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

[sorcerised]

[ So it comes in other colours. That's good to know. It seems the general bias around Lyrium extends beyond the red stuff, but it's clear that the red stuff is what's causing the most ire. If it's as dangerous as they're all acting, Aro can't really blame them for that. ]

I don't generally make a habit of getting rocks inside me.

[ He says, conversationally. Maybe it leaks into plant life, though. That would be a greater danger. ]

Should I ask what the worse outcome is? If it's not dying, I have to imagine some kind of undying. The undead don't make for pleasant enemies, I know.

[inagutterson]

They can fire it into you. Or being around it too long isn't a good idea because say you get a cut or a scrape, maybe you get a few slivers of it in you. Maybe they get it out. But d'you want to take that risk?

[All he can see is the Deep Roads. What happened to the Casteless. His mouth is almost too tight to get the words out.]

You die but after you turn into a horrible thing that's not a person. They're all [his mouth pulls into a snarl, one arm raised with the fingers splayed out, back hunched, and the other arm bent with the fingers curled into claws] monstrous things. Bits growing out or filling them up. Veins and eyes all red like some vicious thing. Not the walking dead, we've got those, those are easier to deal with.

[sorcerised]

So worse than undead.

[ That's the bottom line. Aro's eyes slide over to it, and he consciously takes another step back. He crouches, encouraging Iessa over and around him. He's got to keep her away from it. More than that, he's got to teach her that it's dangerous, in case she approaches it when he's not watching. This place is already that much more of a nightmare than it was before. ]

So we destroy it, that's the bottom line. Yes? Or is that unsafe, too? I don't want to blow it up and send pieces into the wind.

[ Slivers, he'd said. Aro can already imagine how it might fragment if it were broken. ]

Where does it come from? My world's full of strange magic, but something like this. It's more like an infection than a spell.

[inagutterson]

Undead shamble about if someone didn't burn the corpses, but you don't turn into them.

[Well, maybe you would if you skip the healer or you're just that filthy about washing out your wounds, he doesn't know your post-fight bite rituals but generally speaking there's the sickening then the dying, not the 'and now I am become the beast'.]

Anyone mention Corypheus at all? That name come up? This lot are his followers and he's got some messed up dragon so maybe if you go near it you find somewhere to put that or it's a nasty ending. Don't need more wrong dragons.

You can blow it up if you're careful, cleansing runes do what cleansing runes do but it's the whole safe distance thing and making sure people aren't about to have any bits go flying into their arse or other fleshy bits. That's the main thing I mean...mostly we just want them to not be able to mine it, they can't mine the dust.

[Yngvi you're going to make some old lyrium prospectors turn in their Thaigs buried under the Stone if that's even possible, what do you, a surface dwarf born and raised, know about these pressing issues beyond the horrors of what it does to people?

He takes a breath. Tucks his hands up into his sleeves for warmth as he considers where to even start with this since-- well, there probably isn't really a good place.] First tales came out of Kirkwall when the old Knight-Commander had a sword made of it, can't remember how she got hold of it, think it was from a dwarf and some upjumped dog lord? But she turned into some statue made out of it, brought the statues about her to life, drove her madder than she was and all. After that it just spread everywhere so no doubt some enterprising idiot got hold of it because if there's the possibility of profit, there's always some great bright spark y'know?

[sorcerised]

[ Aro's expression flattens when they start talking about wrong dragons. He has no intention of letting Iessa go anywhere near this Corypheus. He knows full well how dangerous some of them can be; after all it was a cruel dragon that killed Iessa's mother. The last thing he wants is for her to get in the same trouble.

So all right. Corypheus is someone we watch out for.

The rest of that tale veers from strange into genuinely unbelievable, especially at the end. ]

They make a profit out of something that's deadly to everyone. That's wonderful, how clever of them. I have to say I wouldn't be keen to reduce this stuff to dust, either. You can't mine it, but you can breathe it. Can it even be useful if it's as dangerous as you say? I don't doubt there's some madmen who'd love to make a weapon out of something like this, but from what you're saying, it seems like it can infect anyone. Enemy or otherwise.

[inagutterson]

[Three dragons in the Gallows, Yngvi wonders if anyone's going to start a betting pool on Bran going grey or bald first and if he should get in it.]

Christine might know if breathing it does anything but usually it has to be swallowed or get in through a wound if you're working the raw stuff. It's useful for him having Red Templars so they can do Red Templars things like having hulking mostly lyrium people bigger than even the Qunari or the ones that shoot... something at you.

Mages hopped up on it'd be a nightmare.

[sorcerised]

Yes, I can imagine. Magic infected with that...

[ It would be horrible, and probably nigh impossible to control. ]

It would be contorted, corrupted. I've no interest in that. We'll avoid it, and destroy it if we can't. You have my word on that.