faderift | Player Plot: Horrible Shards + Where to Find Them

He offers Cassandra a hand as she comes down off her horse, unfazed when she refuses. Had he not been mistaken for a servant and handed the letter to give to her—had he not opened the letter (force of habit, really, get a certain amount of paperwork handed to you while ruling and you simply start opening things without thought) and read the contents, he wouldn’t have been included in this little adventure.

The Inquisition outpost is well-appointed but in a poor position to avoid the winter winds. Despite walls of snow being build up around the tends, it still would chill the mortal to their bones. Thranduil pulls his cloak tighter about his face and looks back at the Seeker, making sure to step just a bit heavier in the snow so she might have an easier path to follow.

They come upon an Inquisition soldier with the right about of feathers on his helmet to indicate rank, and it’s to him Thranduil speaks before Cassandra can.

“—the Seeker needs to see the Tranquil that came in a week ago.”

How fast and how frantically they had come from Orlais, in order to meet his man.

The briefing each of them receive is succinct, nearly alarmingly so in the way most highly confidential things are—a time and a place, and a list of required equipment. There’s the group from Skyhold, who walk or ride to the meetup point, and then those from Orlais, who travel by a small, fast ship and then follow the route of those from Skyhold.

The Hinterlands are bitterly, bitterly cold, and when the group arrives, they’re shown to a tent in the middle of an Inquisition camp. It’s the sort used for planning field operations, roomy by the barest definition of the word, and Seeker Pentaghast stands over a table littered with the usual—a large map of the area, a marker driven in at some point near the mountains. Over to the side, Thranduil sits—tense, legs crossed.

Cassandra waits until the group is inside the tent and their guides have ducked back out into the cold, leaving them in privacy, before she speaks.

"Thank you all for coming. The Inquisition thanks you for your service." She takes a moment to look over the group, silently assessing them, then gestures to the map, and the marker near the mountains. "This is our target. We have had word that Venatori have claimed this outpost, and a report of what they are doing." Cassandra doesn't hesitate often. But she does so now, her face growing solemn as she falls momentarily silent.

"You may have seen or heard tell of skulls upon posts throughout Ferelden and Orlais. The origin and purpose of these skulls have thus far been a mystery to the Inquisition. We now know, however, that they are in fact the skulls of Tranquil who have been killed by the Venatori." The group may murmur at this, but if so Cassandra pays them no heed. "It is our understanding that the skulls were used to find ancient shards of magical origin, shards which the Venatori have been collecting and which have guided them in turn to ancient weapons or other artifacts. Our mission is to retake the outpost, to rescue any Tranquil left alive, and to recover any shards or anything else discovered by the Venatori." She pauses, glancing briefly to Thranduil before looking back at the group.

"We will be dividing into three teams. You will receive your assignments shortly. Are there any questions?"

He greets Velanna with a solemn nod, stepping away from the side of the tent and going to them, glad that Cassandra had been sensible enough to pair him with someone he knows. There’s the Man too, and for him, Thranduil inclines his head in polite acknowledgment. There’s no time for politeness, he beckons them to the side. His movement are fluid—too fluid, inhuman, gestures born of another place and time and no longer modulated by a careful respect for the eyes of those around him. In short, he’s annoyed, and done being polite.

He looks at Alan—looks him over, really—and speaks as one who expects to be answered, evaluating if he’s comfortable having Alan watching his back.

“What are your skills?”

Alan watches Thranduil with undisguised interest — or rather, he watches his hands, spindling out like bleached anemones. Velanna's interesting, as all strangers are, but he's seen Dalish elves before. He's never seen a giant, shiny one.

Their cause is solemn, urgent, and his attention already divided. Fortunately for everyone involved, it’s left his speech less elliptical than usual.

“I can be a raven.” Well, that’s something. “A wolf, a rat. I’ve lived in these hills, I know how to move through them unseen.”

He shifts from foot to foot, thinking wistfully of the days when he didn't need to think at all.

This team has been tasked with staying outside to wait just in case any Venatori slip past the other two teams, so for the moment all is quiet but tense. Ellana is crouched behind a short stone wall that borders the path leading to the fort with her eyes on the front gate. It's the only way in or out, so any survivors will have to come through on their escape from the Inquisition. That's where Ellana, Sam, and Tyrion will be ready to intercept them.

But hopefully the Venatori will be dispatched quickly and there are still Tranquil alive inside the fort who can be saved. She keeps her eyes on the front gate but says to the others, "This fort doesn't look very big. There can't be that many inside."

