faderift | OPEN: The Western Approach

OPEN: The Western Approach

WHO: Everyone!
WHAT: The Western Approach is a terrible place. You should definitely go there.
WHEN: Bloomingtide 15 onward
WHERE: The Western Approach
NOTES: This is open to everyone. Characters who would not happily go to the hell desert probably have to go anyway; it's a war, not a vacation.

Once these wastes were a land of plenty. Can you believe it? The rain came north over the Gamordan Peaks, turning the plains green and verdant for three months of the year. Eight hundred years ago, that changed. During the Second Blight, darkspawn spilled out of an enormous crack in the earth, corrupting it with their foul blood... and it never recovered, even after they were driven back underground. The Grey Wardens built Adamant Fortress to stand watch over that chasm, but eventually even they abandoned it to the wind and the biting sand.

What few of us eke out a living in this Maker-forsaken place do so knowing that any number of deaths await us: darkspawn raids, dragons, bandits—not to mention starvation from the lack of water and game. If we stay, it is because we know there are treasures buried in the bones of this place, ruins from the time when Tevinter ruled, and even earlier. We pass tales around our campfires of the things we have seen shrouded in the dust storms. My favorites are the ones about relics that could restore the Western Approach once more... but I don't believe them. Truth be told, on nights when the wind is calm, I can stand on a hilltop and see for miles in the moonlight over a stark beauty of which no other Orlesian can claim to know the equal. On those nights, I hope it will never change.

—From Lands of the Abyss by Magistrate Gilles de Sancriste

I. THE DESERT

When Scout Harding calls somewhere the worst place in Thedas, that's probably a bad sign. Even when nothing in the Western Approach is deliberately trying to kill you, there's nothing kind or forgiving about the landscape: bare and arid, carved through by sharp-dropped canyons, dotted with abandoned mines and signs of the deaths of lost travelers. Winds sweeping through to whip stinging sand into uncovered faces, and periodic dust storms obscure visibility entirely. It's warm enough to be dangerous but not so hot, at this time of year, that heat exhaustion and dehydration can't creep up on you while you aren't paying attention.

And at any given moment, something probably is deliberately trying to kill you. The food chain in the region is top-heavy, with quillbacks, phoenixes, hyenas, and varghests roaming hungrily and as likely to attack one another as the sparse local prey population. Compared to their natural competitors, the Inquisition's forces look like easy marks. The camps the Inquisition scatters at lookout points throughout the region require constant watch, and going anywhere alone is inadvisable. Not only because of the hostile local everything, but also because it is incredibly easy to get lost. One rock formation looks much like another after hours in the sun or bathed in shifting moonlit shadows, and good luck finding many other landmarks. There are a few: chunks of pillars or arches from some ruined structure, or the occasional odd pillar that might, if someone investigates, prove to mark a trail of sorts.

Plus: the only people who seem determined to survive out here are cutthroat bandits and stray Venatori. Double-plus: a high dragon makes occasional fly-bys, scouring the ground below for anything edible, armored or not.

Some reprieve comes at night, relief from both the sun and the area's primarily diurnal predators. But that's when the darkspawn come out.

II. GRIFFON WING KEEP

Bloomingtide 16-17: Taking the Keep

Only a small force of Tevinter cultists remains in Griffon Wing Keep when the Inquisition arrives, seemingly on their way out the door already, but the sight of Inquisition banners is enough to make them stay and fight. There's no need for siege equipment, but there is call for a little bit of patience. With it, a small battalion is able to evade the mages and archers on the walls and storm the doors with few casualties. Fewer than three dozen warriors wait inside. It's a quick, brutal fight; it only takes a night.

Bloomingtide 18 Onward: Home Away From Home

Once the Keep is cleared of occupants, it's ripe for the Inquisition to… occupy… But with implicit permission, at least. Those who aren't needed for fights elsewhere may be put to work clearing out debris and small animals and the remnants left by the cultists, and within a few days the fortress is a serviceable outpost, much more hospitable than the camps out in the sand. Barracks mean even those who don't have beds at Skyhold may have one here, and it takes less than a week for an enterprising merchant to arrive with ale.

III. THE STILL RUINS

Despite signs of recent activity, the lavish Tevinter palace tucked incongruously into the canyons is quiet and still, when the Inquisition discovers it—quiet, still, but not empty. The ancient ruin is brimming with demons and Tevinters in incredibly outdated fashions, all frozen in place, as they have been for hundreds of years. No one breathes or blinks, but their skin is still warm and alive to the touch.

Beyond the entryway and halls and through the courtyard, there are signs of research and experimentation, and one man stood unmoving with his hand clasped around something unseen.

Perhaps someone will discover the cause. Perhaps someone will undo the spell that's been cast over the palace. Perhaps, if someone does, someone will take the opportunity to not immediately murder all of these valuable sources of ancient information, and instead only murder most of them. In the meantime, however, it is unlikely that anyone will ever be able to get this close to a rage demon without receiving a face full of fire. Take advantage.

