faderift | [OPEN] Secrets in the Elven Ruins

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[OPEN] Secrets in the Elven Ruins

WHO: Loghain + OPEN to anyone participating in The Sea Shall Rise & Devour mod plot.
WHAT: While exploring the elven ruins atop the island, Loghain uncovers an overgrown passageway into a secret chamber within the ruins.
WHEN: 1 Harvestmere
WHERE: The island
NOTES: This will continue as one linear thread, no separate starters. Best to use flat view to view all tags.

The sword is as impossible a relic to glimpse as any of the other wonders the Inquisition's explorers have witnessed while proceeding through these ruins, but it is the only one that causes Loghain Mac Tir to stop mid-stride, staring at it. It should not be here--but that is precisely why he sees it. A dragonbone blade, inlaid with gleaming blue runestones; a glimpse of golden hair in his peripheral vision, and Loghain turns to look after it with his heart in his throat--but no. Just another illusion.

He turns back to the sword where it lies in the verdant grass, and kneels to pick it up, hesitating before he grasps the blade. The heft is so familiar--even fine dwarven craftsmanship such as this would not weather the passage of time so well. Rising to his feet, Loghain extends it out slowly to examine the state of the blade--and that's when he notices the peculiar shadow cast across a section of mouldering stone by a copse of trees.

He steps forward, pushing aside vines and low-hanging branches, to reveal the shadow for what it is: an ancient, half-collapsed passageway that leads deeper into the ruin.

"I've found something over here," he calls out to the others who are with him. Remembering it, he glances down to the blade in his hand; he holds nothing but air.

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The Maker is testing her, she can see that much. Hearing Val's voice, Inessa rolls her eyes as she firmly faces ahead. Neither his presence nor Loghain's is ideal, but she'll power through for the sake of discovery.

At least that part proves fruitful. When they reach the chamber, Inessa takes Anders' advice to heart and keeps away from the walls, ushering Garahel away from them as well. And then the being ahead has all of her attention. She steps forward, despite Garahel's desire to act as buffer just in case.

"What do you remember? What was this place?"

They are, possibly, the wrong Orlesians to try to offend. Jehan only looks delighted—insulted! by the Hero/Villain of River Dane! won't Freddie be jealous—and turns his attention back to Valentine to pantomime fixing his hair in a finicky manner that's completely incongruous with his dirty Adventure Clothes, then raising his eyebrows to ask if it looks all right—

A game that is infinitely less interesting than the chamber that opens up ahead and the being waiting there.

"A new home," the figure answers in its drifting unfocused voice, gaze on Inessa, "but not the same. Ir tela las ir Fen halam, vir am’tela’elvahen."

"Merveilleux," Jehan says, with a wryness that straddles the line between sarcasm and genuine excitement. "A singing demon."

Those words stop Inessa in her tracks and her eyebrows raise. She had not been expecting to hear that, not after all this time. "I...I've heard that before." It's the only bit of elven she remembers, outside of scattered words. "It's a lullaby, sung around the Denerim alienage: 'Where Willows Wail'. It means...." Maker, what does it mean? "'When the Wolf failed, we lost the People to war'."

"Is that a Dalish fable?" Loghain inquires of her quietly; it has the rhythm of their poetry, to his ear.

"The People," the spirit continues in a soft voice that sounds as though it travels over the course of a great distance to reach this ancient chamber. It turns its eyes from Inessa to those who follow behind her--shifting from Anders, to Jehan, to Valentine, and then again to Loghain. "They were far from home--a home they could never return to."

Then it turns and gestures with one uncannily long, glowing arm towards the vaguest outline of a shape located against the far wall of the chamber. Loghain frowns and steps forward to get a closer look at the massive structure, which now gains more clarity and detail as the luminescent spirit approaches it. But Loghain stops short, noticing something else first: the tiles beneath their feet are not simply ornamental, but form the shape of a massive map, eroded by time in some places but nevertheless clearly depicting a rendering of Thedas, criss-crossed by green tiles whose function he cannot discern immediately.

The spirit does not pause, and the further away from the party it travels, the more clearly its figure illuminates the structure on the far wall. It is an enormous, and decidedly broken eluvian.

Anders, on the other hand, follows the spirit warily all the way to the eluvian. He knows its shape, and he also knows a flash of guilt from years back. The latter gets shoved back.

