faderift | 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

Sam looks up, startled. It's not often that anyone manages to catch him unawares, and he stares up at the strange young man, mystified. He's sure they've never met before, and yet here he is, starting a story as if they'd already been talking for ages.

Well, it'd be rude not to answer in turn. He frowns thoughtfully, considering the boy's words.

"That story don't make much sense," he muses. "What have rabbits got to do with shoes? And how does tying his ears together help anyone? Seems like it'd hurt too much, and anyhow it wouldn't work, not unless his ears were very long indeed!"

"It makes more sense the way Varric tells it." Cole looks down at his own shoes while he walks, as if consulting them might give him a little more insight. But they are, as usual, silent.

"You fell out of a rift." The statement has an air of friendly recognition. "I've tried to know all of you, but there are always more — pebbles in the sand. I'm Cole."

"I'm no pebble, but I fell right enough," Sam assures him. "Splash, right into the water!" He holds out his hand, palm up so Cole can see the shard. "Samwise Gamgee, at your service."

As he leans over to consider the hand, as he raises his fingers to brush against Sam's, Cole considers the greeting. And then his hand slips away.

"You shouldn't be." It's a gentle refusal, a thank you, but no. "But it's nice to meet you, Samwise."

Sam's forehead furrows in confusion, but he drops his hand with no offense taken. "Shouldn't be what?" he asks. "I can't be anyone else but who I am, I'm afraid. Lor' knows I've tried!" He sighs, shaking his head ruefully, but offers Cole a smile all the same. "It's nice to meet you too, Mr. - Mr. Cole." Strangely, he's not quite certain whether this Cole should rightly be called Mr. or not.

Edited 2016-06-01 03:25 (UTC)

Although it isn't what he meant, Cole considers that response. Anyone else but who I am. He likes the little he can see about who Samwise is, so far.

"Tending to tender leaves, given leave to grow. Buds blooming in bright bursts of color." Like... something. Something he can see, but can't put a word to.

Something about the way Cole describes the flowers is familiar, putting Sam in mind of a long, sad night in Lórien and a verse of his own creation. He pauses, staring up at him for a moment, before shaking his head and doing his best to concentrate on what Cole's saying, and not what it sounds like.

"You're a gardener too? Only I've never seen you in the gardens back at Skyhold - but then I've never seen you anywhere I don't think. Did you just arrive?" He glances curiously down at Cole's hand, but there's no shimmer of green light to be seen.

"I didn't come out of a rift." He turns his gloved hand toward Sam in response, as if to prove it.

"I go to the garden, sometimes. I try to help the plants, but they don't tell me what they need." Unlike the spiders.

"Oh, but they do!" The question of Cole's origin at least temporarily abandoned, Sam turns eagerly to the subject of plants. "They'll tell you right enough; not in so many words of course. You've only got to listen, or rather to watch, and they'll tell you - whether they need more water or less, if they're scorching in the sun or growing sad and small in the shade. It's easy, once you know how!"

"You know. Adelaide knows, too. There are others. That's enough." The fact that there are people who understand plants means Cole can concern himself with helping others. Perhaps he's a little curious how Samwise knows the plants are happy or sad, but that's all.

"Do you really never wear shoes?"

Sam blinks at the change of subject - most people seem interested in hearing all he has to say about the garden - but he follows Cole's lead easily enough, shaking his head as he gazes down at his feet.

"Never once. Don't hardly need them, after all!" He lifts a foot up to let Cole see the hair on top and the thick sole.

Cole regards the foot curiously. He knows Samwise hasn't needed to walk through a desert before, but still...

"Do bugs never bite your toes?" For a start.

He frowns in thought, studying his foot. "I suppose they do, at that. But no more than they bite the rest of me." He looks up at Cole. "It's no stranger than never wearing gloves, is it?"

"I don't walk on my hands." Just saying. But he still looks at his own gloved hands for a moment, considering the point.

"Well of course not! But that doesn't stop the bugs from biting, does it?" Sam points out. "Anyhow it hardly matters; there's no bugs here; it's too hot, and no bugs in Skyhold; it's too cold. The only place there are bugs, leastways that I've noticed, is in the Mire, and those ones'll get you whether you're wearing shoes or not!"

"The Mire gets everywhere," Cole laments. At the very least, they can agree on that much. The bugs, the mud, the chill... all of it.

"And it never leaves, neither," Sam agrees. "I thought my clothes would never get dry - nor the stink of it out! I hope we never have to go back there for nothing!"

OPEN: The Western Approach

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