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

Hermione could only look at him for a moment, a touch of a thoughtful frown on her face. "How do you draw breath?" she asked. "How does a swimmer learn to hold his breath for long periods of time while underwater? Why do other people have difficulty breathing just climbing a set of stairs?" Shrugging, she adds, "I'm just as human as you are, and I'm fairly certain we have the same physiology. But there are some things that are instinct for me that you would have to practice at, or that you won't be able to accomplish at all. And vice versa. Calling it a mutation rather than chance genetics discounts the nuances between individuals, doesn't it?"

Despite the more serious subject matter, her face does light up when he mentions Korrin. "Oh! I'm friends with her, too! She was one of the first people I'd met here. Though, well, I think one of the very first was The Iron Bull, who's very... broad, and there was a younger one I talked to once. Kas, I think his name was? They're a very interesting people, even if they don't always see eye-to-eye. As for the elves, as near as I've been able to figure it, there are the Dalish, which are separated into different traditional tribes, and the city elves, who grew up in human cities in alienages. But some of those elves are also mages, and from what I understand, some have even chosen to follow the Qun. So there's some diversity involved." And she could probably cite even more examples of diversity, if she'd actually been raised here. Or maybe not, if mages had really been as stifled as she'd heard.

Excited as she might have gotten over talking about the various cultures in Thedas, hearing about just how bad Kirk's world had gotten brings that frown back, along with no small sense of horror. "Eugenics War?" she asked, voice low. "Is that... is that what it sounds like?" Because in its own way, depending on what had been the inciting factors, it sounds worse than World War III.

"And that may very well be it. But I'm the sort who likes knowing," he shrugged his shoulders, not able to deny a central part of himself. "I find it interesting and fascinating and amazing. It could be just a matter of sensitivity - like some people being better at drawing versus the rest of the population. It could be something else entirely. I don't find anything wrong with wanting to understand it." It was a curious thing, like trying to understand how certain species had evolved certain aspects of their physiology and why. It was simply innate curiosity, not anything sinister, though even he knew sometimes you simply had to accept the answer of - it is what it is.

Her enthusiasm for the other cultures is warming and he smiles at it, though it disappears when she asks about the wars he had named. Of course she would, and for a brief moment he almost regretted mentioning them. But considering the massive differences between their worlds, he chose to believe they wouldn't come to pass at all.

"Back in the 1990s, some scientists decided they wanted to try and make humanity better." His lip curled a bit at that sentence, clearly finding the notion distasteful. "They were trying to breed a better human through genetic engineering and selective breeding. They succeeded in creating people that were stronger than a natural human called Augments - but when you create weapons and give them free will, things can go very wrong. Millions lost their lives in the war, but humanity 'won' in the end." There was a pause, looking down at his own hands as if they might hold some answer, or hide some grim truth. "Its ramifications reached into my era, even."

Edited 2016-06-11 05:28 (UTC)

Hermione couldn't help cracking a small smile when Kirk declared that he was simply the sort of person who liked knowing things. She still hated the fact that she didn't have all the answers here, but at least she wasn't the only one in the dark, and at least Kirk was good company with whom to stumble around until she could find something resembling illumination. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to understand it," Hermione told him softly. "It might be frustrating when that comprehension just doesn't come, but at least you're not simply accepting things as they are without looking into it at least a little."

She could tell by the look on his face that unfortunately, this Eugenics War likely was exactly what it sounded like. The fact that it began at just around her current timeline made her stiffen a little, though she had to force herself to remember that this could be an entirely different Earth from the one she knew.

"I... don't think my technology has reached quite that far yet," she offered, though she knew it wasn't much comfort. "We're just barely managing to get computers into more homes, though I wouldn't be able to say just where we are insofar as genetics. It's one of the drawbacks of being raised in the wizarding world for most of my adolescence, since we don't use electronics there. Mostly." After a brief pause, she shifted a little close to Kirk, not quite reaching out for him so much as making her presence known. "I'm sorry that sort of thing happened, and I hope it's one of those things that sounds much worse than it is. Or, at least, that you've managed to deal with the worst of it."

"Then maybe you won't go through it, and I hope you don't. The Eugenics War was a direct lead in to World War III, and after that humanity finally got itself together. I guess some twenty-seven years of war and some six hundred million people was more than anyone wanted to repeat - and that was just World War III."

That, and not long after the end they achieved warp, they went out into the universe and discovered they truly weren't alone. That their little blue planet, so perfectly placed, had sisters out there, and the universe was wider and more diverse and beautiful than they had ever imagined. Suddenly, the problems on their own planet seemed so very small and insignificant.

