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)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Hatchlings?" Nathaniel did not expect to hear that word of all words. He is tall, his stride also long, and he comes up beside her. "Roostmaster? You can't possibly have hatchlings. Gryphons are extinct. What do you have here that takes priority?"

Gryphons would take priority. But there aren't gryphons.

Edited 2016-06-08 05:24 (UTC)

He stares as he keeps up, until a moment later all of the words click into place and he's hastily securing Purrelden's pouch, murmuring apologies to it. It's not possible. Nate's right. There isn't a chance the title means what it used to, but if it does, he's not going to have a kitten roaming near untrained hatchlings.

"How could--" Except the how doesn't matter. "We have to be quick, if you're actually saying what you seem to be. There's a village down there, and demons."

Edited (AGH TORI) 2016-06-08 05:29 (UTC)

"Well I'm sure as shit glad it ain't pigeons." Mal drawls as he jogs along, Jayne bringing up the rear. Ain't no demons gonna sneak up on them. "Dy'n to save an extinct species, now that's got nobility written all over it. But pidgeons? Nah. No thanks."

In case it isn't terribly obvious- Mal very much doubts there are actual birdcats waiting for them.

It's not as though Merrill's love of griffons and griffon tales has ever been kept secret. Her gasp is one of excitement, and while it would be perfectly logical to think that it's just Merrill being Merrill...

"So you're the one who took the books from the library! Of course we're not leaving if there are griffons."

All that defiance, gone in the face of griffons and the fact that some books about them weren't dusty.

...Wait.

"What rumors?"

Edited 2016-06-08 10:26 (UTC)

"I do, ser, have griffons." The look that the roostmaster shoots Nathaniel is almost amused. Of course there are griffons; where have you been. Almost amused, because there is little to joke about with griffons, and she takes her job quite seriously. See the set of her mouth under her hawkish nose? She sort of resembles a griffon at that. "A dozen and one. All housed above us, in the roost. I'm aware of the village, and the demons. I had to get through them to make my way up here in the first place. But as I saw the lot of you deal with those two quite handily--" She jerks her head back over her shoulder, back down the way that they came. "I think my trust in you will prove well-placed."

They're confronted with a small notch of a door at the end of the hall. The roostmaster looses her keys from her belt and easily picks through to the right one. A small landing preludes a set of steps, spiraled and coiled tightly against the apex of the stairs. They're too narrow to walk two abreast--their party will have to follow in single file. The roostmaster tosses her keys back toward Mal.

"Lock up behind you, please," she says, "and pass those back up to me when you're done. A closed door is only a temporary deterrent, but we need all the help we can get. Rumors," she adds, briskly, as she starts up the stairs, "are that we can expect Corypheus to put in an appearance. Don't lose your heads, please. We have bigger things. Thirteen bigger things, all of them likely nervous."

Thirteen griffons and a rumor that Corypheus is coming.

"Fucking Clarel," Nathaniel growls as he keeps up right behind the roostmaster. That's as much a freakout as he can be allowed to have right now. The rest will come later. "All right. What's the plan? Where are we evacuating them to and how many trips will it take?"

If he knows where they're going, he might be able to devise a safer, if less direct, path out of the fortress.

"Tell me there's another door, too, please, that's--" And then the rest of what she'd been saying sinks in and he grows pale, glancing over at Merrill. She'd know why.

"If Corypheus gets close, I'm going to become a liability. But I can at least give warning as I'll..." Anders takes a breath. "As Justice will hear him. And the last time, Justice..."

They need to know. They need to, and he's terrified of saying because he's also telling this roostmaster who he is, too, in the middle of a fortress full of Wardens and demons.

"Justice summoned demons. You may need to leave me behind."

Mal don't blink none, just catches the keys and does what he's told. A locked door between them and demons is the best idea he's heard in a fair damn while. "Now when you say bigger do you mean bigger as in important-"

They keys jingle, Jayne's ears prick forward at the sound of something behind and beyond the door, Mal passes the keys right on back up. "Or actually bigger? Cuz if we gotta get 'em out of here smaller would be better but know'n how we're gonna get 'em out takes-"

Oh. Fun. The feathery one can summon demons. Mal stalls out at that for half a second and sighs as though extremely put upon. "Noth'n goes smooth. Why don't anything ever go smooth?"

