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

"Phoenixes are usually gentle," she murmurs softly. "I've never heard of anyone eating them-... wandmakers use their feathers as core, but I don't think the phoenix is necessarily harmed in the process, especially since it can't die."

Granted, her own wand's core is dragon heartstring, and she highly doubted that the dragon it had come from had simply shambled along on its merry way afterwards.

"They're rather large birds," Hermione commented. "I can see how they can be frightening, especially if you've never seen one before or didn't know that its Burning Day was coming up. They're also known as heralds of death, according to legend, but then, legend also claims that they're all female, and I know that's patently false. From what I hear, they can be very loyal and caring, when they want to be."

"They can't die?"

Fascinating, and given the nature of their foe and of so many mysteries (she is reminded of her recent conversation with Pel and her research) a little concerning, as well, a thoughtful frown dragging at the corner of her mouth. The matter of wands and cores could be addressed later.

"These are not birds. They have feathers and beaks, but they are massive lizards, and very aggressive. I wonder at any similarity at all, save for their name." And, she can't help it, "I suspect they don't have Burning Days, either."

"Well, they can, but... it usually takes a very, very long time. They keep coming back, you see."

It certainly sounds as though they're talking about two different animals, and that sort of makes her sad. Out of everything they'd encountered in this desert, the prospect of coming across a phoenix had actually been sort of exciting. That had been part of the reason she'd brought it up, after all; she'd also simply wanted to ensure that the local phoenixes aren't as dangerous as they had sounded. After all, both her world and Thedas have elves, but that doesn't mean they have anything in common.

"The phoenixes here don't sound nearly as inspirational as the ones back home. Our phoenixes represent death, yes, but they also represent rebirth. They grow old, weak, and eventually they reach their Burning Day, wherein they burst into flame and emerge from the ashes as chicks. Then they live their entire life cycle all over again, until their next Burning Day comes along. It's very symbolic, in its own way."

"Coming back?"

Curious, rather than incredulous, although it's balancing the line between them.

There is a strange sort of wryness to her smirk. "No. I daresay the phoenixes of your world are many times more impressive." A drawn out pause, and then, "Sometime, when things are not so busy, I would enjoy hearing more of them. Fire is... it is symbolic of much. Cleansing, really."

There is the trace of something longing in her tone, of something lost. "Have you learned much of the Temple of Sacred Ashes?"

Despite the magic prevalent throughout Thedas' veins, Hermione's found that her own world is much more magical, in the sense of being fantastic and full of wonder. It has its dark spots, of course - she still bears the scars of some of them - but Thedas seems to be filled with a great many of these dark spots and not nearly enough beacons.

"Fire is quite incredible, yes. And a force to be reckoned with, which is why domesticated phoenixes are so rare. They can be as dangerous as they are beautiful."

She hesitates at Leliana's question, frowning a little as she tries to remember where she'd heard of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. "It's where the Divine-... that is, where the first rift opened up, isn't it? There was to be an important meeting there, but there was an explosion...."

"It is." Leliana's mouth almost forms the next word smoothly but she stops. No waver or tremble or anything so weak, but for a moment there is a hestiation there. "However, the Temple of Sacred Ashes is far more than what Corypheus has made it. It is more than the site of slaughter. He has taken--"

Leliana stops, pulling her gaze away from Hermione to cast it over the desert, and in the bright light the blue of her eyes is sharper and paler, somehow.

"The Temple of Sacred Ashes was once where the Our Lady Redeemer ended her physical journey. It was the resting place of Andraste's ashes after she was burned by Archon Hessarian, and those ashes possessed such powers of restoration as cannot be described. During the Fifth Blight our party journeyed there, when it was a place lost and the Ashes themselves considered little more than a myth."

Leliana is silent for a moment. "Fire is important to our faith. Fire cleanses us, tests us and shields us, and from the fire Andraste went to the Maker's side to live once more. The phoenixes of your world echoed that same wonder to me."

Hermione has never been one for religion, but she can respect a person's right to believe what they will, so long as they don't let it supersede logic. Here in Thedas, though, she can't really say anything particularly for or against the major religions. Her very existence in this world sort of negates many of the predominant ideologies, but she's been tactful enough not to point that out whenever the people here talk about their gods.

"... I'm sorry the temple was destroyed, then. Not just for the incredible loss of life, but for the historical and cultural significance it had. Those sorts of places always seem to be the targets of these sorts of things, since those who aspire to be terrorists think it will weaken us the most to see something so significant destroyed. But sometimes it does the opposite."

