faderift | the days that bind us

They reach the spot around noon: the ruins of an old fort on the cliff's edge, stone half-crumbled but repaired with new wood, and a shocking amount of activity compared with how empty the rest of the region is. They spend the rest of the daylight hours surveilling the place from a safe distance, hunkered down behind rock formations, peering down from a hillside, observing and counting their enemies, biting their tongues and thanking the Maker for the rain when two of them burst into flames in unison.

For the most part, those inhabiting the fortress go about the usual business of maintaining a stronghold: cleaning, eating, and training with swords and shields. A keen eye might note that, while the men and women in the courtyard are of varying age and obviously limited combat experience, they're being instructed in strategies for standing against magic. At one point a mage even emerges to demonstrate, throwing fire at their angled shields on command, then ducking back out of sight as soon as she's told she can leave. And when the wind briefly stops howling and it's quiet, it isn't impossible to hear voices floating out from the fortress, and snatches of conversation—along with an invigorating pre-supper sermon from a Chantry Sister about the righteousness of their cause, the dangers of magic and the corruption of the Inquisition that's using it so freely—confirm what was already easy to suspect.

However nice it would be to go argue directly, the team has to lie low and wait until several hours after sunset to strike under cover of darkness, when the camp is quiet and the mages are (experience so far suggests) safe from phylactery attacks.

[ ooc | you can rp amongst yourselves here if you want to rp any part of the wait! ]

Surveillance suggests that the mages reside apart from the others, presumably to avoid infecting them with magical cooties, or whatever. It's ridiculous, but convenient, offering an opportunity for a small team to infiltrate the fortress and neutralize them, leaving the Inquisition's mages safe to attack without worrying about spells being cast on their phylacteries when they do.

It's a small antechamber on the side of the ruin that's both more run-down and less refurbished, boards haphazardly plugging holes between jagged chunks of stonework, canvas still stretched across half the roof. The problem isn't getting in, it's getting there to begin with: given the guard rotation patterns, by far the best approach is to creep up from the beach, navigating a narrow goat path up the cliffside. In the dark. In the rain.

[ ooc | one log for nell, malcolm, ciri, nathaniel, and teren. it will be gmed! ]

A. DIVERSION

It has been a long day of waiting, and the stress has only increased since the infiltration team left to get into position. Finally there's a signal from the team, a brief flare of flame, waved back and forth three times: the sign that indicates that they are in position. It's time to create a diversion to draw out the forces in the fortress, ensuring they don't get a chance to run to the aid of their mages before the infiltrators can neutralize them, and clearing a path for the team to get back out.

So go on. Divert.

B. BATTLE

It's pitch black outside except for the torches borne by the fighters who come streaming out of the fortress to see what's happening, and the occasional glimpse of moonlight finally sneaking through the persistent cloud-cover. Few of those present are competent enough to fight with one hand while holding a torch with the other, and the majority of them end up on the ground within moments after the battle is joined, dropped in favor of swords, axes, clubs, even a couple polearms. Of course once they're left on the damp ground to be rained on, the torches go out in moments, leaving the battlefield extraordinarily dark, lit only provided by the fire and flashes of lightning the Inquisition's mages provide themselves. It makes distinguishing friend from foe difficult, so it's helpful that so many of the enemy seems to enjoy spouting verses from the Chant or shouting insults at the mages.

The mob consists primarily of a half-trained civilian militia in homemade armor, as well as a few of their dogs. Many of their swords are edged with magebane. It's not enough to incapacitate anyone for more than a few second, but enough to cause problems if you're caught by a blade. And among them, too, are people wielding the same abilities as Templars, albeit with little of the discipline or finesse one might expect from the Order. They're all impassioned—one might even say fanatical—and won't go down without being forced to.

[ ooc | you can make your own adventures fighting the general mob as new replies to this comment, and/or tag into the specific named enemies in the comments below. the fortress and its occupants can both be wrecked without repercussions, as they're isolated and there aren't any innocent bystanders present, so have at 'em. ]

Commands for the mob are shouted into the dark by a Fereldan voice, one attached to a middle-aged man in stripped-down Templar armor. He’s no one anyone would recognize, however, from any Circle or post. He wields a Templar’s abilities to silence magic and lash out at those using it, as well as two magebane-dipped knives deployed in a quick, backstabbing style that’s more often learned in alleys than abbeys.

