The journey to Ansburg is not a short one, but it’s made somewhat shorter by the Wardens’ ability to go under the Vinmark Mountains rather than over them. One night and a couple of skirmishes with darkspawn later, they emerge from the Deep Roads in the wilderness between Wildervale and Markham, head north through forest and field to Starkhaven, and make their way along the river from there to Ansburg. They spend one night in an inn, sharing beds or sleeping on floors, and another in an apparently abandoned barn, but otherwise their shelter and bedding are only what they can carry. Meals are dried rations brought from Kirkwall or things caught or politely pilfered along the way. There are storms. There are very hot middays. And on the worst day of all, Alistair tries to cook.
So everyone can be forgiven, probably, if in their tired and sore and likely hungry state, the Warden fortress outside of Ansburg looks like the best thing they’ve ever seen in their entire lives. It has walls! Those walls probably contain a kitchen! And beds! Outside the walls, the Warden banner hangs with no apparent shame or apology. And the Wardens who come out to greet them look healthy, happy to see them, and distinctly unaccompanied by demons.
They’re led by a man with graying hair and a wide smile that, as if involuntarily restrained by propriety, stops just short of showing teeth. He’s scanning faces as he approaches the group outside the gates, nodding to those he recognizes. For those who may recognize him back, he’s Warden-Commander Humphreys. Protocol says he can’t salute until someone salutes him first, but the handful of men and women behind him are quick to do it, fists crossing to their shoulders in greeting.
[ One thread please! No tag order, jump in or blend into the background as you desire. This will be GMed/NPCed by me (MJ/Alistair) and/or Tori/Nathaniel. ]
Oghren never has been a saluting kind of dwarf so he doesn't really bother with any of that. Nope. He just hangs out in front of the others doing the thing that makes the most sense in the moment.
He's scratching his ass. Must have gotten a rash somewhere along the way. Not that he's had the chance to have a look at it though. Probably should get a healer to take a look at it but he's a bit preoccupied right now. Namely with the fact that people look like they're about to start doing greetings and such and...
Well, Oghren's not a polite person so sorry about that guys.
"Any idea where a dwarf can get a hole to piss in? Figured that would be nicer than finding a wall."
Ever one to bear a stiff upper lip, Inessa has not complained about the hardships of the road. That doesn't mean she hasn't felt them, however. The weariness shows itself in her eyes and movements, and the way she perks up when their ordeal seems finally at an end. Real beds...and they probably even have tea in their kitchen. Truly, the Maker himself is smiling upon them right now.
Thinking about that as much about showing respect, Inessa salutes as protocol demands. Garahel at her side wags his tail but knows better than to rush forward for petting right now. Grey Warden business first.
It had not been the most pleasant few days of travel - especially after the incident with Alistair trying to cook. She should have insisted taking over. Alistair, when bid, could burn water. Impressive talent for someone who had no magic whatsoever. Bethany, however, had made the best of it, making sure she had brought on a few extra blankets for people to sleep on. Making sure that Alistar did not cook for the rest of the journey.
She was here to make sure things were pleasant. Which is to say, the moment after Oghren's opened his mouth and basically embarrassed all of them, Bethany steps forward with a brilliant smile and a salute, before she speaks.
"I think what Oghren is trying to say is - we are looking forward to your hospitality, and thank you so much for having us here. We're all a little rough from the road, so please forgive us for any shortness." A warm and dimpled smile, "As you well know, Warden Commander Humphreys, the way through the Vinmark Mountains is never a picnic."
The fortress isn't the largest or most impressive one that anyone here will have seen—not compared to Skyhold, not even compared to the Gallows—but it's obviously well stocked and cared for, with large Grey Warden banners hanging from the walls and showing minimal wear. Few regions in Thedas have all that many active Wardens, save the Anderfels, but there are a few dozen here now, not counting those out working in the Deep Roads across the Free Marches. Several are out in the courtyard, practicing archery or swordsmanship in a way that's as much play as training; others seem busy but not too busy to smile in greeting or pause to watch the newcomers pass by with curiosity.