"It could have been very bad. It's bad enough that people died for it, but considering what could have happened? It's a heavy price, but a small one." There was genuine regret and heartache in his voice - Pike, the people at that lab, his crew, the few people on Marcus' ship, even Khan's people. They had been innocent in this confrontation at least.

"... twenty-seven years?" Hermione murmured. "Six hundred mil-... that's ten times the casualties of World War II!" When numbers get to be that high, they seem surreal, unreal. She was just glad that it seemed like Earth - or, at least, Kirk's version of it - hadn't let it become just a hazy part of history, like so many seem to be doing with World War II now that the people who'd fought in it and died in it were becoming fewer and further between.

It was a heavy topic, and she hadn't meant to bring up a heavy topic, though she seemed to do that quite often. So she reached over and slowly wound her arm in his, gingerly resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I think I liked it better when we were talking about the stars."

"And we were still recovering from the Eugenics Wars. That causality number was even bigger," he said sadly. Humanity had almost been wiped out, but someone had pushed through. Though they had created the situation for themselves, trying to improve on something where they had no business trying.

He looked down at her when she wound her arm through his, gently extracting it and wrapping it around her shoulders instead, like a big brother cradling his sister. He gave her upper arm a squeeze and briefly laid his cheek against her curly hair.

"Heh, it's all right. It's sad, but it's the past for me. It happened well over a two hundred years before I was born," he assured her. "But I agree - I did like it when we were talking about the stars instead. I can tell you about this one planet I visited - Nibu. It's gorgeous - covered all in red."

The more she hears about it, the less she likes this potential future, even if it sounds as though her world might just be avoiding it, by some quirk of fate. She's grateful for Kirk's arm around her shoulders, and she lets herself fold in against him, arms wrapped around herself to ward from the chill of the painful discussion.

"Just because it's in the past, it doesn't mean it hasn't shaped you. Just the opposite, in fact." She still remembers her chat with Leliana, wherein she'd mentioned just what had happened during the Holocaust and why Thedas needed to be careful about simply sending mages off to Circles where Templars could simply order them killed if they get out of line. Hermione hadn't lived during that time, but it had still been a difficult conversation.

But she'd much rather turn the talk to more pleasant matters, and so she looks up at the sky, smiling vaguely. "Nibu. What a curious name. Was it like Mars, covered in red sand and rocks? Or was it a different sort of red?"

"I know. It crafted Earth into what it is, and while I am sad those things had to happen, Earth has come out strong because of them. Not that I would encourage any other Earth to go through them at all, mind," he shook his head. "But those wars did, in the end, help to unify us as a planet. And they impressed upon humanity the sanctity of life." Hard lessons, hard won, but now Earth stood at the center of Galactic trade - both economically and culturally.

And that, he thought, should be the end of that conversation.

"Hmm, not like Mars at all. It fully supported life - it's just that many of the plants and animals all had a red hue to them, the ocean a brilliant cerulean. Red and blue - like Earth is blue and green. There's a primitive culture there. They would be about the same level as Earth Aztecs, well before the Spanish came."

Those were lessons that Hermione knew needed to be learned, but that price still seemed far too steep. Still, this wasn't a conversation she wanted to have, not when she was still shaken about the fact that she was sitting in a keep that had been won in a bloody battle. The deep thinking could wait until she was back in the relative safety of Skyhold.

"The plants and animals were red?" she asked, grateful for the pleasant enough shift in the conversation. "Were the people-... sorry, it doesn't sound right to ask after their skin color, but it's just a curious thing for everything to have been red. Aside from the water, anyway. But surely you couldn't have explored the entire planet, so maybe there are some parts of it with different cultures and landscapes? Or was it much smaller than Earth?"

"The plants are. The area we were in had white bark on the trees and bright red leaves, a reddish soil, flowers and other flora were also red, a good portion of the animals we saw. Some were other colors, not just red, though being red clearly helps blending in," he chuckled. "And I honestly couldn't tell. They coated themselves in a white substance and wore yellow. As for exploring - no, we haven't explored all of it, per say, but our ships are capable of scans from orbit. Given that there's a pre-space culture there, it's a protected Class M planet - which means no one's allowed to interact with the planet, especially not where the people can see us."

"But you can see them," Hermione noted softly, glancing up at Kirk. "Isn't that almost like... well, spying? I know it's for a good cause, but the lines do get a bit blurry in those sorts of instances." And then she paused before asking, "What were you doing there if you couldn't explicitly interact with the planet? I'd think you'd have ways to remotely collect whatever samples you might need for study."

