being with someone as tall as Korrin and that means using her shadow to avoid the worst of the glare.

The sound of the dragon has her shivering though, turning her head ever so slowly to stare up at Korrin with such a look.

"Sirena," she says, as sweetly as possible, "no."

Ellana | open

[serannas]

{ taking griffon wing keep: action scene }
Ellana is situated in the rear of the group sent to take the keep, and she fires off spells with a steely gaze, deeply focused on the task ahead. Yet when one of the Venatori mages sets a fire glyph under her feet, her expression shifts to mild panic, and she yells "Move!" to the people around her to alert them to the danger before using Fade Step to launch herself forward out of the glyph before it can be set off. Then she turns to focus on the mage on the wall, wanting to take him out before he can lay more glyphs down.

After that, the gate to the upper part of the keep opens and she heads up the stairs with the others to face the last of the Venatori stationed there.

{ keep taken: netflix and chill scene }
After claiming the keep, Ellana stays and helps clear out debris, energizing it and carrying it outside the front gate to dump. She sorts through chests, rebuilds ladders, and basically tries to do whatever she can to help make this a welcoming place amidst the desert heat. One morning, she sits on her bed in the barracks, smearing a special lotion on her skin to help block the sun. Already her very fair skin is turning pink, and slightly peeling at her hairline.

"It doesn't seem to matter how often I reapply this," she says to the nearest person. "It wears off far too quickly."

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin's also among those who volunteered for cleanup duty, energizing and sorting alongside Ellana for plenty of it. Draining work, to be sure, but it's necessary, and they have a livable keep afterward. After finally getting an assignment that's more than the usual sort, she searches for Ellana only to pause and taken in her current state. "That...looks painful. I can go harass the requisition officer for more. She might as well be good for something."

Lena | open

[fightingdirty]

{ coracavus: the #1 stop for all your tevinter lawbreakers }
Lena doesn't really want to be in a place that until recently was occupied by darkspawn, but she knows darkspawn are all over the Western Approach anyway, and besides, it's cool in here. She searches for clues, and pokes at ancient corpses with her boot from time to time, but overall, she's not too impressed.

"I say we leave. There aren't any fancy fucking artifacts here, and if we don't know what they were looking for, then we've got nothing worth reporting except they let the darkspawn out."

{ back at the keep for netflix and chill }
Once she gets back from the prison of ancient Tevinter fucks no one cares about, Lena settles herself down by one of the braziers in the keep with her rations. She looks surly and eats her food like it's a Tevinter who led her on this merry chase. Tomorrow she hopes she runs across some of them so she can slice and dice them for wasting her time. She has sand everywhere and it's all their fault.

[gatheringstorm]

Glancing over from inspecting rubble and old bones, Korrin shrugs. She's not that impressed with the area either, but it's easy to fall back into the role of devil's advocate. Maybe it's not vital that they be here, but she's not in the mood to return right away. Not if there's anything in here worth fighting, that is. Or on the other end of it.

"You never know, we might find more if we keep going. Besides, you know it's been far too long since we got to kick ass together. I haven't had my fill of bonding time yet." She flashes a grin at Lena, a challenge to keep going and show off at each other just because. Maker help anyone dragged along with them.

Eirlys | OTA

[ancarrow]

ii.) Griffon Wing Keep
Eirlys throws herself into getting the Keep in order, clearing layers of dust and nests of various animals, shooing fennecs out the door and placing traps with a diluted poison from her stock of herbs in the corners to rid the place of rodents. It's hard work but satisfying; there are few things better to her than turning disorder into something clean and pleasant.

When she's done she throws herself onto one of the beds in the barracks, sighing happily as she feels the ache leave her bones, reflecting how nice it was to sleep in a bed for once rather than a makeshift cot or even just the ground. She turns over, propping herself up with a pillow under her chest, legs swinging in the air behind her, smiling a happy greeting at whoever passes.


iii.) The Still Ruins
She can tell something's wrong as soon as she steps foot in the ruins. She's never been in a place so big and grand, apart from Skyhold, but to Eirlys it feels like walking uninvited through the back of someone else's thoughts. Every footstep she takes shatters the thick silence of the place, yet the Tevinters and demons both are frozen in time and place, completely unaware of her presence.

In her previous encounters with demons, everything was chaotic. Now it's not peaceful exactly, she still feels the same dread in the pit of her stomach when she catches sight of them, but it's like opening up the chaos and seeing one thin slice of it rather than it all unfolding quicker than the can process it.

The rage demon, frozen before her for Maker alone knew how long. Eirlys raises a trembling hand, inches from it, terrified it's going to snap awake and tear her apart but unable to resist her own curiosity. It was a demon exactly like this that had started it all, the chain of events that had led her here.

iii

[faithstarved]

Andra was drawn to the ruins mostly because they were grandiose. She is a thief by heart, even if years as a bard have fed her better than thieving ever did. The magic present though, to freeze so many, demons included, makes her chest ache, and it takes a great amount of her will to keep from running the other way. She reasons whatever magic holds them, provided someone doesn't trip the magical wire, will continue to hold them.

All the same she walks on the balls of her feet, silent where others are not. She's looking, mostly for anything of value, when she spots the other elven woman with her hand hovering inches from a rage demon.

"I wouldn't touch that, if I were you."

Lara Croft, OTA

[make_my_mark]

Desert Camp (any):

While the first part of the journey, immediately outside of Skyhold, had still been chilly, Lara didn't regret her decision to leave her armor. Thedas' desert was proving to be very much like deserts back on earth, and she didn't miss the fur or plate any as the sun beat down them. Her street clotheswere still a bit much during the highest, hottest, points of the day, but the long-sleeves were enough to get through the cooler night.

Rolling them up now, she dropped to rest for a moment in the slight at the backside of one of the tents. Unclipping her canteen from her belt, she allowed herself one, deep, drink, then splurged. Dumping a small mouthful into the palm of one hand, she splashed the back of her neck with a soft sigh of pleasure.

"That's the ticket..."


When Quillbacks Attack:

Thedas was home to a host of strange beasts. This was not news to Lara. But when they seemingly came from nowhere, appearing suddenly behind you as you stopped to tie your boot, they were still surprising.

