faderift | MOSTLY CLOSED: Weisshaupt Fortress

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MOSTLY CLOSED: Weisshaupt Fortress

WHO: Anders, Herc, Ingrid, Kaisa, Mal Reynolds, Merrick, Merrill, Nathaniel, Samwise, Sera, Teren, Varric
WHAT: A friendly visit to Weisshaupt Fortress that will go very smoothly and involve zero bloodshed.
WHEN: Bloomingtide 29-30 for the closed portion, with travel time on either side.
WHERE: Weisshaupt Fortress, the Anderfels.
NOTES: This plot is 90% closed to the above-named characters, but there are open comments for before and after the main quest that are open to any characters who might travel to the Anderfels to serve as back-up without going to Weisshaupt.

No one has ever claimed that 'the Anderfels' is a particularly pretty name for a place, but it is somehow still too nice for the land itself. Bone-dry and blasted by hot, dusty winds for most of the year, the steppeland of the Anderfels has been harsh and unforgiving country since long before the Blights began. It is barren in every sense of the word: all greys and browns and blood-rust reds, the monotony broken more often by black outcroppings of rock than by greenery, with settlements few and far between. Even where blight has not turned the ground dark and toxic, it feels like a place people are not meant to live. Not anymore.

↠ The Walk There (Open, Mingle)
↠ Arrival at Weisshaupt (Closed, GMed)
↠ R&R&Demons (Closed, Mingle)
↠ Everything Goes To Shit (Closed, GMed)
↠ The Sprint Back (Open)

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Mal was, all told, stunned into silence at that.

Someone was play'n along? Someone thought he was right? He glances over to Herc before turning his winning smile back on the Wardens. Right. He was right. Just a simple man with simple thoughts, nothing dangerous here. Nope.

It's the hand on her shoulder from Herc that clues Merrill in onto the plan. Oh, they're being sneaky! That's very good, then- just like being with Hawke, back in Kirkwall.

As Clarel's gaze softens, Merrill offers her a slight smile. She doesn't agree with what was done- but she can understand why she did it. People do desperate things out of fear, to protect their own.

"Thedas has always owed the Wardens so much. Maybe we can help you as so many of you have helped us." Beat. "If nothing else, there's so much lovely art with griffons on it here!"

That's not even a facade. That's Merrill.

Kaisa is nearly vibrating with all the words shaking around in her that she can't say because this is diplomatic business, and Kaisa may have a lot of faults, including being bad at diplomacy, but at least she knows that she's terrible at it, and that it's better for her to just stand down for now.

Merrill's little comment about the griffons makes her break into laughter, however much she was trying to hold her tongue. But she tries to make herself behave, and turns to look at Herc, face cloudy.

"Please tell me that we ain't helping 'em get more demons, ser, 'cause you can paint my ass and call me Orlesian before I let someone get blood magicy and stabby with my blood."

"I think we have plenty of demons for now," Fulk says, voice even and a hand falling to Clarel's shoulder for restraint, or comfort, or both, "although if there's a ritual to summon those dancing girls of yours, some of the men may consider it worth the risk. Thank you, Hercules," he goes on, attention shifting, "and--Mal." Merrill gets a look, too, but no one's told him her name; Nathaniel is next, and for a moment Fulk looks as though he may be trying to say something with his eyes, but he doesn't have a very eloquent face. It could be a warning. It could be agreement. "We can house you in the fortress or in the village, wherever you're more comfortable."

"They must surrender their weapons," Macrinus says, fingers drumming on his closed book, and Fulk drops his hand from Clarel's shoulder to face him.

"Under the circumstances, I am sure they will sleep better if they do not."

If there's a moment when both men look prepared to abandon their quiet tones and have it out--and an equally long moment when Clarel looks poised to step between them--it's cut short by footsteps in the doorway: Jillian, from before, and a young man in Warden robes with a robed, long-toothed figure hovering behind him.

"Ser," he says. He's pale and slow to blink, with a faraway look to his eyes, but he manages to focus (approximately) on the gathered crowd. "You needed me."

Before he can even have the grace to look embarrassed that his dancing girl comment had been heard, there's a mage with a demon in front of them and Anders is grasping hurriedly for Nate's arm. The contact helps with keeping Justice from pushing entirely to the forefront, but it's a struggle.

Anders takes a slow breath, watching the other mage warily. He's not sound. That's obvious as it is. But maybe there's still a chance to save him.

"If I may." His free hand glows green as he slowly lifts it, trying to communicate that this is not a threat. "I want to assess your situation." This is a mess, but if the mages can be freed, then there's still a little hope.

Nathaniel's hand immediately covers Anders' as it grips his arm, and remains there, steady. His eyes shift from Clarel to Anders, expression shifting from rage to worry, though the change looks subtle to anyone who doesn't know him. He will remain at Anders' side, and only release him at his direction.