Whatever else he is or isn’t, however, he’s certainly in charge of the fight, marshaling the militiamen into something that resembles order. Finding him in the frenzy and silencing his orders, one way or another, will leave the rest in chaos.

[ ooc | this fight won't be gmed; use the info provided to control the npc yourselves, and let us know if you have questions! it's up to you whether the npc is killed or spared at the end. ]

In the course of the battle, under the cover of darkness, two forms try to slip away deeper into the ruin—something that would be easier if one of them weren’t slow and the other weren’t enormous.

The enormous one is Randall, a young man with hands as large as some helmets and an battle axe that might have been designed for a Vashoth. He’s Fereldan, with the rugged look of a farmer, and at the other’s beck and call. No one will reach Warrick without cutting through Randall first, and no one will cut through him without hearing that his family is dead because of mages and their rebellion and he intends to cut every spellbind down.

The slow one is an old man, making his way with Randall's protection toward one of the back chambers of the old fortress. Age has bent his shoulders and shrunken his frame, but he still holds himself as well as he can like a man more accustomed to being formidable. Once cornered he'll stand his ground, with a sword and shield and a Seeker's ability to burn the lyrium in anyone's blood.

He's Seeker Soren Warrick—former Seeker Soren Warrick, forcibly retired over ten years ago when his age and an entire career investigating apostates left him seeing blood magic in every dark corner and abominations whenever he closed his eyes. (His ire is not solely for mages. He's also likely to treat any Templar like an errant dog that can't be trusted to handle itself without a firm hand.) The Chantry has failed, he'd say, and so has the Inquisition, and if no one else remembers why magic is dangerous, he's going to see that they're reminded.

[ ooc | this fight won't be gmed; use the info provided to control the npc yourselves, and let us know if you have questions! it's up to you whether the npc is killed or spared at the end. ]

The Chantry Sister seen before can be found on her knees in a makeshift chapel, reciting the Chant until she's interrupted. She'll make no claim of innocence, with obvious contempt for any mages present that stops just short of spitting, and she'll refuse to answer any questions unless she can do so with the Chant. But she'll cooperate with instructions for however long it takes for her captors' guard to slip—at which point she will unveil magebane-dipped daggers and stab whoever she needs to to make an attempt at escape.

[ ooc | this won't be gmed; use the info provided to control the npc yourselves, and let us know if you have questions! it's up to you whether the npc is killed or spared at the end. ]

Edited 2018-02-27 19:19 (UTC)

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. ]

{ 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.

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."

Before battle, Inessa spends her time secluded as much as possible. During the day is when she's vulnerable to magic, and she doesn't want anyone else caught in what could be a very literal blast. Garahel would be included in this, but no matter what she says and does, the stubborn mabari remains at her side. So she sits and waits quietly, a little on edge with nothing productive to do and her tormentors nearby. Lost in thought, she'll glance over only slightly upon hearing footsteps.

"Keep your distance." It's not spoken coldly, but with underlying tension. As one of the afflicted mages, she can't guarantee anyone's safety.

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.

"It's another day when it's a good thing I'm not possessed," he says quietly in a light voice that doesn't reflect how he's feeling. Justice would have had him down there already, and Anders wouldn't have tried to fight it because he wants to lay waste to these people.

Anders is laying against rocks near the top of a hill, watching through a crack in them, figuring that he'll be hidden when attacked again. Not if. But Maker is he looking forward to returning the favor.

"I've decided lightning is the worst. So I'm mostly going to use lightning."

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."

The armor says everything Anders feels he needs to know. This is yet another who misses being able to hurt mages, and it is time to hurt him in return since nothing else will serve as a teacher. It's... a little disquieting to wonder briefly if that's something he would have thought before Justice, but he pushes that away. He is who he is due to everything in the past, not possession alone.

