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

I.

"Well, I can't rightly decide if this is better or worse than the blasted mire."

During their time in the Western Approach, Twisted Fate has no qualms about vocalizing his irritation. Sand gets in places he didn't think were able to, there are ridiculous beasts everywhere, and of course a bloody dragon because why not. Not to mention the Venatori, which does bother him more than he cares to admit.

But then, Tevinter has that effect.

When it's night, Fate is all too glad to retire to his tent, shaking out his boots and grumbling all the while. Despite how bothered he is, undoubtedly he would welcome company.

IV.

The sight of the remains of the slaves gives Twisted Fate the briefest pause. Whatever is on his mind, he chooses to not vocalize. At most, he looks thoughtful, his eyes cold as he calculates the matter at hand.

Then, his hand grips his staff when they find a name.

"I'd say someone is overdue a little karma, hm?" Twisted Fate lifts a brow. "I should think I'm not alone in this."

And Korrin looks over at Twisted Fate as though he's grown another head, because really? The Fallow Mire?

"You're kidding, right? We're not soaking all the time, the water isn't filled with undead or rotting bodies, and we finally get somewhere warm for a change. And there's a dragon."

Of course she would list that as a plus, because upcoming high dragon fight? Hell, yeah.

"Korrin, I adore you and I consider you one of my dearest friends, but not everyone gets excitable about dragons as you do," he says wryly, half-grinning at her.

"In any case, let's just say I'm also not a fan of sand everywhere, drying out my skin, and how much I'm sweating. And the nights are cold. Ah, where is my darling Nerva when I need her most?"

"Aw, you know I'd protect you from the big bad dragon. Hell, I'd get enough of that hide to make you a nice hat to go with that outfit." Korrin flashes a grin, then shrugs. "I can't bring you Nerva -she wanted to stay behind, I take it?- but the other things are fixable. Don't forget, I've been here before. I know where the water is, and where it's less likely to be guarded by something nasty. You'll be cooling off in no time."

It should be no surprise to Fate that Beleth looks stricken by the sight of the slaves. She refrains from having a public outburst over her anger, but there is plenty of angry pacing (barefoot, naturally) on the sand, eyes skimming over the corpses, tallying them up. She wanted to remember exactly how many lives whoever was responsible would have to answer for.

There's a wariness about her as they move through the ruins, waiting for darkspawn to come out of the shadows and try coming after them, as well. Combined with the agitation from the discovery of the slaves, she spends most of the time there on edge, watching for any sudden movements. When Fate speaks up, Beleth drifts over to see what he's discovered, peeking around him at the name.

"I hope we can kill him." She replies, tone chilly. "Let's find him."

"We will kill him," Twisted Fate promises. "I would not worry about that."

For a moment, Twisted Fate clutches his staff, knuckles turned white as he gazes over the mess of things. Whatever he is processing, he doesn't make it clear -- but there is a seething, angry look in his eyes, stewing away as he processes the situation.

They will track him down. And he will pay dearly.

"Shall we?"

"We can kill him, I know that," Beleth is glad that Twisted Fate and she are of one accord on the desire, at least--The one thing that stops her is something more frightening than her rage. "But the Nightingale might want us to keep him alive. He could have information. We should at least ask, before we kill." There was a time she wouldn't care, but. That was a time before Beleth had become Leliana's apprentice.

Also Leliana was really fucking scary.

And Beleth smiles, pleasantly.

"But I think it should be fine, as long as we bring back a piece big enough to talk."

Sam falters a bit longer than Fate, a hand coming up to press against his mouth and nose at the sight and smells coming from this particular area. He's quiet, save for the small muttering behind his hand to no one in particular, as his brows furrow in disgust and anger.

The silence stretches on for a time as they continue to look around, until Sam hears Fate saying something. Sam raises a brow in turn, moving closer to the other mage to see what he has. "You found something?"

"A name. A very Tevinter one as well, I must say. Crassius Servis."

For the brief times in which he's visited Tevinter, he could hardly say that he knew too many names and that one does not ring any bells. But what does it matter? There are dead slaves, and as far as he's concerned Crassius is about to join them.

"He can't be far off."

Crassius Servis? That certainly sounded like a Tevinter name, though it is not one Sam is familiar with.

"You think he's still around here?" he asks, going through some books, papers, and other things left behind. There's a small chance that he is, but by the looks of things there had been a hasty retreat. They couldn't have left the way they came in otherwise they would've seen them. "Further in you suppose?"

OPEN: The Western Approach

Twisted Fate | OTA

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