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

[pinprick]

This is probably the worst mission Nate has done in a long time. In the dark, in the rain, scaling a cliff, headed toward mages who may or may not be casting spells under duress. Before starting up the cliff, he passes out the magebane he manufactures for fighting darkspawn emissaries.

"Don't slit any throats if they try to surrender," he whispers. "They might be prisoners."

[tactical_alert]

Malcolm bites his tongue. He wants to say 'no promises', because at the end of the day, if these mages are doing spells on phylacteries, that's...

Right. No. Deal with it later. Focus. It's not even the mages that concern him. It's who's running the operation. It reeks of Templars...and Seekers. He's not responsible for what's happened, but he feels responsible for what's to come of it all.

He nods his thanks instead and peers up the path. He's probably done worse traverses, but not anything that immediately comes to mind. "Slow, steady, even if it takes all night, we want to get there in one piece."

[doneisdone]

Teren has spent the last few daylight hours methodically hucking knives at the same few spots on a single tree, which now has three gaping holes where her aim was true over and over. It won't be the mages these bastards will have to worry about, as far as she's concerned.

As they make their way toward the point, she walks ahead of everyone else, her footfalls silent and careful, one neatly in front of the other, watching for trap triggers or sentries. Her knives are sheathed for now, so the metal of them won't catch in any firelight.

[ichaer]

Much like her murder mother, Ciri has been equally testing her own aim on nearby tress or methodically going over the flasks she carries on her person. Each one is counter and gone over as she stares at them and the alchemic mixtures twisting around inside. Otherwise, she sits, running a whetstone down the length of her sword.

Although she hears Nate there is no response as her focus is seemingly set upwards on their current challenge. It wouldn't be easy, that was for damn sure, such she's climbed estate walls with less grip and good footfalls. Even then that was just for trinkets, this was for Inessa and she'll be damned if anything was going to stop her.

[galvanising]

"This lot would keep mage prisoners in chains," Nell says without looking up from the path before her. "They came and went without Templars at their elbow, and without being spat on by the rest. They're part of this."

Her staff is strapped across her back, a dirk at one hip and a short club at the other. Over one shoulder hovers a dim globe of light, casting only the faintest glow, roughly as bright as moonlight on pale hair: a guardian wisp, dormant until needed. She spent the daylight hours sat behind a rock, so that when she was stricken with sudden sleep or paralysis, there was less chance of injury. It was not precisely restful, but she leads the way up behind Teren with grim energy.

"If we're doing our jobs they shouldn't have time to surrender anyway. We make this as quick and quiet as possible, and assume they're enemies unless we see evidence otherwise."

[tactical_alert]

"Blood magic."

That's it, that's all he has to add, mostly because the rest would be breath wasted that could be used to focus on the climb. And more than that, it's abusing something that was meant to keep mages safe. Even if they're forced into it, well, there's always death as an option rather than betray their own people.

Malcolm brings up the rear of the climb, occasionally keeping a lookout behind them to make certain they're not followed or spotted from below.

[exequy]

The rain is steady and loud on the stone, and the wind occasionally shifts to an angle that howls and whistles over the gaps, but as they climb higher there are moments when a voice makes it through the rest of the noise. If the words are indistinguishable, the tune is not; it’s a woman’s voice, clear and high, singing the Chant. Transfigurations. Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever.

They aren’t followed, but above them the shape of a man does briefly appear at the side of the cliff, partially obscured by the brush and overhanging rock between him and the party’s path, dim moonlight illuminating his white hair and the rain around him. He’s looking out at the sea, thinking more than guarding, and as long as they’re quiet for a minute he won’t look down before retreating back to the ruin.

Ahead of them, the path twists and then vanished entirely for several feet, lost to rock slides—a hazard that requires climbing up or across the cliff face to reach a steadier foothold, and a warning to be careful. The rest could give way too.

[pinprick]

Let them keep making noise up there. Nathaniel stops climbing and motions for everyone to stop until the man above steps away. Then the hard part begins. He takes his time, picking the path up and making sure the person below him knows how to proceed. He isn't exactly a light man, and makes sure everything will hold his weight before trusting it.

[tactical_alert]

He sings it in his head, But the one who repents, who has faith, Unshaken by the darkness of the world-- He'd always found it funny how people can read the same words and get something completely different out of it. The Chant is good, but the Chantry? He supposes having doubt in his heart would make him an enemy to these people.

The only time he truly stops is to fruitlessly wipe water from his face. He can barely see the bottom, if he squints and focuses, but if they've come this far without being followed, surely they won't be now. Focuses instead on following, on getting up and around carefully but quickly. Or as quickly as one can when trying to be sure-footed. He'd rather be taken out by a mage than be felled by a fall from this height in embarrassment.

[galvanising]

Nell finds herself singing the next verse in her head as well, the words hummed low beneath her breath as she climbs. And boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker's law and creations, she shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction. She stops as soon as she notices.