"They came here through this, and then it broke?" Deliberate breaking, so they couldn't be pursued, or accidental? In the end, it doesn't matter. They're dead and gone.

He looks back at the group. "We should take this, if we can. If our... company... will let us. And what's that?" The question is directed toward whatever it is that has caught Loghain's interest.

Jehan takes his time tearing his eyes away from the spirit. It's equal parts distrust and fascination, with a dash of for a moment it looked like my grandmother. That moment passes, however, and he looks reluctantly away to take stock of the rest of the room, where everyone else is, what questions are being asked—

"Seheron," he says, looking down at his own feet and the tiles beneath them and recognizing the shape in a second. He's standing On Seheron, and the rest of Thedas sprawl across the chamber. He lifts one foot, leaning on the crutch, to look at the line of green passing beneath his boot. When he puts it down he swings the bag on his shoulder around where he can reach inside it, for a bound journal, ink.

He has done this sort of thing before. They'll be leaving with a fairly accurate diagram.

"What did you call me?" Val says to Jehan--and only to Jehan, and in Orlesian to boot, because the best jokes are made in Orlesian. There is a certain something to humor delivered in the native and inherently superior tongue. It is the same sort of humor that had him mirror Jehan's hair-fussing not moments before, when le méchant made his little joke.

And it is the same sort of humor that allows him to be as light as he is truly and deeply fascinated by this turn of events. What a spirit, and what a discovery. To think, if he had not come down this way, he would never have seen such things. A map upon the floor, a ethereal figure, an eluvian. Well, the last would not fetch much of a price or a prize place in a museum, but it is still interesting to see it here. Life, it is so very funny. Freddie, she will be so very jealous.

"It is a map, my friend!" he calls to Anders, as he gets out a bound journal of his own. Well--calls. Val is quiet, and respectful, lest the spirit fade from their sight. "With some interesting green tile in places. Can we see what meaning they have? We cannot, yet, unless Monsieur Spirit should like to share such a detail. Nor can we take it with us. But worry not: already Jeannot is making excellent note of all of it. Well done," he adds to Jehan.

"It could be Dalish, I suppose. I'm not certain." Perhaps Inessa could ask one of the Dalish of the Inquisition...but that's a tangent best left for later. The lullaby soon fades from her immediate focus, as she mulls over the spirits' words. They were far from home--a home they could never return to. What a sad turn of events, though given elven history, entirely unsurprising.

As Garahel sniffs around, Inessa brings her light over to see the map in better detail. Her gaze lingers on the tiles, fascinated by their find, before pausing by the broken eluvian. There's a wistfulness at its state; where might it lead where it intact? What would they find? The curiosity nags at her, but for now there's no satisfying it. Pausing by Anders, she nods. "I agree. If we're permitted, I'm certain the elven artifacts project would appreciate the chance to study such a find."

"Pel's spoken about a Dread Wolf before, hoping that he not find my footsteps." Anders is still studying the eluvian, fingers over but not quite touching some of the breaks. "And considering the eluvian, the language itself, the fact we're in Elvish ruins, and a half-dozen other things, I think we can very safely deem it as a Dalish thing."

He takes a breath, finally stepping away from the eluvian. It's going to take work to gather it up, but at least they're all strong enough to manage here. If only he had more time in his days; he'd love to see how eluvians work. But he's already got a lot on his plate.

"Is there a spot on the map of Seheron that's emphasized? A marker? It could suggest where there's another eluvian, and possibly one that's more intact than this, if it's been hidden well."

The green tiles that criss-cross the map of Thedas underfoot intersect at multiple different geographical points; it doesn't require a master cartographer to piece together what those intersections may represent. "Be sure to note approximately where these cross," he adds to Jehan as he begins to compose his diagram; his attention to detail at this particular craft raises him some in Loghain's estimation.

But while the others have their attention occupied by the map underfoot and the eluvian, he turns his attention to the spirit whose ghostly presence has been their ever present companion inside this chamber. 'Remembering,' it had said when Anders first spoke to it, and Loghain remembers, too, the sight of Maric's sword, that glimpse of blonde hair--

"This is the source," he says slowly. "Of those--apparitions, those illusions, we saw above ground."

