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

His ancestors shouted that, again and again, in defiance against the overwhelming Dark. Elros leads those who lived because of those sacrifices, long ago, and he's proud to take up the call again. The Song he is aware of, for he is still of Luthien's line, but it does not slam into him the way it does to Fingon, and he is abruptly grateful for the shielding of his humanity.

"Back, filth! You'll not touch him while I can prevent it." He takes the step forwards into the breach fearlessly, blade raised in challenge, as light on his feet as ever, if not quite so graceful as he once was. He can't skim over the ground as the elves do, any longer, but Maedhros was one for furious charges, overwhelming his foe by strength and skill, and Elros' style is very similar.

It is, as Fingon has certainly noticed before, and the strange seeming incongruity between Maedhros Feanorion's fighting style and Elu Thingol's blade would normally be worth a chuckle every time he saw it. But not this time, not with these beings around who fill the air with notes like oily shadows.

The Song doesn't clear so much as he forces it down, humming his own tunes so as not to be lost from it. The bright horns of the Dagor Aglareb, the Sun's rays upon the Noldor's swords: those he calls upon, for sureness and clarity and strength to his blade.

"These things-" they're wrong, they're wrong, and yet... "The sea monsters. When I arrived."

They were like this, weren't they? The same red light had come from them....

Elros ducks an oncoming blow and closes inside his foe's range, tripping it and then bringing his blade down. One of Luthien's line stands between his kin and death, and he will not yield.

"The ones that injured Maedhros? Are they like us then, not of this place?"

No one of the line of Finwe will ever enjoy covering from behind, but Fingon won't complain. The arrangement suits, he has slightly more room to maneuver, to focus on Templars and other enemies, while Elros takes the lead with the Behemoths.

"No. But the red light... they were tracking something down in Llomerryn, when we arrived. Red lyrium, someone called it."

This is what you get for not paying more attention to details, Fingon.

But it's not hard to figure out what's happening now. "It's transforming them, somehow. It's foul."

Elros bares his teeth at their oncoming foes in a smile that is far from friendly.

"Then we'd best break it. Can you manage something with that if I keep them distracted?"

"I'd be glad to."

His eyes sweep the Behemoths, looking for a weak point. With that large a gem- or crystal, or whatever it was- there would be a spot, if they could find it. Nothing was ever foolproof.

Two more templars go down as Fingon waits for the distraction. The sooner these creatures are gone, the better.

Elros throws himself at them with reckless skill, trusting Fingon to have his back, although he's careful too, not to get too far that they can cut him off. As Fingon looks for an opening, he tries to give him one as well, using the shield to shove foes away as much as block blows.

OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

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