faderift | CLOSED: a prayer that will be answered

There's no definite way to measure the passage of time, here, except for footsteps and hunger and sleepiness. The last glimpse of sunlight comes before they've even entered the Deep Roads proper, when they finish the climb down the rickety scaffolding off the mining platform and venture into the unlit tunnels. That brief hike is the only portion of the journey that's truly cold and dark. The Deep Roads themselves, accessed through a crumbling breach in the walls, are kept warm and illuminated by a network of flowing magma and lyrium-laced pillars--and fire, lit torches and pit fires recent enough to still be burning. The roads have been closed, but they aren't abandoned.

The first small band of darkspawn attacks within the hour, and after them come deepstalkers and spiders and more darkspawn, always, felt ahead and beneath by the Wardens in the group, who are sensed in return. Some attack. Most retreat. They're on a mission down here, too, and the further everyone goes, the more the highway is dotted with primitive shrines made of bones and animal skins, broken weapons, crude barricades.

Still, it's a quick journey. They have maps at their disposal, and there are signs along the trail in the form of symbols etched into the stone walls, Paragon statues, and ancient road signs. They only have to stop to make camp once (and are only attacked in the middle of the "night" only twice, a small blessing) before they begin to hear a very faint song--familiar to some, redundant to Hercules--from ahead.

The closer they get, the more darkspawn there are and the less stable the stone is. A bridge has crumbled and needs to be patched, and at one point the roads are half-blocked by an old cave-in. But at the end the tunnel opens up into what looks like a thaig, a city-sized cavern, where the song shakes the ground and vibrates in the pillars.

That's as far as they get.

OOC | Make your own adventure time! Top-level and kill darkspawn/spiders/deepstalkers, sing campfire songs, complain, don't get the blight (please), clear the way ahead, get briefly lost, etc. etc. etc. If you aren't sure if you're allowed to do something, the answer is 99% likely to be yes, so just do it.

The bottom of the thaig glows orange with fire and is teeming with darkspawn. That's not unexpected. Whatever is down there, making the song reverberate off the walls, it's their life's work to reach it--and the Wardens would have felt the horde, anyhow, even if it hadn't been logical to expect them to be there. It's a long way down, a way that would require traversing levels of bridges and narrow walkways along the walls of the cavern, and an equally long way up. The vast sea of monsters below won't be a problem (probably, if they leave quickly enough), even though the roar from beneath when the darkspawn sense the new presence above sounds like a battle cry.

The problem is the wave from behind, the direction they entered from--only a tickle, at first, in the head of the Warden nearest the entrance, half-buried beneath the sensation of so many more connected minds down below. But it gets stronger. Quickly.

OOC | This one is GMed. Fill out the form in this post unless you want me to assume I can burn your character's face off.

( Wandering and Thaiging. )
Beautiful, isn't it?

( The place is a mess, but you'd be hard pressed to deny there wasn't beauty in what the dwarves had created, and a tragedy in its being lost to them. Once he'd thought they might be able to take back a Thaig, give them back some of their kingdom.

He'd been a lot younger and a lot more idealistic, then. It's not that he doesn't still believe, but it's more duty now and less daydreams.

Alternatively, here - as Herc easily climbs over some rubble, he turns and offers a hand to the next person along. ) Watch your step. Don't want you to hurtle into lava, or anything. Probably bring the mood down.

( :') )

( Attack at camp, the second. )

They're coming again.

( Hushed, that, rolling his shoulders as he spins Striker Eureka in his hand. He's been fighting with the kind of ferocity that comes when your team's life is all that matters, confidence without recklessness that seems freer for the fact that he's accepted his decision.

Not announced it, not yet, but accepted it. His shield, Rebellion, rests on his arm, metal warped and twisted and vicious, all the better for beating faces to pulp, and in his hand flame lick over Striker Eureka's blade, unfurling and twisting around it. The Darkspawn don't reach the party first; they reach Hercules, battering the first full in the face as his sword runs another through. )

( Resting up. )
( He can be found doing two things. One is writing a letter on thin parchment in poor light, squinting at the paper and ink, or just staring it down without doing much of anything at all.

Or he's drinking wine from a skin, and holds it out obligingly, without prompting. )

( or wildcard me )

Edited 2016-06-22 16:54 (UTC)

Nice spot they've found. Cheery.