"What's the best way to keep them calm?" Merrill asks almost as soon as she can get a word in. Nathaniel can worry about where they're going, Anders can- well, worry about the friend in his head, and Mal can worry about the rest of the logistics. Merrill is going to worry about the griffons.

Still, she does move enough to put a hand on Anders' shoulder. Justice- well, Justice hates her, so it's not like she can convince the spirit not to do that. But she can let Anders know that she's there for him.

"Roostmaster- you and the others who haven't been swayed by Corypheus and his Venatori agents can come with us to Skyhold, if that wasn't already your plan. I do hate to say it, but it's hard to believe that the First Warden taking the place of the king wasn't part of Corypheus' plan."

Fucking Clarel gets a nod out of the roostmaster, a moment of grim agreement. She appreciates the clarity and the briskness of the assessment, the lack of panic.

Well. There's no panic, but there is a rather worrying confession. The look that she gives Anders is one that lingers, narrow and thoughtful, but thoughtful in the way a hawk would consider some sudden movement on the ground far below--wary, interested, a little tense. She is clearly putting things together for herself.

But as she has said: there are bigger things. She lets the moment go, dismissing it all with another short sharp nod.

"There is another way down. Precarious, but not impossible. The tower has fallen into disrepair, repairs we were finally getting around to. And now this." She jerks her chin to incorporate the full situation that they've found themselves in. Demons, griffons, Corypheus, Justice, a coordination of escape. Nothing ever does go smoothly. "At any rate. There's a scaffolding along the side of it. We can make use of it if need be. As to the hatchlings--you'll see their size soon enough. They aren't easily carried, they dislike nearly everyone, but they are greedy little shits. That's what the chickens are for."

She jostles the large basket that she has on her shoulder. "Plucked 'em myself just yesterday. Never thought I'd be using 'em for this, but if we always knew what to expect, we'd all be bloody seers. Surprise is one of the joys of life, eh?"

They've come upon a landing here, with another door at the foot of the steps. This one is iron gridwork, like the door to a cell. The roostmaster fits a key in its lock and swings it open.

"Last bit of stairs. I'm Maja, by the way," she tells them. "I'd say it's a pleasure, but it's not. For the record, I don't give two wet shits about what the First Warden's up to. Never cared much about the griffons, so I never cared much about him. I don't know much about Skyhold, neither. What I do know is, I want these hatchlings far away from this place if it's falling into the wrong hands. If Skyhold's the place to take 'em, and if it's reachable by horsecart, and it's got chickens enough for 'em to eat, then that's fine by me."

Nathaniel absorbs this in silence. Maja, Anders, angry baby griffons. They have to get Anders out of here. Evacuating him and the griffons to Skyhold will mean they have to make one trip and can't come back to help in the fight.

He heaves a sigh.

"Then it's one trip, one way, as far away as we can get tonight before dawn."

He touches Anders' back and meets his eyes.

"We're already evacuating the griffons. We'll evacuate you too. And Maja, we'll--they'll need you to come to Skyhold with us. I think that goes without saying, but I want it to be said. You would be very welcome there."

He pats Merrill's hand almost absently, taking everything in. Maja's putting the pieces together, that's clear, but she doesn't react poorly at least. And Nate... There's apology in the glance he gives his lover. There will be warning enough if Corypheus comes, he and Justice will hear it, and if Anders has to pull rank to save griffons and Nate and the rest he will. And he'll cross that bridge if they come to it.

The current bridge is things that are ornery and not easily carried. Thirteen griffons, five people. Leaving behind the others. Varric is here, and Teren, but staying does mean he's more likely to be a threat to them.

"Do you have any sort of harnesses for us that will make it easier to get them down the scaffolding, Maja, or are they capable of flight? In short, what do you need us to do to get them down, where will we find a horsecart once we're at the bottom of the scaffolding? Direct us and we will follow."

He shoots a glance over at Mal, looking for confirmation. Nate, he knows the heart of. Merrill would do anything for baby griffons. Mal's the only variable, but he's fairly sure the man will be fine with this.

"It's absolutely reachable," Merrill says, already trying to think of the logistics for thirteen griffons. Without knowing their size, it's difficult -- they'll need Maja for the best estimates. They need to get all fourteen of them out, on their way to safety.

And- that means leaving their other friends behind. She doesn't like it, but she also knows two things. One, that Corypheus and his allies cannot be allowed to have the last of the griffons in Thedas. Two, that her friends have always been hardy and able to take care of themselves.

It doesn't necessarily make her feel that much better about it, but it keeps her moving forward.