Once everyone has been fed and given a moment to rest their feet, Warden-Commander Humphreys invites anyone who's interested in more walking to tour the fortress with him while he asks questions and discusses his hopes for the Wardens-Errant. Anyone who doesn't think that sounds fun is free to explore on their own—and later, once the beleagured cook has managed to catch up with the extra work that so many guests create, there's a fairly boisterous dinner in the main hall, with amateur musicians and a small gaggle of baby-faced young Wardens eager to hear about the griffons. And other things! But mainly the griffons.
[ The tour will be NPCed, so please group up into one log for that! You can make your own threads for the other two options. NPCs or GM comments will also be dropped into other logs during the party or exploration, but feel free to RP on your own, too. ]
A tour with the Warden-Commander does indeed, not sound fun but Ciri is nevertheless here. Perhaps it is out of curiosity for what he has to say or perhaps (and much more likely) it is to keep her sober for most of this experience. That is hard enough, and harder still with all her displeasure bubbling under the surface waiting to come out like an explosion. Lost in her thoughts and forcing the lid down on her feelings, she still manages to listen to what is being said among the group though remains notably silent.
ＤＩＮＮＥＲ —
The boisterous dinner is more her style because it makes it easier for her to blend into the crowd and most importantly: a chance to eat again. For someone so mad at everything, the food is definitely not suffering under her gaze as she picks and munches on the wide assortment of offered food. The drinks are great but, once again, she avoids getting too deep into the drink. That would lead to trouble and some of her fellows actually seem... excited to be here. It was strange to her when her thoughts are filled with the disaster that was Weisshaupt. A disaster that these Wardens were absently from while the Inquisition dived head first to save them. Somewhere near, she overhears a baby Warden is talking vividly about griffons and how lucky they are to be so close to them.
"This reminds me," she says picking at her plate filled with tiny cakes to whomever it unlucky enough to be near her. "We should have the others stuck out in Valeska's Watch and Griffon Wing Keep come to visit and see the griffons. They'd bloody love it."
Ciri's not the only one whose mind constantly returns to Weisshaupt. Inessa holds a glass of wine more to give her hand something to do than because she's interested in imbibing, taking a sip only once every so often. The tiny cakes interest her more, though the majority of food on her plate is for the purpose of discreetly feeding Garahel so that he doesn't beg from others. With all the offered food and attention, the mabari is undoubtedly having the best night between the three of them.
Checking to ensure that Garahel behaves himself, Inessa turns her gaze back to Ciri with a small smile. "They would, though I think it fair to warn them of our griffons' quirks beforehand. I don't want my lap griffon catching them by surprise, or Buggie's biting, or Little White Monster's screech...."
Taking in the sights isn't exactly high on Anders' list of entertaining options, but he's hoping there's a library as a stop where he can backtrack to later, and maybe there will be interesting information on offer too. It's worth a shot, at least.
"So this place looks nice." Small talk is not Anders' strong point but he's trying.
"Right, so you can walk us straight into the dungeon," Teren intones when invited to 'take the tour', though she follows along at first, wanting it to be less noticeable when she splits from the group about ten minutes later. She goes down a different hallway, gladly taking the opportunity to explore and deciding to root out whatever foul play is obviously at work here. Her snooping is as subtle as possible for someone who isn't even trying to stay concealed; on the contrary, she walks with purpose, inspecting the place as though she belongs there.
The fortress is several hundred years old but in good repair. Teren doesn't see anything too unusual as she explores, for the most part. She may see a look in the eyes of some Wardens, an odd tension, until they see her and give her a smile or a nod. The most conspicuous thing, however, is the odd placement of some of the guards. Some are placed on the outskirts, as if guarding against an outside threat. But a number of them are also placed at intervals along the halls, all of them acting like they are off-duty. But off-duty guards are more likely to hang out in the mess, the courtyard, or the barracks.
She doesn't smile back, though she does nod, taking careful note of their low-key unease. And each time Teren passes a set of off-duty guards, she quiets her footsteps, listening for any muttering or shifting behind her. She doesn't introduce herself, waiting to be hailed first, if it should happen. They already know why she's here. Teren is investigating the armory when the jovial clamor of people heading to dinner reaches her ears. Instead of joining them, she steps to the door and presses her ear against it, listening for movement in the halls.