Herc takes in the cavern, the breadth and scale of it, and lets out a long, slow breath. It really is spectacular, in its way. Terrible, gruesome and terrifying, but spectacular. The surge of bodies, from this high up, feels like watching ants. They're too big and too loud, but ants are still what he's reminded of. This is where he'll come - where he'll stay. This will be his ending place.

"Behind us." No time to say Alistair or Kaisa or the names of either of the other Wardens present. They'll know, same as he does.

This is where he will stay. Not them, though. Not a one. Herc moves forward, striking the pommel of Striker Eureka against his shield and working up a racket. He's always been a bit of an attention stealer. "This way, come on." Enough to give the others breathing room, to ready themselves, to draw fire so they don't. Enough for that, he hopes.

Fuck's sake.

[ It's exhaled on a sigh, and Lena pulls her kerchief up over her nose again, making sure it's still tied tightly behind her head. Then she draws her daggers and positions her left hand down at her belt, using her thumb to pop off a cork and her ring and pinkie finger closing around the small vial of poison there. Fifteen years as a mercenary and she can coat her blades with poison as easily as blinking.

But she doesn't want to waste its potency, so she waits until the Warden has slammed forward before dumping the poison on a blade and tossing the vial aside. Then she flanks the group of darkspawn and stabs the nearest one in the back. ]

(travelin')

Despite her years, Teren is often one of the first to volunteer when a task requires someone lightfooted. It's at one blockage that she spots an alternate way out of the corner of her eye, mentions it idly, and then absconds to investigate, making her way up and down the deadly, crumbling rocks as nimbly as a mountain goat. In this way, she makes for an excellent scout, identifying weak patches and barking admonishments at anyone who ventures too close to them. Or falls into them.

(campin')

Maintaining her temporary-turned-apparently-permanent duties as Warden quartermaster, Teren ensures that everyone is fed and sufficiently watered when they stop for the night. She also, as with Skyhold, has a tendency to keep the ... well, "night" watch, not that anyone can really keep track.
Anyone who drinks too much or seems about to is offered her blunt assurance that if they stumble off a cliff, nobody's going after them.

(fightin')

Teren always seems to disappear during fights. This isn't because she isn't present, but because she invariably gets herself quickly out of the way so she can commit all her murders from behind and in secret. Usually she reappears a while later with a sack or two of scavenged supplies.
Honor is for Templars.

And from nowhere comes Teren, her vicious, needle-like blades puncturing the lungs of a briefly bewildered genlock before she withdraws again to find a new vantage. She doesn't speak a word, and somehow manages to look prim and mannered as ever while fighting as dirty as Leonard Church's mouth. When she's visible, anyway.

Max circles. He and Herc have gotten a good rhythm of fighting together over the years. Max isn't going to have him all that much longer, though - Max is going to be heading to the surface, and what's more is that there are folks here not immune to the blood the way they are. Without it needing to be said, Max runs, leaps onto the back of darkspawn headed to Lena's flank, tearing it down.

"Ogre coming," he warns, though by now the ones not familiar with darkspawn might have gotten acquainted enough with the sound anyway.

Huh. Well, Lena is grateful for the canine assistance, though she doesn't spoil animals the way Korrin does. She lets the dog take the kill and moves on, eyes taking in the scene to see where the ogre is. Her flask of frost won't freeze it entirely, so she'll use it on the regular darkspawn right here.

It's pretty sad that she now knows all the different kinds of darkspawn too.

Taking the flask from her belt, she smashes it on the ground in front of her before blocking a blade with the hilt of her dagger. The contact causes the darkspawn holding the sword to freeze in place and she easily slits its throat before moving on to the next. She needs to be quick before the elixir wears off. But that ogre is still coming, and they can't be fighting on two fronts. She fights viciously, slicing through enemies and moving on, leaving them frozen for her allies to deal with.

Traveling

[ She'd told that pretty rifter Araceli about the Deep Roads, once. She remembered explaining how it was both expansive and claustrophobic all at the same time. That she didn't particularly care for it. She'd thought that the one bright point in the mess with Clarel and Corypheus was that the Deep Roads were not a necessary part of dealing with them.

Alas, she was a fool.