IV. CORACAVUS

Signs of the Venatori point upward: up the hills, up ladders and towers, and into the ancient Tevinter prison, Coracavus, that was built into the mountainside. The ruin is filled with sand now, with half-collapsed walls and anything not made of stone worn away by winds, and the Venatori are long gone, their hunt for relics from the glory days of the Imperium abandoned when an excavation attempt opened the prison to darkspawn, instead. The darkspawn have retreated as well, but there are signs of their presence. Namely the smell and the half-eaten corpses of slaves—primarily elven and dwarven—who were left behind to their fates when the Tevinters fled.

There's no sign of them now, but digging through their abandoned camps may turn up a name, if anyone would like to see that he pays.

V. ADAMANT FORTRESS

A day's determined walk from the nearest Inquisition camp, Adamant Fortress overlooks the vast chasm—dubbed the Abyssal Rift—from which darkspawn poured during the Second Blight. It stood abandoned for nearly 150 years before the Grey Wardens' recent reoccupation, and it's abandoned again now, emptied out well before the Inquisition's forces arrive. There are signs that the retreat was a hasty one: scattered belongings, opened doors, abandoned meals, and no fewer than fifty bodies left on a mass pyre that only half-burned without anyone to tend it.

The Veil has always been thin here, and it's thinner now, where demons have been pulled through from the Fade. Rifts hang over the battlements and in the corridors, and escaped shades lurk in the dark corridors, siphoning away the willpower of those who linger until they come close enough to attack. Those who visit the Fortress set up camp outside of it rather than within it, wisely.

There are clear signs of blood sacrifice, for those who look: the bodies, blood stains on the stone floors, neat lists of names systemically crossed through. Sorting through documents left behind may turn up vague notes in a mage's runic shorthand or the journal of a trepidatious new recruit (Lourde, a pickpocket, crossed through on the registers). Behind a locked door in the lowest rooms are the bodies of sixteen mages, still in their Circle robes, left lying where they fell when the Joining took them. Mages who were among the rebels in Redcliffe may recognize a face or two as belonging to the hardliners who left with the Tevinters.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yes. Not personally with most. I only heard them talking at Redcliffe, but a few I knew from the journey from Orlais." Her shoulders slump. When the news spread that Fiona had agreed to indenture them to Tevinter, Christine was horrified. She did understand that they had no allies, and that the angry apostates in the Hinterlands were making things worse for them, but she couldn't have followed the group to Tevinter. She would have struck out on her own and probably been killed. At least she would have died free.

"What I do not understand is how they died. They do not appear to have been part of a sacrifice."

"Blood magic, I had assumed." She raises an eyebrow, turning thoughtfully back to the bodies on the floor. "Some kind of Tevinter ritual. There are no visible wounds..." She trails off, thinking. "How, and why? To what purpose?"

"I cannot even begin to guess." Christine knows nothing of blood magic, and she prefers it that way. Perhaps learning about it from an academic point of view would be beneficial, but it's too much a risk with people looking for the worst in mages at every turn.

"Maybe if we find some evidence to support the theory that there was a ritual of some kind?"

Cassandra nods slowly. It's only a theory, but there's no harm in looking. At worst, they will find nothing.

She dismisses the soldiers - too many people searching the small room will only cause chaos - and kneels next to one of the bodies, inspecting it more closely this time. Still no evidence of wounds.

"Her face is twisted, as if in pain," she murmurs. "Poison of some kind?"

Christine comes to kneel down beside Cassandra, taking a steadying breath. She's used to seeing death as a healer, but these victims of the Venatori and Wardens have hit her hard. Maybe because she knows they could have chosen differently. They could have joined the Inquisition as she did. But no one could have predicted this would be their end.

"Hmm, yes. If they truly have no physical wounds on the outside, it could very well be poison inside them. But it could perhaps be the result of spells instead. Any that do severe spirit damage, or several from the entropy tree, such as casting Horror or Waking Nightmare, would leave no visible wounds, but be very painful or mentally damaging."

Cassandra doesn't offer comfort or encouragement, but she does watch Christine carefully as she settles to the ground beside her. This is obviously difficult for her - it must be, if she had known even a few of the mages now lying dead before them. But she seems to be holding herself together, for the moment.

Her gaze drifts once more to the body as Christine speaks. A spell. It's certainly possible.

"Is there any way to tell - if not which spell was used, then at least if the deaths were the result of magic or poison?"

"Perhaps the spirit who works with me can assist," Christine says. On her own, there could be vital things she would miss, but a spirit can see beyond what human eyes can see.

And speaking of eyes, Christine's now glow blue, marking her as a Spirit Healer. She passes a hand over the face of one of the mages, not touching the skin, but trying to sense if something is wrong. And almost immediately, the spirit of Faith across the Veil speaks to her, and in response, Christine tries to pry open the mage's mouth, then clicks her tongue.

