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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Newt watches the bear sniff Yngvi, ready to intervene if need be. He relaxes a moment later when it becomes clear the bear seems content with just sniffing his companion. He wonders if those furs carry with them the scents of other animals, and if those scents are what drew the polar bear so close.

"What are Circles, exactly?" He asks. They sound like schools, of a sort. But the word also carries a certain weight with it, too, that puts Newt on his guard.

From what he understands so far, he's going to have a difficult enough time as a rifter as it is, let alone using magic as a rifter.

"So...fun story: you're going to go back to the Gallows where we're all living because that's the place the acting Viscount's given us, and the Gallows? Used to be Kirkwall's Circle. And in the really old days it was," and his voice drops a little as well as picking up speed, gaze darting between Newt and the bear (can the bear smell the awkwardness pouring off him right now). "Tevinter's slave hub but the statues are gone, we cleared out the worst of the remnants of what went down when the war kicked off there but..."

There's no real pleasant way to actually come out and say it, even as a dwarf with no dog in this fight.

"It's where mages go. Once their magic shows they go there and they live there. Roof over their heads, lots of books, three square meals. There's Templars to guard them and watch them because they can get possessed by demons, and people'll say oh it's terrible to be watched but some of us get watched anyway all the time. And get restricted. Without the leak-free roof. Solid walls. Education. Meals." If he could safely lift his hands to tilt them back and forth as little scales he would but there's a bear so he tries to mime it with his mouth instead.

Newt makes several faces over the course of listening to what Circles are and what the Gallows is and used to be. Eventually, his facial expression settles into one of resignation and he lets out a long, weary sigh.

"So can mages leave these Circles?" He asks warily. Because, yes, being watched and guarded constantly makes these Circles sound like fancily dressed prisons, no matter how many books and meals they might have. "Or do they have to be escorted?"

He's more aware than ever that he'll have to be careful with his own magic. He doesn't want to draw unwanted attention to himself, to have people assume he's a demon. (Though, from what he understands, people will assume that of him anyway, being a rifter.)

"They watch you, then?" He asks, guessing based on Yngvi's words.

"I think if you were noble you got special permissions if your family weren't all oh the shame, Darcy the smelling salts if you will about it because that's, y'know, a big shame this side of Tevinter. Worse than the aunt that gets into the gin before noon every day. Or if the Wardens needed mages they'd go get one but that's a whole other rotten kettle of fish. Maybe if there was some war and healers were needed but not every mage is a healer." Yngvi makes his own face because he's not entirely sure, he's more used to apostates in his line of work and getting bogged down in mage politics is par for the course now but that doesn't mean he just makes it open season. "Technically they exist but don't. Mages are out of them now, some in the wilds, a whole lot with the Inquisition because of some offer I don't know it was politics and before I signed up. I expect when we're all done here they'll have to decide what happens with that."

Or, more likely by the way his tone becomes strained and resigned, before things end because they'll want to know before, they'll dig in their heels because their problems matter more than the world ending fiasco. That always happens with mages because they're stuffed full of their own importance at times and don't realise that people do get to be scared of folk that demons can possess and who can set whole towns ablaze.

He takes a breath. Glances over at Newt and wonders, not for the first time, about dwarves elsewhere. If they exist. What they're like. If places like Orzammar or a thing like the Carta have room to breathe. "Guards watch me because of where I was born and who I was born to. My own watch me because that's what we do, and because they let me leave for a while then I came back so they need to because that's family." And his mouth is twisting, his stomach is turning, the Carta is a sour thing he's so close to being away from in all ways but physically. "Everyone watches a dwarf if a dwarf isn't being funny."

He's not bitter.

"...Merlin's beard," Newt says, because he can't think of how else to respond to all of that, for the time being. Politics here seem just as complex, difficult, and, frankly, awful as any he's encountered back home. "So, at best, mages are tools for war, and, at worst, a scandal to be hushed up and kept away from prying eyes for the sake of propriety?" Unspoken is the question of what the people here would make of rifters who could come across like mages for their magic; he doesn't feel it's worth asking when he can likely guess at the answer.

He suspects he's oversimplifying it, but that is the gist of what he understands of what Yngvi is saying.

"I'm sorry," he offers quietly, looking at Yngvi with plain sympathy. "That's terrible."

He can't help but think of all the parallels between this world and his own; all of the inequality and politics that do little to actually solve any problems.

"I know more of them that come from outside Circles, it's my kind of life," he replies because he's thinking of Amalia who was raised by two of them, who doesn't care about the politics and just lives her life instead, of the Avvar who get on with it. "The thing is that now they're out, they don't really get the whole living thing. It's 'my problems are worse than yours'. Yeah, they got put away but they were safe from a lot of people who were scared enough of them they'd so stupid things, have you met frightened villagers? They're do things when they're frightened. And if a mage is frightened, and doesn't really think, what happens if they have a fire spell? You can't compare fire the same way to other stuff. And with nobles, it's not like they're alone, if a noble had a kid with an elf, tried to hush it up and that got out, they'd be disinherited so fast their head would spin and there's a lot less support for elves than there are mages."

