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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When no more enemies can be sighted, Korrin paces around, getting the lay of the land in the immediate aftermath. She'll walk around and check on people, especially unfamiliar faces that might still be shell-shocked from arrival. Placing her staff on her back, she reaches into her satchel while calling out.

"You there! I didn't catch you name before. Are you hurt anywhere?"

D'Artagnan, who's honestly never the best patient, lifts his head. A quick personal assessment tells him nothing's seriously damaged. A few bruised ribs, a few new slices across his uniform. Blood in his hair. He's not sure where that came from. Anyway: Nothing serious.

"I'll live." Then he bows his head a little, because she's right; they weren't introduced. "I'm d'Artagnan, of the King's Musketeers of France. Thank you, Mademoiselle, but I am sure there's others more in need of aid. Are you a nurse?"

"Andraste's ass, you sound just like an Orlesian." Korrin stares for a moment, then shakes her head. "Nevermind, that's not relevant. I'm Korrin Ataash of the Inquisition and nope, not even remotely a nurse but I do have healing potions on hand. If you change your mind, I can spare one."

She doesn't seem that wounded herself; there are splotches of blood on her armor, but given the ease with which she moves, it's likely that blood belonged to the enemy instead.

She has healing potions on hand. Of course she does; why wouldn't she have healing potions on hand? Everyone should.

D'Artagnan bites down on that inner sarcasm. It doesn't really matter how preposterous magic seems to him. He's already seen it in action, and that's proof enough for the time being.

"I have no idea what that is," he says, of Orlesians in general. When they work out where they're actually going, perhaps he'll try and find out. It would be useful to know whether he ought to be offended. Trying to pry his mind a little further open, he lifts his chin. 'What do your medicines heal, Korrin Ataash of the Inquisition?" Yes, all right. Pried open it may be, but that doesn't mean he's ready to use the word potion.

"Battle wounds, more or less. If you have an illness or chronic condition, it's not going to fix that, though our healers might be able to help. This is just for immediate needs." She shrugs, then smirks a little. "Orlesians are citizens of the Empire of Orlais to the west and they sound...well, like you. Fereldans tend not to like them, since Orlais invaded them for a while, and the nobles tend not to be well-liked outside their own set, because they're usually assholes. But a lot of the Inquisition's roster is made up of Orlesians, too. It was just a comment, not a judgment."

An Empire full of people that sound like him. Well, honestly, d'Artagnan can't help but think that might be worth a look. He takes note of that other word, too - Fereldens. That must be what she is.

"Well, I'm no noble, and it's been some time since I invaded anyone."

No, she'd need to give him a couple of years for that one.

"Are you Ferelden? I suppose this is the kind of thing I'm supposed to know. It's likely my ribs could use your healing, if it would work for that."

Would it? Well, he'd soon see. If what she's saying is true, it sounds a lot easier than treatment by a standard doctor.

"Nah, I'm from the Free Marches to the north. That's where we're headed after this; the Inquisition has headquarters in Kirkwall." Korrin reaches into her pack and pulls out a potion, handing it over. "I'm not going to say it tastes great, because it doesn't, but it ought to ease the pain in those ribs. Ever had cough syrup? It's kinda like that, though I personally think it's less gross-tasting."

D'Artagnan reaches for it and brings it up to sniff. He frowns, and looks down into the container. This is magic? It involves fewer wands and sparkly lights than he'd envisioned. He probably shouldn't judge everyone by the standard of the people he'd arrived with. It's already clear it comes in different forms, but still. This looks more like the herbal medicine of a wise woman than real magic.

He shrugs.

"I haven't, but I wouldn't expect any remedy to taste good. Thank you."

He salutes her with it, before taking a breath and drinking it all down in one. It's cloyingly sweet, and he coughs to clear his throat afterwards. Then he realises the act of that hadn't hurt, and his eyebrows shoot up.

"I've never had a remedy quite like that. Is it always this impressive?"

Korrin smiles, glad to see that it helped."Some mixtures are more potent than others, but that's a baseline one, to give you an idea. If you really want impressive, get a healing mist grenade. That will heal multiple people at once; that's save my life more than once, when I was out on a job with my company, and on various missions for the Inquisition."

A mist that heals multiple people at once sounds more like the kind of magic d'Artagnan was envisioning, honestly. He smiles, though. Despite being a witch, this woman speaks like a soldier, and that's an attitude he recognises.