"I can cast barrier again, so we're at least a little harder to injure. Mal rose his mare here -- if she's still down in the village, maybe we can use her and quickly buy a cart from them? And tell them to get out, assuming they're... still there..."

Creators, she hopes nothing has happened to the villagers.

"Sasha? She's hauled a lotta strange cargo. If Griffons are less trouble than baby drakolisks, I think she can handle it." Thirteen griffons. Big ones. Greedy ones. Please be smaller than Jayne. Please, please, please be smaller than Jayne.

Speak'n of Jayne has wandered his way up to start sniffing at the aforementioned basket.

"Quit that- that ain't for you!" Damn dog and his damn belly. "We don't got anyone that knows the first shitting thing about Griffons so gett'n you out alive is just as important- not you Jayne, you're demon bait if you don't quit!."

Not that he means it. Not that it stops the dog from listening, whining at Merrill instead for a chicken or a treat or...something. Please?

Maja gives poor Jeyne a slow look that suggests she doesn't think often of dogs, and what little she does think of them is usually not particularly friendly. Especially when it's sniffing after chickens for her griffons.

"Appreciate the offer." She hitches the basket a little higher on her shoulder, far from snuffly noises and whining. "I think stealing a cart's more our future than an honest purchase. The horse was the harder part anyways. And yeah, there's harnesses. I harness-trained these griffons myself--they're the same as any mount, got to get 'em used to the feel before you can even think about saddling 'em. Except at least a pony doesn't try to peck your eyes out if you sit on 'em wrong."

Not that there's anything to worry about. The last door is a thick one, painted blue. Maja picks the right key out from the mass on her ring and fits it into the lock.

"Thirteen harnesses plus one extra in case anything goes wrong with the ones we got. They're big enough that they want to eat the leather, Maker bless 'em." She swings the door open with a shove of her shoulder as she fixes the keys back at her belt. "Quietly, now. They get fussed when there's a lot of noise."

Which bodes well for taking them down into a busy courtyard. But surely such dangers will be difficult to think on now, because now, at last, they're face-to-beak with the griffons.

The roost is in the crown of the tower, a large round room lined with bowers stuffed full of straw and feathers. Large pale feathers are strewn around the floor--nearly four times as big as what would be found on a standard hawk. Thick plank perches stick out from the walls at odd angles, and give the roost the impression of having been stuck full of broad quills.

The griffons are nearly at size with lion cubs. Their feathers are pale grey, the same as what's been molted onto the floor. Darker plumage shows through on some of them, especially around the wings. Their talons are overlarge; their paws are overlarge. Four of them have their heads tucked into their wings, three are out of sight, presumably hiding in the bowers. Two are perched up in the rafters of the pitched tower roof, two are tussling with one another on the floor, and one is nowhere to be found--at first.

Then out of nowhere, with a rustle of wings and a screech, the missing griffon swoops onto Maja's right shoulder. Talons and claws scrabble for purchase on the leather pauldron, and the roostmaster staggers sideways under the sudden weight. Nervous, the griffon screeches more desperately, wings beating at the air, back paws scraping against the elf's armor as it tries to keep hold.

"Down, Potato," Maja orders, the word inflected with only a little pain, "down--someone get her bloody harness, but don't touch the hatchlings yet--over there--"

The other griffons have started to take notice of the visitors. Bright gold eyes blink out of the darkness of the bowers, fix on them from perches and rafters. The two griffons fighting on the floor freeze, wide-eyed, open beaked, tails lashing. They're between the stairs and the harnesses, which are complicated masses of buckles and straps slung over several of the lower perches.

They're real. They have beautiful feathers, they look like they could maul all sorts of things, and they're real. ...And one is named Potato. It's not a noble name, but it's a fantastic one nonetheless.

"Steal a cart, steal thirteen griffons, it seems we and Potato are destined for a life of crime." He can't help the weird levity. There are actually griffons, there's something of a demon army, Corypheus might be coming, the Wardens might mostly be lost; there's altogether too much going on to take it with any sort of solemnity. Especially when he's going to have to carefully walk around two staring griffons to try to grab their harness.

"Easy, little one," he says to Purrelden in her pouch. They might smell her, but they at least can't see her... and he can toss a barrier up if they come too close. The griffons are fantastic, but she's his cat. Slowly he walks past the griffons, staff in hand, eyes on the harnesses so that he's not looking at them directly and making them feel challenged.