Passively, the spirit has turned to look at Loghain, its humanoid face shifting amongst one of a thousand shapes before his eyes. The one that looks back at him at last makes his heart clench, but he keeps his gaze hard.

A few second back in time, before all this talk about Dread Wolves and Sources, Jehan smiles gamely while wrestling with his bag and says, "Pas toi. Ta mère." Isn't everyone thrilled there here.

In the present, he looks up at Monsieur Warden Mac Tir with a flat sort of look, with those asymmetrical eyebrows that pretty clearly communicate a good-natured no, really, you think? in every language—of course he is going to note where things cross—but holds his tongue, because he is very polite and because Loghain is really very intimidating, as far as ancient old enemies of the motherland go.

"If I am a marker," he says to Anders. Lines cross in Seheron; lines cross everywhere. There is nothing special about it except that he was standing on it and recognized its shape when he looked down at his feet. "Valentine—"

Loghain is talking again. Jeannot halts the nosy query he'd been about to make (is Val going to help, can he do Orlais so the sight of it doesn't make Jehan weep with homesickness, is he going to try to write down the elven, good luck, etc.) and frowns at the spirit. Perhaps not so harmless.

Val--already helping, of course he will be helping, he is not the mapmaker of their group but he is not useless, either, no matter what might be thought of him, he has earned his credentials and accolades--stops his charcoal pencil from its scratching so he can size up the eluvian. He tips his head to the left a little, to get Anders out of the frame. Such a strange object, this. Such a strange people, elves.

Such a tricky spirit, this. The thought occurs on a slight delay, to Val. His eyes narrow. Perhaps not so harmless is his self-same thought. What does he see, should he look closely, or should the spirit look so closely back at him? He will not say. Nor will he fade from it.

"And why the illusions?"

Dalish isn't necessarily synonymous with elven, but that's a point Inessa doesn't feel worth pursuing, not here and now. She peers at the eluvin solemnly for a moment long before turning back to the others. Her gaze flits to Loghain, and she gives a slight nod. "It would seem so, yes." Garahel soon joins him, sniffing at the spirit because why not?

Talk of markers captures her interest, though, and she arches an eyebrow. "An intact eluvian would be a great find, activated or no. And in a practical sense, any resource we can secure is one less for the enemy." There is also a party of her interested in it purely for study, but like Anders, she has enough on her plate.

"And why the illusions?"

This question seems to catch the spirit's interest, and whatever face Valentine sees when he looks into its face remains in place. A smile--a frown--a familiar look--that is what it demonstrates for him, and comes closer, its mannerisms simultaneously inquisitive and unsettling.

"Lathbora viran. They longed for home." A gentle, mournful response, in keeping with the words it has spoken each time it has been addressed by its visitors; home, and the aching, generational longing for it. The spirit gazes gently upon Valentine. "Tell me of your home, da'len."

"You should not answer it," Loghain cautions him in an aside; he doesn't move to draw his weapon yet. "We should collect the remains of the Eluvian and take our diagram of the map and leave this place." And fast.

The request to talk of home is concerning, but Anders isn't going to leap to conclusions. The creature is trapped.

"Here," Anders says, casting to start moving some of the larger pieces of ruins away from the Eluvian so he can free it. "I can move things out of the way if someone else lifts it clear, and then I can settle the ground back down. And as Loghain said, steer clear of the spirit and let's get out of here."

He's not been looking at it, because he doesn't want to see the faces it may choose to show after the flicker of the first one. Remembering is painful and he has no desire to show weakness out here.

Jehan lowers the diagram, frowning about the room (but not at the eluvian, at which he barely glances, because magic in use is always a touch unnerving and not looking is more polite than staring outright, probably) and then at the spirit, because he doesn't care about being rude to a spirit, especially if it's one that enticed whole encampments to remain above and to waste away.

"If it is the source, we cannot leave it," he says, with a touch of uncharacteristic alarm.

"If it is the source, we cannot leave it."

"Do you know what manner of spirit it is?" The question is delivered almost as a challenge, to make Jehan think twice about choosing to engage the entity in combat when they know so little about it. "How best to thwart it? It is entirely possible whatever fight we choose to begin, it is more than capable of finishing. No," he says with finality, looking back at the spirit again to find its deceptively benign face staring back at his. "We have to leave it. We don't have a choice."

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[OPEN] Secrets in the Elven Ruins

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