The path ahead disappears and she stops to watch Teren and Nathaniel navigate, belatedly cursing allowing the Warden--heaviest of the group--to push ahead, where he might crumble a path the others could follow, or tumble backwards and bowl the rest of the team with him. But up he goes and Nell follows, up onto the cliff-face, moving slowly as she finds hand and foot holds in the slippery rock to climb around the missing section.

[exequy]

The Maker isn't with them, because the Maker is a passive observer in all things until further notice, but they do make it up the cliff with only a few near-misses caused by handholds or footholds that crumble when touched. There are no other hazards, save the narrowness of the path and the rocky beach waiting below, before the team is able to emerge at the top. Keeping low among the brush and scraggly trees growing around the walls provides a small amount of cover, but not enough to allow recklessnes.

The structure of the old ruin that the mages were seen retiring to between other tasks is one that’s partly crumbled, portions of the walls now filled with wooden slats. It's a small structure, a single room, and in the gaps between the wood warm firelight flickers. Enough shadows pass as people move within to signal at least three people inside, maybe four.

One of them is the singer. The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. Another two are speaking:

"We cannot continue to use lyrium at this pace," one of them says, Orlesian-accented, in the slow and creaking tones of an old man. "Especially the girl."

The singing stops long enough for a young Fereldan to say, "I'm fine, Aldéric. I don't mind."

"She doesn't mind," another female voice says, warm with approval, or maybe smug with an argument won before it began.

The older man grunts and grumbles, "You need more of us."

There's a door to the building, one that would have been observed before, facing inward—not impossible to reach in the dark, but it would require risking being sighted by the compound's other residents or guards. Or there's an old window, large enough for one person at a time to slide through boarded over with interlocking boards that would be noisy but possible to remove in one piece.

[galvanising]

When they make the top of the cliff and the time comes for creeping through the brush and the remains of the wall on this side, Nell signals Teren to go first. Repairs to the sea-side defenses have clear not been a priority for the castle's current occupants, but that doesn't mean there's no makeshift alarm system hidden up ahead, and she has seen the woman's trap-finding skills in action before.

The rest of them she halts with a raised hand, and they linger tucked behind the wall, watching, listening. The conversation only muddies the waters further about whether they're about to attack hapless victims or willing participants, but perhaps at the end of the day it doesn't matter. She turns back toward the gathered team and speaks, quick and quiet. "Signal for the distraction, and when it begins we'll go around the corner for the door. Inside, priority is taking the mages out of action as quickly and quietly as possible. We will not risk this mission for a couple lives. Understood?"

[pinprick]

Nathaniel's mouth makes an unhappy line, but he nods assent. The Wardens deal with some of the worst monsters in the world, but that is what makes it clearer and easier--they are monsters, almost exclusively, and there is no grey area when dealing with them.

"Understood."

[ichaer]

Ciri, meanwhile, is less unhappy with the plan given from Nell. Although her gaze is focused elsewhere with noted focus toward any unfamiliar sounds that might stand out in the rain. The conversation, she finds, leaves her feeling little or perhaps less than what she felt coming into this mission. Her thoughts are instead circling around the image of Inessa, scared and on the verge of tears, finding little left but to abandon her life in fear.

In the end it was no better than the fear they had lived through at Weisshaupt. She hesitated to fight then but that wouldn't repeat here with her friend's well-being and life on the line.

[galvanising]

Nell nods once it's clear they've understood, and lifts a hand, a quick flare of flame above her palm waved back and forth a couple times in signal, then ducks back down.

A minute later, a loud explosion booms from the other side of the complex, back toward where the rest of the Inquisition team lies in wait. Nell makes a 'forward' gesture with one hand and darts around the corner as planned, crouched low, head on a swivel looking for anyone who might spot them. She keeps near to the buildings and the shadows they provide as she approaches the door into the mage quarters. Once there, pressed up against the wall of the building, she draws the blade at her hip. It's not her staff, but between the close quarters and the phylacteries, this seems like the safer play.

Nell checks back over her shoulder to be sure the rest of the team is ready, quick glances to make eye contact with each of them and ensure they're ready to go. Then she reaches out and turns the knob, easing the door open as quietly as possible.

[exequy]

The explosion rattles the rocks and claims the attention of most of the compound's occupants, and those inside the building are no different. When the door cracks open, two of the people inside are crowded around one of the small boarded-over windows, trying to peer between the slats to see what happened outside. The third is standing behind them, and at first she's the only one who turns at the sound of the door creaking.

She's a middle-aged woman with a soldier's bearing, but she isn't in armor, or armed. She has to duck to the side to pick up her sword and pull it free of the sheath and attached belt.

That's the sound that turns the other two, both wearing robes: a girl no more than seventeen, the one who had previously been seen helping the militia outside shield against fire, and an older man with white hair who's the first to glare and to speak.

"What is this?"