Now, Oghren was the type to not care too much about exploring all the places around. He figured someone would tell him about something interesting and he could go there later. So really what he was here for was the food. And to grumble at any babies that thought they could so much as catch him near any of those sodding griffons. He preferred to keep his feet on the ground thank you.
And thus he was sitting there eating basically anything that came along and had finished off more than a few drinks. In fact, he was finishing off another before belching loudly and looking at another baby Warden that had come up to him.
"You want to know about those griffons? How about this. You beat me at a drinking contest and I'll tell you everything I know."
He gave a snort that was clearly him clearing his nose. Well, the fact that he picked it and studied what he got out of there before flicking it away was a good clue too. "Sure. I'll let you have that one. Name your game."
Teren comes into the dining hall a bit after everyone has settled, and she makes no pretense of subtlety to the others as she marches right over to the table and inserts herself between the most tightly packed of familiar Wardens she can find. "They're poised to attack," she announces in a low voice, pitched away from any of the nearby Ansburg Wardens, "we'd be wise to go on our way before they get a chance." Anyone who looks like they might interrupt her is served an icy glare; Teren isn't fooling around. "We were fools to come here thinking there'd be an overture of friendship."
"... Oh good grief." Bethany muttered under her breath, as she pushed her plate away and leaned in towards Teren. She really wish she had been absolutely without suspicion but it was just ... weird how they were acting. Too nice. Too pleasant. It was absolutely eerie and thus - trap.
"How many guards in our way?" She had learned how to whisper, in the last year and a half, pitching her voice to just a murmur.
Teren hasn't made much progress. She's still pacing the halls, trying to get the lay of the place, memorizing each turn and door and where people are currently posted. On the surface, she appears to be lost, and is banking on her Grumpy Aunt aura to keep the Ansburg Wardens from asking too many questions.
There was a great many things to love about horses. One of the most important things, currently, was the lack of terrible decisions. Terrible decisions in her mind, of course but currently: it was all fucking awful. Be among their own kind? What good had that done them at any point. There was problems with the Inquisition but at least they had done something for them. She wouldn't be alive without the Inquisition and with an already shit lifespan on her hands that meant a lot. There wasn't anything here for them, certainly not her and Maker be damned if she spent another day here.
Grabbing at her crystal, she considers contacting Avery just to hear the other woman's voice but ultimately decides against it and leans further against the young mare that she has befriended in an attempt to hide away in one of the stalls. The Paint lays on the ground, dozing away and allowing Ciri the chance to both sit and relax. Once again, she turns a flask over in her hands but this one reflects ice instead of fire. A sign of a better mood, perhaps?
Ciri soon has additional company, of course. Inessa soon follows, Garahel at her side. The mabari closes the gap first, letting out a soft whine of sympathy as he plops down and leans against her a little. The slight elven woman does the same, substituting the whine for a deep sigh as she settles in and forces herself to tune out everything else. They can be bitter and untrusting together, at least for the moment.
He breaks off eventually, needing a walk to clear his mind. They're all under a lot of stress, but he hadn't exactly expected to see the cracks this clearly. Trauma, personality clashes, it's almost like they're a bunch of people shoved together by accident and dealing with being tossed to and fro constantly.
He'll be there to support Nate when Nate's ready for a respite, but right now he's worried about someone else. Eventually he spots her and comes over, leaning against a convenient tree near her.
"Fancy finding you out here." 'Are you feeling better' seems a poor choice of opener, after all.
This is maddening. Teren thought, ever so briefly, that she was being taken seriously, that the others would jump to get to the bottom of her suspicions. As the night wears on, it becomes increasingly apparent that this is not the case. Frustratingly enough, she hasn't been able to find any leads either to confirm her worries or to safely get everyone out, and doubt has begun to creep into her mind that she may be lunging at shadows.
Sitting on a barrel in the courtyard, Teren is using her belt knife to slowly whittle a fallen piece of bark into nothing. She tells herself she's waiting and listening, but in reality, she's avoiding any sort of company at all. Perhaps she was wrong. She doesn't need that in her face at the moment.
"Fancy that," she mutters impassively, without looking up.
Edited (I forgot to have her answer 8V) 2017-07-01 06:38 (UTC)
Things at Ansburg weren't too dodgy. They were just dodgy enough to merit this.
