the days that bind us

[exequy]

WHO: Lots of people
WHAT: Recovering lost phylacteries
WHEN: Guardian 23, 9:44
WHERE: The Storm Coast
NOTES: Violence! OOC post over here.

All signs point to the Storm Coast, and once scouts have narrowed down the location it's only a short journey across the Waking Sea to move a small force onto the rocky coast. They row ashore just after dawn in driving rain, and follow the beach for at least a mile before finding a path that actually reaches the top of the cliff. The rain fades to a drizzle but the day remains relentlessly overcast as they hike toward their goal, grey and dim even at noon, with a raw breeze off the water.

Comments

IV. RECOVERY

[exequy]

After the last fireball is thrown and the last sword is dropped, when any enemy survivors are bound and guarded, there's still much to do: bodies to identify, if possible, and see to with ideally some amount of respect for the dead; wounds to ensure won't be mortal; and the ruins of the fortress to search through. Pamphlets and a few unsent letters home will confirm that the group intended to stand against the perceived threat of free mages, beginning with opposing the Inquisition's reliance upon them and the apparent free rein they were given in the war against Corypheus. Most of the identifiable soldiers were from the Hinterlands.

In the back rooms, they will find several crates of phylacteries organized neatly around the edges of an empty room, with a stone table in the center where spells had been cast. Each has a label on it indicating the circle(s) it contains. There are scores of vials within, perhaps even hundreds, some clearly labeled, others damaged by age or careless handling. Orders from on high are to collect them and return them to Kirkwall (and perhaps ultimately to Skyhold) and they will be under careful guard from the moment they're recovered, to prevent both use and destruction, but those who are quick and determined may manage to steal a moment to paw through a box and if lucky, find and pocket the phylactery with their name on it. The rest will be loaded up onto a wagon found in the fortress stables and transported back down to the waiting ship.

[ ooc | threads for feelings! you're also welcome to do other things set after the fight or during the journey back to kirkwall. ]

Christine | ota

[aceso]

{ open }

Once the battle is won, Christine is quick to leave the premises, leaving others to guard the survivors and put up with their comments. The trek back down to the waiting ship finds Christine looking pensive and using her faintly glowing blue staff as a walking stick to aid her in descending the slick gravel paths. Keen observers might have seen her pocket her phylactery earlier in the fortress and since then she's been quiet. Still, if any others find themselves walking close by, she acknowledges them with a nod and a few tired words. Mainly asking if they have any injuries they're hiding out of stubbornness. That always seems to be the way with these missions.

{ closed to church }

There's still time before they set sail, so Christine pulls Church aside for a quick walk on the beach. What she's about to say is best done out here than on the confines of a ship, where she fears there won't be enough privacy.

"Now that this is all over, I have had a great deal to think on," she begins.

[motherfucking_ghost]

This would be really romantic if this place didn't look kinda like a soggy hellscape. "But it's over. And you're safe."

It's said with relief. They're all exhausted from the fighting, the rain, the waiting, the fear that something would happen, the people they might lose. "That's good enough for me."

[aceso]

"I am safe," she agrees. "As are you. And all of us." She slips her hand into his, pausing as a spray of water from the tide throws mist over them. It hardly matters since they've been soaked since their arrival, and if anything, it provides a cold blast to the senses.

"But I am now thinking of the future, as I often do when I should not." She offers him a tired smile before slipping a hand into the pouch on her belt and drawing out a vial of blood, glowing brightly in her presence. Even without the faded label with her name upon it, it would be clear to see this is her phylactery.

"Before arriving here, I thought I wanted nothing more than to crush this beneath my feet. Then I saw the mages here and I began to think of terrible scenarios where I might be kidnapped and forced to do horrible things." Christine squeezes his hand tightly as she slows to a stop, turning to face him.

[motherfucking_ghost]

"...You don't...want to crush it anymore? Or pour it out into the sea?" He blinks, tired, not wide-eyed for the salty spray and just the everything, but still very attentive. And very confused. "Nothing's gonna happen to you so long as I'm around, you got that? I won't let it."

Inessa, OTA

[circleprodigy]

Once the battle is over, Inessa is nearly limp with relief. It's been an exhausting several weeks, but at least now there's an end in sight. Well, there will be as soon as she finds something. After healing any injuries that need immediate attention, the young Warden and her canine companion slip away from the aftermath. It only takes a little questioning to learn about the back rooms and what lies within.

Inessa can be found there, searching quietly (as Garahel sniffs around and perks up when anyone approaches) and unceasingly until she finds the vials containing the blood of mages from Kinloch Hold. Some of the labels she doesn't recognize (especially the faded ones), but it isn't long before she finds her own. Drawing in a deep breath, she lifts her vial out of the crate, cradling it in the palm of her hand.