She'd heard the shift of sand as she'd looped her laces... had glanced back... and with a jump and a curse she was scrambling back up the ladder that had led her down to the small water-laden valley.

The prickly beast circled below, making a chittering-clicking noise as Lara leaned and peered down at it. She crouched on the platform, shifting her bow to keep it at hand, but she didn't immediately attack, watching it instead with wide, fascinated eyes.

"What are you?"

[foxsays]

With several mostly empty canteens and waterskins in a pack, Araceli had volunteered to leave the small camp to head off to resupply, not bothered by the heat but still looking forward to cooling off in the baking heat of the day, as well as gaining a little peace. The scouts were fine, but the soldiers complained endlessly, and the light glinting and glaring on their polished armour helped no one either. A longish walk but again, a chance to stretch her legs with no one bothering her? She'd take it.

It was the sound that caught her attention, making her pick up the pace to skirt around the beast, footsteps silent, glad she hadn't given Korrin back the amulet she'd been given when heading off to Antiva. The ladder was out of the question but the rocks weren't and with care she climbed up until she made a leap for the platform, hauling herself up easily with a smile.

"I thought you might like assistance, if that's what I think it is? It's apparently very nasty."

Andra | OTA

[faithstarved]

ii.

Andra is no stranger to hard work, and pitches in with the cleanup of Griffon Wing Keep without hesitation or complaint. She doesn't bother with helping rifle through the texts and tomes that the Venatori left behind, she isn't a strong enough reader to be able to discern the useful from the crap, but the manual labor she's capable of doing.

Right now that's coming by way of repairing the scaffolding the Venatori mages damaged in vain attempts to keep the invading Inquisition at bay. She's hanging upside down by her knees, hammering nails into a reinforcement beam when she drops several.

"Oh, for Andraste’s sake!" She huffs out a breath of air, staring down the several feet where the nails have dropped before waving her hand up over the scaffolding. "Anyone up there have some spare nails so I don't have to climb all the way down this bloody thing?"

iv

She's seen a fair amount of death in her time. Still, the poor slaves half-eaten by darkspawn didn't deserve to be left behind to rot.

"Maybe they're better off, out of the hands of blood mages," she murmurs quietly, along with prayers for each. There isn't much else here beyond tragedy, but even the dead deserve respect, and she gives them a little of that, at least. She doesn't know dwarven prayers, so they all get the same prayer.

"The Light shall lead her safely
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light.
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

[foxsays]

Araceli is better at repairing rigging or fighting sails than building, but she can climb without using ladders or rope, so that sees her helping out where she's needed, mainly doing an awful lot of fetching since she's fast. Other people can read on the Venatori if they'd like; she brought enough reading to keep up her studies, but she'd rather be doing some sort of work right about now if she's honest, and there's no shortage of it.

When she hears the shout, she climbs down, having kicked off her boots to get a better grip of the wall and scaffolding, sweat-slicked curls escaping from where she's pinned them back out of her face.

"How many d'you need?" She calls as she begins rifling through her pockets, peering down then back up to where some of the tools and supplies are stashed at a midway point. "Need anything else before I come down?"

Rachette | open

[sistertohermen]

(I)
Somehow, bandits and Venatori yet survive. Rachette is not a fan of either one. In her dull clothes and small frame, it doesn't take much for her to take cover, practically looking like just another rock already. She crouches anyway from atop a short cliffside, peering at a small ragtag group of the former.

"They might have ransacked the fortress." That's not actually the main reason why she's keen on getting at them. "Might have something valuable." There we go. "Could always let the beasts pick them off..."

But then they might be here all day. The bandits survived this long, after all.

(II)
She's thrilled to see an actual well in the middle of a place like this, ready for a good source of water despite the inhospitable landscape. Even if some Venatori ass may have gotten pushed down in.

She balances her waist on the lip of the well to peer in, tugging on the rope and the empty bucket on the end. It uselessly splashes against some water at the bottom, but it doesn't seem like much. There's also a draft coming up from it. Which she's pretty sure shouldn't happen. "We might have to drag water from that river nearby, or we'll have some very thirsty soldiers."

Chette tugs on the rope again and then climbs up on the lip, hopping onto the rope to shimmy down. "Someone want to hand me a light?"

(V)
Adamant is not a pretty sight. None of the Approach was when she was out here, the thick smoke of sacrifice and the tainted air of blood, but now that they can finally see some of the damage done by the mighty, terrible Grey Wardens, it's enough to make her sick.

The place is abandoned and the people are dead. She doesn't feel it disrespectful to start sorting through belongings, any items of note that may have been left behind. She can't read any papers she might come across, grabbing someone else's attention for them. There's a little armor that might be useful, a couple discarded weapons. Trinkets. Personal effects.

The pyre has burned out, still leaving the stench of death on those who hadn't tasted the flames. She knows these surfacers have a habit of burning their dead, but she'd like to at least see if there are any dwarves numbered among the bodies, just in case. (Would the Stone care, a body touched by the surface, tainted by the Wardens? Maybe not. Probably not.) But it seems...gruesome to just restart the pyre as it was. Surely someone might want to try and identify people? Get in touch with families, if possible?

The shades and demons that slip through the cracks in the Veil are a good way for her to let out steam, so long as she doesn't get in over her head or get dropped on. Her attention is a little elsewhere, understandably.

V

[sunshinethroughgrey]

Bethany had gone with the others to Adamant, because above all other things, she is a Warden and this is a Warden fortress. She has to see what had happened here, after they left. She walked in after the others, following along their paths, into the deep dark paths.

She fould herself trailing one of the dwarves, her jaw tight, as the dwarf went through the dead, but she did not stop her. Instead, she followed and gathered up as many documents as she could, as many personal belongings she could find to identify the dead. One thing after another.

She tosses up a shield around the dwarf, when the demons appear, and then fire flashes from her hands and ice from her fingers. If it appears a little stronger, a little hotter or colder -- well. Let us just say that Bethany is slightly emotionally compromised.

Malcolm Reed | open

[tactical_alert]

(I)
He has to squint against the blazing sunlight and the sand, breathing out against the strip of cloth covering the lower half of his face before letting loose a true arrow. It embeds deep in the thigh of a quillback that lets out a pained squawking sound.

