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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Solas just nods at her, offering her a smile - he hasn't come to scold her or suggest that she's wrong, somehow, after all. He's here to learn more about what she might see, if she has something to offer that might help him learn more about this part of the world. He hasn't had a chance to slip into the Fade just yet, so word of mouth and the wisdom of others is all he has until the night comes and they make a camp that will last them properly.

"It is an interesting idea." Not necessarily true, all things considered, but it's entirely possible. He takes in the shape of the statue again before he tilts his head, considering. "I have seen little to suggest it may be one way or another, but it is an interesting take on the history of the People. It may have some truth to it." He knows it's not entirely accurate, but there are some things that even he is somewhat unaware of. If there is a link to the Elvhen people... Well, he'll learn it soon enough, or recall enough to make it matter.

She nods. Interesting takes are all she has, really. Snatches of songs and stories, often changing between clans, the relative isolation causing the Dalish to grow farther and farther apart over time despite the strength of the core.

"Sometimes libraries make me furious," she says after a long pause, seemingly apropos of nothing, still looking consideringly at the owl. "If I want to know what Divine Renata broke her fast with the day she ordered the Exalted March on the Dales, or how many barrels of salted fish were sold in Kirkwall in 9:34 Dragon, somewhere in one of them there's a book that will tell me. But--" she crosses her arms tighter, frustration pinching the vallaslin on her brow, "--I want to know anything about the People, even the big events that shaped us, all I have is what's passed down from Keeper to Keeper, storyteller to storyteller. No books, no central place to go but once a decade, everything a fragment."

No wonder that humans covered the land like a blanket. Cut off from most of its roots, how could their tree be expected to live, let alone thrive?

That is how the elven cling to their histories, now; songs and myths and stories that hold no candle to the reality of their true heritage. It hurts Solas to see it, to hear it, to witness the way that his life, his People, have had their existence butchered beyond recollection. When she speaks, Solas turns his attention back to her, curious and interested.

"Libraries hold little when it comes to the truth of the People. They were torn asunder by humans and time and history is written by those with the position to record it. My People were lost in the realms of the world and whatever is left of them now is... Faded. Mistaken and misunderstood." To see a Dalish that wants to learn the truth, who desires to see beyond the myths and lies of their people... That is something that, at least for now, gives her some of his respect, budding here in the frozen wastelands.

"There are truths to be found, if you know where to look."

But they'd had them, Solas seems to say. Libraries. Other repositories of knowledge and history. Suddenly the beginnings of helplessly enraged tears well, although they freeze to her eyelashes before they fall. Humans hadn't just killed and enslaved them, they'd salted the earth afterwards so that thousands of years later the People had nothing but stories about what it was like to be themselves-- and Nahariel had watched stories change in decades, let alone yawning gaps that may as well be infinite. It was like living in ash. Like grabbing on to wind.

And then: his People.

It wouldn't be the first time an elf who wasn't Dalish separated themselves out from the Clans. Of course, she knew the opposite was widely true; from the talk she'd heard at Arlathvhens, Dahlasanor's acceptance of outsider elves had been more than strange. But then, if the man were a city elf, he wouldn't say 'the People' that way, unless something strange had happened in his life. Were there elves who weren't either? She regards him with a sort of candid curiosity.

Where do you come from? she wants to ask, Where have you traveled? Who are your People?

"And do you?" she asks instead, "know where to look?"

Once, there had been libraries that spread across the land, places tied up with what is now known as the Fade, Spirits and educators and learners moving in and our and sharing knowledge without price or shame. It had been beautiful, he thinks, and as he stares at the statue in front of him he feels the weight of his own nostalgia, the pain of it, the depth of ache that it leaves inside of him - he wishes to go back, to return the land to how it once was, but there is no way to undo that, to remake Thedas as it should be, without the strength that he is missing. He has to continue, weak and tired, frustrated by the ugliness of this world.

For a moment, he is captivated by his own memories.

It takes him a few moments to turn his attention back to her, but when he does his expression is tired. He's trying to be hopeful, to be full of wisdom, but the reminders of what has been taken from his People is a heavy burden to bear, even for someone who is used to it.

"There are Temples, hidden across the world, that speak the truth of the People." Solas hums quietly. "I have walked dreams and memories of them in their heights, with the best of them sharing all that they have to give. There are pieces of that life to be found in Thedas, if one wishes to learn and look."

