faderift | OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

WHO: New Rifters & Inquisition Members
WHAT: A journey south to make new friends and kick some ass
WHEN: Drakonis 15-25
WHERE: Sunless Lands
NOTES: Violence and language assumed. Warn for anyting else. OOC post.

The Sunless Lands are not, in fact, sunless. This time of year there can be as many as eight hours of daylight, some of it blinding where it reflects off of snow and ice that stretches from the southern edge of the Kocari Wilds as far as anyone can see, broken only occasionally by rocky masses of land jutting out of the snow cover or barren tundra peeking out in patches where constant, unforgiving wind has pushed it aside. You'll be traversing this span primarily on foot—there are sleighs, too, pulled by hardy dogs, but they're carrying essential supplies rather than spare people. The only way to get a ride is to successfully feign passing out.

Beyond the dogs, the area isn't devoid of native wildlife: white fennecs hunt rodents underground, and a herd of excessively fluffy wild druffalo is seeking out whatever vegetation it can find. But hunting down a meal or two early and preserving rations for further south would not be a bad idea, because the further south the team travels, the more inhospitable the terrain grows, and the less life can be seen. And sometimes not much of anything can be seen, when clouds roll by and burst with snow thick enough to halt progress entirely for hours.

The nights are cloudy as often as clear, but when they are clear the sky is split by green and purple ribbons of light.

I. THE RESCUE

Two days' journey south, the monotonously icy horizon is broken by something new: smoke rising in interrupted puffs, an intentional signal. Someone is out there. Chances are, it's the rifters, with or without their first group of intended rescuers. But there's no way to be sure. And approaching with caution is wise either way. Rifters have strange powers (and strange personalities), and they've been out here for days now, dealing with demons and Maker knows what else on their own. For all anyone knows, they could be the reason for the rescue team's disappearance. Orders are to approach carefully.

Then, once contact has been made and initial concerns have been allayed, make sure those poor people have something to eat, and try to figure out where their original rescuers disappeared to.

II. THE STORM

After the rifters are recovered, there's still the matter of the red lyrium mine to address. Another two days' journey south will put the group within good range of the mine: not so close as to be seen, but close enough to be able to get there in a couple of hours as needed.

Halfway there, however, in the middle of the day, progress comes to an abrupt half when the darkest clouds yet gather suddenly on the horizon and barrel down on the group, bringing with them a glut of snow that reduces visibility to only a few feet and wind that roars so loudly you have to shout to be heard. Magic can help some with heat, but the storm shows little sign of quickly abating and with hours of deadly cold conditions to deal with, digging in and getting cozy for a few hours might be the most feasible solution for everyone.

III. THE VILLAGE

Shortly before the point everyone is aiming for—one marked by an enormous stone carving of an owl, several times taller than a man, that's inexplicably been left by the ancients in the center of the tundra—something else appears not far to the west. On closer inspection, it turns out to be a circle of low-sitting animal-skin tents pressed down into the snow to protect them from wind, rocky fire pits, and abandoned sleighs. Overall, it's a cross between camp and village indicative of a nomadic group that's staying a while but not forever.

It's empty now, with a coating of snow on most of the structures that indicates it's been at least a few days since anyone was here. Closer inspection reveals personal belongings inside the tents, including toys and clothing belonging to children—and, in many tents, chunks of red lyrium in the center or beneath the skins that form the beds, each piece emanating heat. They probably thought it was safer than fire.

Wherever they went, they don't come back while the Inquisition is there. But the activity does get noticed. A few hours after arrival, enormous white bears apparently moving in a pack come within a hundred yards of the camp and pace at a distance, watching the interlopers with wary interest. Some of them are wearing collars or harnesses decorated in the same style as the tents. For enough food, they may come closer, and they'll turn out to be abnormally tame.

IV. THE BATTLE

The red lyrium mine that Corypheus' followers built when their operations were crippled in Emprise du Lion is nestled in an icy canyon, with massive scaffolding built up the sides of the cliff and too many cages to count, though few of them hold living prisoners anymore. It's a massive operation, but one that's been crippled by its distance from civilization. It's sparsely guarded compared to its size, and other than the cliffs, it has minimal natural protection. The enemy has magic-silencing Templars, enormous behemoths, and a chained white-furred giant, but they are clearly not prepared to be attacked.

Ahead of the onslaught, traps are set and any surviving prisoners are evacuated under cover of darkness. Everyone else sent to fight either creeps down shortly before dawn, rappelling quietly to avoid notice in the dark, or waits at the top for the first surprise strike to provide enough distraction for them to descend more openly. If anyone has been particularly nice to the bears (see above) then it is entirely possible they'll allow themselves to be ridden into battle.