He readies another arrow to bring the best down for good, but the distinct leathery flap of wings sounds, and he jerks, flattening himself against the ridge. A dragon, of all things, swoops down and snatches up the injured quillback, carting it off into the distance.

"...Well, that's one arrow down," he muses. "And here I was hoping for some easy leather and a chunk of meat for tonight."

(II) 17
Once the doors are breached, he's ready. Though they've mages in their group, he still makes a point of ticking arrows at the other archers above them, if not downing them then at least to wound them or get them to hesitate and duck out of the way. Arrows from above can be just as deadly as a sword. When he's satisfied there won't be any immediate danger from the battlements, he transitions from bow to sword, ducking into the swing of a closing warrior and slamming into their side before hacking away in short, efficient strokes.

He feels a swell of pride when the flag of the Inquisition goes up, taking a few long moments to himself to stare at the waving material. They're making progress. But when he snaps back into action, it's to help clear out the bodies they've dropped.

"Can just dump them in the massive gash 'round back," he suggests with a grim smirk, hefting a stripped down rogue onto the cart. "Seems convenient to me."

(V)
Blood magic. It twists something awful in his gut, kneeling by ritualistic red stains on the floor. Why else have so many bodies, everything so neat and in order and, more or less, planned? The order of the Wardens...if this is their doing, the mage Wardens, he's not sure if they can be saved. From the Venatori, he could understand, but now...? What of the camp of Wardens in the shadow of Skyhold?

"We could use a few shardbearers, here," he calls down the corridor, the sickly, snapping, waving green light casting morphing shadows. There are things lurking nearby, and he gets the feeling that he'd really rather just find a cozy spot here out of the sun and rest for the next few hours. It's not a good sign.

V

[sunshinethroughgrey]

"They're coming."

Bethany states, as she follows down into what she can only consider a pit of degradation. She looks at the blood stains on the floor, all around, and closes her eyes, whispering out softly, "Maker ... "

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, before she looked down at the dimly lit green flares. Something in her jaw tightened. "Tell them I have gone ahead." She can feel the magic picking up, and she turns sharply to the dark-haired man. "Do not fall asleep. Focus, Seeker!"

Jamie | OTA

[wontforgetyou]

I.

[a]
This isn't Jamie's first trip to the region, and since the last time he was here with the Wardens, he's picked up a few useful tricks, such as wearing light-colored clothes (for the most part) and keeping water on him at all times. When he's away from the camp, whether it be hunting, exploring or on patrol keeping an eye out for beasties, he's also taken to wearing a broad brimmed hat as well. It may make his ears stick out some, but it keeps the worst of the sun off of his face - and gives him a place to stick a wet cloth under when he needs to to stay cool.

He's in the middle of doing just that when a roar catches his attention, something he's heard before, and his head whips up, one hand reaching to clap the hat in place so it doesn't fall off. Sure enough, off in the distance there's a dragon, flying far overhead. But even with that, Jamie can see it's huge, and his instinct, as always in this situation, is to get the attention of the nearest person and point it out.

"Hey, would you look at the size of that!"

[b]
For the most part, the landscape is barren, reminding him all too much of other places he's been. Rocky planets with little to no visible signs of life, only remnants of old buildings indicating that anyone'd been there at all. But the ruins are something to draw his curiosity, and when he comes across a still-intact arch, it's not long before he goes to check it out, mindful of the beasties that are surely lingering nearby. If they show up, he'll deal with them, but it doesn't mean he's not going to poke around a bit while he's got the chance to.

"Huh. Wonder what this was?"

II. - taking the Keep
Once the doors to the Keep are breached, Jamie's in the thick of the fighting, flinging himself at the nearby enemies in his usual Highland way, yelling and brandishing a sword. The fight goes much like the way fights tend to go, with give and take on both sides, and while overall the Inquisition seems to be winning, Jamie isn't about to count on that until all everything is said and done. So he keeps fighting...and then something unexpected happens.

The warrior he's currently fighting is a large man, and even with Jamie's natural agility, he's having problems keeping the other man at bay. The warrior has a longer reach, and that and the extra weight are starting to shift the battle in his favor. Slowly the man starts to press forward, forcing Jamie towards a corner in an attempt to pin him down and keep him from dodging away. When he's backed the young Scot up enough, he strikes, knocking Jamie's sword out of his hands and leaving him helpless...or so the thinks.

As the man lifts his own sword to finish him off, Jamie reaches up in a desperate effort to try and stop him, his shard hand glinting as he goes to grab the man's arm - and then, without warning, green bursts from his hand, small projectiles of light that slam into the warrior's face with enough force that he winds up stumbling back, dropping his weapon as he lets out a cry of pain, bringing both hands up to cover his face. For Jamie's part, he seems rather stunned, staring at his hand in disbelief - and leaving things open for anyone who might want to take advantage of the situation.

Wildcard!

[Want to explore somewhere else or help Jamie get into trouble somehow? Add your own starter or let me know if you'd like something specific and I'll add it on in!]

I.a

[seesobserves]

Sherlock does, in fact, look at the size of that, giving the dragon an upward glance... but when it becomes clear the beast has no interest in them, he looks down again.

"More likely to snatch up a varghest than any of us," he notes, assuming the man is worried about being eaten. "There's much more meat on them, once it tears through the scales."

Cade, OTA

[onlyhymns]

I. (traveling, AAAH DRAGON)

Cade doesn't have any weapons. What he does have is a bunch of crap that he has to carry and deal with for everyone else, a glorified valet for the Seekers and higher-ranking Templars on the expedition. In a way, it's not all bad: at least he's too tired to be jumpy, except when the dragon flies over.
Cade has never seen a dragon before. Every time its shadow passes over him, he's struck with a sort of primal, heart-stopping terror, which he assumes is how a mouse must feel when an owl swoops over. It's not pleasant, and he will be very happy when they've arrived somewhere with decent fortifications.
....and hiding places, for the unarmed to stand even a tiny chance if she should decide it's time for a snack.


II. (home away from home)

Safely situated in the Keep, Cade now has the enviable position of endless, endless cleaning. He is also periodically called to draft and send off missives for the Order's higher-ups, essentially the errand boy for anyone who needs him.
He'd get indignant about it, but frankly he's so used to it by now that it's easier to just accept his given status.

He can often be found in the more populated areas, sweeping or scrubbing or carrying a message, never idle and never social unless called upon.

