A (recruitment) mission into the Deep Roads

[ragweed]

WHO: Kit and OPEN
WHAT: Down in the Deep Roads, one dwarf is picking a fight he can't refuse.
WHEN: Sometime during this month
WHERE: The Deep Roads
NOTES: Warnings for blood and violence! Also, while this scene is open to everyone, it is most suitable for characters who are Grey Wardens and/or dwarves. People are totally free to hop into existing threads as they happen.

Somewhere else in the world--somewhere above ground where the sun shines and the wind doesn't reek so thickly of fetid darkspawn offal that you can taste it on your tongue--the Inquisition has tasked a number of its best to investigate a new opening in the Deep Roads. The goal is to seal it before more of the monsters can spill out and attack the Inquisition outposts stationed below and above ground.

As far as goals go, it's a pretty reasonable one, with realistic expectations regarding success. At least it would be under normal circumstances that don't involve an ogre camped out in the frame of an ancient dwarven doorway, grinding its horns against ancient cogs and gears that are essential to repairing the door and sealing up the entryway. Its face is riddled with newly inflicted lacerations, blood flowing freely from the wounds in thick rivulets over its hideous face and maw; most noticeably, it's been blinded, its eyes scabbed shut.

The one responsible for meting out its injuries is hunkered down beyond an angled turn in the Roads. The dwarf's tattooed face and Legionnaire armor is splattered with sticky black viscera, but he himself doesn't look injured. He's crouched down with a lit match, inspecting damage done to his axes.

Comments

[misdirection_hex]

Well. That's one way to keep the darkspawn at bay, certainly. If there's one thing this guy's got, it's style--though perhaps not for much longer, if they can't help extract him from this hellhole.

It's not often that Vandelin wishes he'd taken his roommate's advice all those years ago and learned some proper healing magic instead of rejecting the entire School of Creation out of spite--but wartime does have a way of reminding him of its merits at every turn. He might as well be an apprentice, for all the good he can do with it, but he's been fighting his way across the Marches for too long now to avoid picking up the very basics.

"Let's none of us get introduced to the Maker today if we can help it," he says, kneeling beside Kit and examining the injury as thoroughly as he can without touching it. "If I can pull together a temporary fix, do you think you can make it out?" Emphasis on the 'temporary.' He just hopes it won't make the injury worse in the long term.

[aforethought]

Rick rubs at his jaw, watching the closed door warily. It's a long moment before he stoops over to Kit, sticks a hand out to the axes in expectation.

"Lemme get those," He says, with a look on his face that implies he's not really asking. Never a big man, and not intimidating now, just serious. And ready for a nap. "Can be stoic about it when it's not slowing us down."

"Should give him your stick," Contributes Melys, already speed-walking her way back up the tunnel (pries open Pimples' fingers and there's the light in hand again). "There's a temporary fix for you."

[ragweed]

Teren's assessment is pretty spot on, though at her last comment, Kit offers her a grin that's more a baring of teeth from pain. "Returning to the Stone," he grunts, already slowly extending out his injured leg as far as he can stretch it to assess the damage. "But. Yeah."

The wound looks--and feels--worse than it truly is; some stitches and several days' worth of bed rest, and he'll be able to limp around on it again without too much discomfort. He's truly had worse before. Nevertheless, when Vandelin crouches beside him and looks a hair's breadth away from casting a spell on him, the color seems to drain out of his face, leaving him ashen-looking like slate stone.

"No--please," he adds, looking chagrined over his own discomfort with the magic. He gives Vandelin as apologetic a look as he can muster under the circumstances, and can only hope he understands. He nods at Melys's suggestion. "A crutch will do--and maybe a shoulder, over rough patches." He's already struggling to heave himself back up to his feet, and doesn't object when Rick takes hold of his axes for him. As long as he gets them back, he's got nothing to be stoic about.

[doneisdone]

"Right, that," Teren mutters, and turns back long enough to give the heavy door a kick and ensure that it's secure. Having done so, she passes the rest without a word, ranging ahead of them and taking it upon herself to be the lookout in case anyone should come at them from the front.
Or... somewhat more plausibly, she's done socializing for the day.