Tyrion, in the meanwhile, was carefully placing small devices in a large semi arch around them, as quietly and as quickly as he could. He put most of them in front of the mages themselves, as they were the ones who were honestly going to need something to blow up before it got into physical range.

A sideways look, before he snorted, "Does that mean you want to forgo the plan and try to sneak in the back way? Because I vote against that."

She frowns when he speaks for her, but is not so petty as to vocally object. After all, it's not as if she wouldn't have said the same thing. And there are more important things to worry about, for both of them.

The soldier bows and ushers them into a tent before disappearing to receive the Tranquil, and Cassandra glances at Thranduil, her cheeks red from the cold as she peels off her gloves. "You have spoken to him already?"

It's hardly a group of hardened warriors - but it will do. Cassandra greets her small team, with a special nod of recognition for Benevenuta. She's learned not to underestimate the other Nevarran.

"Thranduil's team will be the advance force," she begins, not bothering with pleasantries, "while Mage Ashara's will serve as rearguard, and ensure that no one slips out unseen. We will be rescuing the Tranquil imprisoned here. While retaking the outpost is an important part of our mission, the Tranquil are our priority. They are innocent in this matter, and we must allow no more of them to come to harm. Let none be overlooked or be lost to the Venatori. Do you understand?"

Edited 2016-12-04 08:02 (UTC)

Hardened warriors, no, but the Grey Warden of the group is hardly new to battle or rescue missions. The pale elf woman nods gravely, hands clasped before her and her eyes darkened, intense. As a former Circle mage, she remembers Tranquil well and what she's been told of their fate chills her blood. Is that what happened to Owain, or is he still alive? Inessa pats Garahel absently as the mabari leans against her, trying to provide comfort.

"Understood. Healing is not my forte but that said, I can still provide it should they be in need of such aid. I -we- are ready." Thus included, Garahel snaps to attention, the mabari well-trained and knowing when to focus.

"No," he admits, fingers at his throat to undo the clasp of his cloak. It's one of the few things he has from home, elven-made and thick enough to keep out the chill. He lays it over a chair, then starts to work at his gloves. "-- I only read the letter."

Which, in a surprising turn of events, he seems to regret. "I have not apologized for opening that. Old habits, my lady."

He might have gone on, but the tent's flap opens again, and a man steps in. The sunburst brand is stark against his skin, though old-- wrinkles set into it, age and apparently malnutrition making it sag. He blinks slowly, and steps towards Cassandra, head tilting to the side.

"You are the Seeker," he says, without inflection, without anything at all. Thranduil catches his recoil before it could give offense, but bristles nonetheless. The Tranquil feels like nothing at all.

Cassandra's had dealings with Tranquil before. With their lack of emotion, and thus lack of bias, she's found them to be invaluable witnesses in many of the Circles she's had to visit over the years. She turns to the man, unaffected by his bland stare, and nods.

"Yes. I am." She studies him, brow furrowed. "You sent me a letter detailing the Venatori's actions. Their crimes. I have come to investigate, and to stop them."

Velanna isn't going to look relieved or annoyed for her company, one way or another. She has learned to work with what she has, regardless of the situation. In the Wardens you don't always get to pick who you're stuck with, which is just about proven if you look at the state of the Warden encampment.

When Alan lists off what he can do she does glance off to the side, withholding any comment about how the elves are likely better at remaining unseen than he is.

"Shapeshifting is the extent of your talents?" She doesn't really need to give her own resume, Thranduil is already aware of what she's capable of.

Sam likewise has himself situated behind part of the short wall, sitting down in the snow with his back to the stone so that he wasn't shifting around because his legs got tired. Every once in a while he would lean over and glance past the opening, often because he was trying to figure out what Tyrion was doing.

"It's possible they have levels underground - could be deceptively small," he points out, glancing over to Ellana. They've been a number of ruins at this point that it wouldn't surprise him honestly. After a moment though he looks back out at Tyrion, lips pursed a bit. "What are you doing by the way?"

There is something about a world blanketed by snow that seems to mute some sounds and make others carry, so Ellana lowers her voice a little when she next speaks.

"No; I was pointing out that our teams shouldn't take long to overpower them, if there aren't many inside. But Sam's right. There could be a lot more inside than the building would suggest."

She peeks over the wall and adds, "Traps, most like. Or bombs. Are you an artificer?"

Tyrion lowered his voice in kind, before he glanced over at Sam, then back to Ellana. That draws a smile at him, before he tapped the side of his nose. "You are not off at all. They are traps, of a kind."

He smirked faintly, before he eyed the traps, "If we think there are that makes - I might want to jerryrig a few more ... hm? I suppose I am some sort of artificer."