Such a small thing, rather plain and unremarkable...and yet it had caused so much suffering. Weeks of torment, paranoia and panic, all because of blood taken when before she was five years old. It was only to be used if she had gone apostate, something she had never considered herself...but evidently someone had. That she had become a Grey Warden didn't seem to matter.

She should cast it on the ground, be done with it and never look back. She should, and yet she remains standing there, staring at it with darkened eyes.

[justice_is_blond]

"Smash it."

There's cold certainty in his voice as he goes through another crate, pulling out and deliberately dropping the vials he finds that warm to the touch. They are not dogs to be leashed. They are people. And he will crush what has to be crushed to set them free.

"I've no idea what you're waiting for."

[circleprodigy]

There's a sudden jerk of her head upon hearing Anders' voice, but she relaxes after a moment. Her voice is quiet but calm, no longer on edge the way it has been for weeks. "...I will. I plan to, but I had to look upon it one last time. And I want Ciri to be present before I do."

Ciri more than anyone has witnessed its effect on her, been a part of that suffering when the attacks affected more than just herself. It's only fair...and besides, she could use that moral support.

Her gaze shifts to the crate he's inspecting, snapping out of her singular focus for the moment. "If any of the vials belong to those among us here, wait. They might want the satisfaction of destroying their own phylacteries."

[justice_is_blond]

He studies her for a moment before nodding. Waiting for Ciri makes some sense. She'd been there for Inessa through a lot, after all. His concern is that some mages might not be ready to let go of their leashes and will wind up hurt again.

Anders goes back to systematically smashing vials with another nod. "I know. And those in Kirkwall still deserve a chance to destroy their own. If they will." Will Julius? Anders hopes he will, but isn't going to count on it. His old friend may not want the loosening and Anders hurts for him.

"For the rest, I'm not about to trust anyone with them. Maybe we could find someone trustworthy to get phylacteries to their owners, but what if something happens to that trusted person? It's too big a vulnerability."

They are only saving the phylacteries with owners in Kirkwall if he has anything to say about it.

[in_death_sacrifice]

"If you don't destroy it, I will. But I'd prefer to let you do the final deed."

Kain approaches, slowly, weary from the battle, but glad that this is all at an end. The stress of the last few weeks has worn him down considerably, and it takes a supreme effort of will to hold it back, to pretend he's ok. He's taking care as he walks, slow so he hides any limping. Everything is the appearance of being totally fine. It has to be, it has to be.

"We're not going through this again, so the sooner it's taken care of, the better."

[circleprodigy]

Garahel wags his tail at Kain and pads over to lick his hand as Inesa straightens and turns towards him. She's quite weary as well, from the toll this ordeal has taken on her in addition to the recent battle. But for the first time in a while, that smile isn't faint or forced but reaches her eyes. She heads over, slipping her free hand into one of his.

"Oh, I will. I just had to look upon it one last time. I don't know why, but...it doesn't matter. But I have a thought; we find Ciri and get a nice bonfire going and let the flames consume it. Then we'll celebrate my newfound freedom with wine...as much as we can find." Losing sobriety isn't something Inessa often recommends, but it's been a hellish several weeks. She's earned this.

Her smile softens. "Thank you...for being here, today and for the rest of it. I'm not certain my vanishing sanity would have lasted as long as it had, otherwise."

[in_death_sacrifice]

Kain pets Garahel eagerly, not wanting him to feel ignored or anything, as he’s had all his attention focused on Inessa, right now and just in general lately. He takes her hand silently, for a moment just letting out a long, draw out sigh of relief. The stress from all of this has taken its toll, and right now he’d love to go curl up in his cave, maybe hibernate like a bear. But there are things to take care of, first.

“Well, I guess it… represents your past in some way. I understand.” Still, he eyes it with much more dislike, the expression evident as he stares at it. He’d not really thought about it much… usually he just agrees with Inessa on mage matters, since she knows them better than him. But right here, right now, he is deeply hateful of the Circles for letting this happen. “But you’re right, there, burning it will mean true freedom. I think that’s a great idea.” The three of them can also get very drunk, which is… also needed.

“And… you’re welcome.” He gives Garahel one more pat, before moving to wrap her in a hug. “I’ll always be here. Whatever may happen. Always.” He’s not one to take such a promise lightly, either.

Re: Inessa, OTA

[judgemewhole]

"...You will never hear me say this officially -- but I hope you destroyed it." James stated simply, as he came up behind her, Interceptor limping a little but otherwise fine as he wagged his stubby tail at Garahel. He is standing outside the room itself, though, not going in.

"When you are done, though, would you do me a favor? I ... need to bring back the phylacteries for those at the Ostwick Circle. Some are dead, others are in Orlais under Vivienne's protection, but as you know, we have a few in the Inquisition. I would like to bring those back to my family." Because, even Mal, was considered family.