Very convenient that the mages don't think about it, which is a lot for a stranger to take in but this is how you do a crash course in Thedas politics Yngvi style.

Yngvi shrugs, strokes the bear that breathes rancid bear breath on him. What can you do really? "I've got friends, friends that I know are here for me. S'good to have a fallback plan y'know?"

Newt just shakes his head, trying to understand. It is a whole lot to take in, but at the very core, the politics of Thedas aren't entirely dissimilar to the ones from his home, though, frankly, he thinks it's safe to say the politics here are certainly more extreme.

"Why are elves and those related to elves treated so poorly?" He asks. "For that matter, why are dwarves?"

Politics in general are just one of many reasons he tends to prefer creatures to people. He pets the polar bear, grinning as it nuzzles him. Animals are uncomplicated; free of the burdens of what it means to live in any sort of society. Everything Newt's hearing about Thedas makes him want to stay out in the wild, though, admittedly, some place with much greater warmth than here.

He manages another a smile, this one a tad wry, at Yngvi's next words.

"I used to be the sort of person who preferred being alone," he admits. "But I've come to see that friends are especially important, so yes, I agree. I think it is good to have a fallback plan."

"Elves had two homelands; ancient one that Tevinter magisters sank before they made the elves slaves, then the elves went along with Andraste - lady prophet, wife of the Maker - fought a rebellion and stuff and got a second homeland called the Dales. Then things got tense with the Chantry and there was an Exalted March, elves lost their homeland again. Dalish elves got tattoos in patterns on their faces and live in the woods most of the time, city elves live in cities. They're just...they're less to humans. Because of that. Because they were slaves a long time. Because they had their own beliefs a long time ago. Because it's how humans are about things they don't get." Yngvi says it bluntly since someone might as well tell the new human (he hasn't heard of elf-blooded rifters yet, so here, he feels fine in just assuming) about it before there's something offensive to say. "In Orlais they were writing things at the university a bit ago about how they're like animals because of the ears, something to do with prey, that-- that lying with them is like--" He clears his throat uncomfortably as his face reddens, "like lying with an animal."

He's angry about that one. Still. Even now.

"Dwarves don't get it so bad here, we do it to each other most of the time, we've got a Caste system in Orzammar, dictates your lot and lucky for me? I was born up here but people expect things. Doesn't that happen where you come from? Oh this person is this, they need to do this thing. Think we're criminals or merchants or just do their enchanting or deal with lyrium. Handle dangerous stuff for 'em. You're a dwarf. You're an elf. You're not human so you don't get to be all the things humans are."

A person. That's just trickier to articulate when he's accepting that himself but it's there. Frustrating even now that people don't let you be a whole thing or let you out of the box they've tried to put you in.

Newt listens. He isn't surprised by the cruelty of humans; they rather have a knack for it, he's found. Even towards their own kind, especially anyone that they might consider "lesser." And given what Yngvi tells him, Elves seem to be considered even lesser than that, here in Thedas. The thought of the slave trade alone makes him wince, though, again, he can't exactly say he's surprised to here about it.

"...What?" He stares, trying to comprehend such cruelty. Such obvious, blatant disregard for Elves, just because of who they are and their appearance. "I'm sorry, but people honestly published...that as an academic essay?"

He wonders if there's a limit to how much outrage he can feel in a given context. He shouldn't be surprised, and yet.

"It does, unfortunately," he says with a resigned sigh. "In my world, people are judged for all sorts of petty reasons. Among wizards and witches, where your blood comes from greatly matters, unfortunately. People believe they're more 'pure' than others because of their magical lineage. Some people want to use magic to overthrow and subdue those without to serve them 'for the greater good.'" Even saying the words out loud leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

"It would be nice to think that humans could change but," he says, shaking his head sadly. "The humans of this world and the humans of my world have much in common, it would seem."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he tries to picture what his lady might say or how her mouth might twist, or if Thranduil would approve, how Wren might sigh or rub her temples more for his own sake than anything else.

"Yes," he sounds embarrassed to know about it the way people should when they can't do anything about it. Outraged because it's disgusting, it's wrong, they're just people same as anyone else. "Elves used to get sponsored to go and were maybe going to get chances but that was clearly not right. Got to put the elves back in their place."

Don't think about Kirkwall. Don't think about Gwenaëlle. Instead he listens to Newt, summoning up whatever truths or more likely fractured bits of truth and rumour he knows of Tevinter where things are different, back to front, all twisted aroun themselves. "Tevinter cares about that," he says carefully with a glance upward at Newt, "and bloodlines. Being a mage is a big deal there I'm sorry it's...it's bad where you are, you sort of hope it's better? Like, before I left Kirkwall it was always about 'well at least I'm out in the world and I'm not stopping places long' then suddenly new people are here. So there are other worlds. Where you all come from. Where things could be different. But it's like-- it's like there's just somethin' in the core of some lots of us maybe. I don't know."

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OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE

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