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

[foxsays]

Stranger things have come out of a rift than your preferred blend, believe me. Well, and those of us who've come through; you're no worse the wear for it? We've had people arrive in snow before but never trapped, I'm sorry that you had to go through that señor.

[Best not to mention the sea and the monsters, that can wait for Kirkwall. Warm and settled. Better food with more brandy maybe. Patting her mount's neck when he maybe shivers (how do you tell when it's something this roly-poly really), Araceli sighs but it's mostly lost in the damned storm.]

Back the way we came. Most maps helpfully describe anywhere south of the Korcari Wilds as uncharted territories but since the rift that brought myself and others to Thedas, the Inquisition knows more or less where rifters arrive. I don't know how that works exactly there's magic involved as you've perhaps seen. [Thinking too long about rifts and the Veil when magic isn't really her whole thing outside of very certain discussions tends to get her nowhere beyond the beginnings of a headache fast though she could try. She's been here long enough.] Has the pain in your hand stopped? Or is it cold enough here not to feel it? [An attempt at a joke because people might freeze fingers off and forget about them.]

[mousquetaire]

[ D'Artagnan raises his hand at her mention of it. He's kept his gloves on for most of their journey, partly out of habit but mostly because of the cold. He tugs the material up now, revealing the ugly green slash beneath it, and he flexes his fingers. ]

Oh, I feel it. I didn't think that would go away for anyone.

[ He's also grown somewhat accustomed to it over the last few days. He's more interested in how she spoke before, though, and it's difficult to hide that. If he'd been told a week ago that he'd be this excited to hear Spanish being spoken, he'd have laughed outright. Now, even that seems close to home for him. ]

Forgive me, but are you Spanish? And from Earth, while we're speaking of it?

[foxsays]

It passes. There might be times it gets worse - but you should stop noticing that part to go about close to normal. With a green mark on your hand. At least it's more useful than other reasons some folk would give for ending up with anything that colour.

[Grow up with sailors for family, absorb their particular sense of humour but it got her through the painful early months when it was new, everything frightening in its unfamiliarity.]

Siento, no. I'm Castilean but I've heard of earth! A few people here, Church and Cosima, they come from there. [It's an apology because Araceli can only imagine what it must be like to be so newly arrived and to hear a familiar language, to take the chance at finding someone with similar experiences.] Antivan is close enough to what I speak and to Spanish since this isn't the first time someone has asked me. Where is it you come from on earth?

[mousquetaire]

[ Castilean sounds like a Spanish word itself, in all fairness. D'Artagnan feels his heart sink as quickly as it had risen. In truth, though, he's curious. She's claiming to be from somewhere entirely different, not only a different country but a different world. Yet they're so much the same. How does that work? ]

That's...odd, I'll admit. I'm from France, a neighbour of Spain. We aren't always on the best of terms, but after days of hearing languages I couldn't come close to understanding, I was glad to hear something I thought I knew. I suppose I'll look out for the others.

[ Church and Cosima. He'll remember those names. ]

So you're Castilean. Will you tell me about your home?

[foxsays]

You might try your luck with the Orlesians. Mine is passable after a few years but my accent is [her face pulls into a lopsided embarrassed smile, one hand waving in the air to say so-so] but they call me mademoiselle as you did.

[Please don't ask her to speak Orlesian, her singing is better because no one is paying attention to her accent quite so much then.]

From someone who was new to this once too, it does get better. Terms and languages become familiar but things still trip you up as they no doubt would before, neighbouring countries dispute their borders as they have for decades or more. [Welcome to Thedas, they're big on war and conflict here it's the hot new trend no one could ever let go of.]

My home is a series of islands and archipelagos, at least for my nation. We're sailors who love the sea that we came from, and our lives revolve around it; many of us will go to sea to remind people in other countries of that so some of our sailors get nicknamed pirate preachers. As nicknames go it's not so terrible as it could be. And we don't have streets so much as waterways and bridges, floating markets. Only the docks and harbours are wide enough for real crowds.

[mousquetaire]

Presumably they don't call it French. [ But perhaps these Orlesians have a language that's close. He'll have to investigate. It's jarring to him that there could be such similarities in a completely different world.

At least by description, Araceli's islands don't sound like Spain - though, there are Spanish islands. Still...those waterways she describes. He folds his arms across his chest. ]

Most countries would like to expand their borders if they could, I think. That's not so unusual. Your bridges make me think of another place from my world, a city made of islands. It's said to be beautiful. I'm sure that's true of your home as well.

[foxsays]

Just Orlesian, there are plenty of books in the library to look over to learn from. You never forget the long nights. [Or the archivists coming over to tell you to fall asleep in a bed, not the book.]

There's only been the one war in our history, it was terrible enough that we thrashed out treaties and systems to keep the peace and it holds. It might help that everyone depends on the other for something very vital so no one has gone upsetting the balance more than tariffs or piracy. And whatever they call it on land. [Banditry? Something more interesting than just theft.] What of France? Is France a beautiful place?

[mousquetaire]

[ D'Artagnan smiles. His eyebrows lift when she talks about only one war, ever, because that seems impossible from where he's sitting. How could any people be that peaceful, unless they're completely isolated from the outside.

Maybe her land is. ]

Taxes, we call them taxes. Generally speaking they're higher than anyone likes, except for the men in charge. [ Not that it's a sticking point for him or anything. ]

I come from the country. Lots of hills, lots of sheep. I suppose it was beautiful, but honestly, I couldn't wait to see the city instead. It's beautiful, too. Or at least parts of it are. The palace is especially so, but I suppose that's no surprise.