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

[aenseidhe]

[ Templars, right, that was the word. something fittingly monastic in the most obnoxious way, and it suits they're the ones going into an unholy craze over this demonic substance. there's probably morbid jokes to be made there, and he really misses geralt for a half second. observing the warning, and choosing to stick more to support for the time being, he pulls his bow free, sniping at enemies here and there, to keep the buffer of empty space between the templars and magic users in place. ]

Seeing how it went for them, I've absolutely no intention of it. [ and prior to that, the crystals seemed unsettling, if not for their own weird vibe, but the unease it set all the other Inquisition members to when they found them in the abandoned village, a reaction that's plenty understandable when you see the templars half mutated by the stuff. so, yeah, he wasn't planning on touching that shit with a ten foot pole.

speaking of templars with red lyrium growths, though, hadn't someone mentioned fire being fairly effective for destroying the substance? a thought occurs, as iorveth reaches for another arrow, notching it but not quite pulling it back yet. ]

Can you make fire? [ he asks the mage, tip of the arrow raised up, indicating he'd like a light if it's possible. just going to do a fun experiment. ]

[dirth]

[ Even if the man didn't have the sense of an Anchor about him his reactions might give him away as someone new. Solas can't claim to recognise everyone at Kirkwall - he barely recognised everyone at Skyhold - but he is beginning to learn and make a place for himself and, in doing so, was putting names to faces. This was a man that he didn't recognise at all, and the fact that he had the ears that betrayed elven heritage was more than enough to encourage Solas to think again. ]

That is good to hear. [ Lyrium poisoning is a dangerous and deadly thing and the treatments for it are limited at best. The strangeness of the Lyrium itself is more than enough to discourage most of the Inquisition at least, but Solas is careful to make sure that he doesn't get too close at all. The thought of what might happen were he to be cursed or poisoned... It doesn't bear thinking of.

Shifting his weight, Solas draws his staff close and twitches his lips, considering. Can he draw fire? It's not his speciality at all, but he is capable of it, as are most mages with a decent staff and a decent education. Moving forward, still distant from the Templars, he nods his head. ]

Mind yourself. [ And, carefully, with a shift of his hand, he summons just enough flame for the tip of the arrow to come alight, turning as he does to shoot another Veilstrike at a nearby Templar. ] They'll be drawn to you.

[aenseidhe]

[ There's an unsettling kind of smirk that touches Iorveth's scarred lips, something that belongs on a battlefield, perhaps more comfortable in this setting than any would really want to be. The idea of drawing their attention isn't something he should be pleased with, yet he is, and as he nocks the arrow, Iorveth's eyes are skimming the area around them - the tents, the supplies, the scaffolding for their mining in the caverns. Wheels are turning. ]

Then let's hope your barriers hold true.

[ Spotting one Templar in a group of others, with red crystals protruding heavily from his armor, Iorveth takes aim and looses the arrow, already moving as it flies, towards the cavern walls. The burning arrow slams into the Templar hard enough to stagger it, and as the fire eats at the lyrium, the monstrosity lets loose an unholy screech that gathers the attention of the others. As Solas predicted, they're drawn to him, still a distance away, so he has time to quickly scurry his way up the side of some wooden scaffolding, before drawing another arrow, calling over the fray - ]

Another light, if you wouldn't mind. [ There'll be a few more calls of that before he's done with what he's doing. ]