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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Sarah complies, though the expression on her face is more "why the fuck?" than "sure, take a look!" It's Cosima's face, for sure, though somehow harder. Same brown eyes, though. Same nose, sans ring. Sarah's upper lip is curled, doglike, in confusion more than malice, but it's overall not a very welcoming picture.

"What?" she says finally.

Maker's breath. She looks shocked, for a moment, and bow her head apologetically.

"Pray forgive me the rude demand," she starts, and then realises she has little clue of what to say next. "You bear a great resemblance to once I am closely acquainted with."

There isn't really any kind of social procedure to brace someone for such circumstances as these, she suspects. "Does the name Cosima meant aught to you?"

Yeah, okay, whatever, Lancelot.

That's what Sarah's about to say, before the name Cosima registers. She can't hide her reaction—the widening of her eyes, the way her head snaps up in surprise. She can't let herself get too excited too fast, though. Cosima's not a common name, but it's not unheard of. Still. The woman says Sarah looks like her.

"Tell me about her." Sarah's way of finding out if this is for real. No giving up of information until she knows that.

"Tell you about her?"

A reasonable enough request, but for a moment Herian looks at a loss. Not unhappily so, mind - there's a slight smile. "Cosima is... beyond words. Her— her kindness and her gentleness are unparalleled. She is capable of making friends wherever she might go, I cannot think of a single person in the Inquisition who has ever had any ill to speak of her. "

It is not enough. Herian's brow furrows a little, trying to find the ways to describe how wonderful Cosima is - because that was the question, right?

"We had a sickness in the Inquisition some weeks ago, and her dedication and her mind are one of the only reasons any cure was found. She is extraordinary in every manner that it is possible for a person to be so."

Oh, Jesus bloody Christ. Where to even start with this?

"I meant what does she look like, where's she from, what's her surname?" Y'know, shit Sarah can use. If this is her Cosima, it's not like Sarah would argue against any of the things this woman is telling her—though some of it she has no context for, which is disappointing—but... come on.

"Ah."

It's her default response when she's not sure how to respond to something, and Herian clears her throat a little awkwardly. "Of course, my apologies. She's from San Francisco in the state of California, does not consume meat, and she wears glasses. Her last name is Niehaus, and she told me that she has a number of sisters through complex circumstances. She's studying a doctorate in—" Maker, "Evo Devo."

Which sounds really stupid to say to someone who isn't Cosima. She's just decided she is never saying Evo Devo again, only Cosima can pull that off.

Sarah puts her face in her hands before Herian is even finished talking. She's not crying, because she's too exhausted to cry, but her shoulders slump and she exhales shakily in pure relief. Cosima will help them get out of here—Cosima will know what to do. Cosima always does.

"Oh, god," she breathes, and lowers her hands. "You need to take me to her."

Not terribly skilled with comfort, or at ease with physical contact, Herian nonetheless feels the urge to offer it sharply - one so similar to one so dear to her, and Cosima’s kin no less. Carefully, gently, she sets a hand on the strnager’s shoulder.

“I am sorry to say she is not amongst the Inquisition forces that travelled hence, but in our Kirkwall outpost. However, I can— we have communication crystals, if you should wish to speak with her before we return to Kirkwall. Then I will gladly take you to her.”

Communication crystals. Well, that sounds like some bullshit to Sarah. She sniff and shakes off the woman's hand, not rudely, just... please, let's not make this weird.

"When will we get there? How long?"

"A week, at the very least. Two, more than likely."

She sighs, and undoes a leather cord about her neck, a crystal hanging from it. "What is your name?"

"Two weeks?" She sounds disbelieving. Yeah, sure, she sees the sleds and the dogs and the conspicuous lack of cars or other modes of transportation, but... two weeks? It doesn't take two weeks to get anywhere on Earth, anymore!

"My name's Sarah," she offers, after a few seconds of sulky silence. Two fucking weeks. Jesus.

"Well met, Sarah. I wish it were under better circumstances. My name is Herian Amsel, I serve as Knight-Enchanter to the Inquisition."

Herian takes a moment dealing with the crystal, before she hands it over to Sarah. "Here. It is ready for you to speak with Cosima, if you wish." She hesitates a moment before adding, "I will give you some privacy, but if you could return that to me once your conversation has ended, I'd be much obliged."

"Whatever that means."

Despite her surliness, Sarah reaches out to take the crystal, holding it outstretched by its leather cord like she doesn't quite know what's supposed to happen next. "How does it work?"

Were she feeling less than charitable, Herian might meditate on the escalating impression that Cosima might have inherited the lion's share of charm in her family. Truthfully she thinks it and then dismisses the thought as both unkind and unbecoming.