I. Traveling

[disgracedchampion]

Upon receiving news about the Western Approach, Michel was grateful for the distraction. For now he'd done all that he could for the Emprise. The Approach was...different territory entirely, a place that could be harsh on the body if one wasn't careful. And then there was the dragon circling over their heads, some seemed to be intimidate by this, but Michel was not. Not yet.

It didn't stop him from striding up next to someone who was with Charlemagne, a cream colored stallion with a dark mane and tail, well cared for. He'd seen Cade, but they had never spoken, but now seemed a good time, "I would not worry...right now we're not a threat...if we were the dragon would have let us know this by now. It's peacocking."

The most reassurance Michel could give, he's seen dragons put on displays just to let the unwanted know what and where their domain was and to keep their distance.

Bethany. OTA.

[sunshinethroughgrey]

II. (During the Battle)

Griffon Keep has always been a stronghold to the Wardens, right here on the edge of the Blight. It has stood for hundreds of years, and to think of the Venatori sullying with their blood magic and corruption?

Bethany is a battle mage, always has been. It was how her father prepared her to protect herself, when he or Marian could no longer protect her. She moves to the fore, her spells slamming into the Venatori, ice spraying before her in a deadly wave, fire raining down from the sky. She advances, her jaw tight and her staff moving like a wraith, faster and faster as she seemed to grip the very sky itself and drag Venatori down in front of her with a slam to the ground.

V.

Adamant Fortress is nothing but a bloodbath. A bloodbath caused by her own brothers and sisters in arms - both mage and warrior. Oh, the Venatori presence is obvious, but there is a number of bodies here that she does not even want to consider. She will have to.

First, she travels behind the others, and solemnly gathers up what papers she can find, from the other Wardens. Once she has secured these, she quietly begins to drag the bodies towards the pyre, taking solemn note of each one so they can be entered into the Warden records. She puts aside their personal belongings, so she can see that they are sent on to whatever kin they have, and if there are none, given to the greater good.

As soon as she has built a high enough pyre, she sets fire to it, letting the bodies burn. Murmuring a soft prayer to the Maker, leaning on her staff as she did so.

Later...

She leaves the Fortress hours later, but she does not go very far. She goes out to the desert, and falls on her knees. Putting one hand to her chest, as the sobs she has choked on pour out of her, one at a time, feeling as if they should rip her chest apart.

She puts one hand on the ground, crying, broken words coming from her lips, " ... how could you do this ... how could you do this ... Maker, Maker, please help me ... how could they do this horrible thing?"

She does not know as she is screaming out into the darkness, but her throat hurts and her tears burn through the smoke and grime and blood on her face.

V

[serannas]

Ellana saw Bethany work so hard during the day to put the Wardens to rest properly, and when they leave the fortress for the nearby camp, she sees that Bethany veers off into the desert. Ellana continues on for a bit longer, thinking maybe she wants to be alone, but then the elf changes her mind and follows. Bethany can tell her to go away if she wants, but maybe she needs a shoulder to cry on, and Ellana has two.

When Bethany's screaming bursts out, Ellana's heart leaps into her throat and she rushes forward, calling out the Warden's name as she does.

"Bethany? Bethany!"

Kain, OTA

[dragoon_pride]

I.

“That’s it…”

It’s midday, and they’re taking a break for a meal and a bit of rest. The sun is beating down hard and hot, worse than ever. Kain has been out to this region before, so he’d kind of known what to expect, but even so… it’s become impossibly hot and he’s had enough. So he strips off his chest armor, sighing when he’s free of it. Much better, he’s needed that.

Then he heads off to admire the view for a moment, as they happen to have stopped on a high point overlooking a chasm below. He’s keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of danger, too of course, noticing some creatures roaming in the distance.

V.

The whole place is unsettling to Kain, the signs of blood magic making him uneasy. He’s more than ready to kill whoever - or whatever- is responsible for this. So he hurries along, prepared for the worst…

Then he sees the first of the many rifts in the place.

Oh, no.

No, no, no. Surprising for him in a potential combat situation, he hesitates. All along Kain has been wary of rifts, avoiding them and even attempting to ignore the mark in his hand as best as he can. A stray spark suddenly bursts from his hand and he’s forced to shift his lance to his right hand. He raises the left, staring at it hatefully, as if it’s the real enemy. Yes, having this mark gives them power to help seal those things, but… it’s not a power he wants. At all.

Too bad for him, already creatures are emerging from that rift…

I

[gatheringstorm]

Of course Korrin takes in a moment to observe Kain all lacking that chest armor and whatnot. She's taken, not dead. But there are other concerns, and she doesn't hesitate to speak up about them. "You'd better get some ointment from the requisition officer before you start burning, Kain. Skin like yours will be lobster-red by the end of the day, if you're not careful."

That's the only warning he gets. She's not his mother, but perhaps he's underestimating how harsh the Western Approach can be. It's not a mistake she'll make again. Staring at the chasm, she crosses her arms.

"That's the Abyssal Rift. Darkspawn swarmed out of there in the Second Blight and corrupted the land around us. It still hasn't recovered, and the Veil here is damn thin because of it."

[the_effect_she_has]

I.

This desert is a hunter's wonderland, as far as Katniss is concerned. She's never seen so many large creatures - most of them the size of a damned house. Every day she is seen dragging one of the creatures back to camp or Griffon's Keep, sharing the meat as always but keeping the skin and everything else.

Now, while she would love to keep hunting all day - she is a scout after all. So she does a fair bit of scouting - never alone if she can help it. Which is why she is out with a group when she sees the pillar, standing alone, and a glint of light catches her eye. She thought it was just a stone, but there appears to be some sort of plaque on it.

"Oi. Come see this." She called over her shoulder, as she went to approach it.

IV

Katniss stands up from observing one of the fallen bodies of the slaves, her jaw tight and her grey eyes flaming anger. She's not sure what she is going to find here, but they left in a hurry. She isn't sure where to find clues - but she'll go looking through their camps, searching for any scrap she can find so she can hunt these bastards down.

No one should be allowed to get away with this kind of carnage. Especially against the helpless, and the bound. Damn the bastards anyways.

Wildcard!

Hit her up where-ever!