A ways from the fortress, there is a grove of trees. Those who have volunteered to stay behind for this are camped out, tents camouflaged, fires absolutely forbidden, racket absolutely forbidden. The unlucky person on watch has to shimmy up a tree and keep an eye on the fortress through a spyglass. The watches are two hours, one person awake while the others sleep until the next watch.
It's a good hour or so into Nathaniel's watch, his back braced against the tree, sitting on the highest branch capable of carrying his weight. The fires in the fortress have gone out one by one, until the only light is the faint glow of the waning moon behind an overcast sky. Even the frogs and crickets fall slowly silent, till it feels like the whole world but him is asleep.
He sees a glint of light through the leaves, bobbing and moving forward. A lantern, illuminating the hooded tunic of a man who is not dressed as a Warden. It seems peculiar for him to be traveling alone to the fortress. Nathaniel sits up straight, adjusting the glass to try to get a better look.
The gate opens for the man. Nathaniel forces himself to breathe. This means nothing. There is no telling who this man is. There is no reason to panic--except that he is a solitary man entering the fortress mere hours after they left it. A solitary man who could be Venatori.
He probably isn't. But he could be.
He's being paranoid, like everyone else. All that talk from the others has him on edge. If he sweeps in with accusations, he could damage the delicate relations between them and the only other decent Wardens. He could lose a promotion he has been aiming for since Jonas stepped down.
He glances down. He is the only person in the camp who is awake. He is the only one who has seen this. He could let the entire thing sweep itself under the rug if he just sits quietly and gaslights himself into believing it was a trick of his eyes, a bat flying by with a glint in its eye, or an old man on a cane seeking shelter.
And he does it. For a time, he sits with every intention of staying quiet. The trouble with decisions like that is that you have to remake the decision every moment you stay idle. And it's not a half-hour later that the gate opens again, and there is the gleam of the lantern as the man steps out.
How many moments like this had been ignored by Loghain when Rendon Howe went mad? How many moments like this had Rendon turned a blind eye to, till they raised him to his final derangement? How many would it take Nathaniel before blind ambition turned him into the very person he swore never to become?
He takes two deep breaths, then slides off the branch, rolling as he lands. He doesn't even pause before thumping an open hand against tent walls.
"Up," he says just loudly enough to be heard. "Up, up, up. We have a suspicious person on the move from the fortress and we have to follow now."
Years of training, of having to run, of having to hide, of being chased by darkspawn in and out of a uniform, Kirwall, have trained Bethany to one thing.
To be a very light sleeper.
She goes from drowsing in a dream to wide-awake the moment Nate's fingers leave the front of her tent, and she's already scrambling. Boots on, armor on over her nightgown, cloak in place and hair tied back with a black ribbon to not catch the moonlight. Staff in hand, she is out in the darkness a mere minute after Nathaniel has made the call, brown eyes searching out in the darkness.
She would gesture which way, but it was obvious. Follow the lantern light in the darkness.
It's easy to get up when your source of heat and superior pillow left the tent an hour and a half ago. Anders needs to practice his draping skills so it can't escape so easily in the future, but that's a half-asleep thought as he scrambles up, tying his robes closed, and grabs his staff.
"I could just," he waggles his fingers, "stop them. Non-lethally." His voice is a little groggy as he rubs at his eyes; Anders had been more than ready for the next thing to stir him being the return of Nate so he could truly sleep again.
"Or lethally if we're feeling particularly aggravated."
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I. ARRIVAL
So everyone can be forgiven, probably, if in their tired and sore and likely hungry state, the Warden fortress outside of Ansburg looks like the best thing they’ve ever seen in their entire lives. It has walls! Those walls probably contain a kitchen! And beds! Outside the walls, the Warden banner hangs with no apparent shame or apology. And the Wardens who come out to greet them look healthy, happy to see them, and distinctly unaccompanied by demons.
They’re led by a man with graying hair and a wide smile that, as if involuntarily restrained by propriety, stops just short of showing teeth. He’s scanning faces as he approaches the group outside the gates, nodding to those he recognizes. For those who may recognize him back, he’s Warden-Commander Humphreys. Protocol says he can’t salute until someone salutes him first, but the handful of men and women behind him are quick to do it, fists crossing to their shoulders in greeting.