[circleprodigy]

Inessa straightens as Garahel licks his friend, turning around and nodding to him. "Of course. They should decide what is to be done with their own phylacteries...though for safety's sake, I would recommend destruction. This could happen again, with another group of like mind." It's gruesome to think about, but if one batch of people decided it must be done, why would there not be another to take up the banner?

"...and I plan to destroy mine, yes. A nice, big bonfire and plenty of wine, and tossing the accursed vial atop it. That seems a fitting end to the horror of the past several weeks."

ota.

[exequy]

a. outside

Someone else will have to handle the pyre. Burning bodies is not his forte. Tending to them, though—looting, too, sure—is closer to. Kostos makes his way through the courtyard, rolling felled bodies onto their backs, doing his best to close eyes or rearrange expressions into something peaceful despite the stiffening that's already set in for some of them, shifting clothing and armor and hair to hide the worst of the wounds, and removing weapons or coins or letters. What happens to all of that is not his decision, but some of the letters he scans, curled over to protect them from the drizzle, using the faint light of the wisp hovering over his shoulder.

He isn't looking for a motive. The motive is obvious enough. He's looking for any sign that this isn't the last of them.

b. phylacteries
(only one thread [if any] please)

His phylactery isn't here. Kostos had guessed as much—either it wasn't here, or it was buried beneath the rest of their collection, gathering dust. Whatever anxiety confirming its absence inspires is easy to ignore. It's been out there since he was a child; it can be out there a while longer. There are, however, a very large number of phylacteries that are here and need to be collected, and moved onto the ship, and entrusted indefinitely to the Inquisition.

That's fine. It's fine. He helps move the crates. And when he picks up one labelled KINLOCH HOLD sideways, fumbles it, and spills the vials in the mud, it would take a fairly keen eye, in the dim light, to see him get one up his sleeve while he returning the rest to the crate. He's been practicing with cards.

b

[justice_is_blond]

"Why, exactly, are we taking crates of phylacteries back?" He's picked up one of the spilled vials, expression icy. There is no one that can be trusted with them, no one that should be trusted with them, in his opinion, but they're going to hand over leashes? It's not something he's fine with.

"They should be destroyed. They're nooses around the necks of anyone who has one, you have to know this from what's just happened." Loyalist or not, mages had suffered. Kostos has to be able to see this. "If there are mages in Kirkwall who want theirs that's one thing. But this is another entirely."

I ROLLED FOR IT AND SANDAL SMILED UPON ME

[doneisdone]

One such keen eye does notice (literally one, the other's under the patch for now), and Kostos receives a brief suspicious glance before Teren turns away to continue aiding with the cleanup. She won't say a thing, the way she didn't say a thing when he and Nell imploded the Circle in Nevarra City, but only as long as he's not a fool about it. That can never be guaranteed.

Anders | OTA

[justice_is_blond]

[Grump, open]

He is tense after things have been officially settled, expression serious. There's no lighthearted chatter despite what they've achieved because it's not done yet for a lot of people.

While he's not smiling at people or inviting them to join him, he's also not glaring at them. Anders will even offer out the flask of what he's currently drinking from if someone sits down next to him against the side of the ship.


[Closed to Nate]

His phylactery is safe, tucked against his skin so he can feel it there and know precisely where it is at all times. A lifetime ago he'd been pulled into a trap by its promise, and now at last he has it in his possession. It still makes him tense, and still inspires feelings in him he's not comfortable with.

In a still moment, Anders joins Nate and touches their temples together. "Walk with me? I'd like to catch my breath away from the rest."

[pinprick]

Nathaniel kisses his forehead and wraps his arm around his waist. "Let's go."

They walk up to the seaside and Nathaniel takes Anders' hand, waiting for him to speak.

[justice_is_blond]

It's the same hand Nate had held earlier, when he'd demonstrated how he'd found what Anders should have been prioritizing. Many steps pass in silence with Anders trying to find the right words. Eventually they're at a good distance from anyone else and near a rocky outcropping that can block the view of watchers.

Anders releases Nate's hand and retrieves the phylactery from the little pocket in his robes, holding it between them. There's no doubt it's his.

"I was terrified when they made this," he says quietly. "I'd just been rowed across a lake and deposited in a fortress, shivering, alone, and then one of them pulled out a knife." Anders touches a spot on the inside of his forearm with his free hand absent-mindedly, gone silent again thanks to memories crowding in.

"I'm still scared by it," he finally says. "It was used against me so many times."