I. aaaay mysterious symbol squad

[seesobserves]

Sherlock may not particularly be a scout, but the higher-ups have decided to put his sharp eye to use. As much as the desert is a featureless place, it can be deceptively hard to pick out details: swirling sand, heat shimmers, and the monochrome nature of the landscape all complicating matters. Sherlock was sent along with the understanding that he was on the lookout for anything 'interesting.'

When Katniss calls out, he follows, and his eyes hone in instantly on what she's spotted.

"Chantry iconography," he says once they've both reached it, reaching out to brush a bit of sand away from the symbol. "This is the second one I've noticed."

Sherlock | OTA

[seesobserves]

On the Chantry Trail, Maybe?

The symbol on the stone pillar gives him pause. This far west, in this sort of environment, anything that someone took the time to mark off must have held special significance. Whether it might lead to something useful for the Inquisition, or even interesting to Sherlock personally, is another matter, and yet...

"That's a Chantry symbol," he notes out loud, to no one in particualr.

The Night Watch

The dragon only ever gets a cursory glance from Sherlock whenever it flies overhead. The quillbacks, varghests, and the rest of them are treated with the wariness and respectful distance their presence warrants, and nothing more.

But then night falls over the camp. Then the sound of shifting sand threatens to blend with shuffling feet and dragging swords. Sherlock is no Warden, but every so often he smells rotting flesh on the wind, and his skin starts to crawl over his bones.

He takes it upon himself to volunteer for the watch after sunset. Sometimes he paces the perimeter of the camp, sometimes he simply stands, staring out at the point where the mountains meet the sky. Often, he holds a combustion or tar grenade in his hand, turning it over and over and over again.

Night watch

[arsebiscuit]

Fun fact about elves, proper was or not, were the glowing eyes at nights. Reflecting light back the same way as many of the creepy crawly things out in the desert, so all the more reason Sera didn't try to hide the fact she was walking anywhere. Stealth was all well and good, but not when it was gonna get you shot because some guard took you for a toothy snake sliding down the rocks. She wasn't on watch herself, but after that stupid Tevinter fort hadn't been much for sleep, so had gone out hunting some of the semi-edible things that only came out when the sun went away.

"It's you."

the outsider | ota

[extramural]

i.
The landscape is harsh, hostile, and in a way, it reminds him of- well, not home, but certainly of Pandyssia. It seems almost as alien to many of the natives here as it does to him, a being from another world, and there is something almost satisfying in that.

For all that he has seen, in this world and in his own, there is no less awe on the Outsider's face when he sees the dragon fly overhead for the first time. In that moment, he truly looks like the fifteen-year-old boy he appears to be, one hand over his eyes so that even the all black of his pupils is less distinct. Still, there is the fact that he is still levitating, blatantly refusing to let his feet touch the ground until he's exhausted.

Only when he's that tired, when his magic feels like he is fighting against this world and every other to use, does one possibly find him leaning against a rock for any reason beyond curiosity. Unfortunately for the Outsider, it only takes about an hour for him to get to that point between each resting period.

Still, he's a decent enough scout -- every once in a while he will still and one of the many desert creatures will scamper over a ridge or take flight, and the Outsider will report back in a monotone voice what it is the animal sees. He would appreciate it if everyone would make sure he doesn't get stabbed while it happens.

v.
It says quite a good deal about him that his first thought, upon entering the fortress, is not horror. He has seen too much to be bothered by corpses and pyres and sacrificial magic. The demons that attack are a nuisance, of course, and the Outsider uses a sword and magic to fend them off. The green mark on his hand hisses and pulses, and when there are enough Rifters to close the rifts, he helps.

Still, he can't stop being drawn back to the sits of sacrifice, of magical rituals. He is more in tune, more active in this world now -- less like an observer who has been pulled in and more like someone invested.

Should you get close enough while he's examining the evidence, you might hear a comment or two. "Sloppy."

wildcard.

[rowancrowned]

[ it's not the heat that bothers him, nor the muck on his boots that is, somehow, green and glowing. it is the waste, the violence- those among the dead who are elves, he carries to the pyre himself that he has insisted they build despite the heat. he is tender with them- closes their eyes, lifts them gently.

the blood he is covered with is not his own, but some of it still glistens wetly as he sits to clean his swords with a tear of cloth. the man wanders by while he is at work, and his own shard glows brighter.

that makes thranduil look up. the eyes and the comment hold his attention. ]

The cleanup [ or the lack thereof ] or the manner of their deaths?

[ neat and tidy slit throats and wrists, major arteries cleanly sliced on the oldest bodies, had turned messy on the newest corpses, a sense of frantic speed to the slaughter. ]

Bruce, adventures with a new found 'friend' (OTA)

[amygdalae]

It started to appear on is third day at the Western Approach.

Well to be entirely fair, Bruce had seen it during his second day here - it had just been wandering in the sands while he had been going around to try and find exactly what kind of herbs could actually live in a blasted wasteland like this, since with Griffon Wing Keep secure they could start trying to build up a proper stock while supplies from Skyhold were on their way. Bruce had seen his fair share of dracolisks before, of course, and he hadn't thought much of it then when he came over to it and gave him an apple from his sack.

The next day onwards, however, Bruce was coming to regret that decision.

Somehow it seemed like the dracolisk had managed to track him down to the camp he was in - which gave him a bit of a shock when he stepped out of the tent to see it standing right there and giving him what seemed like the dracolisk equivalent of puppy dog eyes. Bruce really did try to ignore it, but the dracolisk seemed incredibly insistent on following him everywhere now - in the camp, out of camp, and even when he attempted to go and give himself a wash.

And so that is how things continued during his time at the Western Approach - Bruce and this strange new dracolisk could be seen nearly inseparable, only stopped because there was no way a tent could fit in a whole dracolisk and so it would stand right outside, trotting around the entrance much like a guard mabari and wickering loudly if anybody got too close for comfort.

[OOC: Prose/brackets all welcome!]

/pokes?

[universal_charm]

Well, that isn't something you see everyday is it? Or maybe it is, Kirk wasn't to sure, being a Rifter and all. At the least the dracolisk was very, very hard to miss and he did a double take when he first laid eyes on the creature. It was like some sort of horrid cross being a dinosaur, a dog, and a horse. What a gene pool that was. It certainly seemed to be attached to the man in question like a loyal dog.

