OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

IV

[dashing]

Herian Amsel has a soft spot for rifters, and certain flair for the dramatic. She seems to step out of shadows, dressed in black robes wit some light black leather armour and scalemail, designed to keep her quick. Perhaps it's just as well, with the red templar that seems to bear down on them now; it is a horrifying sight to behold, a once-human knight now a warped monstrosity, flesh mangled and re-shaped, red crystals jutting from its body.

It is massive and powerful, and it just seems to retching—

And that is how Herian found herself tackling a man who had not yet spotted the monster approaching from behind, managing only just to keep them both from being covered in a foul, red liquid that the creature vomits. It isn't blood, but a liquid form of the dangerous red crystals around them.

"My apologies," she says, going to haul the stranger up. "I am afraid we've an adversary to see to."

[somethingwild]

Newt is trying to keep up with the pace of everything going on around him. Even at the edge of the fray, people and what look to be like knights, only with mangled flesh and red crystals sticking out from their bodies, embroiled in fighting.

With his head whipping back and forth, trying to remain alert, he is rather caught off guard when the woman tackles him to the ground. He yelps, a sound that resembles something more beastly than human, and flails as he hits the cold ground.

Just in time, it would seem. He glances to where the creature with the crystals appears to have thrown up some sort of red liquid.

He blinks as the same woman who tackled him now helps him up. "That's...that's quite alright," he says, a little shakily. "That liquid - is that the red lyrium I've been told about?" He gestures towards aforementioned adversary, lifting his hand with his wand in it. "Is that what happens because of the red lyrium?"

[dashing]

His accent could be mistaken for Ferelden - her own could be mistaken for Irish, in turn. "Yes."

Herian swallows, her gaze trained on the once-templar. "These were honourable men and women, devoted to their service of the Chantry. Some of them would have sought power hungrily, but I believe most of them were simply following orders given them when they began to consume the red lyrium."

The monster, the former knight, bellows at them, though it moves slowly for now, weighing them up as they watch it. "Once they are rendered thus— I do not know of any instance where it has been undone."

Better to see them put down, some part of her knows, and yet it is not concrete, is not certain. It cannot be the best way, and yet is there honour in letting someone live on as a corruption of what they once were? Is there justice or compassion in either course?

"My orders are to see those here present slain. I will not condemn you if you've no desire to partake in such an action."

[somethingwild]

Her accent is familiar, he realizes, once he's less distracted from the crystal being spewing red liquid everywhere. Irish, he thinks, except that they aren't anywhere near Ireland, as far as he can tell.

He starts at her explanation, shock in his expression. "They...they were told to take the red lyrium? But why? For what purpose?" The idea of anyone following orders blindly makes him uneasy, especially when he can see the results so blatantly.

And that these creatures can't be returned to their former states, well. That's even more horrible to contemplate. But he wonders, too, if anyone has tried to turn those turned back into themselves. He wonders how hard they've tried, or whether they've just come to the conclusion that killing those corrupted is the easier (and neater) solution. For the greater good echoes in his thoughts, and he has to repress a visible shudder, though he doesn't entirely succeed in doing so.

He's grateful for the offer, especially now that he has a better idea of the situation. Still. He can't just do nothing.

He straightens his shoulders, his posture tense and rigid. "I would rather not slay, if I can help it," he admits. "But I do see that these...corrupted need to be stopped. If we work together, might I help cover you if you...do what you have to do?"

It's not a compromise he's particularly keen on, but he can't think of a better plan.

[dashing]

"Templars consume lyrium to grant them their abilities," she says, watching the horror carefully. "I fear further explanation will have to wait."

The horror bellow and begins to swing its monstrous arms towards them again as it advances - Herian only has time to nod an agreement to the rifter as she draws the hilt of her spirit blade before the red templar charges. There is not time to say she has no love of killing, and even if she did, she is not sure it would help; death is still the result.

At least when this is done, she can explain, elaborate. Some can be saved, but not those this far gone. With a surge of magical energy, a blade forms, magic focused to the weapons shape, and in her other hand she draws a blade that crackles with ice as she raises the blade to try and block a brutal downward strike from the horror. "Do not touch the red lyrium," she calls to her ally.