"Rigor mortis is starting to set in, but I think I can... there." With the mouth open enough, Christine tries to peer in, but it's dark.

"I am going to make a flame in my hand, for light," she warns Cassandra, before conjuring a blue-green flame that lights up the inside of the mouth.

"That is blood. But... But I do not see a laceration. It is possible it was coughed up from the lungs, but I cannot say for sure."

Cassandra remains on her guard as Christine works, unable to do much else to assist. She watches tensely, on alert for any indication that Christine's magic might be going wrong as anything else. She is Circle-trained, there should be no issue - but it would not do to take such things for granted.

But everything works as expected, and when Christine reveals her findings Cassandra frowns in thought.

"Poison may lead to coughing up blood," she muses. "Though magic could do the same. Is there another alternative?"

Christine shakes her head. "There are only two sources: blood from the lungs or blood from the stomach." She tilts her head and shrugs. "That is, provided the blood is coming from the inside back out, and not from the outside in, and if this is blood magic, I have no idea if drinking blood plays a role."

She's silent for a moment, listening closely, but thinking hard about their options. This is...strange. All of these mages poisoned, or the victims of some blood magic ritual, and to what purpose?

"We must do all we can to find the true source," she says at last, with an air of determination. "If you cannot determine the source of the blood, or the nature of...whatever happened...through magic, we must find it another way. We will search the room, and all of the bodies. Look for anything that might provide a clue."

Christine certainly doesn't want to give up on this. These mages deserve more than that. To know what really happened to them will bring some sort of closure. She moves to stand and nods her head.

"Perhaps I should take one side of the room and you the other? Then we can examine the bodies together. There are so many."

"All right."

She briefly considers calling the soldiers back to make the work go more quickly, then dismisses the idea. More people involved will just make it easier for things to become trampled on or lost. Besides, she trusts Christine to be thorough and vigilant in her search; the two of them will have to be enough.

Cassandra immediately moves to her half of the room, scanning the floor and studying each of the bodies. The others look more or less the same as the first; no visible wounds, and occasionally spots of blood visible in the mouths. It is a shame Christine had not been able to discover more; perhaps there is another spell that could reveal...

She's so caught up in her thoughts that she nearly misses the goblet, tipped over on its side and nearly hidden in a corner of the room. Frowning, she picks it up, peering at it closely as she calls Christine over.

Christine hurries over, brow furrowed as she looks at the goblet. It certainly seems out of place in a Warden's fortress. It looks like it belongs on the Empress's dining table.

"There are spots of blood on it," she observes. "This is far too grand to be a Warden's simple drinking cup either. A ritual, perhaps? Do they force mages to drink blood?" She's puzzled here, but tries to suss it out as she continues speaking. "No, that would not kill a person, disgusting as it is. It cannot be blood alone. But I can't guess at what else was in it. Nor do I know if this was really a Grey Warden ritual or a Venatori one."

"Either way, we should attempt to discover what it is," Cassandra answers. They owe that much to the dead mages, at least, and if they can prevent such a thing from happening in the future...

"We should take it back to Skyhold. I have never heard of such a ritual among the Grey Wardens, but there are plenty of Wardens who may be able to tell us, if it is so. If not, perhaps Leliana's spies can find out more."

"I agree. Unless we find a journal or notes, I do not think we can discover why they were drinking from this goblet." Her face is not a happy face, but unless their Warden allies admit what it was, they will have to wait for answers.

"If nothing more can be learned here, I suppose it is time to put them to rest."

Cassandra nods. "We will search the rest of the room, and I will tell the others to watch for any notes throughout the fortress. I doubt we will find anything, but it is best to be sure. Once we return to Skyhold, I will consult with the advisors."

She looks at Christine. "Thank you for your assistance and your expertise. And...I am sorry, about your...associates."

Christine's eyes lower for just a brief moment, before she lifts them again. She forces herself to stand a bit straighter, telling herself to be strong. In her mind, the spirit of Faith whispers to her that this is the right thing to do, and also expresses a... bit of fondness for the Seeker in front of her, but she doesn't tell Christine why. Perhaps she approves of Cassandra's kind words to Christine.

"Thank you. They are free from earthly sorrows now. That is the consolation I must believe they have, after what they have gone through. I will continue looking over here."

"They are with the Maker now," Cassandra says softly. She takes a moment to gaze quietly at the bodies before them. Some of them had been so very young.

Then she looks back at Christine. "Come. Let us search for anything else we might find, and then I will have them carried to the pyre."

So young, so hot-headed and brash. But they didn't deserve to die. What they needed was someone to listen to their anger and frustrations, who could then hopefully talk them down from taking off with the Venatori. Christine wonders if there's anything she could have done, but quickly nips that thought in the bud. That way lies madness.

"All right." And with that, she'll head back over to the other side of the room.

[ ooc: good stopping point? ]

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OPEN: The Western Approach

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