"Looks like you got a fan," Kirk chuckled, seeing the pair and giving Bruce a raised brow and a half-smile, watching the dracolisk curiously.

JIM KIRK | OTA

[universal_charm]

i. the road
Kirk tried to be to much like a tourist, but he couldn't quite help it. It was a new world, and a new place within that world, and so every time he saw something new he had to pause to take it in if he could. It was the explorer in him, the little bit of scientist wanting to jot down his observations to send back to Earth. Not that he could do that, of course, but it was still a desire.

At the least he seemed to deal well with the heat, even if his cheeks took a reddish glow. Anyone near him might, at times, perhaps be kind enough to make him move along so he does not become food for the local wildlife. Or maybe it is to warn him off certain plants he paused to investigate, him having no idea if they might be dangerous or no. Don't mind his gawking when he sees a dragon as a shadow in the sky for the first time.

Curiosity was making a poor marcher of him, that much was for sure.

ii. Griffon Wing Keep
The battle leaves him feeling odd as he makes to help with any wounded there might be. His skills as a healer might be limited, but he could deal with the minor things. He did not seem to care if he was tending one of their own group or one of the cultists, if they would let him at all.

At the end of it all, instead of going to sleep as he should, he makes to wander the quieter halls and the walls of the fortress, taking in the desert at night, often shivering against the chill without the sun beating down. He knew he should sleep, stave off exhaustion, but he could feel the bad dreams swelling behind his eyes whenever he tried - so he watched instead, and looked up at stars, and wondered which ones could guide him home.

Don't be surprised if you catch him leaning against stone, arm raised as he sketched paths between them with his finger, murmuring softly. "Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Scorpio..."

iii. Still Ruins
The place makes him feel wrong, makes his skin crawl, the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end. He might not have much of a survival instinct, but what little he does have is screaming that he needs to leave, needs to run, needs to never look back. He is surprisingly good at ignoring this instinct, often to his detriment, and he manages to ignore it enough to go in not to far from the entrance - not nearly stupid enough to head in further on his own with just his staff.

Even so, he looks at the frozen people, sometimes spending long minutes staring at their faces, his hands balled into fists, resisting the urge to touch.

"Why?" he murmurs, as if the frozen being might give him an answer - but there is only silence. Hopefully no demons steal up on him.

v: Adamant Fortress
"What the hell-?"

He felt like he's used that question alot in the past few days, but it's about the only thing he can think to say as he gets his first look at the Fortress. It's something out of a horror movie, and he pales a little bit, making his freckles stand out starkly along with the unnatural redness from his sunburn.

It is the pyre that gets him, and has to visibly stop and regain his control before he added to the bodily fluids already splashed across the place. He licked his lips, glancing back between the pyre and the stones, as if somehow he can make himself adjust to the sight, even though he knew he would never make himself right with it. He didn't want to be all right with it.

"Can we bury them?" he asked whomever was near. "Or whatever is proper here?" They didn't deserve to be left there like that, he thought. They had been to late to save them, it was the least they could - give them a dignity denied them in life.

1

[dreadinquisitor]

There was a part of Maxwell that appreciated Kirk's curiosity; this was his first trip to the Approach too and he was just as eager to make the next dune, to gape at the High Dragon, to marvel at all the lazurite sparkling amongst the sand and stone....

The rest of him, however, was afraid the man was going to get himself eaten. Or poisoned. Or stabbed.

He, at least, knew not to head blindly into every dark nook and cranny...

"No-- wait, wait--" Jogging to catch up, he caught at the man's shoulder to stop him before he could disappear into the cave they'd found. "Listen..."

He turned his head, pointedly, toward the opening.

"...It's probably crawling with spiders."

Samouel | OTA

[el_tybs]

I: It's too hot

He's used to the heat from the forges, but even that isn't enough to prepare Sam for the sun and heat that is the desert. This is his first time in being in such a place, and despite the stories he's heard, it's much more than what he had expected. This is very different from the Coastlands where he grew up, Skyhold they had their base, or any other place they've been to. Cold and wet he strives in. Dry and hot... not so much.

Despite how miserable he feels in the heat, Sam does venture out every once in a while to study the wildlife. He makes sure that he doesn't venture too far from the Keep, and certainly gives all the creatures a wide berth, even as he watches them. Cheeks red from the sun, he sketches into the pages of his journal, a well used gift.

II: Missed the battle, came for the drinks

Fashionably late. Normally Sam would have ventured out to a new location with the rest of the troops, but because of another pressing matter - and somethings going a bit wrong - he arrived a bit later. No clearing out cults or anything for him. Now that he's here though, Sam tries to make himself useful, seeing to the injured and the like, making sure everyone is getting enough water, etc.

When he isn't helping around, Sam generally tries to keep to the shade, often sitting with a wet cloth over the back of his neck. When he can he tries to wear clothes that aren't as long, making sure to keep applying the lotion that wast suggested, though it seems that his cheeks have already been turned a permanent red with all the sun.

I

[gatheringstorm]

While Sam's sketching, Korrin appears from behind to have a look. She's always liked watching people sketch, and he's no exception. It gives her ideas for random gifts later, too. "I hope you caught the high dragon in there, that was really something else."

Maxwell, OTA

[dreadinquisitor]

Hunting an Alpha Quillback:

Maxwell hadn't been able to hunt himself the beast that gave up its quills for his artificer's tools. His parents had thought themselves indulgent enough, allowing him to tinker with his toys and doodle in his books.... He was going to make up for it now.

Whenever he was sent out, whatever he was sent out for, he kept a weather eye peeled for the tell-tale profile against the sand. Every set of tracks, he stopped, and checked. Every distant call he paused, head cocked, listening.

It surely drove his squad-mates mad, but perhaps those with similar pursuits could understand.


Griffon Wing Keep (Post Takeover):

He was working on a letter for Gavin. After a sort. It was actually a drawing. A small cross-section of the Approach. He'd already sketched sprawling dunes, a sinking sun, and a couple slinking varghests, but it needed something more. It needed.... He found himself a perch a short distance away from the keep, and from there he added it to the picture: proud and strong, it's battlements piercing his dark shaded sky, Inquisition banners fluttering.

Losing all track of time, he continued to work as the sun set, and night began to fall over the sand.

