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)

There’s a hum beneath the earth.

At the edge of the mind — difficult to say where imagination ends, and true sound begins. A few days of this, and your senses play tricks on you: Step after trudging step through the darkness, dead-bored, waiting for something to make you just plain dead.

But it’s been getting louder for a while now; music, or the murmur of a child. They’re close to the others: Hanzo and D'Artagnan could be around any given corner, and doubtless with Darkspawn in tow. It's been a few days. Your senses play tricks.

From the back of the group, Isaac's staff gleams with dull light, steady as it has since this little adventure began. Steady, until something slams into the back of his head. It flares, throwing loose flame as he smashes into the cavern wall and down. The misshapen thing on his shoulders gives a warbling cry through half-crushed jaws, raises its broken blade with a peculiar reverence to strike.

It’s not alone.

Edited 2018-08-18 23:08 (UTC)

There's entering the Deep Roads. There's surviving the Deep Roads. And then there's getting back out again.

Like, whatever, man. It's a journey, not a sprint — especially right now, sprinting right now would be a very bad idea.

The bridge before them spans a vast expanse of emptiness: A great impossible hole in the bottom of the world. It's thin, crumbled for the years, slick with the rot of its own rope guides. Poles scatter, the remains of what must have once been more frequent use.

It's single file or nothing; this path wasn't sized for human feet. Human bones, however, fit perfectly. A cracked skull here, a ribcage there, tiny teeth carpet the way. Better not to think about what might have left them.

Daylight waits not far beyond. Daylight, and the promise of mere mortal peril. The waterways of Orlais are pleasant this time of year, would be more so, if not choked by suspicious eyes and the debris of war. The ferrymen charge an exorbitant price; pay up — or beg, borrow, requisition, and steal your way into passage back to Val Chevin.

Edited 2018-08-19 02:57 (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.

Newt thinks he can feel the damn humming beneath his skin, given how many days it's been now since the humming begin. Like an itch in a particularly unreachable place, he can't quite ignore it, even for as much as he tries to.

He's covered in dirt, dried blood, and other questionable material that seems to inhabit the Deep Roads in spades; he can feel the aching exhaustion running through him in his bones. And yet, he feels entirely alive. This is where he wants to be; out in the wilderness, helping people the best way he knows how.

He's just managing to find a comfortable rhythm in getting his mind to focus on anything else but the humming when the attacks begin. He moves to help out Isaac when the group of creatures begins to infiltrate the rest of their group as a whole.

"Merlin's beard!" He shouts as one of the creatures launches itself at his face. He flails as he goes down, but he manages to move his wand to blast the creature away from him.

As the creatures pile on them, Newt throws himself (probably recklessly, because, really, is there any other way of fighting?) into the fray.

Rey was near the front of the group, though the steady discomfort of the Deep Roads is wearing on her enough that she wasn't taking a lead like she might otherwise. Her sensitivity to the Force tended to make her more susceptible to the corruption throughout Thedas, and this place is rife with it. Her bones nearly ache from the pressing darkness alone, and if it weren't for the fact that she needs the Force she'd be sorely tempted to close herself off from it. At least for a little while.

She's considering her choices for the hundreth time in the hour when she hears the commotion towards the back and she turns, tiredness and discomfort forgotten, her lightsaber igniting in one fluid motion. The white mabari at her side also turns, growling as the darkspawn descend, and both move together to drive the advancing forces back.

[ 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.

[ D'Artagnan steps up to see what they're faced with. Tiny little bridge, deep yawning chasm with no bottom he can discern. He takes it in, nods, and looks back at the others. ]

And we're absolutely sure this is the best way?

[ What would he know, he's been lost in the Deep Roads for days. At least days. Possibly longer; his sense of time has all but disappeared. The prospect of going backwards and trying to find a different route does not appeal in the least, but nor does the thought of that bridge breaking beneath their weight.

Again, he's so glad he came on this trip. It's been so much fun in so many respects; if only they could have stayed longer. ]

[ 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.

As a tiefling-turned-qunari, Jester still has her dark vision, which means that she gets a real eyeful of their attackers.

Her first reaction is to yell. "AAA!"--and then, with that out of the way, her second reaction is to grab hold of the Traveler's holy symbol. There's a glow about her, divine magic, and as she squeezes the symbol tight in her hand, she yells, "Okay, fuck off!"

As her words bounce around the cavern, there is, in their wake, the sound of a bell tolling, solemnly. Or maybe it's a trick of the underground. In any case, the devouring corpse shambling toward the tail end of their line crumples at the knees, and staggers.

Almost simultaneously, Jester's spiritual weapon bursts to life above her. The giant lollipop, almost offensively bright in its colors. She swings it around to bash the corpse over the head, but still has time and breath for a compliment to Rey and her lightsaber: "Hey, your sword is really really pretty!"