"That's one way of looking at. We do it to see what level their civilization is at or if there even is one at all," he explained. "A civilization has to meet certain criteria before we're allowed to make contact to help preserve that civilization and its natural evolution."

He gave a wry grin at the next question.

"Ah. Well, this particular civilization was sitting right under a very active volcano. And while we can't interact, the fact we knew this volcano was going to erupt and essentially destroy these people - well, I didn't think it was right to just turn a blind eye to it. So we went down to stop it, but do it secretly and quietly as possible."

Never mind that he had been raked over the coals for it, and he still wasn't sorry.

"Wait..." Hermione commented, frowning as she moved from her comfortable position to look up at Kirk more directly. "By not interacting, that means you're also not allowed to intervene in the event of a disaster? But... wouldn't you want to preserve the culture for study, if not the actual sentient life that hung in the balance?"

She couldn't possibly imagine having a job where she'd be forced to overlook the fact that an entire civilization was just going to be wiped out by a natural disaster, especially not if she had the ability to help. The fact that Kirk and his crew had done what they could to help those people came as no surprise, though it does bother her that their actions hadn't simply been the status quo.

"I felt that way. That because we were there we should do something. But no one came to help us at Pompeii, or any of a multitude of other disasters. The Prime Directive views it as interfering with a culture's, a planet's, natural evolution, which can include a civilization not making it. Think of how many didn't make it on Earth, right? The volcano we stopped would have had catastrophic effects on the entire planet, not just those people, so I stepped in. That, and no one would see us. Any other disaster, I'm not sure we could have done anything."

Could, not would. It was an important distinction for him and he knew he walked that razor wire line of playing god and doing what was right. He felt he had done the right thing on Nibiru, nothing would change that.

"No one helped us with Pompeii because, presumably, there hadn't been anyone watching us at the time." Even as she said it, Hermione realized that they didn't really have any way of knowing whether or not that was true, so she decided to steamroller on before he could consider it a flaw in her argument.

"What's the point of learning about new planets and people if we're just going to stand aside and let them crumble? When animals on Earth are facing endangerment or extinction, we do what we can to see to it that they survive as long as possible. I don't think the-... the black rhino, for instance, is going to be better off if humans stopped setting up conservation centers. No, you saw people in danger and you did what you had to do to save them, which is a natural inclination of anyone with any sort of moral compass, human or otherwise."

"The Prime Directive is meant as a protection. I admit I don't agree with every aspect of it, but it's not entirely wrong either. We can't save everyone from the natural things on their planet that effect them, and in some ways our presence could be as dangerous as that of the disaster. As I said, I stepped in because I felt it was right, but I also thought we could render aid without revealing ourselves," he said reasonably. Maybe at the time he hadn't quite thought it through that much, but looking back he still felt what he had done was right, and given them a chance.

"Observation without interference is generally better for both species and researcher, but that doesn't necessarily mean you shouldn't ever step in. Especially not if there's a relatively easy way of helping without compromising your main objective." Hermione wasn't arguing with him, strictly speaking, since she knew he'd acted against this "Prime Directive" thing, but she still didn't like the idea that there have likely been countless lives lost just because a particular crew didn't want to bend the rules to do the right thing. Even she knew better than that.

"I agree, but not everyone sees it that way. They see it as interfering with natural evolution. And to some degree, I can see their point. Not to mention it raises a host of questions of when we should step in and not, why save these people and not others. I understand why it insists on neutrality. But I've just always endeavored to do what I believe is right too," he shrugged slightly. "So, to me, it's case by case sort of thing, but the Prime Directive always has priority."

"The easy way to solve the issue of why certain people should be saved and not others is to simply save everyone," Hermione insisted, practically pouting now. She was mostly frustrated because yes, she could understand the Prime Directive, since that's actually something that seems to hold true even in the study of magical creatures. But the fact remains that conservation efforts exist for animals, and the idea of them not existing for people leaves a bad taste in her mouth. "I'm glad you acted out as you did. I just hope more people behave similarly and simply manage to keep it under wraps."

"Well, I can tell you now, not all of them do. They follow the Prime Directive to the letter, and that's their prerogative," he said. "And the fact of the matter is that saving a people, even a village, could cause just as much damage as the disaster itself. It's a very fine line."

But he understood what she meant. He wanted to do just that, to help everyone, but he knew logically that that simply wasn't possible, and that in the long run, that sometimes it wouldn't be best for the people. He didn't quite think of it that way on Nibiru at the time, but looking back and moving forward he would.

"But thank you for your vote of confidence."

