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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"Sister." She echoes. It’d be incredulous, if it weren’t just a croak. "Maker."

Disbelief doesn’t linger; the flash of metal and Sarah’s giving the knife back, and it’s with some improbable reserve of speed that she tries to stumble up, throws an arm out and snarls:

"Drop it."

As though she’s about to do anything about it.

Helena nods her understanding. She doesn't like it, but Sarah is clever. And her acceptance is so new, so precious, that she agrees even if she doesn't particularly want to.

"No stabbing," she murmurs, not quite meekly - there's a faint undercurrent to it that doesn't make it to being mutinous, but certainly has the element of chastised resentful child.

And then the knight is issuing orders to Sarah, and Helena hisses at the woman, teeth bared, lip curled back.

She shakes her head at Sarah, as she holds out the knife. "Keep it, sestra." (So she can stab the knight, if necessary. Helena is better at fighting, she doesn't need weapons.)

"Hey!" Sarah half turns to actually look at the woman approaching (more quickly than Sarah would've thought she could). She's still gripping the knife, but now she does her best to look nonthreatening, moving so the blade is pointed toward herself. "No one is gonna stab anyone, alright? No one is gonna touch anyone." Which, too late, but she just wants to defuse the situation.

Sarah tries to appraise the other woman and keep Helena from getting up at the same time, a somewhat difficult task. Jesus, she is not cut out for this shit. "Look, are you okay? I'm sorry, she's—this isn't her fault." Like, yes, this is actually totally Helena's fault. But Sarah is only thinking of the people who've hurt her, who've made her like this. "She won't try to hurt you again." Right, Helena?

Edited 2018-03-18 02:58 (UTC)

Wren limps a step forward, half-hunched, and it doesn't take a detective to see how little weight she's putting on the wound — or how deep the scowl on her face.

She seems about to say a lot of things, jaw working. At last, only:

"Watch her." It's a long hike to camp, and she's not about to haul anyone there on a bum leg. Would need to bash the girl's head a few more times to manage it, and that's not going to go over with the other. She jerks her hand in the direction of the departing party. "We need to move."

That palm stays out, expectant; a rough gesture towards the knife. Give it here, or hide it well.

(Better not to bring up the matter of restraints until she's got them in reach. The last thing they need of this place is another roaming unknown.)

Edited 2018-03-18 03:20 (UTC)

The long hesitation before she speaks could, in all fairness, be a cause for suspicion and alarm, but she unenthusiastically agree to Sarah's request. "Right."

And then comes a lack of retaliation, of rage, and Helena looks between the knight and Sarah, confused and cautious, mouth caught in a suspicious (but thankfully silent) snarl. With a sniff, she pushes herself up, to her knees, and surges to her feet, ignoring her own dizziness from the solid hit to the side of the head. Despite her arguably poor condition, she holds a hand out to Sarah.

"Come, sestra. We must not be left behinds."

Sarah slips the knife into the pocket of her leather jacket. It's not the best place for it, probably, but the leather pants she's wearing are tight enough to make the thought of hiding a knife in them unappealing. She looks to the knight—there, happy?—and then takes Helena's offered hand.

"Let's go." This is more to Wren than Helena. Helena doesn't get to choose whether they go or not. Helena has lost Privileges.

A limp in snow; she falls behind. Not far, but enough — there are words said into the crystal, there are people waiting when they arrive. They get the same welcome the others received: Warmth (what there is of it), food (what there is of that), blankets and wide eyes and questions of their health.

At some point in the thick of it, Wren vanishes. It’s not until they’ve been shuffled into some tent that she returns, bandaged and propped on a makeshift crutch and looking no happier for it. The shadow of something large and canine lurks in the flap behind her. Hoarsely,

"We need to speak." There’s a bundle, slowly unwrapped, with hands kept in view. A bowl, cloth, some sort of salve. She passes it to Sarah, doesn’t yet remove the rest. "And you need that dressed."

The head wound.

"Coupe," A short gesture towards herself, an introduction. "I command our soldiers here."

Some part of Helena is viciously pleased when she sees the woman returning with the crutch.

"Coop?" Helena's smile is lopsided. "A house for chickens, yes?" Spoken quietly (not that quietly) to Sarah, before she looks warily at the salve, leaning over to sniff at it.