[tactical_alert]

It's not even (just) a trip across the sea, the terrible weather, the climbing up a cliff face at night in the downpour, the pitch black fighting, that's soured Malcolm's mood. The day is saved, in a sense, yes. But the fallout has yet to come. Templars--or those trained in a way similar to Templars--and a mob and a Seeker of all people. Just as he'd feared. The survivors need interviewed and/or interrogated.

The man's been gone all of a month, but he's certainly missing Aleron right about now.

Anders is not one of his favorite people by a long shot. But they have been amicable, to his own surprise. For his part, he chooses to remain standing by where Anders sits.

"One has to wonder what's next."

[justice_is_blond]

He looks up at Malcolm, quiet for a few moments, because what comes next is complicated for a lot of people from what he's guessing.

"There's destroying the phylacteries, for one." There's no point to trying to hide how he feels about them. His stance on it will be clear if anyone thinks about it for the briefest of moments. "Then there's seeing if there's any ripple effect from this. It would be nice to hear people come out against all phylacteries... but I doubt that's going to happen."

He isn't angry, but he is a little frustrated. Mages were hurt again and he doesn't think it will inspire any change, again.

"What are your thoughts on this group?" The man's a Seeker. Has this changed anything for him? Or is it business as usual?

ota

[foundmyselfagain]

a. lets burn some bodies

It's tempting, not to give them the respect they'd want. To try to roll their bodies into the sea, or leave them for the animals. But he doubts he'd convince the others, and maybe he can not be a petty asshole for a few minutes. Or just a little petty, because he takes some comfort in knowing that it's a mage that is busily keeping the flames of the pyre going in this miserable damp.

He doesn't bother to help move the bodies. No one would want to watch him make the attempt, and his focus is on the flames. The fire pulls back whenever someone comes to add more dead to the pyre, and once they've stepped away, he gives a flick of his wrist, and they roar back to life.

His expression is painfully disinterested, like this is a chore on the level of sweeping or doing dishes. Something necessary but ultimately, not exactly emotionally stirring. "Inconvenient until the last, huh." He mutters, not bothering to keep his voice down. "They'd be tickled pink, I'm sure."

b. smooth, gareth

Luck is a bit of a wild card for Gareth. One could argue that he has the singularly worst luck in Thedas, but the fact that he's here, alive and mostly whole in spite of it, bespeaks some truly baffling amounts of good luck. Either way, he manages to get to the room of phylacteries before they're loaded up, and makes a beeline for the box from The Gallows. There aren't a lot--not very surprising, considering how much of the Gallows got damaged, and how many mages had the foresight to take care of theirs before they ran off.

As he pokes through them, he wonders how many of these even belong to mages who are still alive. Did they pay attention to that? Sort through them to verify life? The names on here--he recognizes many of them, and it's hard not to just overturn the entire box, watch the final hold anyone had on them shatter into a thousand pieces of glass. But he only has so much time, and so much trouble he's already going to get into, when he locates the one with his own name.

He spends a few moments staring at it, remembering when his blood had been drawn for it, as a scared child who couldn't possibly understand what it meant, what would come to pass. In that time, he's spilled so much of his own blood, used it for his own ends. His blood is his to use, now. Not to be used against him. Never again.

The phylactery slips through his fingers, and he watches impassively as it shatters, spreading glass and blood on the cold stone floor.

"Oops."

[justice_is_blond]

"Oh. No. That's such a shame. Maybe the Circles should have taught us how to not be clumsy."

The voice behind Gareth is absolutely sarcastic... and absolutely approving. They need these gone, destroyed, not saved. The only reason to save phylacteries is to use them, and there is no use for them that is acceptable. These were for hunting mages down and hurting them. Nothing about them is good.

Anders is doing his own looking at boxes, but now he's here to try to estimate about how many phylacteries are now going to be in the Inquisition's possession. If they have to run a raid to destroy them, if mage voices aren't enough, an estimate will come in handy.

"Come to think of it, perhaps they did try to teach me coordination. Stop hitting yourself and all that. I may have been a bad student."

[foundmyselfagain]

"Hah, right?" Gareth's tone is pleasant and cheerful, with no regret for what he did, or that he just did it in public. Were they really going to push a punishment on him for destroying his own phylactery? It would be an interesting point to argue--and Gareth is more than ready to butt heads over it.

"It's just so wet and slippery, and I am but a scruffy mage. They should've had the Templars and Seekers doing this if they wanted it done right." Despite his light tone, his focus is less on it, or Anders, and on the box of names he knows, blood of people he'd called friends. Arguing over who had the right to his own phylactery would be a debate worth getting into, but he's well aware that doing it en masse would be pushing it.

He should still do it. They still deserve to be destroyed.

He'll talk it over with Nell and the others, he decides silently, they'll know what to do. In the meantime, he hefts the box up with a sigh. "These asses managed to be inconvenient even in death, huh. Figures."