Once their presence is known, their orders are pretty simple. Destroy it all. Leave no one behind and nothing worth returning for.

Fire is a good strategy. Red lyrium doesn't do well in heat.

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The scouting party appears through the swirling snow storm fog, coming into camp from the opposite side, having just explored toward the last cardinal direction. Nothing for miles and miles, it seems. Iorveth’s mind had been heavy the entire way back. They’ll have to either convince the others to abandoned camp, or sit and wait, hoping for a miracle to occur to save them.

Thankfully, it’s the latter that occurs. Just as he and the chicken-horse step up behind Newt, he noticed the silhouettes in the storm beyond the village, and hears someone calling out to them.

It isn’t until the loud second one speaks up that Iorveth understands these may be the people they’ve been waiting for to return. Turning back, he waves an arm for the rest of the returning scouting party to hurry up.

“It took use two days, but aye, it’s been closed.” He calls back, over Alex and Newt, pacing cautiously across the space between them. Neither of these two are fighters, and if these end up being less than friendly, Iorveth would rather be take the first attack.

Edited 2018-03-16 16:31 (UTC)

Hopefully the sight of a slight female elf is a little less imposing than the two men in the party who have spoken so far. Ellana steps out from behind Church, dressed in dark armor, but with the muffler already pulled down so her face can be seen under the hood.

"We'll take you back to camp. There's food, and healers there who can help. We're so sorry about this, but the first party who was sent for you disappeared. That's why it's taken so long to rescue you." It does seem likely in this harsh environment that the group from Skyhold ran into a harsh storm, but it's also possible that Red Templars had something to do with the disappearance. And, like it or not, the Rifters aren't getting out of this place until the Inquisition takes care of business first.

"Don't suppose those healers have medical degrees," she replies a little dryly, rolling her shoulders stiffly. Well, whatcha gonna do? She's just ready for it, honestly. Patent medicines, someone trying to strap a chicken to her or shovel a bezoar down her throat.

Alex huffs out a breath, looks between Alacruun, and then to Newt, taking a step close to see if he needs propping up, as she peels off one of the gloves and shows that yep, she sure does have one of those there marks. "Come on, mate," she murmurs to the wizard. "We get warmed up, I promise you can have another cuddle with Beauregard." (Which is the koalas name, by the by, though the little thing can't currently be seen for how its burrowed against her chest.)

"'Pain laser' is good, I was thinking 'rave lighting,' but your one is catchier." And more accurate, it seems, as Alex makes a face of discomfort.

"I don't suppose these have a more official title other than 'pain laser'?" Newt asks, managing to sound amused in spite at the hunger gnawing at his stomach and the cold seeping through to his bones. He peels off his own glove covering his left hand, reluctant as he is to do so, to show the approaching party that he, too, has one of the so-called 'pain lasers.'

The mention of food makes Newt's stomach growl.

He smiles at the promise of another cuddle with the joey. "Beauregard, huh? I like it."

He nods to Alex. "It's hard to argue against food and warmth in this weather." He turns back towards the approaching group, studying them as he would an approaching beast.

"I don't suppose you know what happened to the original group sent to rescue us? Or where they disappeared to?" He asks, curious and cautious both. After what he's seen over the past few days, he could imagine only too well what might have happened to the originally party sent out for them.

"The only healers we currently have are mages," Beleth offers, from under her several layers of clothing. "If you want one of the nonmages who've gone to a university, you'll have to wait until we get back." She glances around at the people gathered, eyebrows up. It's the first time they've managed to rescue rifters without having to wade through a pile of demons and worse, which almost makes up for the bonechilling cold.

Leaving the rifters to deal with the demons themselves is not a very solid plan for the future, though.

"We truly are sorry about your wait, though." She dips her head a little. "We're usually able to arrive around the time of the rift. We'll be sure to investigate what happened to the first team." Or, more like what killed them. Because, let's face it, the odds that it was just a hilarious misunderstanding and they were all alive and well were pretty low.

"Good to meet you, and It'll be great to get out of here. This has been less than ideal. I will say that we didn't see any remains of the first group."

Jang looks over the winter plains. "Don't suppose there's anything nearby they may have gone to?"

