faderift | I LIKED TEVINTER WHEN IT WAS STILL UNDERGROUND

The Deep Roads are a web of light.

Of darkness, too — for every cavern lit by the pale luminescence of fungus and lyrium, there's a twin hewn into shade. The old highways steep with pockets of black too thick for even torch-flame to penetrate, corruption seeped from the rock to collect in still and filthy pools.

Touching these isn’t advised. Neither is uncovering your mouth, or straying from the group. Things rustle in the corners of sound and sight: Chitter, scratch, flap. The Thaigs bred giant spiders, or so the stories go. Bred them to eat the bats.

Those fleeing the Imperium will find gate after gate blocked, paths to the surface sealed by heavy Dwarven fortification (the solemn faces of men and women long dead), else rubbled rock and open chasm. Runes mark waypoints, but the scrape of claws and years have worn most into illegibility.

That’s alright. The Darkspawn don’t seem to need directions — or sleep, or anything but pursuit and the relentless dark.

They’ve company coming. The Inquisition reinforcements have their own obstacles to contend with: A herd of blind, albino cave brontos has taken up residence through a wide stretch of tunnels. They're pretty cute. It's a shame they aren’t pleased to see you.

Edited 2018-08-19 03:02 (UTC)

Newt, predictable as ever, at this point, smiles in delight when the group first encounters the herd of cave brontos. His favorite aspect of Thedas by far has to be the diversity of its wildlife; as he hasn't yet run into these brontos during his previous trips into the Deep Roads, he finds himself especially fascinated by the herd they've stumbled across now.

That fascination is put on hold the moment the herd begin stamping their feet and snorting, looking as though they're about to charge.

Needless to say, the feeling isn't mutual.

"Please don't charge us," Newt says, trying to appeal to the creatures. He doesn't want to have to fight or kill them but if he must, he will. "We mean you no harm."

The brontos definitely do not care for this attempt, and so, when they, in fact, begin to charge, Newt brings his wand from where he's holding it as a means of additional light for the group and begins casting stunning spells.

Are you insane is probably one of those questions Newt gets a lot.

"I don't think they speak —"

Isaac finds himself cut off mid-quip. Well. There's sort of a strangled sound that might be the end of it.

"You're not going to stop all of them!" He hisses, grabbing for Newt's arm to tug aside. The thick, armored hides of the Brontos have been reinforced by years spent chewing life from lyrium-shot stalagmites: They shrug off the spells, send stuns ricocheting at all angles. Three or four go flying simultaneously into the face of one blind beast, finally staggering it to a halt. It collapses to its knees, causes a minor pile-up of the two behind. There are more coming. "Over here!"

There's an alcove, not quite big enough for two men. It occurs, distantly, that Isaac doesn't need to tell Newt about it. But probably there'd be questions to answer. Paperwork to fill out.

(This seems a bad time to have never picked up even the basics of a flimsy barrier.)

Are You Insane? could very easily be the title of Newt's biography. He's both answered the question enough times and seen that same question in the variety of bewildered expressions people in general tend to toss his way that it hardly phases him now. Add to that fact that he's considered additionally strange here for being a Rifter and well. Newt's never been one to care overly much what other people make of him.

That being said, he is grateful to Isaac for pulling him out of the way of the stampeding creatures.

He sees where Isaac is looking, the alcove that looks barely big enough to fit the pair of them. He glances back briefly at the incoming broncos before turning back to Isaac.

"You go ahead," he says, moving to run towards the creatures, now especially agitated for his spells. "I'll distract him."

If Isaac thought his sanity questionable before now, well.

Newt runs, building up enough momentum to leap. He isn't thinking at all; he's making it up as he goes, old habits die hard and all of that. He winds up landing awkwardly on the back of one of the broncos, managing to grab a firm hold as the animal begins to buck.

"It's fine!" He shouts back to Isaac. "I've got this!"

"That isn't —" Visions of paperwork dance before his eyes. "— You don't got anything!"

The bronto slams its bulk between its fellows and the rock. It's a massive beast; Newt temporarily pilots a one-man wrecking ball. It's possible from here to distract the herd with the fight, or perhaps, to lead them onward and out of the cavern.

Towards what? Darkspawn aren't all that haunt these tunnels. There's certain danger (to himself, to the beasts) in playing bronto bumper cars. But beyond lies the perilous unknown.

Either way, Newt's going to have to choose quick. The creature's growing sweaty with exertion, its hide slick.

"Give me a moment!" He shouts back. (He doesn't really have a moment to spare, but oh well.)

Newt truthfully only has what he can grasp of the bronco's back, and even that is slippery at best, given the wildness of the herd's various movements, including the bronco he happens to have climbed up on.

He manages to sturdy himself a moment later, and it's in that moment that he realizes he does, in fact, have options, from what brief glimpses he can catch of this current environment.

Newt decides that, if he's going to die down in the Deep Roads, he might as well die trying to lead a herd of broncos out of tunnel.

"Come on, there's a good bronco," Newt leans down to whisper to his bronco as he digs in with the heels of his boots, hoping to steer the creatures up the path. "We don't really want to stay stuck down here, do we?"

The encouragement seems to...do something. If not quite work, it seems to catch the bronco's attention, and, soon enough, it appears to listen to Newt's request.

[ Tracking in the Deep Roads is difficult, and Hanzo is beginning to lose his patience.

No matter how far they go, the gates are blocked. All indications towards pathways up and out are sealed. Any route they take is blocked with Darkspawn and chittering, scratching noises that leave Hanzo on edge, his teeth grit together, slipping through the darkness with all the sleuth he can muster. He was never trained in combat like this, not really - he was always ranged, ready to slip back and climb high - but there are no heights here. There is no place for him to be at range.

It would probably be better if he was alone, but he's not. D'Artagnan is at his side, and he looks uncomfortably like Benedict, enough that he's not entirely sure how to handle the mixture of emotions it inspires inside of him. He does his best to ignore him at first, but when he realises that they're likely going to be alone for some time he decides it might be better to at least try and be civil.

Bow drawn, Hanzo shifts around a corner. He's not tired yet, but... He can feel the swirl of his spirits in the bow. They're feeling as caged as he does, and the discomfort is clear. ]

This way.

[ Melee combat is not d'Artagnan's problem. He's used to that; prefers it, even, to fighting at range.

It's the length of travel. The maze-like quality of this place, the fact that they've been in it for God knows how long, the fact that he's lost track of time in and of itself. There are noises everywhere, and more often than not those noises lead to Darkspawn and that leads to fighting and bodies and desperately trying to avoid infection.

There's irritation, too, in the knowing that Benedict is elsewhere. He takes some solace in knowing that at least his charge isn't here facing Darkspawn, but who knows what else he might be dealing with?! They ought to be together. He would feel better if they were. As for Hanzo, he doesn't know how he feels about him. He doesn't blame him for what happened to James and Simon, though he thinks he could've done more to prevent it.

Anyway, that concern seems like a minor distraction now that they're dealing with this. He tenses as Hanzo moves around, having grown accustomed to enemies appearing from nowhere. He keeps his voice low. ]

Why not? We've tried everywhere else. [ He is so, so done with the Deep Roads. Why the hell didn't he just make for the sea? ] I'll go first. You'll need time to aim.

[ Hanzo makes no comment on the nature of his speed when it comes to archery; he is a good shot and faster than many would credit him for, but there's no way he would have the same aim and vision in these tunnels as he might on the surface. It's almost impossible to see at a good distance, almost impossible to recognise where he is going to be aiming and shooting, and it leaves him frustrated and on edge. With him and D'Artagnan together they only have one another to protect, but they also only have one another to rely on.

It would be easier, Hanzo thinks, if he was capable of using his magic, but he is not. He cannot. The vow he made was enough that he would not let himself do it, but... With the Deep Roads as they are there's no doubt the Darkspawn will continue to be a threat, one that would be almost too dangerous to manage.

If it was just the Darkspawn it might be avoidable, but Hanzo knows the roads. Spiders and stalkers are mixed in with the caves, as they often are in deep, dark places, and he doesn't wish to run into any of them if he has a means to avoid it.

Moving forward, Hanzo reaches out with his hand, feeling along the walls. There might be a small tunnel, an exit, something they're unaware of given the maps they were given. They need to be free of this before one of them falls to the monsters that lie in wait, but it is not so easy a thing. ]

I can fight with my knife. [ And the Dragons that are settled in his bow, but that is if all else fails. ] I do not need to be at range. I was taught well.

[ D'Artagnan shoots him an uncertain look. Fighting Darkspawn with a knife alone means getting a lot closer to them than he's ideally fond of. His sword isn't much better in that regard, but at least it puts them further than arm's reach from him.

Most of the time.

There's no time to argue, though, even if he were inclined to. He sets his jaw and nods. ]

If you like.

[ He lets Hanzo take point and follows, as gingerly as possible. He can't make himself soundless here; he doesn't know the footing well enough, and it's a structure made to carry sound. He keeps his sword in his hand, ready to react to any movement in their direction. He doesn't need to look at the map again to know they're still a very long way from home.

It would be so much better if they weren't alone. ]

Do you see anything?

[ He keeps his voice low now. Personally, his grip on his sword has tightened at every errant sound.

