faderift | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Again?" Newt asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. Ghosts are familiar; ghosts he knows, mostly from his time at Hogwarts and the ghosts lingering there. He'd grown fond of the Fat Friar, in his own way. "Are they frequently a problem, ghosts?"

He says nothing regarding the possibility of returning to warmth and shelter on sleds, nice as the idea sounds.

"Definitely backwards," he agrees. "I suspected as much, from what I've been told of this place. Though, for a medieval world, there's certainly much more technology than one would expect."

"Not frequently, but. Sometimes we get a couple haunted-ass places. Ghosts are a thing where you're from?" He's long since stopped thinking of himself as a ghost, but it still gets him curious.

"I...dunno about technology, dude. I'm used to spaceships and indoor plumbing."

“They are,” he confirms with a nod. “All sorts. Some are friendlier than others, of course.” The Bloody Baron springs to mind, all silent and brooding. No one ever wanted to encounter him in the Hogwarts corridors after dark.

“Spaceships?” He asks, intrigued. “There’s another man here who spoke of traveling to different planets. You might want to speak with him.” He bites back a smile. “I suppose this is especially backwards for you, then?”

"Oh my god. Someone else with sci-fi tech. Thank god. I think Rey's about all I have left on that front." Ever since Kirk left, anyway. And she's still more grounded, in a sense, than a starship captain ever was. "After a couple years, you get used to it, but some of us try to bring a little bit of home with us. Sometimes the rifts spit out items from home. You should see me in a pair of aviator shades." Which he may or may not have brought for the sake of when the sun does rarely come out and glint off of damn near everything.

"Or like...food. Definitely let me or a woman named Cosima know if there's food and drink you think could be made here that could bring a taste of home. I'm thinking of convincing the kitchen staff to make a bunch of pizzas for when we get back."

"See, there you go," Newt nods, curious at the man's enthusiasm. "More sci-fi tech, whatever sci-fi means."

"The rifts spit out objects from home?" He asks, eyes widening. There are quite a few possibilities of what he would most like to have with him from home, the mos obvious being his beloved suitcase and all the creatures in it. Except that, given how the rift affects his magic, he can only imagine what it might do to his suitcase.

"Aviator curtains?" He asks, curious about the turn of phrase. "I must say, I would quite like to see that."

He smiles wryly at the mention of food. "After our time stuck out there in the middle of nowhere, I will be happy to eat anything they could possibly provide."

"Science fiction, my dude. Only minus the fiction part where I'm from." Church can't help but laugh, this guy is still a little backwards to him. Correcting the incorrect turns of phrases as he goes. "And aviator sunglasses. They're big, kind of obnoxious fashion-wise, but they look something like a pilot would wear. Where are you even from?"

"Science fiction," Newt repeats, trying to understand. "Science that isn't real? Wouldn't that no longer be considered science, then?" Merlin, honestly. Muggles and their expressions. They do seem quite fond of contradictions, he thinks.

He smiles apologetically. "Ah, I see."

"Well, I was heading home from New York before this," he says. "It was 1927."

OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

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