"Don't worry, Cabbage, Parsnip. I'm not threatening you, simply trying to help. Or maybe you're Carrot," the one on the right gets told, "as your beak could be pointy enough to warrant the name."

It's bad comedy hour in Griffon Tower, as well as time to scoop up three of the messes of buckles and straps and head back just as slowly and cautiously while holding a harness out to Maja.

There is odd silence from Nathaniel before he bursts out with, "Legendary mounts of the greatest, most valiant heroes of Thedas, and you named it Potato?"

This is a problem why don't people understand that this is a problem. It's so important and upsetting that he doesn't even remember to start helping.

"Hush!" Merrill all-but hisses, elbowing Nathaniel in the side. Maja had said quiet, so it's time to be quiet. She doesn't want to upset the griffons, and Merrill moves slowly, carefully, very conscious of the fact that her feet make prime pouncing targets.

While she may have just told everyone else to be quiet, there's no hiding the way she murmurs as she walks, switching from Trade to Elven at seemingly random intervals. "Hello, little ones; don't mind us. We're here to help you, if you'll have it. Would you like to spread your wings?" A constant stream of similar, but low, soothing.

Hopefully the hatchlings associate the harnesses with good times, because Merrill is grabbing all the ones she can carry.

Potato.

...

For a long moment Mal stares at the actual for real Griffons just muss'n about like they live here (cuz they do) all the feathers littered about that he might sweep up if he's got time (cuz money) and the roostmaster herself. Potato.

"Huh."

Right. Work. "Jayne-"

The dog makes a low whuff and starts circling about alongside Merrill warily- just in case they get any ideas. He himself starts grabbing harnesses and humming under his breath like he did for horses. Cuz. Skittish Griffons, skittish horses, right? "Hey there- pretty aren't ya? We're just gonna get you all tacked out and gonna take you for an adventure, ok? S'gonna be fun. Noth'n bad's gonna happen."

"Chawcey," Maja corrects Anders, very seriously, even as she staggers sideways again under the weight of sweet little Potato, "and Buggie."

The two griffons he's just stepped past clack their beaks shut with an audible clack. Their heads swivel around at the sound of their names, as neat as clockwork. Maja digs at a pouch in her belt and comes up with two slappy strips of some unidentifiable meat, which she dangles in the the air. Buggie and Chawcey make pleased hisses, their tails snaking eagerly back and forth. Potato launches herself off of Maja's shoulder with a warbled screech and snaps the meat out from between the roostmaster's fingers in mid-air. It is a moment of grace, a display of what someday she will be able to do. Then the griffon lands in an ungainly tangle of paws, claws, wings, and tail. Her siblings tumble across the pavingstones to get at the treat, bumping into everyone's legs as they crowd pass. Greedy shits indeed.

Maja straightens without a wince. "Next time you find a clutch of griffons and raise 'em yourself, you can name 'em. I called 'em just like I saw 'em. Now, the harnesses. Pretty straightforward. Forelegs in the vest, pull it up, and leave it. They don't like just anyone touching around their wings, so I'll come around and do the stays and clip on the leads. If they get restless, give a shout. They like squirrel nearly as much as they do chicken. Butterball there, he likes a good chuck with your knuckles, calms him down. Stay away from Buttons, I'll take care of her. Keep that dog of yours back. Whatever's in that pouch of yours--yes, you, mage--keep it clear of all of them, but Buttons most of all. Buttons likes fresh meat best. Don't you, beast?"

From up in the rafters, a griffon with black-brushed plumage screeches his agreement, his wings beating at the air. A smaller griffon, so pale he's nearly white, edges out of a bower labeled GHOSTFACE in neat carving, sniffs interestedly at Merrill's shoulder, while a grey griffon with black speckles on her chest comes clacking up to Nathaniel, claws clacking on the flagstones. She opens her beak, with a quork, and cocks her head to one side.

"Come on," Maja urges, as she shoves her way through Buggie, Chawcey, and Potato, who are squawking at each other for the last strip of squirrel bacon, "don't just stand there admiring 'em. Your dog man's got the right idea. Tack 'em up."

Nathaniel takes a harness and stares at the little griffon that just came to him and made a cute sound. What is he supposed to do when a little griffon comes to him and makes a cute sound? He digs in one pocket and brings out a strip of dried rabbit, tossing it wordlessly into the air before kneeling to start harnessing her.