Surrender their weapons. She doubts it -- in part because some of their number are Wardens, and in part because absolutely no one will agree to it. She might, but only because she knows she doesn't need the staff, if it comes down to it. But her mind is pulled away entirely at the sight of the young man and the figure behind him.

Despair. Merrill flinches; Creators, of course it's Despair. Why wouldn't it be? They thought they were dying. And the demon hasn't possessed him; it's there, bound by an invisible leash, likely feeding off him. Anders is already moving (and she's certain Justice is quite unhappy), and Merrill's fingers twitch. She wants to reach out, wants to see if she can recognize the magic that was used -- is the young man in full control of himself? But she stays still.

"My name is Merrill," she tells the young man, and wonders if it will mean anything to the other humans gathered. Luckily, the Chantry found no evidence of blood magic, and she doubts any Tevinter mage has put much stock in the talents of an elf. Her reputation with Hawke can go either way, but she has to try. "Will you tell me yours?"

Kind, gentle- wary, but perhaps she can be a balm in this situation.

"...Dancing girls might be worth it." Kaisa mumbles under her breath, watching the boy and the demon. Her hands clench and unclench into fists, all instincts fighting to get her sword out and bash the demon into festive pudding. But she restrains herself, letting Anders and Merrill go up to do their magey thing.

She straightens up, trying to look a little more professional, and says, louder, "High Constable Fulk has the right of it. I'd prefer to keep my weapons, if it's all the same." She glances at Hercules to make sure that this is the right thing to say, and continues. "As for the village or the fortress, we will need to discuss that amongst ourselves, I think. Privately." It's hard to draw her sight away from the demon. It's not right. It's not right, and it needs to die, and it makes Kaisa's skin itch that there's nothing she can do right now.

Mal none too subtly drums his fingers on the hilt of his shortsword, spear tucked against his shoulder like it's nothing. Cuz it's noth'n. They want 'em? They can take 'em. Right now he's spend'n too much time mind'n eyes, follow'n the power play that he almost misses the damn demon. Jayne, silent until now, perks up at the demon and starts up a low key growl that has Mal reach'n down to steady him with a hand. "Être encore."

Now that was a mite unsettl'n. More than a little. Jayne whuffs and settles as he's told, grumbling as he leans against Merrill's legs. Merrill understands him. Merrill doesn't think he's being silly.

"Sorry 'bout that. Jayne does what he's told, though, don't you boy? He won't cause any trouble and neither will the rest of us. I do gotta say- I think the villagers mighta had their fill of us. Wouldn't mind stick'n it out here for a li'l while."

Ingrid's attention immediately snapped to the figure, one hand already on her sword, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.

"Few can handle demons more readily than templars. We can help you if needed. But they must be dealt with," she said. "We can stay here if it is easier."

There might as well be just a bit of shadow behind the others for all Merrick makes himself known. He's been silently assessing the situation the entire time, studying every action and reaction, mapping out the location in his mind. He's not too concerned about being disarmed; they probably wouldn't find all the knives he has on him, and he can kick an ass without them if need be.

He's irritated, to be frank. There's far too much talking going on. That, and there's a literal demon right in front of them, and nobody is killing it. He has a dagger literally up his sleeve, ready to throw at a moment's notice.

"Fine, fortress, can we move on?" he finally remarks, alerting everyone to his presence.

Sam, like Merrick, has kept silent during the discussion, his eyes moving back and forth between the Inquisition's forces and the strangers as they talk. This is all too big for him, that much is certain, and though he's never at a loss for words, he knows well enough to know when he's not needed. Let the Big Folk figure it out.

He's worried, though; even most of the people he'd traveled here with had been (or still are) strangers, if not people he wished to avoid entirely, and even if he doesn't understand everything that's being said he knows it's not going particularly well. He sticks close to Merrill, near the back, wondering more with every passing moment just why he had come rather than staying back in Skyhold in his own warm bed; and when the demon appears in the doorway he lets out a frightened cry, clapping a hand over his mouth. He manages not to anxiously grab Merrill's hand with his other, but it's a near thing.

His mouth feels dry; unpleasant. There's a song in his head when its gone from everyone else's. Doesn't matter for now, and he nods an agreement.

(He's torn between grateful and aggravated towards some of their companions, here, because this is alarming and frightening and that little bloke isn't even from this world and yet he's still here to help-- and yet there's the part of him that rails against the ones sounding so done already, some part of him still protective of the Wardens and their cause, even though this has gotten so twisted.)

"Fortress," he echoes, confirming. "We're not giving up our weapons. Good number of us are your fellow Wardens, and those that aren't have every right to defend themselves from demons." His smile is wan.

People continue talking but Anders barely notices, focusing on what he can feel with the mage in front of him. Unfortunately, there's nothing good to be felt. The demon clearly is in charge and Anders can't see any clear way to break the bond. If only they had Adelaide's notes on any of the challenges, but he's not even sure how she's doing after her message earlier.

Anders drops his hand down and the glow goes out. "I don't... see a way to help him." He looks back at Herc. "Not without notes on what we've been doing back near Skyhold. But there might still be a way."