Are you sure you don't want one?

[This is another question, and not the answer to the question that D'Artagnan is asking. At his side, standing above the deep chasm, Jester matter-of-factly holds open the paper bag for his review. Tiny little bag, short yawning depth, stuffed half-full of pastries and dusted with crumbs and powdered sugar and streaks of jam. There is still a variety in there, doughnuts and croissants, a few with custard.

She gives the bag an encouraging shake, jostling them together. For a seven feet tall qunari, she is smiling very sweetly. This is also not the first time that she has offered the pastries to D'Artagnan, since he was first found wandering around in the Deep Roads.]

They are really really good. Kind of old now, because we were looking for you guys for so-o-o long, but they are still good. This one has cinnamon, which will make you extra brave for bridge crossing. Because we cannot go the other way, okay, there were these things back there, they were kind of like rhinos, have you seen rhinos? I only ever saw a picture and man, they were huge, and I don't care, I think that would be okay to sneak past again, but you only look a little sneaky, and everyone wanted to do the stupid bridge instead. So we're doing the stupid bridge.

Umm-- [She peeks back in the pastry bag again.] --this one has cloves in it. Cloves are really good for walking in a teeny-tiny straight line.

I have heard that, [ Alistair says, from the back, ] about cloves.

[ He doesn't need to look into the chasm. He can picture it, just like he can picture the unnatural splay of limbs and trickling blood of a body at the bottom. Not an ideal situation. But the alternative is also not an ideal situation. The only ideal situation in the Deep Roads is not being in the Deep Roads in the first place—at least not with this much poorly-experienced company. How Cousland didn't get them all killed way back when is a mystery. ]

Someone has rope, right? Someone always has rope.

There will be time afterwards, probably, if everyone survives, to apologize for not seeing them coming—maybe to explain that they're everywhere, above and below, in tunnels on every side, and shrieks in particular are clever enough to take advantage of that confusion, to seem like there's solid rock in the way until suddenly there isn't, or maybe to not do that, because it's not like it's going to make anybody feel better about this situation.

But for now, Alistair's apology comes in the form of a blade skewering (not slicing, to minimize the spray) through the chest of the one hovering over Isaac, and a quicker estimation of the situation than would be possible if he couldn't sense them, count them, measure their intent.

"Get the genlock," he shouts to everyone else, in lieu of another warning about the blood and tainted knives, when he's already given several—shouts, then remembers the rifters and adds, "the stocky one, the mage," for clarification.

That certainly is a glowing lollipop being used as a weapon, Newt has just enough time to think before he's dodging another attack and retaliating in kind. As he twists and turns himself, he gets another glimpse of Jester actually swinging the lollipop. From what he can tell, it's very effective.

When Alistair mentions focusing on the genlock, Newt immediately searches for the creature in question. Once he finds it, he moves, quickly and carefully, trying to avoid getting sprayed with blood, to focus his attacks on the more immediate target.

"Stupefy!" He calls out, aiming directly at the creature, which promptly falls though Newt knows it isn't dead. Not yet.

"Quick, I don't know how long the spell will hold!" He calls out to the others as he continues to direct his attacks at the genlock.

How far down do you think it goes? Kind of seems like it's endless, doesn't it?

[Newt asks this oh-so helpfully as he stands close to the edge, peering down into the abyss beneath the rather...bare-bone bridge. It's been a long journey, and he's well and truly worn out from his encounters with both bronco and darkspawn. And yet Newt still can't find it within him to be sick of the Deep Roads yet.

He glances back up at the bridge.]

Hopefully sturdy rope.

[ Rey isn't looking down the chasm, rather across it, her eyes slightly narrowed as she mentally steps across the narrow bridge. She's crossed narrower pathways in the Graveyard on Jakku, though those paths were usually not littered with bones. Still, crossing it isn't something that terrifies her. She's fairly certain she can get across. The others... could be another story.

After a moment she shifts, her hand sliding back to her bag. ]

I have rope. Not enough for us to build a better bridge with, though.

[ Hanzo is clearly exhausted; it shows in the shape of his face, the deep dark circles under his eyes, the sharpness of his gaze as he forces himself to pay attention. The quiver on his back has an arrow in it, not in the best condition, and Storm Bow strapped around his shoulders seems to be helping him keep his back up and strong, his attention focussed entirely on moving forward. He has been in the Deep Roads long enough, he thinks, and the need to see the surface again urges him forward.

The bones don't frighten him. Death does not scare him. There's a part of him that thinks, perhaps, it's the only option.

Moving forward, he steps up to the edge, examining it. ]

We must cross. I can go first.