"I'll bear it in mind. Will you tell me about the Inquisition? And your company, if they're separate. Forgive me, but where I'm from, it means something specific, and mainly religious. I'm trying to understand if it means the same thing here."

"Yeah, they're different. The Valo-Kas are mercenaries, while the Inquisition has a specific cause and are considerably larger in scale. You're not wrong, there is a religious element; it was started by Divine Justinia the Fifth, to resolve the war between mages and templars. Justinia hoped that with enough support, the Inquisition could challenge the very tenets of the Chantry to enforce rights for mages. It might have worked, but we'll never know because the Conclave blew up, thanks to the asshole who created the Breach. The Breach created the rifts, the Chantry was left leaderless...it was a real shitshow.

So, our stated goals are more or less to find the person responsible, defeat him and restore order. We know who he is, thanks to him destroying our first base of operations, but actually nailing him down is the pain in the ass part. He's a powerful darkspawn magister, with allies in the Venatori sect and the Red Templars. That's not to say we haven't made strides; we gained an ally in Orlais, after we were able to help stop their stupid civil war. The Mage-Templar war was paused, so the Inquisition was able to recruit from both. We also recruited the Grey Wardens, after stopping their own shitshow that I don't need to get into right now. And we have two bases; Skyhold, a fortress in the Frostback Mountains, and in Kirkwall, a port city in the Free Marches."

It's fair to say that most of those places don't really mean much to d'Artagnan, though by now, he's heard of some of them before. Orlais is certainly familiar, and of interest to him given that it appears to bear some similarities to France. Most of the organisations she talks about are meaningless to him for the time being, but he still stores their names away.

"So the rifts, that's...green things, like the one we saw when we arrived." Rifts are bad. Rifts spit out monsters every so often, that's his understanding of them.

Still, he can't shake his fear that it might also have spat out him and the people he'd woken up beside. He's certainly heard no better explanation for where they all came from.

"If someone started all of this with magic, it stands to reason it could be stopped that way, too. What is the Breach, and where is it? Do you think it somehow brought us here?"

"The Breach was sealed; it kept expanding and was threatening to swallow the whole damn world, so the Herald -the first person to ever have that glowing green mark- did her part." Her eyes darken for a moment, before she continues.

"And yeah, I've no doubt it brought you all here, even if indirectly via all the other rifts it created. Corypheus was, to the best of our knowledge, trying to enter the Fade physically. Normally, people enter the Fade when they dream or die, but otherwise they can't. It's the realm of spirits and demons, not mortals. Entering it physically breaks all the rules, and at a high cost. One of the consequences is people suddenly arriving from elsewhere, like you. You were resting just before this, right, dreaming something? You must have traveled into the Fade and the damned rift lead you here instead of you returning to wherever you're from."

D'Artagnan blinks. He must have travelled into the Fade, yes of course he did. Obviously. Why didn't he think of that?

"I was asleep," he says, with all the wariness of someone who has no understanding of any of it. "Dreaming, I suppose, I can't remember what about. But it wasn't unusual, it wasn't different from any other night, except that I woke up here. How could I have travelled into anything? This magic doesn't even exist in my world."

That he knows of. He's fairly sure that he's right about that part, though. He thinks someone would have noticed if there were green tears appearing in the sky, letting monsters into the world. That couldn't have been overlooked, could it?

Korrin nods, unsurprised. "Plenty of rifters have said as much, but what Corypheus did was powerful enough to reach beyond just this world. I don't think that was his intention, but he's not the type to give a shit what happens to anyone else as long as he gets his way."

Sigh. "It sucks, I know. You didn't sign up for any of this, but I won't lie; we need all the help we can get. Every anchor is another means to seal rifts, something that no one else can do. And if rifts remain open, demons can always come forth."

"Yes. I've seen the...demons," d'Artagnan says, with hesitancy born out of his reluctance to admit they're any such thing. If magic is real, though, he supposes demons and hell and whatever else he always thought was nonsense could be just as real.

It's all very unpleasant. He hates being wrong.

"You said Corypheus. Is that someone's name, is he the one responsible for this? Who is he, what does he want?"

"He's an ancient darkspawn magister who has a serious hard-on for the glory days of the Tevinter Imperium. His grand idea was -and still is- to enter the Fade, find the seat of the Maker and make himself a god, because anything but Tevinter dominating and oppressing everyone is unacceptable. As you might have guessed, there's a long-ass line to obliterate the prick, me included."

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OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

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