[somethingwild]

"Understood," Newt nods. Provided that they make it out of this battle, there will be time for explanations enough later, he hopes. For now, they must fight, weary though Newt might be of it.

Newt steels himself as the corrupted being bellows, moving towards them with definite purpose. He pulls out his wand, gritting his teeth and prepared to use it if necessary.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he can see as she appears to magically summon weapons to her aid. He nods at her warning as he decides to risk both exhaustion and his magic working at all to attempt a Stunning Spell.

"Stupefy!" He calls out as he aims his wand at the creatures chest. Much to his relief, the spell at least hits its target. He feels the drain on his energy instantly, his breath stuttering as he pulls back a bit. From what he can see, the spell might not work as effective as it normally would, but it seems to have slowed the creature down.

[dashing]

The magic he wields is different from her own. In place of a staff, he seems to carry something smaller, perhaps a dagger. Even so, better to keep him safe. She casts barrier over the rifter, and though it cannot prevent all injury, it can at least lessen the severity of some blows.

She grits her teeth, and surges upward, slashing with her spirit blade. The ice sword is more a defensive measure, blocking one of its arms, as she drives her the spirit blade toward the creatures chest. A quick end was preferable to a messy one, but these creatures were horrifying in their strength as much as their appearance, and a single strike would not be enough to end it.

[somethingwild]

Out of the corners of his eyes, he notices that his companion appears to cast a spell over him. He doesn't have time to stop and wonder what sort of magic she's used, too tense and aware of the dangerous situation that they find themselves in.

He moves forward himself, trying to avoid being hit as he attempts to find weak spots to exploit. He grits his teeth as he makes to aim for just below the creature's chest, towards his stomach, when he feels the force of a blow to his own shoulder. He stumbles backwards but rights himself. As much as he can feel that such a hit will leave a bruise, no doubt, the pain itself is much less than he expects, and he suspects it's because of the magic his companion performed.

"Thank you," he calls out to her when he has the chance, ducking again to make another attempt at distracting the creature in hopes of allowing her to get a better shot. He attempts another spell, but it doesn't work. However, the sparks flying from his wand seem to catch the creature's attention, and so, making use of the backfiring magic, Newt attempts to use it to his advantage, ignoring the next drain of energy he feels upon himself.

[dashing]

Newt is very good at being distracting, it seems. The horror looks towards the spark, and the sight of magic infuriates the part of it that was once a devout templar. It lashes out violently to the rifter with one of its massive arms, focused on trying to get close enough to crush him.

Herian is able to take advantage of the opportunity afforded by her new companion. She lunges forward, and the ground beneath them shudders, flames busting up through the ground to scorch the horror and disrupt its course towards the rifter, as her spirit blade slices low towards its legs, so it falls to its knees with a tremendous crash.

It's still fighting, but it's furiously dragging itself forward on its knees. She hates it, hates that the ending of it is not quick, but instead drawn out with cruel cuts, but it seems necessary to make sure that they have a chance against it at all.

"Do you have any sleep magic?"

Better to grant some mercy, perhaps.

[somethingwild]

Newt manages to just avoid being struck again when the creature aims at him with one of his massive arms, pulling back to avoid further damage to himself. He suspects he'll have multiple bruises by the time this particular adventure is over.

He starts as the ground beneath them shudders, flailing and nearly falling forward onto his face, which would not have ended well for him, given his proximity to the creature. He can't help but stare, however, at the sudden surge of flames that appear between him and the creature.

"Not sleep, particularly, but I can try something," Newt replies, steadying himself as he raises his wand. This spell will likely drain the rest of his remaining energy. And it might not even work. But he has to try. "Stupefy!"

He aims the spell for the center of the creature's chest. Miraculously, he hits his mark, and the creature stumbles before he falls. Newt himself drops his arm holding his wand, swaying a bit on his feet. He quickly moves to sit down, the use of magic leaving him truly exhausted.

He can only hope that he's helped.