[ One thread please! No tag order, jump in or blend into the background as you desire. This will be GMed/NPCed by me (MJ/Alistair) and/or Tori/Nathaniel. ]
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He's scratching his ass. Must have gotten a rash somewhere along the way. Not that he's had the chance to have a look at it though. Probably should get a healer to take a look at it but he's a bit preoccupied right now. Namely with the fact that people look like they're about to start doing greetings and such and...
Well, Oghren's not a polite person so sorry about that guys.
"Any idea where a dwarf can get a hole to piss in? Figured that would be nicer than finding a wall."
Okay so maybe he was trying to be nice?
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Thinking about that as much about showing respect, Inessa salutes as protocol demands. Garahel at her side wags his tail but knows better than to rush forward for petting right now. Grey Warden business first.
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She was here to make sure things were pleasant. Which is to say, the moment after Oghren's opened his mouth and basically embarrassed all of them, Bethany steps forward with a brilliant smile and a salute, before she speaks.
"I think what Oghren is trying to say is - we are looking forward to your hospitality, and thank you so much for having us here. We're all a little rough from the road, so please forgive us for any shortness." A warm and dimpled smile, "As you well know, Warden Commander Humphreys, the way through the Vinmark Mountains is never a picnic."
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II. EXPLORATION
Once everyone has been fed and given a moment to rest their feet, Warden-Commander Humphreys invites anyone who's interested in more walking to tour the fortress with him while he asks questions and discusses his hopes for the Wardens-Errant. Anyone who doesn't think that sounds fun is free to explore on their own—and later, once the beleagured cook has managed to catch up with the extra work that so many guests create, there's a fairly boisterous dinner in the main hall, with amateur musicians and a small gaggle of baby-faced young Wardens eager to hear about the griffons. And other things! But mainly the griffons.
[ The tour will be NPCed, so please group up into one log for that! You can make your own threads for the other two options. NPCs or GM comments will also be dropped into other logs during the party or exploration, but feel free to RP on your own, too. ]
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ＤＩＮＮＥＲ —
"This reminds me," she says picking at her plate filled with tiny cakes to whomever it unlucky enough to be near her. "We should have the others stuck out in Valeska's Watch and Griffon Wing Keep come to visit and see the griffons. They'd bloody love it."
Dinner
Checking to ensure that Garahel behaves himself, Inessa turns her gaze back to Ciri with a small smile. "They would, though I think it fair to warn them of our griffons' quirks beforehand. I don't want my lap griffon catching them by surprise, or Buggie's biting, or Little White Monster's screech...."
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There are suddenly three young Wardens at Ciri and Inessa's table, all three of them talking over at once.
"Talk," one of them demands tersely.
"Have you ridden them?" gasps another.
"You want to see the eyrie upstairs?" babbles the last.
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Tour
"So this place looks nice." Small talk is not Anders' strong point but he's trying.
Solo Asplorin'
She goes down a different hallway, gladly taking the opportunity to explore and deciding to root out whatever foul play is obviously at work here. Her snooping is as subtle as possible for someone who isn't even trying to stay concealed; on the contrary, she walks with purpose, inspecting the place as though she belongs there.
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Teren is investigating the armory when the jovial clamor of people heading to dinner reaches her ears. Instead of joining them, she steps to the door and presses her ear against it, listening for movement in the halls.
Dinner
And thus he was sitting there eating basically anything that came along and had finished off more than a few drinks. In fact, he was finishing off another before belching loudly and looking at another baby Warden that had come up to him.
"You want to know about those griffons? How about this. You beat me at a drinking contest and I'll tell you everything I know."
...someone should probably stop this.
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DINNER (!!!)
"They're poised to attack," she announces in a low voice, pitched away from any of the nearby Ansburg Wardens, "we'd be wise to go on our way before they get a chance."
Anyone who looks like they might interrupt her is served an icy glare; Teren isn't fooling around. "We were fools to come here thinking there'd be an overture of friendship."
Re: DINNER (!!!)
"How many guards in our way?" She had learned how to whisper, in the last year and a half, pitching her voice to just a murmur.