Anders shoots lightning at a tree behind the man who seems to be in charge. It falls, but doesn't hit the Templar. That's fine. A tree killing the man would be far too merciful. It does, however, have the Templar glancing behind himself for a brief enough second that Anders feels safe enough to reveal his location a second time with a second lightning bolt that streaks brightly forward to strike the man's armor and stagger him back some.

Edited 2018-02-26 01:17 (UTC)

Nathaniel is squinting at the fortress, trying to size it up like a puzzle he's about to put together. "Yes, love. Do you think it's possible the mages casting these spells are under duress? It's all set up a bit...prison-ish."

Edited 2018-02-26 01:22 (UTC)

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."

For several moments he's quiet. The mage they've seen was only there briefly, and it's clear that the Chant and Chantry are the main inspiration behind this. He's angry, he's hurting from the last attack still because he doesn't want to use too much magic when he may be in combat shortly here, but at the end of the day they could be prisoners like so many mages before them.

"Yes," he says finally. "They're either willing hostages, believing everything that's been forced on them about mages being dangers and needing to be controlled, or unwilling and they're aware that they're being used and hurt. Even now the power between a mage and a templar or a mage and a seeker is imbalanced."

The waiting gives Anders time to fret, worry, stress... and work. Dragonstone is always in decent supply around the Inquisition, it had been easy to get, and for the other there's always Darktown. The mixture smells awful, but at least thankfully he's mixing and casting on his own off to the side - he's not about to teach this to anyone.

When the signal is given Anders slips from cover toward the ruin, portioning the blend quickly before getting back. It's far less than last time since he needs to destroy far less.

"Close your eyes." It's a hasty whisper to those he's rejoined and then he casts, causing the wall to glow red briefly before it explodes inward, blowing a hole into the ruins. That should absolutely serve as enough diversion to give the other team some cover.

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.

Dammit. Nathaniel wanted to hate these people. He hates the rest of them, these mad fanatics, but he can't hate prisoners. His arm winds around Anders' waist and he kisses his sun-warmed hair.

"If they surrender, we will take them prisoner. Considering the specific hours of the day that they hurt you, they probably don't have full access to the phylacteries. They must have been escorted and supervised. So long as we can keep them separate from the phylacteries, there's no need to hurt them more."

He leans into the hold, anger fading for the moment. It's impossible to stay mad when Nate is kissing him and about to fight for him.

"Taking them prisoner might be a mess." Anders swallows, looking back toward the fortress. "We take them to the Inquisition and then what? They're put under Templar authority again? Not like I think we should kill them, they've had enough of a time over it but... If there's evidence that they were coerced and forced, what happens if the guard... slips up? And a few mages escape?"

It isn't a mercy to free them from a cage for them to be caught in another for them to be put in yet another.

"One thing at a time," Nathaniel says gently. "But they won't be under Templar authority either way. If they are being forced to do this, they could be considered refugees. Given the same status as any mage of the Inquisition."

A beat.

"And I'm not conscripting them," he adds, not that he thinks Anders would suggest it.

"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.

He nods. The mages have to turn out to be prisoners first, and taken alive second. But he'll certainly do what he can to make sure they don't have to deal with the constant guards Benedict does.

"I know. I wouldn't ask that, anyway, unless their lives were in direct danger and they were clearly not to blame. We've good reason for not recruiting right now. And... I appreciate what the Wardens have done for me greatly, but the risks," of Joining, he means, and he figures Nate understands the unspoken words, "are only worth it if we've lost and the Circles come back."

Anders takes a breath, jerking his thumb toward where there's more shouting about the Chant. "If this sort wins. The sort so many are trying to pretend don't exist."

"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."

the days that bind us

I. WAITING & WATCHING

II. INFILTRATION

III. FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

KNIGHT-COMMANDER BRETT

SEEKER WARRICK & RANDALL

SISTER JOCELYN

IV. RECOVERY

Christine | ota

no subject

Inessa, OTA

Inessa, OTA

For Nate

no subject

OTA come join

no subject

no subject

no subject

Diversion, ota

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject