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

Those in my world call me the Outsider.

[ As far as names go- it's telling enough. Perhaps it isn't as clear in this world, where many of them are outsiders, but even among them... He is different.

These are not the first bodies that the Outsider has seen burn. They are the first he has put on the pyre himself, and he lingers over the latest before brushing the eyelids shut. ]

And you wonder why the commoners run and the folk of Skyhold balk? [ the 'the' tends to have that effect. and for all that he might be the elvenking he is thranduil to friends. and sometimes peers.

the little gesture does not go unnoticed. is it sympathy or sheer practiced habit, an attempt to fit in? ]

What did your mother call you? What other names have you been given?

I do not wonder. [ He knows them for what they are -- afraid of the unknown, the different. It is those who are not afraid, or who move past it, that interest him most. The rest can be ignored unless they interfere. ]

I had no mother, [ he says after a moment. It's slow, as if he has to think back on it, pull the memory out of where it has been stored. ] I was an orphan when I was mortal, abandoned to the mercy of the streets. The name I had then has not applied in a long time.

The rest- the Great Leviathan, the Black-Eyed Bastard. [ He chuckles at the last. ] Nothing like the name of any others; either they have not wanted to presume [ a snort, this time ] or they did not think on it.

None suit. [ in other words, he refuses. so, again, since the soon-to-not-be-the-outsider remembers it: ] What did your mother call you?

[ if he doesn't give thranduil one, he'll bestow his own to suit.

(all this, somehow, is enough to distract-) ]

If she called me something, I have no true way of knowing what it was. What I was called after she was gone does not matter.

[ Still refusing. Adamant, almost enough to deter his not-whale not-friend. But- ]

... Do you have a particular fondness for deer?

Elk, [ he corrects. there's a difference. the next body he picks up is light, her eyes closed already, and he wonders how young the wardens recruit, for her to feel so frail in his arms. ]

You have the smell of the sea on you. [ not that he's ever seen it, but he's heard tales of the salt and waves. a pause. ] Duinenor.

[ How young, how desperate. How many came seeking safety and met only death? There are no answers in these bodies, not to the true number, but the entire building feels like loss. ]

Despite her changing moods, the sea is one constant in my world. The depths are as much Void as the one that chose me.

[ His own pause, and- ] What does that mean?

[ he lingers, when he sets her down. tidies her uniform, and abruptly stops. these are not his people. if he loses himself in the misery of this world, he will never stop. he knows his purpose. eru placed him here. he cannot falter. ]

I have never seen it. [ but one day, he will, and perhaps he will live beside it, in valinor. ] He of the high tide.

[ it suits, he thinks, or he would not have offered it. ]

Of the high and the low, [ he chuckles, but- it is a nice name, as names go. Fitting, yes. He'll take it, respond to it, make it one of his own. ]

Perhaps you will have the opportunity to see the sea here. Considering the rather large expanse of wasteland around us, it may be a nice reprieve.

[ There are deserts and then there are lands that are dead. Much of this is the latter, only it has no pyre to burn on. ]

[ a little smile- and it's not even wholly faked. he lingers at the ramparts, looks out over the expanse, the great crevice in the ground, and the dripping black ooze. ]

The land must be healed. Time will do it, but perhaps the lady Galadriel and I might...

[ at the very least, he would be able to keep it from spreading. he has not been able to go close enough to check, to find out if his will could be used to free the land from the taint on it. ]

And you, Duinenor? Could your Craft be used to heal the land?

In my own world, perhaps.

[ Here he is less, and he makes no promises. ]

If nothing else- sometimes the key is further destruction. Fire can cleanse.

[ If he glances back at the pyre as he says it before fully facing Thranduil, well. His words remain. ]

Hot enough, bright enough, and perhaps it will make the soil fertile once more.

[ he's-- right. a controlled burn ought to be saved for last, but yet- very few green things grow here. ]

You wager that the corruption will burn, and not be carried in the smoke.

OPEN: The Western Approach

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that time gadgets forgot they aren't in the fade yet

shhh it's ok

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we can end this here, if you'd like?