Still, she handles it well enough, willing to chatter to anyone nearby about her other experiences with the Deep Roads. This was nothing, one time she had gotten her sword stuck in a Hurlock's spine and had to fight an ogre with her bare hands, honest! She also offers little encouragements, helping anyone who has trouble climbing around. She's not particularly agile, but she's like a tank, slowly and steadily rolling over whatever obstructs their path. ]

The worst part about the whole fight wasn't not having a sword, honestly, it was getting close enough to smell the ogre's breath. That hit worse than the punches.

Resting up

[ Berserkers are not known for their wisdom in battle. Or the ability to avoid injuries. The fact that Kaisa doesn't have to worry about getting the blight and others with them do only makes her more reckless, getting in the way of darkspawn that try to target anyone who isn't a Warden. Sometimes that means tackling darkspawn to the ground, sometimes that means getting in the way of one of their swords.

She's recovering from one of the latter instances, sitting on a boulder with her armor off, and her shirt rolled up just high enough to preserve decency, a long cut decorating her stomach. Nothing overly serious, but needing healing, and Kaisa is patiently waiting for someone to give her a hand. She doesn't seem overly bothered by the injury, focusing on twirling around the strange, garish sword pommel that was, apparently, actually a garish greatsword. She wasn't sure what kind of magical bullshit let the sword work, but who cared? It looked awesome. ]

Alistair

[ Kaisa is not particularly skilled in the fine art of debate, it's much easier to either threaten to punch someone, or actually punch them. But she will do neither of these to Alistair, and the subject at hand is of enough import for her to give debate a shot. ]

Alistair, you don't understand. This is an archdemon--or it's gonna be, maybe, some day. Do you know how long I've wanted to kill an archdemon? For forever, basically. It's my life's goal. And this one won't even kill me.

[ She clasps her hands together. Please, Alistair, think of the children. Or just her. ]

And then it won't ever be an archdemon! Once punch in the face, or maybe like ten, and bam! One whole blight avoided. It'll be the top high score for finishing a blight ever!

Edited 2016-06-23 06:33 (UTC)

[ Kaisa isn't surprised he heard her walking over. She's not quiet in anything she does, and that includes clanking up behind him in her heavy armor. She accepts the wine, and in a show of her great and boundless respect for Herc, she only takes a sip of it, before returning it to him.

Then she sets her head right on top of his head. ]

How're you doing, ser?

( With a huff of amused laughter, Herc accepts the skin back and tips some back. It's good stuff - Orlesian, actually. It's a sign of his great and boundless respect for her that he didn't pass her a skin of the cheap stuff.

He's unperturbed by the contact, glancing her way. )

Not too bad. ( Easily said, but that doesn't make it any less a lie by omission, does it? ) You? Keeping out of trouble?

[ You're the best, Warden dad. Kaisa doesn't seem to catch on that anything could be amiss, and shrugs, lifting her head up in favor of sliding over to sit next to him. ]

I'm always keeping out of trouble.

[ That's a lie. ]

Hard to make too much trouble down here, anyway. It's so odd, isn't it? Better preserved than any ruins above ground. I wonder what it looked like when dwarves lived here.

A decade ago, when Teren was still new to all this, she entered a room and was immediately rammed by the ogre waiting on the other side of the door. It is a mistake she has not made since, and she ensures that she is well out of harm's way when the blasted thing comes barreling towards them.
"Pull it!" she barks, slipping out of the way and then crouching behind it, matching it step-for-step and preparing to scale its back with her knives as crampons.

Herc whistles, and Max dashes back to him, crashing through one of Lena's frozen darkspawn as he goes. Lena's doing well, and he'll try make an effort to tell her when this is done, because its easy to forget just how gruesome the Deep Roads are when they're a few thing for you. They're lucky to have the support and the willing.

On the surface he and Teren don't seem to see eye to eye on a lot. Politics, personal things, professional tactics; they operate in different ways. At the end of the day, though, they're both Wardens, they both have a duty, and they get the job done. He respects her, even if he doesn't necessarily like her - liking people isn't part of the job, it's just a side bonus that makes it easier.

Now he moves almost before she commands, Max racing to the ogre's ankles to tear and snap while Herc beats the pommel of his sword against the shield. It kicks up a racket, and the ogre snaps its attention to him, lumbering his way as Herc grits his teeth and moves in to bash it with Rebellion.