So he did know. For a brief moment, Nari is cross at the idea that someone knew something and hadn't already passed on the knowledge to the People, but perhaps the man had reasons-- whatever those might be. Or he'd been turned away. Or he was lying. But what end would that serve?

"I don't mean to... have you considered writing a book? Drawing maps, that these things might be shared? Perhaps at least the Inquisition's library could--" she pauses, her face falling, "--no, I imagine if humans were given ready access to that knowledge, they'd want to finish what they started.

But there should be an Arlathvhen this year."

Though how receptive that gathering would be to any histories unknown to the Clans delivered by a bare-faced outsider no matter how well traveled or knowledgeable... well. That was frustrating too.

Solas recognises that he is giving information away, but he knows that he is not saying anything that might shock or surprise the Dalish, at least not yet. The truths he had offered them had been turned away and he had been hounded and hunted; there is very little left that might endear him to the nature of who those people are.

"I had not, and I do not think there is time for something of that nature." Shaking his head, all Solas can do is turn his head away, frowning. "There is much to be done to honour what the People left behind, but much risk in allowing it to become known to those who would abuse it. It is better left kept to those who would use it properly."

And most of the Inquisition and their human counterparts would not use it well. Solas knows better than to ever offer that kind of information to people who would deface and destroy the places he holds most dear.

"I am unlikely to be welcomed to such a gathering."

no time for the collection of knowledge? What were they racing against besides Corypheus? Humans again? Surely the People would be more years in their slow eroding than the time it would take to put knowledge to page. "What time do we ever have but now?" she muses.

"As far as your welcome, well... the world is changing," she says, pointing her face to where the scar the Breach left still eddies in the sky like a faint curtain. It's not confidently said, however. If one finger was stubborn, all the more rigid the fist. Nari had loved the strength of the Arlathvhen when she was younger. It was fierce and proud and unmoving like a hardwood tree.

Now she knew that those were the trees that fell to harsh storms, and she'd begun to think of the willow as strong for its bending rather than weak. In the end, which of those things truly refused to submit?

If only she knew, Solas thinks; the world is changing, true enough, but that is not necessarily for the better. Things are not as great and good as many seem to imagine, and the Breach has brought out the best and the worst in all people. His natural fury and anger is enough to burn deep inside of him, and he breathes out sharply before he turns his attention back to her, as if gearing himself for the conversation.

"Perhaps. That does not mean that everything has changed, however." The world would continue to change, too, and Solas is the most aware of that. Should everything happen as he suspects, should things go the way he imagines... Well, the future of Thedas is not entirely in doubt.

"I have attempted to speak to the Dalish before. I was not well received and I am loathe to put myself through that suffering again."

Being able to admit to herself that the Dalish were a difficult people with their own flaws and prejudices, that in recent days she'd been having heavily conflicted thoughts about... well, everything, including the only family she'd ever known... was a far cry from being able to hear them spoken about tersely by someone else. Especially someone else who was seemingly withholding knowledge she so desperately wanted like it belonged to him, not to them all; even if he'd tried. Nari's jaw is set, her shoulders rising and half-squared before she even notices. When she does, however, she manages to relax everything; her shoulders drop even farther into a weary sort of slump.

She goes back to considering the lines of the owl.

"We suffer what we think is worth suffering for," she says tiredly without looking back, "Ir abelas. For whatever it was that was enough to make you think we aren't."

It's not as if his dislike for the Dalish is any kind of a secret; Solas has never attempted to suggest that he has any kind of fondness for them beyond working with the elves of the Inquisition as colleagues. There are very few members that have had any kind of positive influence on him; those that have he regards as better for their wisdom, not for their heritage. It's impossible to deny his frustrations and anger when it comes to people who have tarnished and broken his culture, his heritage, his People, and left the truth of it to rot as they cling to lies and memories.

He had offered them the world, the strength of their blood, their heritage, their lives, and they had shunned him and sneered at him. Solas would not make the same mistake twice.

"Sometimes, you suffer things that are not worth the heartache." Solas shakes his head, focussing in front of him. "You cannot apologise for all of your people, but thank you all the same."

She doesn't want to apologize for all of them. After all, the clans were no monolith, surely some would not have turned him away in whatever manner had been horrible enough to poison the entire stream.

It didn't seem the time to argue any further, however. Whatever had happened had happened and couldn't be taken away, so Nahariel just nods-- whether or not it's seen-- and decides it would, perhaps, be kindest to return to consider the strangeness of the statue another time. So, with a quiet "Atish'an" for a farewell, she points her boots back towards camp.

[\o/ probably good here?]

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OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

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