[ If he falls then he falls. ]

Wait—

[ to Hanzo, before he looks back at Rey. ]

We don't need a bridge, but if it's long enough whoever's surest on their feet [ maybe Hanzo, sure ] could string it across so the rest of us have something to hold onto.

[ If it's long enough is the key phrase there. It's not a short walk. But Alistair is not particularly sure on his feet, himself, so if it would work, then he at least would be significantly less likely to plummet down into that potentially endless depth.

Which, thanks, Newt, for that thought. Alistair doesn't know him very well, but he doesn't have to know him well to reach out, pinch the back of his shirt, and pull him back a few more inches from the edge. ]

I've got it,

[ He does. Got it, that is, if it is a length of sturdy rope —

If it is more than a passing idea of how to throw things, apparently he doesn't got that part at all. He gestures for Hanzo's attention. He tosses the rope,

(What, like he's getting any closer to the edge than necessary? Not when they've got a volunteer.)

It cuts a spectacular arc. A winning, picture-perfect moment... as it goes sailing over Hanzo's head and into the dark with the cartoonish scrape-and-slither of falling cord.

If it ever hits bottom, there's no sound. Isaac stares after, a long moment to perhaps reflect on one's life choices, before he turns to Rey: ]

She's got it.

[ They can unclip from the back, one at a time, if they run short. ]

Edited 2018-08-23 15:29 (UTC)

[ Rey watches this exchange with mute horror on her face, so stunned that it doesn't even occur to her to try to catch the rope with the Force until it's well out of sight. ]

Did you just-

[ Her voice is pitched higher than usual when she speaks, and she doesn't even finish the sentence, shaking her head instead, a look of absolute befuddlement on her face. Reaching into her pack she pulls out the coiled rope she'd brought along, keeping a firm grip on it. ]

I don't think it's long enough to reach across the entire chasm. Maybe halfway.

[ Hanzo just stares, watching the rope go flying, moving and falling into the chasm below. For a moment he doesn't know what to do or what to say, his voice caught in his throat. Of course this would happen. Of course this would be what happens to him, trapped in the Deep Roads, rope falling over the edge.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and then relaxes. ]

I can cross and shoot it so that you have half a bridge, but no more. This is our only option.

[ Turning his head, he glances at his quiver. One arrow. He could make the shot without question, but... ]

I am happy to walk the whole way alone. I can judge how difficult it is and report back.

Blame requires a level of attention to detail that Isaac's not quite prepared to give anything other than the ringing in his skull. Time dilates about the taste of blood, the overpowering sense of wrong,

There are a lot of ways that he’d prefer not to die. This checks at least four off the list.

(Count them: Darkspawn, underground, surrounded by spirits, while someone's screaming about beards.)

Dead tissue shambles more quickly than one might expect — slowed temporarily by the blaze of light from Rey’s saber, from Jester’s... whatever that is. But Alistair’s right; they’re little without the Genlock. It's well-armored, and sturdy for it, its fall answered by a volley of jagged frost to Newt.

The shriek topples off Isaac’s back with the wet sound of steel through rot, and he rolls to stagger dazed to his feet. His staff's out of easy reach, but that's a realization too familiar by half. Energy collects about his hands, contorts the air: The telltale signs of casting cut a twisting wire through the Fade, sharpening the group's movements, adding weight to their blows.

Not his finest work, but it’ll do. A second shriek leaps for Jester.

Edited 2018-08-23 16:56 (UTC)

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.)

[Jester snorts. Her mouthful of pastry means that she also sprays crumbs everywhere.]

Oh, jeez! You are all such babies. It is just a skinny teensie-eentsie-weentsie bridge with bones all over it, over a big big really deep chasm into nothing and nowhere! What is the problem? I could skip across that thing!

I'll go with you-- [to Hanzo. She brushes crumbs against her skirt and petticoat, and holds out her giant quanri hand to him.] Here! If you hold my hand, you will also get a blessing, so we can be sneaky, and whatever put all those bones there won't even know we are crossing, okay? The Blessing of the Trickster. It is a really really good blessing, man. And I bet you are a really really good shot, right, everyone?

[Everyone, right? She looks significantly around at the rest of their party.]

So there is to-tally nothing to worry about. And I can tell you guys if it is difficult too. You should always get two opinions on stuff. That is like, the basics. Okay?

[And with that, Jester steps toward the bridge, whether or not Hanzo has taken her by the hand and accepted the Blessing of the Trickster.]

I LIKED TEVINTER WHEN IT WAS STILL UNDERGROUND | Closed

THE DEPTHS | solo threads, do whatever, #YOLO

RENDEZVOUS + FFFIGHT | Group Log

BRIDGE TO TERROR-ABYSS-IA + BOATS | whatever you feel like doing

Buckin' Blind Cave Brontos; closed to Isaac

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closed to d'artagnan

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