Keep

[sistertohermen]

"Hey you! Sketchy!" Rachette hoofed it over to the man's perch. "There'll be a chill whipping through here, you should get inside. Especially if some beast decides to make an easy meal of you." Nevermind that most of the very hungry and dangerous ones were probably in some cave or burrow sleeping. That isn't the point.

Adelaide LeBlanc | OTA

[fleurdesel]

IRifts in the desert- not so strange. After having run into them once or twice before they aren't that difficult to wrangle. Kill the demons, let those with shards close them, try not to fall or die. Or tumble down the dunes, in this case. What she hadn't quite learned was the art of dodging things that the rift spat out. Between one moment and the next she went from happily raising barriers among those that sought to seal the rift and stumbling backward to avoid a sudden crate that'd been hurled from Maker knows where and buried in the sand.

She pays it no mind until after the rift is sealed, only then crouching to peel back the top and stare at the bizarre contents.

"...Shaded...eyeglasses?" What in Andraste's name?



II part 2

Adelaide spends the bulk of her time at the healing tents, either working to patch up those coming in or tend to them once more before they are sent out on patrol. The weary and wounded are seen to with her usual humor (ill) and a warning to stop being so foolish and turn back to camp when they feel faint. When not minding the injured, she goes back over her notes of things seen, questions she needs to ask, and stocks for a salve against sunburn. Or. Handing out those odd, shaded glasses that were spat at her from the Rift. They seem to work well against the sun's glare.

I

[colecomfort]

Cole has mostly been seen in the Approach only in glimpses: he appears where he's needed, in a fight, or when someone falls from exhaustion, but he vanishes as soon as he has finished helping.

He lingers this time, after sheathing his daggers, only because that box fell out of the rift. He's seen people fall out, but never something like this.

He rests a hand on the open edge of the crate.

"What are they for?"

Leliana | OTA (later during the western approach adventures, probably)

[fightingale]

II. GRIFFON WING KEEP.
Leliana's temporary base of operations. The last time she left Skyhold a rift was opened there, and it took some consideration to pry herself from the hold. Crystals, however, would keep her informed of the word from her eyes and ears, and some things were better explored oneself, especially when her web in this area is not all it could be. It is a chance to lay down further foundations, to see things for herself.

(It is a chance to be away from Skyhold for a time, but her wants in this are immaterial.)

More often than not she is speaking with a scout or pouring over maps and information. Even in the heat of the desert she stands as covered as she always is. If she notices someone coming back from a foray into the desert itself, she might pass them a skin of water, or watch them expectantly and ask if they have anything to report.

Or feel free to catch her having A Moment and staring across the desert, as you do. She's being Pensive™. Pensive in the daytime, pensive in the nighttime, she is pensive at all hours for your convenience.

Later on, she will also have issued orders that any information regarding the slavers or the individuals responsible for the dead slaves at Coracavus be brought to her.


IV. CORACAVUS.
Leliana stands over the remains of three slaves - two dwarven and one elf, and the leather of her gloves creaks with how tightly her hand is curled into a fist.

"They will pay." In their own blood and their own losses, they will pay.

Or find her at one of the camps, on a (very organised) rampage, working through it for information with a number of her scouts.


OR WILDCARD at any location.

Griffon Wing Keep

[stabsbooks]

It is good to see Leliana outside of Skyhold - outside in general. She has been spending more and more of her time cooped up in the Rookery, when they are not in the War Room, and Cassandra truly cannot tell anymore how much of it is necessary due to her work and how much of it is an attempt to distance herself from Cassandra - to distance herself from everyone.

Perhaps it is egotistical even to think that she has anything to do with it. But it's certainly true enough that things have been less warm between them of late, if always civil. And while the Left Hand has always taken her work seriously, Cassandra cannot help but feel that she has changed over the past months. That she is less Leliana, and more the Nightingale.

She has no idea how even to suggest such a thing to Leliana, much less do anything about it.

But she refuses to avoid her, or to let what was once her closest friendship slip entirely away. She approaches Leliana as she stands gazing over the desert, offering her a scroll of paper.

"The latest scouts have returned with their report."

Cassandra Pentaghast | OTA

[stabsbooks]

I. The Desert

It is hot. That much is too obvious even to be worth pointing out, and no more than any of them had expected when they had left Skyhold. And yet the truth of it sticks to her in the form of sweat sliding down her back under heavy armor, in the sun beating down on them all and the pounding headache of dehydration Cassandra suffers the one day she neglects to drink quite enough water.

She's careful not to allow that to happen again.

Hot, and too big, the bare, featureless landscape yawning before them, what feels like days of marching between one camp and the next. Cassandra is almost glad for the presence of hyenas and varghests and worse. Almost. Her constant vigilance at least gives her something to focus on, and the short, infrequent battles with wildlife are just enough of a challenge to be interesting and break up the long stretches of walking.

II. Taking the Keep

After the long, sleepy silence of the desert, breaking down the door of the Keep, hearing it splinter and buckle beneath the combined barrage of sword and arrow and staff, is almost obscenely satisfying.

Cassandra is the first in the door (or what's left of it), brandishing her sword before her and zeroing in on what few cultists have not yet turned and fled. An arrow flies towards her from an upper level, and she raises her shield just in time to block it, ducking down and turning sharply to see the shaft sticking out of a post right where her head had been.

"Someone take down that archer!"

V. Adamant Fortress

There are few enemies to fight here, and the deathlike silence of the place is unsettling, but at least Adamant offers some shelter from the sun. Cassandra picks her way through with the others, taking stock of what's been left behind and trying to piece together a picture of what had happened. She frowns at a hastily scribbled note before putting it with the rest that have been gathered to be studied later, kills any shades she comes across, and studies the remains on the pyre only briefly before the awful smell overtakes her and she orders the rest of the bodies burned, properly this time.

Wildcard at any location

Or ask for something specific!

V

[aceso]

Christine hadn't been prepared for what she would see at Adamant, and when Cassandra gives the order to burn the bodies, she jumps up from her position knelt in the doorway containing the bodies of rebel mages. She sniffs and raises a shaking hand to wipe the tears from her face.

"I recognize some of them," she says, voice as shaky as her hand. "We were all at Redcliffe together, but they... they were happy to be indentured to Tevinter. I should have noticed when they did not join the Inquisition. They joined the Venatori instead."

