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

[arlathvhen]

[ Beleth doesn't comment on the smiling--she's not sure what to make of it, but Iorveth brings up things much more pressing matters. He shows her his own scar--more impressive than Beleth's--and her eyebrows raise, only going higher as he shares his own experiences. The exact emotion it provokes is hard to define, there's a strange relief, that here is someone who understands, who can relate. Who isn't about to tell her more stories of noble elven kings with hallowed halls and the respect of mankind.

But there's a horrible distress at hearing the fate that had befallen his comrades. The anger and grief in his voice is familiar to someone who's heard it in her own voice. She's not sure if she wants to comfort him, or go find a human for him to stab.

But there will be enough killing humans once the battle starts, so she settles for reaching out to pat his shoulder. ]

...I'm sorry. Your comrades deserved better.

Humans never fight fair, not against elves. They would laugh if you even asked. Chivalry, for an elf? Do I expect them to use chivalry against dogs, next? [ There's a moment of thought, and because she should probably assure him that he doesn't need to worry about everyone in the Inquisition: ] There are good humans, of course. Individuals. Many in the Inquisition are...well, if not willing to hold hands with us and sing Andraste's Mabari, they're courteous enough.

[aenseidhe]

Right now they are. [ he tells her, because he's seen this song and dance. Does he know a small, tiny handful he might trust? The years have long out worn anything comfort could be balm for, and Beleth would be more correct in assuming ‘a human to kill’ would be correct. A hundred years full of human cruelty, ever attempt at improvement always followed with a blow that sends them farther back, is too much for him to hold any place for forgiveness or trust for their kind any longer. ] Perhaps they believe themselves better people for it, or maybe cultured. Wait until they don't need you anymore.

[ The Nilfgaardian's were happy to have them, but when a sacrifice needed to be made, they were handed over like lambs to the slaughter, commanded to be exiled even from the home they fought to win. Iorveth remains one of the few wrathful ghosts that remain of what once was the Vrihedd, now just Scoia'tael, scouting through the woods and terrorizing travelers.

he prays Saskia will be able to make this time, with the Pontar Valley, different, but he won't forget the words one of the nobles said in their war room, when Saskia told them the Scoia'tael would be their archers. 'He's an elf, treason runs in his veins'. so many aen seidhe deaths have come as consequence of simple human whim, their loyalty and integrity fluttering from one thing to the next, whatever is convenient. ]

Or when they'll weigh doing the right thing for us against their personal loss, and you’ll see them scatter like roaches under a sudden light. [ his voice is low, like a warning. he'd seen this elf girl come to rescue them with humans at her side, but will they still be friends when this Inquisition disperses and she's no longer an asset? ] I’ve been fighting humans for over a century, and it never fails. Either it’s cowardice, or the allure of more power, more possession. More bones to add to their thrones, or hills to climb atop of and proclaim themselves king.

[arlathvhen]

[ Beleth doesn't reply at first, but instead studies him contemplatively, turning his words over in her mind. She's learned that whenever she dares speak ill of shemlen, even among other elves, she has to put in that disclosure: Not all humans, she knows. Certainly, no one has ever argued with it.

But what will happen after the Inquisition? It's a question that lingers in the back of her mind. Even with the Inquisition, even with Briala, people are attacking elves. And it's a constant struggle to get people to respect her, to treat her like the leader she is supposed to be. What happens when she stops being the Scoutmaster?

And there are frustrations--how often has she heard someone justify their hatred of the Dalish with the actions of a clan, or a few individuals? And yet, if she said anything openly hateful... ]

...You have a good point. But we still need them for now, just like they need us.

I wonder what kind of chaos will crop up, when Corypheus is finally taken care of, and people have time to take up old grievances.

[aenseidhe]

[ Yes, all humans, at least 99.99% of humans, Iorveth would argue, having seen enough of their cruelty to see a set pattern that's continued for thousands of years. The exception is once in every billion of humans born, he's found, and even then, they all have a limit that their kindness breaks at. The only one proven him wrong has been Geralt, and Geralt's hardly really human. A mutant freak, looked on in disgust like all other nonhumans.

