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

[somethingwild]

Newt can feel his teeth chattering down in his throat, the cold has settled in so fast and deep. His companion is proving as sharp as he is in terms of the way she settles next to him. He feels as awkward and uncomfortable as he had back before the members of the Inquisition found them and they all had to huddle for warmth at night.

He clutches his wand tight, the light at the end of the wand the one spot of comfort he can think to relish for the moment.

He grimaces as he feels the blanket shift towards her. Stubbornly, he holds on tight to his side, determined not to lose any warmth.

He snorts at her request. "Besides the time I wound up stuck in a hole in the ice with strangers, fought off demons and some giant scarecrow monster, and almost starve and froze to death in the wilderness, you mean?"

He is almost certainly cranky from the long past few days. This sudden storm has done nothing to improve his mood.

[misdirection_hex]

The Inquisition's workings can't very well grind to a halt because of one elf's mortal terror of snow, and people to whom a modestly influential mid-level diplomat can't say no have decreed that Vandelin's skills would be of use here. He has cleaned the general store out of socks, and enlisted the deepest healing his cousin could provide for the old and agonizing frostbite sequelae, and that's the best he can do.

It is still, in its way, better than walking to work every day past Kit's empty office. Until now, the cold and accompanying pain have felt like a reasonable price to pay for the reprieve. He has not, however, banked on the notion of getting caught outside his own shelter in a storm so rapid in its onset that he's only half-certain that the thing he manages to grope his way towards even is a tent. He ducks inside, gasping with the cold and crusted with windblown snow.

The light from the wand is enough to make out who the other occupants are, with elven night vision to do the rest of the work. Between Melys and the stranger, he'll take his chances with the one who hasn't tried to mug him yet. Bygones are not quite bygones. He arranges himself primly on Newt's other side as if he's intended to be here all along. There's no suspicion in his expression at the light, or the wand itself, though he doesn't know how it compares to the staff he's brought in with him.

"We're in luck," he says. "Two mages ought to be more than enough to keep us warm if we don't burn the tent down in the process."

[somethingwild]

Newt tenses, his entire body held taut, as the stranger enters the tent. Just in time, by the guttural sound of the howling winds and the brief glimpse of the snow falling hard and fast he catches. He shivers, in spite of himself. He reluctantly moves to provide enough space for the newcomer, even as he becomes only too aware of the fact that he is now stuck in the middle. He shifts his wand so as to avoid potentially poking this new stranger in the eye.

His gaze falls on the staff their new companion brought into the tent with them.

He grimaces. “Well, I make no promises,” he grits out between his chattering teeth. “With the way my my magic is lately, we just might.”

[misdirection_hex]

The poking is a valid concern; Vandelin does have more eye real estate than most, and they gleam with catlike opacity when the light from the wand hits them. His expression is nonetheless sympathetic, if modestly so.

"I've heard that gets better," he says. "You're in good company with the other rifter mages, and I've never heard of any reason to malign their magical skills." He doesn't have a great deal of firsthand experience with rifter magic at all, beyond taking advantage of Madame de Cedoux's tea-warming glyphs, but Vandelin is not one to admit to the existence of gaps in his knowledge.

"But I can take care of the fire for now, unless there are any objections."