Samwise Gamgee | OTA

[harthad_uluithiad]

I. The Desert

Sam had likely seen more of the world than any Gamgee, before or since, before even coming to Thedas. The mountains and the River and the forests had been wonders - horrible ones at times, but wonders all the same, and he'd never thought to see their like.

But the Western Approach is a place of an entirely different sort. He'd been relieved to head somewhere far from the cold of the Emprise or the creeping, close wetness of the Mire. Sunshine and sand had sounded cheerful, if nothing else.

The reality, naturally, is nowhere close to cheerful. It's hotter even than summers in the Shire, hotter than he knew anything could be, and between the sun and the dangerous animals and the utter lack of relief, Sam is entirely miserable. Happily, he'd been unable to bring himself to leave his Elven-cloak behind, even knowing (or thinking) he'd never need it, and the Lady Galadriel's fabric proves as adept at blocking the sun and heat as it is at protecting its wearer from the cold. He huddles underneath it, the hood shading his face, and as he takes one step after another across the burning sand, he wonders, for the first time, if those Big Folk were onto something with their shoes after all.

II. Home Away from Home

If the Shire is home, and Rivendell and then Lorien and then Skyhold had been a home away from home, then what that makes Griffon Wing Keep, Sam doesn't know. It's nothing a hobbit would call comfortable, that's for certain, but it's a far sight better than the long, awful trek through the desert.

Sam's been assigned cleanup duty, and he does his work diligently, ferreting out pests and sweeping up debris. He'd been nowhere near the battle to take the keep itself, but the aftermath is obvious, and he kneels down to examine what's left of the door. A few shards of wood still lie on the floor, half-covered by sand that's blown in, and he picks them up and pockets them, not rightly knowing why. They're not more than rubbish now, after all. Still, it somehow seems a shame to throw them away.

Wildcard in any location

Or ask for something specific!

I

[serannas]

Shoes are wonderful, Sam. Ask Ellana, the Dalish elf who pulled on a pair as soon as she found them in her size at Skyhold. She loves having her feet protected. Of course her feet are miserable like the rest of her right now, because she's hot, achy, and she has a sunburn across her face. The rest of her is well covered, but as she comes upon Sam, it's clear that her face is in the process of peeling.

"Oh, Sam," she says, looking down at his feet. "You should have some sort of covering for your feet. You don't want to get a sunburn there."

Velanna | OTA

[failedfirst]

ii

Velanna spends time in Griffon Wing Keep, once the place has been cleaned and fixed, wandering the rooms, looking for anything the Wardens may have left behind. She hopes that none of them would be so careless as to leave the secrets of the organization laying out for anyone to find, but considering the manner of what has happened, she isn't positive they were all in their right minds.

She's humming to herself as she explores, initially Dalish songs in an attempt to drown out the false Calling, but eventually her humming warps so it's more with it than against it.

v

The Fortress is too much, even for someone as generally stony as Velanna. She is cautious where she moves, and tries to keep away from all the magical hot spots and shades lurking. She'll dispatch them when needed, although it makes her heart ache.

The Wardens are not Dalish, but they are her people too. What was done here is beyond unforgivable.

The Circle mages in the lowest rooms make her furious. She has seen many Joinings done, prepared the ritual herself once or twice, even. That the mages with the Wardens that had been here were forcing these misguided fools just for their own gain... It made her blood burn, and she stalks from room to room, surveying and growing more furious.

"These Wardens will die for the stupidity they've wrought," she might lament it, if she were the type to do so. Instead, she wants them dead.

ii

[harthad_uluithiad]

"What's that, then?"

Vellana's had a shadow, whether she realizes it or not. Most likely not; hobbits are masters at moving unseen and unheard, and Sam's been known to sneak up even on Galadriel without her noticing.

He'd recognized one of the tunes she'd been humming as one he'd heard from the other Dalish in Skyhold, and had been intrigued enough to follow along behind her, hoping to hear more. He'd recognized a few of them, listened carefully to the unfamiliar ones, and then, subtly, the notes had changed, growing darker and somehow unsettling. Still...she is an Elf. What else would she be humming? "Is...is it an Elven song?"

aveline vallen ❖ ota

[shieldwalls]

The Desert (is terrible)

The sun beats down on them, and Aveline doesn't need to see it to know how the aggravated burn across her cheeks and nose matches the shade of her hair, nearly. To say that it's hot would be an understatement -- her hair sticks to the back of her neck, slick with sweat.

And her armor, the armor that she has worn almost daily since taking her post sits heavier on her than she's used to.

She'd barely ventured out of Kirkwall in the last ten years, and even visits outside of the city were not far out, the coast, or Sundermount -- but the Western Approach is bigger than all of that combined, and then more. It keeps them on their toes, animals that are not too pleased with them being in their territory. They're not too difficult to fend off, though.

When they stop to camp, Aveline finally trades the armor for lighter attire and seeks out the meager shade. Focused on sharpening her sword, and buffing out the new scratches on the worn metal of her shield.

Griffon Wing Keep (takeover)

Now this beats the endless walking, and heat. Aveline throws herself into the fray as she does -- there aren't many left here, and the ones that do put up a fight. One that she is happy to give the bastards.

Aveline will assist any ally that she sees in need of coverage, she blocks and deflects attacks with wide arcs of her shield and hacks away at any that come too close.

Adamant Fortress

She's seen her share of blood magic, and it's not something that she ever wants to be used to seeing. The aftermath is just as disturbing, and it sends disgust and anger through Aveline in waves, as she stares down at the pile of bodies. "What a waste."

The fortress is large, there are notes and paperwork found, demons to dispatch and while she can't help with rifts, the demons she can deal with...

... and then there are even more bodies found in lower levels. Mages.

"We should take them up, burn them as well."

griffon wing keep

[dragoon_pride]

It's been a tough battle, but now they're really starting to make progress. Kain has been stabbing and slashing his way through the enemies, leaping into the air sometimes, other times, dealing extra damage to them with the Ring of Pain move. His dragoon-reaver combination is really coming together nicely out there on the real field of battle.

Suddenly fending off against two opponents, he pushes himself to keep going against them... but he's definitely back up and at a point where he can use another hand.