faderift | OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

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.

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Fenris looks startled to see anyone else out here, having resigned himself to catching up with the others once he can properly see again… and wait, what did he call him just then?... but for now, he's more concerned with survival. Questions can happen after he warms up. Not freezing is basically his main goal in the immediate future. With the tent this badly covered with snow, he's going to have to take action.

"...I guess I have little choice!" He shouts over the whirling winds, as he makes to grab his possessions and abandon the tent. Not that he had much on him to begin with, just standard supplies, and of course, his sword. Once he's set, he heads over toward the other tent, teeth chattering from the cold.

"Thank you. I can't say I expected it to be this extreme…"

Iorveth, also freezing his fucking ass off, ushers the smaller elf in, tugging the tent flap closed and tying it down tight, before he flops back against the chicken-horse. He tugs one of the furs they’d pilfered from the abandoned camp they’d taken shelter in, and pulls a second of his pack, tossing it over to Fenris.

“We had to walk through some storms near as bad as this to get to the camp.” He tells him, shivering, with teeth chattering, but the closer he nestled up against the monster hen, the more he warms.

“Were I not sure I haven’t died, I’d think this was my personal Hell.” A mountain elf, he is not. There is a tribe of Free Elves that deserted the Northern Kingdoms for the Blue Mountains, but Iorveth was born to the cities, lived mainly in the humid forests, the Scoia’tael nomadic in nature when the wars weren’t on. blizzards like this were a rare thing. And he hates them.

Fenris catches the fur, grateful for anything that might help against the bitter, chilling cold. As he wraps it around himself, he nods agreement to that assessment of the situation. It hasn't been an easy trip by any stretch, but it's gotten much worse, now. Who knows when they'll be able to resume their journey? He sighs.

"They probably should have expected something like this would happen. It can't ever be too easy, when the Inquisition is involved." That's been his experience anyway, considering the sorts who they take on and all the issues that causes, and that's only one issue. "But for now, it seems we're stuck here for the foreseeable future." He glances at the other curiously, trying to recall if they've spoken before. It's odd, really, he's only just not noticing that there's something different about him. He'd just assumed him another native elf at a first glance. "We haven't crossed paths anywhere back in Kirkwall yet, have we?"

He has no history with the Inquisition to speak of, just yet, but Iorveth smirks mildly besides, shrugging his shoulders. It could be worse. There could be yetis. So long as he doesn't go falling through some thin ice and get dunked into arctic water, Iorveth thinks he can probably make it through. Maybe. Who knows, he wasn't built for this shit.

"Considering all I've seen of this realm thus far is this blizzard hell, no, I doubt we have." Iorveth was one of the brand new Rifters, dropped into this place and huddled up in that camp the Inquisition agents finally found them in, close to out of food stock. So, no, he hasn't stepped foot in Kirkwall yet. As if to further illustrate the point, he tugs a hand free from his gloves, showing the bright green glowing shard embedded there.

"I'm Iorveth."

A rifter, then... He hasn't had too many close associations with many of the rifters yet. A conversation here and there, but he hasn't exactly gone out of his way to get to know them very well. He doesn't think they're demons at this point, even if he's still cautious. He eyes the shard closely for a moment, but it's not as if the shards in themselves are dangerous, anyway, they've even proven helpful. Nor did the rifters ask for any of this.

"I'm Fenris." He stares at the shard again, for a moment, then looks up. "I guess all of this must be difficult to get used to. Is your world anything like this one?"

Tugging his glove back on (because it's fucking cold), Iorveth rolls the question around in his head. Difficult? Perhaps, in the sense of the terrain being very foreign to him, and the magic fuckery that landed him here to begin with, but the fact something insane like this happened? Not so much.

"Judging on what I've heard thus far of the lands warmer than this, yes. Near exactly alike, in the basic principles." A beat, head lolling to the side against the chicken cushion behind him to stare at Fenris a moment, before taking to explaining. "Magic causing cataclysms, demons and monsters pouring out of every crack in the ground, humans sitting on thrones, while elves and dwarves occupy gutters. All this place lacks are Witchers, which would make the first two of those easier to manage."

He misses Geralt. He misses Geralt handling all the creepy and gross shit for him while he just stabs people shaped things that get in the way. It's frustrating how little he understands of what brought him here and how he should go about trying to get back.

Now that certainly does get an eyebrow raise and a curious expression. He's seen and heard enough to gather that the rifters are from very diverse worlds. Some of them are even from places where there is no magic. If he weren't so opposed to the idea of world-travel, and if it were actually possible, those would be prime vacation spots. But he'd not heard much from anyone whose world is so much like theirs.

"Then you must feel right at home. Don't tell me you also have an insane magister turned darkspawn threatening to destroy your world…" At least the other-world demons and other disgusting things don't seem to get picked up by the rifts, thankfully. Just their own style of demons. "It sounds like you're well equipped to deal with what we're up against, anyway."

"No, none such as like that quite yet. We did have a conclave of sorceresses attempting to rule our world, but not so much destroy it." And they'd well gotten what was deserved of them, and extra. All those magic folk who had nothing to do with it suffered as their available whipping boys once the major players scattered to the wind. The same treatment humans pay the nonhumans in their cities. One elf or dwarf can pay for the crimes of all the others. Some things never change.

"I'd fought men in my world. Demons, monsters and spirits were not so much my specialty. " Iorveth explains, not quite sure he really fits the idea of well-equipped for this fight. Better off than others, perhaps, would be more accurate. "We'd had warriors for that. Witchers. Thankfully, your creatures here seem much less particular about how they can die."

"Their motives are always about destroying or ruling, isn't it?" He says this as he shakes his head, never quite understanding the way their enemies think. Nor does he always necessarily want to, even if he gets that they have to learn all they can so they can bring them down in time.

Fenris' expression darkens as he mentions that bit about men. It's true, isn't it? Demons, all of the terrible things in this world… they're awful, but who's responsible for inviting them over? Who stirs things up in the first place, and enslaves those without power? He nods slowly. "That's true. Everything here can be killed, even if they're highly dangerous. Demons are the ultimate problem, the end result of meddling too much with the Fade… but men are incredibly dangerous and untrustworthy… especially men with power. The magisters are the worst example of such power and corruption."

"Of course. Even their religions come based on crusade and conflict. Peace is a thing humans are unable to suffer quietly." They're the antithesis of it, Iorveth would say. No matter what point in history, even if there's no wars, they find another thing to bicker and struggle against. They cannot simple be in the world, they must always be making some kind of noise to drown out what's already beautiful in its own right.

It's interesting that Fenris states the trouble of men and magisters such a way, and at this juncture, Iorveth knows very little about the history of this world, or the nature of magic within it. It seems an unmovable force, magic, as it has been in his own home, woven into the threads of reality. A tool often deeply abused by the greed and folly of mortals thinking themselves grand enough for it.

"How do you mean, in the sense of magisters meddling that brought about such creatures. What originated these rifts here?"

It's still so strange to meet people who don't know certain details about Thedas. There are things which everyone just knows, which he's never really thought to explain. He gets a dark look on his face as he starts in on the background.

"Perhaps you've heard some about the Fade, but if not... It's a realm where all magic originates. It also happens to be the home to demons. By using magic, mages are actually drawing their power from the Fade... and in turn also earning the attention of those demons. Magisters rule over the nation of Tevinter, and revel in this power, with little regard for the damage it can potentially cause. At least there are more precautions to the south, in comparison." He frowns, sighing, shifting around a little and wishing he could get up and pace a bit. "The rifts are essentially tears into the Fade. There are no answers yet about why they're appearing... but there's little doubt that magic was involved."

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OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

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