She's not quite smiling as she looks at Leliana, but her expression is soft, thoughtful, and if she'd known Leliana a little better, she would have reached out for her. "The things that hurt us the most might burn us, but we have to make sure they don't strip us down to the core. That's how phoenixes survive their Burning Day... and, I think, how people survive their every day."

"It was a place of tremendous power," Leliana agreed. "When we travelled together we saw many wonders, but those trials presented by the Temple will remain forever in my memory." She does not smile, not not soften, and her fingers curl towards her palm. "Destroying the Temple... it was a devastating blow. The Chantry remains scattered and confused, even now. But from those ruins the Inquisition was forged. I believe-- I believe that in the wake of that tragedy we have been able to start taking steps we might never before have dared."

There is a long way to go, they are still learning how to unify and stand together, but they have begun.

Leliana's expression shifts then, a subtle thing, the light that rolls over a blade as it turns. "And sometimes it is necessary to discard that which renders us more flammable," she replies, evenly and without any heat. "But not everyone need make a shield of themselves. That would rather deny the point."

"When we place significance on a particular place or object or person, and it's suddenly taken away, we're forced to re-examine just how much of its power was inherent and how much of it stemmed from the reverence we gave it." After a moment's pause, she almost smiled as she added, "And how much of that power was our own."

Hermione doesn't want to insinuate that any power that most Thedosians accredited to Andraste or the Maker was actually misplaced, so she doesn't elaborate on that. Instead, she only shakes her head and remarks, "Everyone does what they can. Those who can't be shields can choose to be swords. Or salves. I might not have much of a head for things like fate or divination, but I do believe we each have our purpose. We just also have the choice of whether or not to act on it."

She is uneasy with the thought of any of the reverence for the Sacred Ashes not being genuine, but few were there to witness the wonders, the spirits dedicated to watching over the Urn. Leliana does not comment, or shrug. She just looks out over the desert, scrutinising it as if it will give her answers.

Still, she almost smiles. "All things change when they find purpose. Sometimes that purpose changes with us." A pause. "Do you have thoughts on your own?"

If Leliana chooses to believe in the power of her god and of her messiah, then by all means, there's nothing Hermione can - or would want to - do about it. That's what choice and free will are, after all. Besides, she isn't saying that this temple hadn't actually been sacred, only that Andrastians would have to re-asses whether their faith has been shaken or if it's stronger than any material earthly matters.

While she can agree easily enough to that first part of Leliana's response, that question catches her off-guard, and she frowns slightly as she tries to parse it out. "What do you mean? Do I think independently? I would say so, yes."

A breath, and it might have once been a laugh.

"Any thoughts as to your purpose," Leliana clarifies, brow quirked with subtle amusement. "I am quite aware of your capacity to think."

That was quite clear from their first conversation.

"Given some of the reactions I've gotten, not everyone can say the same," Hermione remarks dryly. But rather than get into what could turn into a potentially depressing conversation, she focuses on the actual question at hand.

"If you mean my current purpose, it's to get home and to help as many people here get back to their proper places as I can, and if I can help the mages or the elves or the general problem with Corypheus while I'm here, all the better."

Leliana might have, in years past, commented that she is not most people. She might have mentioned that she endured similar, that she was insulted in teasing and more acrid ways, her sanity and her mental capacity and her motivations all questioned, and yet here she stood, helping to save Thedas, to help people.

Given Hermione's smooth refocusing of the conversation in a particular direction, however, she does not. There is nothing to be gained.

"We are fortunate to have a part in that. Have you been making any progress on devising a means of return?"

Hermione's silent for a moment before hesitantly bringing up, "Not really. I had a very brief conversation with someone named Solas who said that I was asking very good but also very dangerous questions. Given that it's always hard to figure out just who here thinks of me as an enemy and who's more neutral, it's probably for the best that I steer clear from the more dangerous questions for now."

At least publicly. Privately, it was next to impossible to keep Hermione from asking any sort of question at all, especially since she's had practice in being a little sneaky insofar as how she gets her information. That's not exactly something to brag about, though; it defeats the entire purpose.

"Wise," Leliana agrees, though she takes it with a grain of salt. She is the Spymaster; doubting what claims people make is woven into her very fabric. It has her watching Leliana intently for a few moments, not quite interrogative but certainly assessing.

She will have to remember to keep Hermione in her periphery, lest she stumble upon something that endanger her or Thedas.

"Some questions, however, are worth asking regardless."

