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

[arcaneadvisor]

"The dangerous crystals are red lyrium," Morrigan would give them their name so it's out there; there's power in a name. "And those who take red lyrium risk becoming infected by it. Lyrium itself is enough to make a person witless. If that is what you desire then by all means, indulge in such foolishness."

Her staff has a wicked blade at one end, a smooth semi-circle of metal. Nothing threatening in Morrigan yet but she's seen enough Red Templars to not want others to make themselves into them.

[periastron]

"Red lyrium." She looks at the crystals, eyebrows raised. The scientist and the impulsive idiot in her remains very curious.

"I mean, infection, witless and foolishness still sound very in keeping with love and romance, if you ask me."

She didn't, of course, but Alex is not one to be reasonable at all times. Still - she looks at the stick she's holding, and to the staff the other woman is holding, and tosses her sad little stick to the side. "Don't match up to yours real good, does it?"

[arcaneadvisor]

"Were that the case, we might all rest easier however i am fortunate enough to never have been afflicted with either." So she says, with her hood tipped in feathers pulled up against the snow, all furs, teeth, strange bone fastenings to look every inch the Witch of the Wilds this woman would never have heard of at all. "Perhaps it won't be so long until we see folk with flesh made and sprouting this, they tend to be close by it."

Encouraging Morrigan, you're doing great.

Her laugh isn't unkind but the wind swallows most of it anyway. "This is Yavanalis, 'tis old enough that there is a tale to be carried with it but you are new enough I know not what you would understand. Come, you may call me Morrigan."

[periastron]

"I wish I could say the same," Alex replies with a dramatic sigh, though her tone and her smile are more sarcastically humorous than sincerely mournful. Shit happens, and so on.

Looking at the other woman, with her bones and teeth and trinkets, Alex would have to say that she feels kind of under-adorned. At least she has her stethoscope? But that's not terribly ornamental. As if on cue to help her feel a bit better about herself, though, the koala joey sticks his head up out of his shirt and blearily blinks at the two sources of sound.

"Nice to meet you, Morrigan, and Yavanalis also." She holds out a hand to shake, though she's not actually sure if that's even a custom here. "I'm Alex. Alexandra. Either suits. And this little blighter is Beauregard," she adds, gently rubbing under the little thing's chin. "He's managed to tough it out a lot better than I woulda thought."

[arcaneadvisor]

"Why needlessly complicate life when it does that itself?" Why indeed Morrigan when you were dallying with the spymaster for months well over a year ago and two of your nearest and dearest are Problem Elf-Blooded Orlesian and Secret Giant Rifter Elf Husband. But these are things strangers who've fallen out of rifts don't know, and won't know, so Morrigan can have the moral high ground because she is also made of spiders.

Whatever else there is to say is interrupted because-- "And what is a Beauregard?" Morrigan has seen many a strange creature in her travels to the lesser known parts of the Orlesian empire as well as that year the Blight hit Ferelden and she had to tramp through across, over, and under a good part of it but that? Oh and they're doing the physical contact thing, fine, Morrigan can suffer through that too.

[periastron]

"Preaching to the choir," Alex says, but it's a lie.

She releases Morrigan's hand, and grins. It's an obnoxious grin. Kind of delighted and genuinely excited to talk about koalas, but also: obnoxious.

"Beauregard is a koala. He's only a joey, but, he's gonna get a heap bigger than this. "Normally they're arboreal herbivores, but this little guy's not had any trees to muck about in for days, and he's been tucking into some meat, so he's definitely a freak of nature."

Or the product of a dream, but whatever. "They're native to the same country I'm from."

[arcaneadvisor]

Note to self: do not let this one near Kieran, he's only just left the big phase for the beginnings of the dog phase.

"A rather large name for such a small thing. Perhaps coming through the rift has changed him…" Oh Thranduil you pony-shifting old man revenge is a dish best served outback style. "Perhaps upon returning to Kirkwall you might speak with the head of research Thranduil, he has a pony come through a rift if such a thing would be of interest? We certainly have no... koalas or joeys in Thedas that I know of."

Anyway. "And where would that be?"

[periastron]

"Australia. Big place. Unique wildlife." A little tilt of the head, it's shitty sometimes, but it's home. "But I think I'd like the pony more 'cause it's a pony and I'm a veterinarian, more than 'cause of... rifts and research. 'Less it's medical research, then you can count me in."

Assuming the research won't tell her to strap a salamander to her throat for hiccups, or some such bullshit.

"What he lacks in size he makes up for in personality. Like me."

[arcaneadvisor]

"How unique?" Maybe Morrigan isn't involved in that project now but she'd still kept up looking into things; curiosity is not a beast easily sated after all. "We have no vet... veterinarians that I recall though the stables are full as is wherever the griffons are kept. Non-magical healers are in short supply also."

After the rifter debacle that dragged the Templars with it, perhaps having more willing hands might be welcome if the task can be managed.

"Is that so? Well, you have survived thus far, the longest before we have reached any of you with so many demons about. Such personality would make for an attractive host."