He shakes his head, unconvinced this joint fight will do anything for them. Not when it's just borrowing strength for a common foe. The only thing he's really, truly, seen bring humans and nonhumans together in the name of lasting peace has been Saskia's war for the Pontar Valley, for a land that would be just that - lasting peace between the races, with a dragon queen to oversee it's success. Anything less than that is pure folly. ]

Man isn't capable of peace. Remove one conflict, and they'll seek another to take it's place. It's their nature.

[ Even a thing put into their religions - assimilate or be victim of a crusade. ]

Best you use this time they're distracted to build up your people's defenses. You'll need it when their focus turns back to your lands and your resources. And it will. It always does.

[arlathvhen]

We don't have defenses. Or land. We're not even allowed to have weapons, most of us. [ She hums for a moment, thinking, then decides to voice thoughts that had been rattling around in her head for a while now--Iorveth, at least, seems an apt person to tell them to. ] They do it all on purpose, of course. We're too spread out to be able to do much at this point. We'd have to start by working to open lines of communication, between alienages, clans, everyone.

The alienage elves would have to be trained with weapons in secret. That might be a hard sell--if they're caught with them, they're dead. And we can't just focus on any hypothetical fights, we--

[ She stops, realizing that she's rambling to this man that she's only just met, who probably wasn't expecting her to dump all the problems of her people on him so suddenly. Though, at least he has a bit of an idea now, what kind of treatment to expect from the general populace. ]

...I apologize, I got carried away. I haven't even introduced myself. I'm the Scoutmaster, Beleth, of Clan Ashara. Forgive me for my rudeness.

[aenseidhe]

[ Iorveth waves the apology off - rambling about the well-being of elves is never out of place with him. ]

Of course. They tell the city elves that the ones out in the wilderness eat babies and slaughter women and children, wear necklaces of human ears and put heads on sticks like trophies. [ the last one might be true (of the Scoia'tael, that is), sometimes, when making a point, but that's beside the point. The human villagers would be spreading horror stories of them regardless. They've already criminalized them, making them the boogy-man just follows suit. ] They make the alternative to staying trapped in their ghettos something worse just with hearsay.

[ It's such a simple, easy tactic, but it's so bloody effective, and Iorveth hates it. He's never sure if city elves he catches the eyes of are likely to scream or offer him help, given they all know who he is by now. Something that's a boon in this world, where no one does. But he continues thinking on the points Beleth brought up. ]

Train them in secret, have the weapons stashed somewhere they wouldn't be suspect. Someone goes between, taking them to training, bringing them back. [ He says like he's even been in these cities yet, but it isn't that different from his own world. They'd trained many nonhuman ghettos to defend themselves during pogroms. ] Then, when they're ready to do something with them, leave them in their hands, and watch them dismantle the hell around them.

[ A shrug, and he finally gets around to introducing himself in turn. ]

Iorveth. Commander of the Scoia'tael camped along the Pontar. Not that it means anything here.

[arlathvhen]

I--Yes, exactly. You've already heard about the Dalish, then?

[ She looks a little startled by just how accurate of a grasp Iorveth already seems to have on the situation. It's getting better in some areas--She doubts that the alienage in Kirkwall carries quite the same trepidation as others still do.

But there's still plenty of work to do, and even while Beleth tells herself that actual fighting is the worst case scenario, that she certainly wouldn't be leading an army of elven rebels any time soon, she still clings to Iorveth's words, eyes focused and intense. It's good advice, no matter what. Perhaps advice that she can pass along. ]

I can already thing of a few, for Kirkwall at least. But that's one city. Though...my focus is currently more on the head of the snake. [ She suddenly feels a bit silly, talking to him about bards and politics, when he seems so ready to take a sword and go chop off a human's head right then. ] I, ah. I'm a bard, as well as the Scoutmaster. Working with the Inquisition, I've already been invited into two royal courts. And I intend to make it more.

Being armed is important. But politics can be just as important. If I learn how to work inside them, and I'm accepted as a part of that system, then it's that much easier to turn it towards my own ends.

...But it's nice to meet you, Commander Iorveth. I'm always glad to see more elves here, even if the circumstances that brought you were...less than ideal.