That is, truly, Thranduil in a nutshell: the giantest, shiniest elf, at least until- knowing Thranduil's luck- Feanor shows up and ruins everything again. Thranduil acknowledges Alan with a nod.

"A wolf, I think," he says. "We will need fast, and silent-- we are to clear the way for the other teams, and bring the focus of the fighting to one spot- so that the Seeker might do her job. The flashier, the better, but only once Cassandra has moved into place."

He looks toward Velanna, cocks his head. "Do your Arts require roots already present, or can they spring from any soil?"

"Yes, within combat."

Alan blinks to Velanna, expression mild. His brow furrows curiously at the mention of roots — that certainly gets them farther than another might. If they need to buy time and direct it, well,

"The scouts may have something for flash." His mind's on oils, powders; the sort of sparks that accompany a mageless diversion. Safer than fire in a tight space. "If we've any time to ask. What do you suggest?"

He knows he's no tactician; best to trust the other two.

Edited 2016-12-07 20:02 (UTC)

"Of a kind?" he repeats back quietly, following along with the whispering. "Exactly what are they supposed to do?"

If he seems concerned it is because he is. After all Tyrion is placing them all over the path before them, which happens to be the only way in and out. It's an understandable tactic to have if any wayward Venatori pass through, but he's mostly worried about one of their own people getting caught up in them.

Thranduil is too unnerved to participate in the conversation, stalking around the tent in search of wine, running his fingers over the various missives, but- doing so quietly. He does not wish to disturb her.

"This is good," the man says. He has a qualifier for bad, then. "We are dying. They are forcing us to accept possession before they kill us. It is disturbing the Veil."

Not a concern, but-- a statement. Pull enough demons through, and the fabric starts to weaken.

"You will help us, Seeker."

"Yes," she says again, a quiet, but vehement, confirmation. She watches the Tranquil closely, intense concentration mingled with compassion. Of all people, the Tranquil deserve this least. They have suffered enough, and are no threat to anyone - not any longer. "I will help you. We will stop the Venatori, and find a place where you will be safe."

Ellana figured it was so from watching Cyril construct his traps in the past. Some designs just stuck with her. However, she can't tell the finer details of the traps and so is also interested in knowing what they do, especially since they lie between them and the door.

A door that will not stay closed for much longer, but as of this moment, all is quiet.

"Well, a trap usually works to keep someone in place, yes? It is my sincere hope that this particular device will just make them stop." He thinks about it for a moment, "Perhaps taking time to scream, 'Ah, ah, I am on fire!', then run in the opposite direction."

He finishes setting up the devices, and returns to the two mages. "After all, I do not precisely have a large shield for all of us to hide behind."

"So they're fire traps then? They get tripped and... 'boom'?" he asks seeing as he had mentioned fire and running. Looking back around the wall, Sam tries to pick out the devices, easy enough to do since he saw them being set. "Are they going to set each other off?"

It feels a little bit odd just sitting there waiting, having a friendly chat - so to speak - and expecting a group to come busting through the doors. "Good thing we have the walls then, huh?" Pretty good shield he would say considering how well they were still standing.

Well, that was really good to know in advance, so the mages could stay far away from those traps. Ellana crawls a bit closer to Sam, peering out around the wall as well to make sure she knows just where everything is.

"The walls are good cover," she agrees, taking a look at the road leading up to the fort. The place isn't completely blocked in, and anyone leaving could certainly veer off into the grass to make an escape, but that leads into the wilderness where bears run rampant. The road is the safest path.

At that moment, the quiet of the winter's day is pierced by someone yelling, "Move! Move!" and three figures come pouring out the front of the fort in quick succession. Two are wearing those awful Venatori helmets and have swords in scabbards. One leads the way while the one behind carries a large sack over one shoulder. The third is a mage pulling up the rear with a leather satchel and his staff in his hand. All three fly forward on the road towards the wall and the traps. It's unclear if in their rush they yet spot Tyrion, but they're covering a lot of ground quickly and will soon reach the group.

Player Plot: Horrible Shards + Where to Find Them

✧ AN URGENT MISSIVE (closed, thranduil + cassandra)

✧ BREAKING THE NEWS (open, everyone)

✧ RESCUE MISSION

Team Thranduil ( Thranduil, Alan, Velanna )

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Team No One Escapes! (Ellana, Sam, Tyrion)

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Team Rescuing Tranquil and Taking Names (Cassandra, Benny, Inessa)

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Re: Team No One Escapes! (Ellana, Sam, Tyrion)

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omg i'm sorry. my account expired and i lost my thread tracking.

Re: omg i'm sorry. my account expired and i lost my thread tracking.

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