Sarah ignores Helena's comment, just takes the salve and starts to glob it onto Helena's head wound, not much caring if it stings.

"Sarah," she says, "and this is Helena." She glances over Wren's shoulder, to the spot where she can vaguely see something large standing just outside the tent. Though she's outwardly staying calm, her heartbeat picks up at the thought of not being able to leave that way. "So speak, then."

"Caution is not foolishness. A strange land, strange events, no? The absence of choice."

"So take one. We are for a city: Civilians." Her head tips faintly aside to watch. Sarah's hand are occupied; shortly, Helena's face will be. "Children."

A moment longer — wait until her vision's obscured —

"Can you guarantee their safety?"

That's a bit of a hypocritical question. The rattle of links from the bag; the next glance shows chain in hand.

The salve stings, but she compliantly allows Sarah to see to the injury. She is used to hurts, to patching herself up. It is nice for Sarah to be seeing to her injuries, this time.

Even so, there is something outraged in her voice, quietly though she speaks. “I do not hurt children. They are innocent.”

The rattle of chain is a familiar sound, and she begins to tense.

Sarah turns at the sound of the chains, mouth opening in surprise, indignation on behalf of her sister.

"Helena would never hurt a kid," she says, and stands. She's still got the bowl in one hand and a sticky glob of salve on the fingers of her other one. "Neither of us would."

At least they don’t have that in common.

"And the others?" Wren lifts her eyebrow, and the shackles in one. "A year older, ten, twenty? You tried to kill me today, Helena,"

"Why was that?"

Because the last time she was vulnerable and weak, she was taken to the Proleathans farm. She was sedated and married to a strange man and they took something from inside her. A young woman tried to smother her.

Because her whole life has been a fight for survival, and people in uniforms have been synonymous with abuse. Because an army had come to escort them. Because she is bad. Because she is not chosen. Because violence and powerlessness are two of the only languages she knows.

She stays stubbornly (fearfully) silent.

This is happening, Sarah is pretty sure. Still, she attempts to stall, to change the other woman's mind.

"Look, this—it's not her fault. I'll be responsible for her."

Silence is enough an answer.

"I hope that you will." Her chin tips aside. "But I cannot risk my men."

"Consider it a temporary assurance, to be removed when we depart. Proof of good behaviour."

For what flimsy promises are always made under threat.

She still hasn't named a second choice, doesn't seem about to. They’d not be having this conversation, had she attacked another more vulnerable, had the injuries been more severe. Magebane and a trunk. (A knife and a pyre, and apologies to Skyhold.)

Helena doesn't point out that chains can be a weapon; bludgeoning, throttling. She does not say that she once strangled Sarah with a chain, in the time before. So recent, and yet, so far off.

"Departing to where?" Helena manages, pressing back against the side of the tent, away from the chains.

There is a dog at the front; a dog can be defeated easily enough, and even without her knife, she has her hands and her teeth to arm herself with. But even were she to run, how could she keep herself and Sarah hidden on the exposed ice plains? How far could they get without the supplies this army offers? Keeping Sarah safe meant staying.

Keeping both of them alive meant staying.

Sarah starts wiping her hand with the cloth that came along with the bowl of salve, more aggressively than she needs to. She's stressed, aggravated, afraid. She doesn't want Helena to be locked up in chains. Helena being locked up in chains may be the only way for them to get out of here in one piece.

"Just for a little while, meathead," she says finally in a voice that's almost defeated. "I promise."

Vedici had killed a man in chains, not so very long ago. But Vedici is gone. Someone else’s problem now, and she hopes —

Hopes this won’t be quite so much fucking work to manage.

"Kirkwall." She gestures to Sarah with the cuffs, another glance to Helena. Me or her? Who does it? "A city on the coast. Far north, warmer; a journey by land, then boat."

"There are others there, similarly-marked." Their hands. "There is shelter, welcome, if you wish it."

And if they don't, there's a whole lot of ice.

Sarah will coax Helena into the cuffs, but she's sure as shit not going to be the one who puts them on her. She crosses her arms against her chest. The rest doesn't sound great, but anything would beat staying here.

"Yeah," she says. "We'll go with you. I'm not chaining my sister up, though. You can do that."

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OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

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just hmu on disco if anything needs adjusting my dudes

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