"Unless the people were actively destroying their corner of the world, I don't see how that's possible. And even if it is, that doesn't mean they shouldn't be saved; no one can see the future, after all, and so there's no telling what those people might end up doing if they're given the chance to live." Even inherently bad people shouldn't be killed unless they were posing a very real threat to human life, but she knew that that was a point on which not everyone agreed with her. She'll take her commonalities where she could find them.

It was a heavy subject again, and not at all something that she'd wanted to discuss when she was still reeling from the battle earlier that day, so she only shrugged a bit tiredly. "No one has the right to say who should be allowed to live and who should be allowed to die. Especially not in the name of research."

"I know. That's what I believe. But you have to think about what contact with a more primitive race can do," he advised gently. "What happens when a far more powerful, technologically superior race just pops out of the sky? They could take us as gods, they could become angry - very angry - we could supplant their whole culture without meaning too," he waved his hand around them. "Imagine if we came here. If the Chantry was still in charge and the Fleet came out of nowhere. Do you honestly believe the Chantry would welcome our presence, however helpful, or would it ignite a new holy war?"

Those questions were what made it difficult to decide when to step in and not, why not being seen was so important. And so long as they were discussing it, he wanted to make that clear to here. It wasn't out of cruelty or antipathy that such a rule existed. It was to protect, even if that meant not everyone survived.

He gave her a gentle squeeze. "But between you and me I threw out the Prime Directive awhile ago when I came here. Doesn't seem much of a point to it, and I personally don't want to live like a hermit avoiding everyone."

"The Chantry don't even accept mages and elves and other people from within their own world," Hermione stated, tone just a bit sterner than it should be. But it wasn't directed towards Kirk himself; rather, it was meant to show her distaste for the Chantry, especially when it was so similar to the way dominant religions in her world seemed to run everything in particular regions, excluding those who didn't follow along on blind faith. "If you as a researcher took time to learn who was in charge and opted to speak with them privately and peaceably, maybe you could explain your position and your goals and have the full cooperation of the people you were observing. But I understand basic research. You risk changing the nature of what you're observing simply by virtue of observing it."

Still, she liked to believe in reason above all, and while the Chantry had been described to her as being filled with some of the most hard-headed, bigoted fools one could ever meet, she also believed that anyone could be reasoned with, with enough time and patience. Of course, it was hard to be granted the appropriate time when most people's patience ran out at assuming that anything that came out of a rift was a demon.

She burrowed in against Kirk a little at that squeeze, shaking her head and commenting, "Between you and me, I don't know that you would have survived here if you'd tried living by such a rule. This doesn't seem like a good time for newcomers to arrive in Thedas without being utterly transparent, so I doubt any attempt at secrecy would have ended well for you."

Her optimism was heartening, even if he no longer was quite the optimistic - or, perhaps, was not quite so naive anymore. He liked to hope for the best, always went to new worlds with the intention of peace and bringing a new light into the Federation. But sometimes things went wrong. The people wanted nothing to do with them. They became enraged to discover that they were not alone in the universe or that not everyone in the universe looked like them, believed as they did, had not heard of their gods or followed their ways. It was the nature of mortality, it seemed.

"A planet, a culture, must achieve warp capable travel on its own - develop to the point that it can stand on an intergalactic stage and not be overtaken by the other cultures it will encounter. It's less about research and more about keeping diversity within the star systems. It's all the different cultures we encompass that make the Federation strong. To obliterate one, however good intentioned we might be - well, that's a sad thing all on its own, and a bit to close to the Klingon for my taste."

He shivered at the thought of the Empire and its conquering ways, having brushed far to close to them for his liking.

He kept his arm wrapped around her as she burrowed, rubbing her arm to try and warm her up some against the chill of the night, which was only deepening. "Oh, I'm sure I could have found a cave somewhere, taken up with a pack of wolves, maybe, grown out a beard," he said, stroking his jaw, trying to lighten the mood. "What do you think? Would a beard suit me?"

"But that means that some people may never reach the point that your civilization has," Hermione pointed out. "I've never heard of diversity that involves exclusion. It seems a bit... counter-intuitive to me."

Again, she could understand where that sort of logic was coming from, but the practical application of it seemed a bit, well, impractical.

"Should I ask after who or what the Klingon are, or would I be better off not knowing?" If they had anything to do with the casual obliteration of cultures in the way Kirk implied, she had the feeling that she'd rather not know, especially since she couldn't actively do anything about them.

The corner of her lips quirk up into a small smile at his attempt at levity, and she nudged him gently with her elbow. "The idea of finding a pack of wolves willing to take you in rather than eat you is far-fetched enough that I'm sure you could also envision finding a razor somewhere in that cave, so no beard would be necessary."

OPEN: The Western Approach

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