"Oh, of course," Hermione agrees readily enough. "Questions are only dangerous insofar as their intent. I don't intend to do anything foolhardy regardless of what I ask. But that doesn't mean that you or Solas or anyone else who has more experience with and a greater knowledge of Thedas as a whole wouldn't be able to do something worthwhile, if someone gave you an idea that pointed you in the right direction."

Sneaky or not, Hermione knows better than to throw herself into something without researching it fully, or at least without being accompanied by someone who can help her navigate the water when things get rough.

Leliana is quiet for a long moment, the way she is often quiet, often thinking.

"If you find yourself struggling at any point during these theoretical dangerous questions being explored, I hope you feel at ease approaching me for assistance."

Without looking at Hermione, gaze dragging over the sand once more.

She isn't sure how to react to the quiet, nor is Hermione entirely sure how to respond to the subsequent offer. If anyone would keep a secret, it would be the organization's spymaster. But she's already learned that sometimes the best spies are the worst people to tell one's secrets to.

"I'll consider it," she says simply. "Again, they're only questions, and have no power without the right sort of research or means, neither of which I'm usually at liberty to experiment with. There are still too many variables, after all."

"There are. However, circumstances change, goals shift. Each person within the Inquisition, sworn to it or not, is under my care. Their safety is my concern. For your own safety or for theirs, if you do decide to proceed then I would sooner be in a position to offer you aid than left to pick up the pieces."

Perhaps it is blunt, in a way. Too pessimistic, too used now to having people go behind her back. Hermione had never said she would do anything, and yet the concern lingers.

On the outset, it sounds as though Leliana is only offering her help should things go wrong. But the more she thinks about it, the more Hermione comes to a surprising conclusion.

"You sound as though you expect something to go wrong," she realizes, frowning at her. "While I appreciate where you're coming from, that's still not overly encouraging. Especially when I've made it clear that I haven't actually done anything, and don't plan on it."

"We do not win wars by anticipating the best outcome," Leliana replies, tone cooling rapidly, an icy point of focus in the midst of desert heat. "And I would be a poor Spymaster indeed if I took matters of conduct on faith."

After Zevran and Anders and finding an Avvar commander in their midst and knowing the secrets about Kieran that Morrigan guards jealously, she is not fool enough to think her company made up of open hearts.

"Did you require something of me, Hermione?"

It is too cold, now. She will regret that harsh words later, but there is much to be done.

"It's not a matter of faith!" Hermione shoots back, more than frowning now. She's not quite angry, since she doesn't know Leliana overly well personally and can accept what little she does know of her as being part of her peculiar but necessary spy games. But she's certainly annoyed that she seems to be being dismissed despite the fairly friendly way they'd met. "There would be no benefit to my risking compromising the safety of the Inquisition, not when it's the closest I have to shelter here. Unless you truly believe that silly rumor about how all rifters are actually demons, in which case I would expect you to have me watched closely enough that you wouldn't need my word for it."

Huffing, she looks away and remarks, "No. I had a question, and you answered it. I'll leave you to your staring into the sand."

"Do not speak so naively," she replies, more bite to it. "The Inquisition has been jeopardised by the self-centred designs of those incapable of considering the broader implications already. I seek only to avoid a repetition of such risks."

Her voice is quiet and grave, though a spark of something dwells under the surface.

"I am one of view voices dedicated to defending our rifters at all costs. While you are here in a world that is neither your own nor of your own choosing, I will protect you. Caution is not a threat. It does not jeopardise you. It is a necessity. Endeavour to be sensible of it."

But there is work to hand, and she gestures to one of her runners who is topping the stairs to bring her something, assuming Hermione's prior comment to be her last.

"I'm not self-centered," Hermione returns between gritted teeth, whirling around to glare at Leliana. "I haven't even practiced with the vast majority of my magic yet because I don't want it to go awry and hurt someone. I don't fault you your 'caution'. If I did, I'd take issue with the idea of constantly being watched. But I've come to accept it, even if I don't like it. I know trust isn't an easy thing to grant, but if that doesn't prove I'm trustworthy...."

She's going off on a tangent, she knows it, and so she stops herself and forces herself to exhale. "I didn't mean to snap," she tells her, voice more cool than heated now as she turns away again. "Just don't accuse me of not having good sense. At least not to my face."

Though, all told, she prefers words said to her face than knives dug into her back, but there's still a sense of pride in being the logical, responsible one, even if she knows she can't always uphold that mantle here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

OPEN: The Western Approach

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