"Simply speak. If she has her crystal to hand, she will hear you."

Well, she wouldn't be wrong.

"I'll bring it back when I'm done." Sarah closes her hand around the crystal and turns to find a private spot. She's still not totally sure she believes this is going to work, but anything is worth a shot. At the last second, she glances over her shoulder. "Thanks."

"Take your time." She can only imagine Cosima will have a great deal to say, given how long it has been since she had her family present to speak with. "Do not hesitate to seek me out if you've need of any other aid."

A while later, Sarah comes back, carrying the crystal on its leather cord. She holds it out for Herian to take. The expression on her face is hard to read, seeming to hold shades of sadness and relief and annoyance all at once.

"Thank you," she says, and takes a seat so she can finally eat her stew. She's not really sure if she should say anything else.

By the time Sarah returns, Herian has seen to it that a few others have food, and is claiming a place for herself by the fire, tearing a feel of bread.

"No thanks are necessary. If you should wish to speak with her again before we reach Kirkwall, please consider this at your disposal."

She clears her throat, a little awkward. Casual chats aren't really her thing. "Is... Cosima well?"

"Is she well?" Sarah looks at the other woman closely, trying to decide whether the question was meant as a joke or not. Herian doesn't look like the joking type. "You'd know better than I would, wouldn't you? She says she's been here almost two years."

Sarah makes herself comfortable, as comfortable as she can be in this place. Her posture is almost aggressively slouched, her legs spread with a total lack of concern for taking up space.

"Are you shagging her?"

Herian is poised to make a response to the first part, when Sarah delivers the devastating second blow. Please, she's not equipped for this sort of social calamity.

Her mouth opens, closes, opens again as she just kind of looks at Sarah. She no longer feels that she was overly condemning in thinking that Cosima inherited most of the charm in the family, or perhaps all of it.

Where to begin? Very calmly,

"Cosima has been in Thedas a long while, now. As long as I have served with the Inquisition, she has been hence." She does not immediately move to the topic of Cosima's sickness and the handling of it - it is not her place to discuss the illness of others without their permission.

It buys her time to try to formulate a less bewildered response to the latter. "We have been involved some months, but our personal affairs are our business alone. Rest assured that I hold your sister in the very highest regard."

Look. Listen. Sarah doesn't mean to come across as aggressively as she does. It's partly the way she's used to talking, partly that she's already uncomfortable and freaked out about the fact that she's been sucked through a rift into another universe. With magic. And that Cosima has been here for two bloody years already.

Anyway, her question wasn't meant with malice. She just wants to know what's going on, and Herian's answer is all fine—until she gets to "our personal affairs are our business alone." Sarah's mouth twists when she hears that one.

Here's the thing: a clone's personal shit is never just her business. What affects one affects all the rest, at least as long as they're still fighting for their freedom. It's not like Sarah wants to be all over her sisters and who they're sleeping with. It's just how it is.

"It actually is my business," she says, "so get used to that." Until Sarah decides she can really trust Herian, anyway.

It's a sort of mutual protectiveness, colliding unfortunately rather than moving in sync. Herian watches Sarah; it is always strange to see twins, especially when they are so starkly different from their siblings. Clones is what Cosima had said, and she is not sure she really fully grasps the full meaning of that, save that terrible things were done, that suffering has been a great part of the outcome for some of them. Perhaps now she is beginning to understand a little better, with the differences in their voice, the way Sarah seems determined to inhabit space and assert dominance.

She exhales, holding Sarah's gaze, not giving way.

"Until Cosima advises me otherwise, I will do no such thing." There is no heat to her voice, no frost, just an unrelenting steely calm. "She has told of those in her world that would spy on her for information, share intimate details of her life without her consent. I will not betray her confidences, not even to you."

If Sarah were feeling pettier, she'd roll her eyes. As it is, she stares back at Herian, unimpressed. She gets it, in a way. People who are together feeling like they're a part of this exclusive club where no one matters as much as they do to the other person. She's never felt like that, because she's not a fucking idiot. But in other people, it seems to be pretty common. Too bad for Herian.

"Yeah, never asked you for any," she says, conveniently forgetting that she just asked if Herian and Cosima were shagging—or maybe, more accurately, she doesn't consider that a "confidence."

Her head tilts very slightly, brow furrowed in a fairly indication of uh, you did though which is about as much of an incredulous response as Herian will indulge herself with. She does not know Sarah, and she has gone through much this past week. To discover Cosima is here as well would be a great deal to absorb.

"So long as we understand one another. My readiness to assist you in other matters stands, however." A very slight bow, polite and stiff in a manner that comes with formality rather than awkwardness. "I will take my leave. Seek me out if you have need of me."

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