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

[thunderproof]

It's absolutely ridiculous how easily her brain can just — short out, around him. All he has to do is wrap his arms around her and Adalia's mind goes blank, unable to think of anything except how safe it feels. Nothing about Alacruun is safe, that's a ludicrous thought, and yet —

He's so big, compared to her. Broad, muscled. And he's angry at her, but he isn't pushing her away. He wants to keep her warm.

Haltingly, Adalia reaches up, taking one of Alacruun's hands between hers and cupping her palms around it, trying to warm his up.

"I don't know," she says, trying to sound blithe and uncaring and as though this is absolutely totally normal, "we could play I Spy. I spy something white."

[coiledscales]

Alacruun is (fortunately) very unaware of what this particular humanoid form does to Adalia. So for now he's just concerned with being warm and shivering quietly in the gloom of their snow-cave. He is not going to miss this when he finally gets somewhere warm again.

"Is it snow? Or possibly ice? There's plenty of that."

At least he still has enough energy to be snippy.

[thunderproof]

"Yes, alright, you got it. Your turn now!"

Even just going through this a few times will be better than sitting in silence. Silence is... unnerving, especially from him — without knowing what he's thinking, Adalia hates the idea of Alacruun left to his own thoughts to plot and scheme and who knows what else. Much better to distract him with... whatever wiles she is apparently capable of.

She feels distinctly and utterly wile-less at the moment, but apparently he likes that, or there would have been no kissing. Which begs the question — what does she come to see in him, in the unlived months after she was spat through the rift?

[coiledscales]

Alacruun makes a noise and curls a little close around her. What he'd give for some of his magic or a the ability to cast some sort of resistance to frost spell. Or basically anything that would help. They'll have to manage with each other. He shakes his head slowly.

"Also white. I wonder what it could possibly be."

Despite his attempt at dry jocularity, he sounds positively miserable.

[thunderproof]

"Wow, alright, grumpy, what do you think we should be doing right now?"

It's only after the words have left Adalia's lips that she realizes they... may not have been the best ones, at the moment, and she stiffens minutely before forcing herself to relax. Considering Alacruun thinks that kissing is a thing they should be doing in general, his ideas for what they should be doing when alone and trapped in a snow cave may be... a bit much.

She's not going to take the question back, though, because if she does that will just put ideas in his head. Maybe he'll surprise her!

[coiledscales]

"Trying not to freeze to death," is his grumpy, gruff answer. She might be thinking along those lines, but he's not. Not here, anyway. He's uncomfortable and cold and the idea of trying to use the situation to leverage physical pleasure out of her isn't one that occurs to him. Not here. He just wants to not freeze to death.

"If whatever power that brought us here hadn't stripped me of half of my magic, I'd be able to make this much more comfortable," he grouses, "And of all places, why here? The most miserable place on this miserable world. Almost as if they wanted to make me as miserable as possible..."

[thunderproof]

It is slooowly becoming clear to Adalia that she actually doesn't know Alacruun all that well. Everything she expects from him, he does the opposite, or he subverts, or he has entirely different motives than she suspected he has. Yes, he kissed her, and she can't imagine why he would do that except to get her to abandon her morals for true love... but he seems genuinely upset that she doesn't remember any of their relationship. It's not just frustration over losing a pawn, he actually seems to care. He's not pushing anything, or trying to get her to reconsider, or threatening... he's just pouting.

"There are worse places," she says, relaxing even further. She rubs her hands against his sort of distractedly, trying to generate friction to warm him up, but it's such a half-assed job it's probably not actually helping all that much. "I mean, weather-wise this is pretty bad, but Kirkwall isn't wonderful either. I don't think anyone dumped us here on purpose, though, I think it was just... a whim of fate. Chance. Really terrible luck."

[coiledscales]

"Or someone's grand scheme to get rid of me once and for all," Alacruun mutters darkly. When he's in a better mood he won't dwell on the idea, but this seems like it might be the best way to get rid of him, permanently - banish him to another world entirely without any of his power or former might or followers. Except for Adalia. Perfect way to get him out of Faerun. Now if only he knew how they did it...

"Luck very rarely factors into it. There has to be an explanation for it."