"I'm guessing your name is Pepper, or Turnip, or the like. Glad we're on peaceful terms."

Edited 2016-06-14 19:29 (UTC)

"I always thought I would name a baby griffon 'Feathers'," says Merrill, in part as a response to Maja, but mostly to the griffon she assumes is called Ghostface. Her hand comes up, slow, with palm open so that he can keep sniffing, if he'd like. "You're gorgeous, aren't you? Ghostface, hm? I suppose we've all been very rude and haven't introduced ourselves -- I'm Merrill."

She is still talking to the griffon, even as she goes on. "The man who doesn't like cute names is Nathaniel, the man with the dog is Mal -- and his dog is Jayne -- and we call the other mage Detlef." For obvious reasons. "The little one in his pack is called the Hero of Purrelden, so please don't eat her."

Don't mind her just chattering away as she tries to get the harness on Ghostface, other hand sneaking in scratches to his chest and base of his tail -- everything from telling the griffon that he can perch on her shoulders to apologizing if he seems nervous.

Once he's passed a harness to Maja, Anders gets to work on Buggie with no little amusement.

"And Howe he objects to cute names. You'd think it some insult. Though Ghostface I can see. I'm not certain as to why one would be named Buggie." One leg goes into the harness... and Buggie doesn't seem interested in getting the second one in. "Come on. You can do it. Prove you're more amenable than Chawcey, that I chose right. Otherwise," he leans forward a little, using one hand to keep his pouch away from any angle he thinks a griffon might come from, "I might have to go to him. Or her."

They're supposed to be pretty intelligent. Not as smart as a person, of course, or either of his cats, but he figures talking can't hurt while trying not to think about the fact that Merrill's talking to hers. They're not alike. At all.

"Come on, Nate, get more in the spirit."

"Can we save the name and bird puns till after we're not all in imminent danger?" Mal drawls low and slow, much like he did around the horses. Didn't much mind be'n called Dog-man either cuz- Fereldan. They're all dog men at heart. Jayne gets a soft whicker, which makes him whine- but he shuffles back out of the way to give them room to work without crowding the fuzzy, feathery, furry things.

Just like gett'n the horses ready back home. But.

Griffons.

"That's right li'l beauty, we're just gonna- there ya go." One down, who knows how many to go. He gives this un, whichever one this un is, a quick rub down and ruffle to thank 'em for hold'n still and moves on to Butterball. "Li'l thick 'round the middle ain't ya? Probably all muscle. You're gonna get big when you're grown, I tell you what. Gonna spook the shit outta every little darkspawn you see, right? Ain't nobody gonna see you and think you ain't a handsome thing."

It's easy to keep up the patter, to give the requisite chuck with his knuckles and ignore how bloody weird it is to be wading through fur and feathers.

Butterball's eyes slide closed at the contact, with a pleased wark. Ghostface is equally pleased by Merrill's attention, answering her with screeches that quickly begin to increase in volume as he gets less skittish. He nips at her fingers and beats his wings when he makes a particularly salient point, neither of which help to get the harness on him.

Buggie, meanwhile, remains a little stubborn with her legs. When Anders leans closer, she gives him an amicable bite on the ear. Chawcey circles around behind, examining the hem of the mage's robes. After some consideration, he bites, and pulls. Buggie screeches her approval and scratches at the pavingstones with her talons, which will give Anders enough space to get the other leg in, at least.

"She likes you," Maja observes. In the time all of this has taken, the roostmaster has expertly wrangled Potato and another grey-winged hatchling into their harnesses. Their leads trail on the ground as they follow after the roostmaster She's holding up a handful of squirrel bacon in an attempt to coax Buttons down from the rafters. The black-brushed hatchling remains stubbornly fixed up there, pacing along the beam and screeching every now and then. He's greedy, but not quite greedy enough to wade down into harnessing time. "And it's Blanche, not Turnip. See her white face?"

Like half of them don't have mostly white faces. Another griffon has come up behind Nathaniel to examine the soles of his boots. Her face is pressed nearly to the floor as she tries to keep track of their tread.

"Dogman, get the shutters." Maja keeps her handful of bacon aloft as she steps sideways to clip a lead on Butterball. The griffon's eyes snap open and he swivels his head around, to bite at the ring and strap. "There's maybe a four foot drop to the top of that scaffolding, but we're all brave little shits, aren't we?"

She's talking to the griffons. This is an endearment: they all screech, obligingly, and Maja actually grins.

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