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AFTER THAT
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my paid just expired he's not as grumpy as his icon
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after dinner
Grabbing at her crystal, she considers contacting Avery just to hear the other woman's voice but ultimately decides against it and leans further against the young mare that she has befriended in an attempt to hide away in one of the stalls. The Paint lays on the ground, dozing away and allowing Ciri the chance to both sit and relax. Once again, she turns a flask over in her hands but this one reflects ice instead of fire. A sign of a better mood, perhaps?
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EVEN LATER
He'll be there to support Nate when Nate's ready for a respite, but right now he's worried about someone else. Eventually he spots her and comes over, leaning against a convenient tree near her.
"Fancy finding you out here." 'Are you feeling better' seems a poor choice of opener, after all.
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Sitting on a barrel in the courtyard, Teren is using her belt knife to slowly whittle a fallen piece of bark into nothing. She tells herself she's waiting and listening, but in reality, she's avoiding any sort of company at all. Perhaps she was wrong. She doesn't need that in her face at the moment.
"Fancy that," she mutters impassively, without looking up.
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III. SURVEILLANCE | OTA
A ways from the fortress, there is a grove of trees. Those who have volunteered to stay behind for this are camped out, tents camouflaged, fires absolutely forbidden, racket absolutely forbidden. The unlucky person on watch has to shimmy up a tree and keep an eye on the fortress through a spyglass. The watches are two hours, one person awake while the others sleep until the next watch.
It's a good hour or so into Nathaniel's watch, his back braced against the tree, sitting on the highest branch capable of carrying his weight. The fires in the fortress have gone out one by one, until the only light is the faint glow of the waning moon behind an overcast sky. Even the frogs and crickets fall slowly silent, till it feels like the whole world but him is asleep.
He sees a glint of light through the leaves, bobbing and moving forward. A lantern, illuminating the hooded tunic of a man who is not dressed as a Warden. It seems peculiar for him to be traveling alone to the fortress. Nathaniel sits up straight, adjusting the glass to try to get a better look.
The gate opens for the man. Nathaniel forces himself to breathe. This means nothing. There is no telling who this man is. There is no reason to panic--except that he is a solitary man entering the fortress mere hours after they left it. A solitary man who could be Venatori.
He probably isn't. But he could be.
He's being paranoid, like everyone else. All that talk from the others has him on edge. If he sweeps in with accusations, he could damage the delicate relations between them and the only other decent Wardens. He could lose a promotion he has been aiming for since Jonas stepped down.
He glances down. He is the only person in the camp who is awake. He is the only one who has seen this. He could let the entire thing sweep itself under the rug if he just sits quietly and gaslights himself into believing it was a trick of his eyes, a bat flying by with a glint in its eye, or an old man on a cane seeking shelter.
And he does it. For a time, he sits with every intention of staying quiet. The trouble with decisions like that is that you have to remake the decision every moment you stay idle. And it's not a half-hour later that the gate opens again, and there is the gleam of the lantern as the man steps out.
How many moments like this had been ignored by Loghain when Rendon Howe went mad? How many moments like this had Rendon turned a blind eye to, till they raised him to his final derangement? How many would it take Nathaniel before blind ambition turned him into the very person he swore never to become?
He takes two deep breaths, then slides off the branch, rolling as he lands. He doesn't even pause before thumping an open hand against tent walls.
"Up," he says just loudly enough to be heard. "Up, up, up. We have a suspicious person on the move from the fortress and we have to follow now."
Re: III. SURVEILLANCE | OTA
To be a very light sleeper.
She goes from drowsing in a dream to wide-awake the moment Nate's fingers leave the front of her tent, and she's already scrambling. Boots on, armor on over her nightgown, cloak in place and hair tied back with a black ribbon to not catch the moonlight. Staff in hand, she is out in the darkness a mere minute after Nathaniel has made the call, brown eyes searching out in the darkness.
She would gesture which way, but it was obvious. Follow the lantern light in the darkness.
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"I could just," he waggles his fingers, "stop them. Non-lethally." His voice is a little groggy as he rubs at his eyes; Anders had been more than ready for the next thing to stir him being the return of Nate so he could truly sleep again.
"Or lethally if we're feeling particularly aggravated."
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