( He just. Laughs. Kaisa, please.

Shaking his head a moment, Herc takes another swig of wine before setting it on the ground, letting it slowly run down his throat, savouring it. )

Amazing, probably. Alive. We're just seeing a piece of it, really.

Once the darkspawn in the immediate area are brought down, Lena reads the scene in front of her. Teren shadowing the ogre, Max at its ankles, and Herc about to charge in. She quickly slots one of her daggers back into its sheath and takes out a throwing knife, letting it fly in a spin to connect with the ogre's neck. Then she does it again and again -- three small throwing knives lodged in its neck, blood spraying down the front of its body.

Of course it's not like throwing a knife at a regular person, where you sever that big vein or whatever in their neck and they bleed to death. Lena's not a surgeon; she just knows that it's effective. And since this ogre has one head, two arms, and two legs -- basically built the same way as a regular person -- maybe it's vulnerable there too.

With that accomplished, Lena retrieves her dagger and uses the distracting dog as cover to flank the ogre. Teren can have its back, Herc it's front. She'll take its side.

[ Hobbling Along ]

The best treatment for her leg at this point is rest and truthfully, she ought not have come. But this was something that needed to be done, an opportunity to perhaps wring out more answers from the Wardens, and an excuse to leave Skyhold. She'd been twisting herself in knots going slowly mad with the inactivity that came from spending her days hunched over a desk. It'll be amusing, later, when she remembers that is simply how she'd been in the Spire, that was life for her. To be stir crazy hadn't ever occurred, but now? Now she was active enough that simply sitting all day without a moment or two to walk or train was aggravating.

The hovering of her students did not help all that much either.

Even so there are times when leaning her weight on her staff and moving stiffly simply is not quick enough to keep up in the massive halls, when weaving through the rubble makes her stumble, when the effort of keeping pace without jarring her leg causes her to slow and stop for a moment, leaning against whatever is closest to take the weight off for as long as it takes her to catch her breath before she hobbles along. Perhaps coming was not the wisest choice, but she's come all the same.

[ Fighting Darkspawn ]

Never let it be said that limited mobility would hamper Adelaide's effectiveness in battle. So long as she kept to the middle were they surrounded or the rear as long as they were not, she could work; ice crackling along her fingers and spidering across the ground to erupt in walls to defend her allies or impale, the wispy blue glow of rejuvenation soothing hurts and urging them on to cut through the darkspawn. Afterward she makes a point to check everyone over, to mend cuts and bruises- and to make certain no one was spattered with tainted blood.

[ Insomnia's a Bitch ]

The few hours they have in camp to rest should be used for just that- resting. But be it the environment, the discomfort of the break, or her general unease with the possibility of darkspawn attack at any hour- Adelaide finds sleep does not come easily. She writes by wisp her observations- of the Thaig, of the wardens, of the darkspawn. If she is to be awake? She might as well attempt to be productive.

[ Wildcard ]

After leaving the thaig they're pursued for a time, darkspawn coming out of the stonework in force to make sure they really do leave the Old God alone in its prison. But the darkspawn taper off along with the echoes of the song. Back to normal, band-every-hour-or-two levels.

The way back takes longer than the journey down. The Wardens who came before scratched symbols into the walls to mark the way, noted statues and landmarks, and left behind signs of exploration. It all needs to be scrubbed: the symbols obscured or re-scratched in the wrong tunnels, the statues torn down or moved. The weaker bridges can be collapsed. So can the tunnels themselves, sometimes, where they're already looking unsound. Signs of an ancient camp where the Deep Roads branch in one direction are carefully moved to another. Traps and wards, both magic and not, are set along the way.

Someone needs to take notes: follow this symbol, not that one. Disarm that trap first. Find a way across the chasm without a bridge, sorry. The nontainted of the group are charged with more than their fair share, sent to branching paths to decide how to mark them and keeping their own set of notes, half of the information on the way forward kept segregated--constructing a long puzzle that the Wardens, not even the ones here, can't easily solve on their own.

Their original entrance into the Deep Roads, a hole torn in the dwarven walls and the long dark mining tunnel, is collapsible, too. On the other side of it, there's sunlight.