The people watching them might not want to hear that. It still needs to be said, that there might be a chance.

Fulk makes a welcoming go on gesture to Anders, inviting him to look. Behind the ongoing conversation, the mage looks at Anders' glowing hand, transfixed but not so fixated that he can't answer Merrill. "Henri," he says. There's a ghost of a smile.

"If you have options, I would love to hear them," Fulk says, following Anders assessment, "as would Vidar, I'm sure."

Clarel's hands curl into fists where they're resting on the table, and she casts a wary glance at Ingrid, but she's silent.

The rest of it—weapons, fortress, the hairless dwarf's fright, the angry Dalish's impatience—goes unremarked on. For a moment Macrinus might be caught looking at Samwise's hand, but he says nothing, and Fulk ignores him with a deliberateness that speaks as loudly of satisfaction and dismissal as if he had said ha aloud.

Fulk's face softens, though, when he looks back at the bound mage. "How are you, Henri?"

"Cold, ser."

"Do you remember your father's name?"

For a moment Henri looks puzzled. He's slow to answer, the pause filled by a rasping rattle from the demon, but—"I never knew my father. My mother's name was Beatrice."

"Good," Fulk says, and with a gesture Jillian is signaled to guide the young man back out of the room. "I will send a runner to Hossberg to let the First Warden know you are here. If the King does not keep him he may be here by dinner tomorrow. In the meantime, Wardens—"

"Deserters," Macrinus provides, in a mockery of a helpful tone, and Fulk rounds on him.

"Perhaps you would like to surrender your weapons, prelate," he says.

Macrinus turns his hands palm-up on the armrests of his chair, demonstrably empty, and smiles. Fulk doesn't look away from him while he continues speaking.

"Wardens, if you would make sure your friends do not get lost."

This is wrong. This isn't as Erimond said. The new Tevinter has changed things. Banishing the Nightmare was supposed to banish the demon army, but here they are, still bound to the mages. Nathaniel keeps hold of Anders, but turns to look at Herc and minutely shakes his head.

"Discussion of options would be a very good thing," Ingrid agrees.

But she smiles at Fulk.
"I think I still remember my way around. But thank you."

Yeah. Mal makes a mental note to have Jayne bite the Vint on the ass when it comes down to it. Cuz it will. There's gonna be a scrap, here, before it's all said and done. Not today, oh no, maybe not even tomorrow. But probably before the Big man comes back- or likely when he comes back. That's when it'd be most inconvenient for everyone.

Still. He keeps on smiling, keeps being easy, keeps a steadying hand on Nate's shoulder. "Shiny! Mind show'n us the way to the kitchens? We been walk'n a long while and, well. You all know what hungry wardens are like. They get all hangry- s'when you're so hungry you get angry. Also I'd probably better feed Jayne before he starts wander'n and gett'n into what he shouldn't- Mabari loves him some deep mushrooms."

At first, Teren is visibly startled by the presence of the demon. She has seen them before, yes, but never up this close without attacking it. Never this... content. She looks between it and the man to whom it's bound, her face twitching oddly before it snarls into a scowl.

"You imbeciles," she hisses, "you truly believe you can bend the creatures of the Fade to your will? I'm no commander, but I've been with the Wardens long enough to know a fool's errand when I see one." She narrows her eyes at the men before them.

Finally, someone unwilling to kiss up. Merrick hadn't said anything because Creators forbid they have an uppity elf in their ranks, but he's been thinking the exact same thing.

He just lets out a snort of derisive laughter, content to let the human do the talking.

The look Herc shoots Teren and Merrick would be a dark one, if he turned to look at them. Kicking up a fuss now wasn't exactly a sound tactic, he figured. Get inside, get access, start figuring this out, regroup for a plan.

And instead, everyone's got a bleedin' mouth on 'em.

"We can fill them in on the dos and don'ts," Herc replies, much calmer than he feels. Truth be told, he wants to be sick. This is disgusting, what they have done to the men and women dead and the ones still standing with demons tethered to them is beyond words that he feels he has some grasp to.

But they need to get this done, and they need to at least feign cooperation to get there. Weisshaupt was his home, for a time.

Anders lets the others do the glaring. His attention is on Henri. If only he knew enough of how to track where the true control was... but he has his suspicions. Then again, maybe he shouldn't focus on the obvious causes like the prelate. Instead, he turns his attention to the man doing all the talking and being friendly, Fulk. He's here with Clarel and Macrimus who are involved, being extremely accommodating, and maybe Anders is just being overly suspicious.

But if someone's going to set a trap, it will be the one who is endlessly cheerful.

"I'd like another look at different mage later."

Catching Herc's gaze on her, Teren meets it severely. Perhaps he has his ways of dealing with a crisis, but so does she, and it's not going to involve stroking any egos.

She looks irritably back at the two in front of them, her eyes seeming to bore through their skulls.

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MOSTLY CLOSED: Weisshaupt Fortress

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