There are many errant sounds. ]

[ It might be dangerous, but at this point Hanzo would be content with allowing himself the chance to prove himself, to prove that he can take care of himself even in these dark, deep Roads. He's not sure what is to become of the two of them, but it is on his honour, now, to make sure that D'Artagnan escapes as alive as he himself will escape, and that means he has to push himself further than he might like.

He will do what is required of him, and regain his honour. There will not be honour in death this day. ]

We must make use of what we have.

[ And what he has is a stupid Tourney dagger he won with his spoils from the shooting games and a bow with too few arrows left. It's not enough and he knows it; there's a burning under his skin, the familiar pressure of whispering spirits in his ears.

Not yet. ]

Keep moving forward.

[ Hanzo shifts, feet dragging lightly on the ground, moving about a corner before he pauses, arm darting out, stopping D'Artagnan if he dares move too far. ]

Stop. There. Darkspawn.

[ D'Artagnan's breaths are shallow. He halts at the warning and draws sword and dagger. There's really nothing else for it.

Every time they encounter a group of these things, he thinks they might die down here. Surely at some point, their luck will run out. They are two soldiers fighting against a horde, and the odds that they'll come through it must be very short. Each time, he pushes that thought from his mind. He'll worry about it after he's dead. For now-- ]

Then we must clear the path.

[ He lets out a cry as he plunges into them, sword stabbing and knife slashing. This gives him the briefest moment of surprise, which sees two fall before the rest even realise he's among them. Then it's a different story, because all of a sudden they're all on him. He turns into the battle wasting no time and mainly trying to keep their attention away from Hanzo. If they think he's a lunatic alone, they'll still have some advantage here. ]

Watch -

[ There goes the element of surprise, but there's not much to be done for that. He doubts that they'd have been able to keep that for long either way, and Hanzo shifts forward, moving to stand at D'Artagnan's back, lifting his bow and narrowing his eyes.

He can aim. He can shoot. At least until he runs out of arrows.

There's only a handful more, he thinks, and he shoots his bow; the arrow goes into the eye, into the head, and it drops down. Dead, he can assume, but he's never fought Darkspawn like this before, not with such intensity. Shifting forward, he twists, shoes digging into the ground as he aims again, drawing his bow back. They're focussed on D'Artagnan, true enough, but Hanzo is not going to leave him alone.

Another arrow. Another hit. ]

[ He keeps fighting as the herd of them begins to thin - one after another being picked off by Hanzo's arrows. His sword takes one down. He's about to spin to put it through a second, but a third grabs hold of him, and sudden fear erases that plan from his mind. He acts on instinct then, dropping and rolling his shoulder forward to throw the one grappling him right into the path of another. His knife goes into its back between the shoulder blades and then he does turn, in time to impale one on his sword.

It doesn't die immediately. D'Artagnan shifts his grip and swings it around, putting it in the path of that bow. ]

Hanzo!

[ He's lost track of how many are left, given that he's in the middle of them. Hopefully they'll cut a path through soon. ]

[ The Darkspawn are hideous things and Hanzo wants nothing more than to see them torn apart. He wants to move closer, to draw out his dagger just in case, but there's an edge of something that he feels - it's too dangerous to be as close as D'Artagnan is, not when the threat of them being overrun is so high. They need to take these things down quickly, to have them dead before the noise attracts anything else to hurt and harm them.

He hears his name and sees the body being twisted around. His eyes shift, narrowing, taking in the shot, but he moves as fast as he can all the same.

It's a dangerous shot, but he makes it, the arrow sliding into the head of the Darkspawn before he makes his way closer, aiming at the next one. ]

[ When, finally, the last of this crop goes down, d'Artagnan falls back to rest against the cave wall. He shoves the last of the bodies away, staring at them with distaste. Truthfully, he doesn't want to leave them like this. They ought to be burned, he knows that.

There's no question of even attempting it in these tunnels. Instead he bends, cleaning his sword and dagger off, and he looks up at Hanzo. ]

Good shooting. I suppose we'll need your arrows back.

[ They don't know how many more times they'll need them, after all. This isn't going to be fun. ]

[ Watching them all fall to their blade and arrows is satisfying, at least, but Hanzo knows it's not something he can rely on. There's an edge of tension and uncertainty that makes him anxious, almost. He'd never admit it, but Hanzo isn't sure how to manage the twisted danger that comes from facing Darkspawn.

Other Magisters, Qunari, Venatori? He can handle those. These are something very different. ]

No. They have Darkspawn blood on them - it is not worth the risk.

[ Turning his head, he looks at his quiver, thoughtful. ]

I will have enough.

I LIKED TEVINTER WHEN IT WAS STILL UNDERGROUND | Closed

THE DEPTHS | solo threads, do whatever, #YOLO

Buckin' Blind Cave Brontos; closed to Isaac

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closed to d'artagnan

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