Addressing Newt, Ellana replies with, "We call them anchor shards. We can explain more later; don't worry. I know you all must want answers now, but everything can be better explained once we're all huddled around a fire and we've got food in our bellies." Which makes her wonder just how long the Rifters have been without food. Now she wishes she'd thought to pack something for the final leg of the rescue operation.

"There's a mining operation out here, but it's still a few days journey away. I guess a storm maybe could have gotten them off course and heading towards it? We'll figure it out." If so, it's definitely not good, but Ellana isn't set on that being the fate of the other team. A lot can happen out in the frozen wastes.

"Mining out here? What in the hell could there possible be that's worth this? Gold's wonderful, but you can't eat it, and the overhead in getting a mining system set up here has to be far in advance of any possible profits. Unless there's a water passage to an ocean nearby...Don't suppose there is one, by chance?" Jang's voice sounds slightly hopeful. Anything to keep from having to walk out of this place.

It's less the smallness or the female part that makes this woman less threatening to Iorveth, but the fact she's an elf. Or at least not human. Still, these people came out of nowhere, and Iorveth is paranoid as all fuck.

While there's still some distance between them and the newcomers, Iorveth turns his back to them in favor of facing the rag-tag group that's become his comrades. "For all we know, these people are what killed the others that made this camp. We know nothing for certain about this place - keep that in mind."

It's spoken loud enough that the few close to him could hear it, but the storm hopefully blocks any of their new rescuers from overhearing. They have nothing in the way of proof for their claims, and it's awfully convenient for them to show up just when the group of them as desperate for any kind of help, out of food and places to explore without abandoning their camp.

That said, back to welcoming new people as if he isn't watching them like hawks and expecting a knife in the back any second. He opens his mouth, about to reply, when something catches his notice. Something important. Uh. "...Where's Helena?"

"Be fair, we could say the same thing about you. It could all be an elaborate ruse to get us to drop our guard around you." Paranoia is all well and good, but no point in paralyzing yourself over it. On the other hand, it's not paranoia if they are, in fact, out to get you.

"Helena? Don't know..." Jang looks around at the group. "Anyone seen her?"

Jang is shot an utterly unimpressed, dry look. Really? When he fell through the same freaking portal you did? These people showed up out of nowhere, in a tundra they've already been scouting every day.

But whatever, if the others want to be idiots about it, far be it from him to stop them. The more concerning point is Helena, and the fact she was just behind him when they'd walked up.

God, someone's going to die, aren't they?

Instead of continue this chat, Iorveth's eye narrows, turning on his heels to search the nearby area for her, with no preamble, just pacing away from the group. Don't mind him.

It's cold. It's really, really cold, and if you think Finch might've gotten used to that (or the sunburn, how does anywhere have this much sun in winter?) this late into their journey, you're sorely mistaken.

Hands wrapped in mittens in bundled in sleeves shoved in pockets, a cheerful woolen hat pulled down over his ears, he glances between the crowd with a smile that's about as steady in place as a hut before a hurricane. It's really cold. And these people are — not people at all, if the mages are to be believed. It's all a little more than he properly signed up for.

"This bit's not on any maps," Through chattering teeth. At least not any he's seen, which until several days ago was somewhere between none and zero. "Couldn't tell you what's here."

"Listen, you don't have to come with us," A glance to Beleth; he's not entirely sure about that, however emboldened by the freezing cold, "But what's going to be worse than freezing to death and being eaten by bears?"

Edited 2018-03-17 04:20 (UTC)

"Eighties workout gear, jazzercise" she replies, dryly. "Or karaoke night when its invaded by a bunch of middle-aged men having an emotional crisis."

Alex is helpful, but acknowledges Iorveth's caution with a sidelong glance. She only barely caught it.

Edited 2018-03-17 04:24 (UTC)

He squints, mouth slightly agape. Some snow flutters in before he remembers to shut it, looking to the rest of the group. Those weren't words.

"Well, we haven't. Ah, um." He finishes lamely: "Got those."

It's best to be kind to the mad.

Edited 2018-03-17 04:30 (UTC)

"Caution is not the same as refusal." Iorveth tells them distractedly, more concerned about where the little murder human suddenly disappeared to, a sense of foreboding rising. This argument is more obnoxious than something he's committed to at the moment. "Use your brain."

He'd said to keep it in mind, not to act on it, christ. This is the problem with easy solutions appearing out of nowhere - no one thinks twice about accepting them. Except, apparently, Helena. Letting out a frustrated huff, he looks back to them.

"We have no other choice at the moment besides. We need to round up the others."

"Caution is good. Leaving the cold behind, even better. There was a question about healing?"