OOC | More make your own adventure time! Top-level and kill more darkspawn/spiders/deepstalkers, get trapped in minor cave-ins or almost fall off a crumbling ledge, set traps and wards/seals, complain more. If you aren't sure if you're allowed to do something, the answer is 99% likely to be yes, so just do it.

( it's a trap. )
Look, he's not a rogue, but he can work his way around mechanisms. Twenty-odd years of combined soldiering and Wardening means you have to pick up a few different skills, and he holds out some wire attached to a very elaborate looking trap to the nearest bystander.

"Hold this, will you?"

( turn off the clock. )

When they see the light at the end of the tunnel - literal, as much as metaphorical, Herc stops. There's fresh air to breathe, now. The sun's beating down, and part of him's almost dreading knowing how bright the world outside is, in case it corrodes some part of his nerve for doing this.

It couldn't. He's too much himself for that to happen. No matter the ache, duty is duty, and the Calling is ringing out.

He stops, looks to the way out. They're home free, now. They're getting out safe. They're getting out all together. It takes him a moment to speak. Words have never been his forte.

There's a moment where he has to clear his throat, to make sure they all hear him. "This is as far as I go."

The dog beside him stops, looking up at him, but he's looking to the others before he looks at Max. "This is as far as I go," Hercules repeats, a little more quietly.

( ooc: for this last prompt I am thinking it works best for a group thread for part of it, but I am happy to do some one on one threads for it, too! If you want to do a closed thread just indicate in the subject line of your reply that it's closed so no one else hops in. )

Edited 2016-06-25 13:21 (UTC)

"Councillor."

Herc isn't blind, and her struggle over a particularly rubble strewn, treacherous slope in their path isn't lost on him. She's barely made any headway on it when he's jogging a few paces from his place in their procession to catch up with her. "Can I offer you some help?"

Quite how much help she accepts is up to her, but he's watching her carefully. They need her, but Maker be damned if he doesn't think they've set her up for a bloody difficult time, if not outright failure by dragging her down here in this state.

"Warden Hansen." She offers with a touch more chill than she offers most Wardens. For the sin of being unsuitable and yet thoroughly entangled with her friend, he suffers an extra portion of condescension and judgement.

Alistair might think she likes Herc better if he sees this. Frankly- she does not care. "..."

The slope and debris is given a long, withering look before she sighs and considers the pace they must set. "If you would be so kind?"

Senior Warden he could say, but instead he exhales, resisting the urge to let a laugh out with it. Rank didn't matter all that much in the Deep Roads, so long as you were all keeping each other alive. What mattered was not being an idiot. He's pretty sure he and the Councillor can manage that well enough.

"I'm happy to offer you an arm, or carry you. Whatever you'd be more comfortable with. Arm'd give you more room to steady yourself. Carry'd be faster."

Simple, not apologetic, but the decision is in her hands. If darkspawn appear he can hoist her over his shoulder no matter how elaborate her swearing (and he has heard a thing a two.)

"..." Adelaide turns from where she'd been limping up the incline to light and fresh air and life, never so happy for the idea of being in a desert in all her life-

When Herc stops and says that. That single, chilling, impossible thing.

Well.

Not all that impossible given his age, given what is supposed to happen to wardens. But that is in the tales, in the rumors, in whispers of people she has never met. Men she has never loathed on principle and come around to actually, perhaps, being somewhat fond of. Men she's come to respect.

"I beg your pardon but- what the fuck did you just say?" Because he cannot mean that.

"I don't know. The last time a Warden saw fit to carry me some mysterious happenings occurred in a room and one of my friends was miraculously among their number." She is and forever shall be touchy about that particular moment. "I've no associates that are not already wardens down here but I'm certain your order is more than creative enough to make up for it."

That is unkind when he is attempting to be helpful- but it still burns, that coal. That she was not allowed to do her work. That she was not told what was done or how. Secrets that must be kept for...reasons.

'Just Because' has never been a good enough excuse. Ever.

"...In the interest of not delaying the group- carry me. Just. Don't let Alistair see us."

CLOSED: a prayer that will be answered

( the gang takes a hike )

( the gang tries not to die )

we're off to see the wizard | ota, suckers

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attack

ota

hi I'm here too

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aggressively plays travel montage music

resting

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Let's have a caravan | OTA

( the gang wrecks some shit )

herc | ottaaaa

hobbling.

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Clock, Closed plz

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