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

"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."

"It's true, they might not. And it's not about exclusion. After all, do you invite a twelve year old to go hang out at a bar with a bunch of twenty-somethings? Or let them drive a car?" he reasoned. "It's just waiting for them to come of age, so speak, learning to become their own person if you will."

It was for the best, and there were many, many good reasons behind it. Even some planets who had achieved such knowledge did not want to be part of the Federation, and the Federation abided. It was just the way of some things. They would defend those planets if they came under attack, but they did not interfere beyond that unless there was a specific request. But would those planets have been able to make that decision if they had not first developed themselves as a people, to the point they could accept other life beyond their own little star? Who could really say, but the Prime Directive was the way of things, and Kirk abided by it - mostly.

"In short, they are a warrior culture, who believe in conquering planets for their resources, the bodies there, and expanding their empire," he explained. It was a rather simplified notion, but it worked for the time being. They especially liked underdeveloped worlds.

He glanced at her, nearly rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Let me have my fantasy. But you're right. I don't think a beard would suit me very well."

Trying not to let the conversation get derailed as she remembered about a pair of twelve-year-olds who'd driven a car to school with no idea of what they'd been doing, Hermione argued, "But that's a matter of perspective! Some cultures can do perfectly well without technology, and so would never think to develop it! But they could have also devised a way to live amongst one another in peace and harmony. Does that mean they're less 'mature' than a warring culture that happens to have laptop computers and mobile phones?"

After all, Hermione's own culture might look primitive and backwards to Kirk, but at least they hadn't had a brutally long war because some scientists tried to cook superhumans in a lab. But then, she knows better than to point that much out, at least.

As though the explanation of Klingons proved her point, Hermione waved a hand. "See? That sounds absolutely barbaric; it was the sort of thing my country had done years ago, until we learned better." That, too, was a simplified explanation of what had become of the British Empire, especially given how recently the last of it had been officially dissolved for her, but she was sticking with it for better or worse.

"I never said a beard wouldn't suit you," she huffed softly, sounding terribly put-upon. "Just that it needn't grow out at all, if you were determined enough. Facial hair is perfectly natural for men... and for some women, I suppose, but that's another kettle of fish altogether."

"If they haven't developed advanced technology and don't want it, do you think they'd welcome our intrusion?" He reasoned back. She could argue as much as she wanted, but he knew that in this, at least, the Prime Directive was correct. "Not every planet goes through war. Not every planet develops the same. But developing to the technological point we require also shows an interest, as a culture, in a world beyond theirs, and that's important."

Kirk raised a brow, because he could say some things about Britain and "learning better", but that wasn't the point. "Some races are like that. It's just how their culture developed. It doesn't make it right, of course, but assuming that every warp capable culture is sweet and peaceful?" He shook his head.

He laughed and stroked his jaw. "Hmm, maybe in a few years. Beards age you, after all. I don't want to see to old, not just yet. I like my boyish good looks."

"Your intrusion is different from your existence," Hermione replied levelly. "Every person, every culture, is different, and just because they never thought to advance their technology or haven't been overly successful in it doesn't mean they would begrudge or shun or attack you. There's no way of knowing if you don't try."

Granted, she could see how trying to make contact with a primitive culture could be risky, and how Kirk and his team might look like gods to them - or like demons - and so she was willing enough to let the heat in the argument die down, even if she still didn't like the idea of pulling the wool over an entire planet's eyes and potentially letting it die for fear of involvement.

For now, she only rolled her eyes at his attempt at levity, remarking, "I'm sure your ego quite enjoys it, too."

He understood how she felt. He felt like that too, sometimes, looking down on those primitive cultures they knew about. Knowing they had the technology and medicines to help them. Perhaps they would react nicely. Perhaps they would welcome them, learn from them. But would they as a people be eroded against the pressures of the rest of the galaxy? Or would they react badly - take the technology they had been given, their minds shattered by these revelations, and begin an all out war? It wasn't just the health of one planet they spoke of then. It was the safety of many, many more. And unfortunately, the worst case scenario was the one that had to be bent too.

At its heart, the Prime Directive was about protecting all planets within the Federation, most especially those not yet mature.

"I'm sure it does," he agreed with, glancing out at the moon again, seeming to finally realize its position. "We should head inside, try and get at least some sleep while we can. Otherwise we'll be dead on our feet tomorrow."

Hermione wanted to know more about this Prime Directive, wanted to know who came up with it and what the exact set of guidelines were for determining whether a planet was mature yet. Because honestly, Earth hadn't yet achieved warp speed by her time, and yet she knew there were all sorts of people who would welcome the thought of intelligent cultures from other planets. The Lovegoods, for instance, have probably already written about such a thing in their publication.

But she'd already gotten huffy enough about the whole matter, and Kirk certainly wasn't to blame for it all, so there was no point in continuing to argue it with him. He didn't seem to much like it either, though his hands seemed to be tied in regards to it. Most of the time, at least.

"I don't think sleep is going to happen, at this point," Hermione murmured, knowing full well that she's gone days without sleeping when her thoughts have refused to slow down. "But you go ahead. It's probably more important that you're coherent in the morning than I am, all things considered." After all, it didn't look as though Hermione was particularly useful out here, except for conjuring a bit of water when it was needed. Which was important enough in a desert, certainly, but considering how basic of a spell it was, she didn't really need to be well-rested to continue casting it well.

It was true, they might. However - what would the majority do? An Earth wracked with war, in fighting? What would those people do, with such new weapons available? With such new ways to travel? Despite his optimism, he didn't think an Earth back then was truly ready for that sort of thing - especially not species who were very non-human.

"Are you sure?" he asked her, his brow creasing in worry. He pushed himself up, touching his hand to her shoulder gently. "Don't strain yourself, all right? It'll be a long day tomorrow, regardless of need. So try and get a few hours, at least. We might not get it later." He gave her a tired smile, but he seemed to be lighter than when she had first sat down.

"Good night, Hermoine."

"I'll be fine," she told him automatically, having said the same to Harry and Ron more times than she could count over the years. Hermione doubted sleep would come, or that it would be particularly restful sleep if she could manage it. If she hadn't already been haunted by the number of people that had to callously die just so they could take the Keep, then Kirk had given her a lot to think about. She didn't know whether to blame him or thank him.

If nothing else, Kirk seemed a little better for their talk, and so she managed to offer him up a small smile as she waved up at him. "Have a good night, Kirk," she told him softly. "Sleep well."

He knew an auto response when he heard it. How many times had he given it himself? The look her gave her suggested as much, but he also knew that forcing it wasn't a good idea either. If she couldn't sleep, then being out here was better than in doors in his opinion.

"You too, Hermoine, when it comes," he touched her shoulder, giving a soft smile before he moved off into the night, hoping sleep would come to him as well.

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OPEN: The Western Approach

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