Anders had thought he'd overheard the word which is why he's over here, nose red from the cold and bundled up in serious layers. It's a far larger group of Rifters than usual, in a far more remote area.

"I'm one of the healers," he says. "If something's pressing I can see to it here, or we can wait until we're a little less exposed to the elements if it's not."

Newt hasn't been saying much, mostly just keeping an eye and ear open to the proceedings around them. Caution is all well and good, as he knows, but, frankly, he's cold, tired, and hungry; worrying doesn't solve anything, even as they have much to be fairly worried about.

"A little less exposed to the elements would be much appreciated," he says when the new man approaches.

"As would food."

If he is going to die, he'll take his chances out of the freezing cold, even among a group of people he doesn't know.

Having not heard Iorveth's aside to the other Rifters, she doesn't yet know that one of their own seems to be missing, so she nods to Newt and says, "If you happened to come through the rift with anything, let's get it gathered up so we can go." Tonight they can find food and rest. And hopefully this will be the last rift that opens up in one of the most inhospitable lands in Thedas.

A significant glance to the enormous, lime-green chicken —

"All of it?" If the flamingo wasn't an abomination, that thing certainly is. "I mean, we'll travel quicker without that. Without, all of that. Stuff. You brought through, I mean."

Nailed it.

Wow, son, he sees you eyeing up his chicken-horse, how freaking dare? Pointedly -

"Load it onto the bird. It's carried enough to serve several days of scouting, as well as the wounded, the weak, or those too whiny to walk."

You, butthole. He's talking about you. Mind your own property, jerk, leave his stupid ass chicken alone. Iorveth's wishing he were back with his own people, where he could order the one person to be pack-mule for the rest of the hike simply for complaining too much, while the actual mule (or, chicken-horse) gets to prance along by its lonesome. Civilized people, ugh.

Dismissing the elf boy beyond that, he turns to speak to the woman. "It won't take us long to pack. And if a dh'oine girl with blond hair in curls comes running, she's one of ours. Try not to kill her."

Edited 2018-03-18 08:35 (UTC)

"We will endeavor, as ever—" Kostos says from where he's wandered up to the back of the Inquisition cluster, then realizes he's rhymed unintentionally and pauses in order to hate himself, now, in addition to all of the other things about this he hates. The cold is one. (Only his face is visible, and there is snow frozen to his facial hair in small icy balls.) The chicken is another, though it would perhaps not be impossible to tell any local Fereldans on their way back north that it's a creature from Orlais. It seems like the sort of thing Orlais would come up with.

Not that being Orlesian would necessarily increase its chances of surviving Ferelden.

And if anyone is waiting for him to finish that sentence, they'll be waiting for a long time. It's ruined. Unsalvageable. He steps away from the group again to examine the camp and do a mental count of how many of them are here, and alive, and not eating the giant chicken or each other—impressed, but good luck figuring that out from his expression.

"Seems clever, or whatever."

Dryly, a smirk quirking the corner of her mouth, because that angry silence seems similar to the sort that she receives when she drops a particularly bad pun.

"Listen, Jazzercise," she says to Finch, whose official title is now Jazzercise, "but that's all we got in the world. You can pry it from my corpse." With a nod to Iorveth, "I'll help."

He looks, for half a moment, about to say something — head tips aside, mouth starts to open in adolescent bravado —

It closes again. Finch is a lot of things: Very cold still among them. It’s enough for a sense of self-preservation (healthy, where demons are concerned) to catch up with his tongue.

"We didn’t come with great sacks of grain," He points out. No green for it to forage here but the kind it's fletched with; there’s a reason they brought dogs for pack animals. Probably that doesn’t matter, though. Probably like most hens, it’ll take flesh. "Is all."

It’s decidedly not, but the decision’s already been made.

Edited 2018-03-19 22:43 (UTC)

"It hasn't seemed to bother her thus far." Iorveth shrugs a shoulder, glancing back to the chicken-horse and eyeing her almost suspiciously. What a freaking weird bird. "I'm not really sure what, or if, she eats, besides. Considering she came out of a dream."

Dream chicken, not real chicken. What even to dream chickens do? If he didn't dream her eating, does she eat? Come to think of it -

"I don't really know if she has any actual organs." He murmurs, more to himself, while narrowing his eye at the bird. God, this thing is weird. But it's his weirdo, so back off, everyone!!

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OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

Tossing this in real quick for the sake of scouting party peeps to be able to join

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this is a useless tag, i pinky swear i will let other people jump in now

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