MOD PLOT ↠ NONE TO RETURN

[faderifting]

WHO: All characters signed up to participate in the Battle of Ghislain
WHAT: The Inquisition regroups and heads home
WHEN: Covers the period immediately post-battle (11.28) through the journey back to Kirkwall (11.29-12.1)
WHERE: North of Montfort, Orlais, and on the road to Val Chevin
NOTES: This is Post #2, covering the immediate aftermath of the battle and the journey back to Kirkwall. It's a free-for-all. Post #1 covers the battle itself. More info on the OOC post.

The Inquisition and Orlesian armies eventually limp to a halt along the Imperial Highway north of Montfort, where wide fields and gentle hills offer clear lines of sight and a sparsely equipped fortress provides some shelter and fortification. It's a soundly strategic location—if Ghislain is lost, Montfort is the last major city between the invaders and Val Royeaux—but among the rank and file there may be too much chaos to appreciate it.

For the remainder of the day and well into the night, the fortress and surrounding land are a frenzy of activity. The wounded who were not left on the field must be triaged and tended to with limited supplies, while many healers and surgeons out of commission themselves and the remainder worked to the bone. Scouts, soldiers, and even support staff in sturdy enough condition to keep working may be tasked with assembling camp from the few remaining supplies, taking reports on known casualties or acquired intelligence, or further fortifying the new location. The Orlesian army sends one of its battered cavalry units toward Ghislain to attempt to provide some warning, and from the Inquisition's number a few patrols are sent back toward the battlefield or toward Ghislain, with stern orders not to re-engage, only to watch for signs of pursuit, and to direct any stragglers.

Those who remain in the fortress are in for a long, miserable night, with meager rations and makeshift bedding, if any of either, while the wind shifts directions and grows colder. By morning a number of the wounded have died, but attempts to build a pyre are hampered by the sudden swell of a storm that starts with freezing rain and then transitions to early and unpredicted thick, heavy snow.

For a few hours that morning the two armies attempt business as normal, but it soon becomes clear that the storm is getting stronger, and they risk being snowed in with more people than they can feed. Many, including the Inquisition's Gallows contingent, are ordered to disperse. Many crowd into wagons, with any transportable wounded receiving further attention en route and neighbors hunching close to preserve heat whether they like one another or not, while those able to do so follow on foot or horseback over the rough, flash-frozen highway toward Montfort and then west toward Val Chevin. The storm doesn't abate until they've nearly reached the city, but once there they're able to stop, eat, and spend a few hours indoors thawing out before proceeding home.

Comments

[shri]

Oh, and how they match. Her one covered eye looking back at his, as he strikes the match for her.

But her expression isn't fretful or frustrated at his presumption. Rather there is grateful of him, and before he could go far, she reaches a hand to clasp his, moderate, not too much, and guide him to sit beside her, to stay with her.

"Would you like to pray with me?"

[divineshadow]

It is another piece of home to be so-directed by someone, with all that was important expressed through touch. The Priest settles to sitting where Lakshmi directs without complaints. Even goes so far as to lean in toward her for a heartbeat--a gesture that speaks not of exhaustion but fondness and safety in the presence of a trusted--

A trusted--

--No. That is too far. Friendship does not quite describe what they have.

Especially not when she can make so casual an invitation that nevertheless strikes the Priest as utterly strange. "Your gods will hear you here?" Not: here on Thedas but: Here in the world and not the Void beyond.

The Priest does not think the clarify while waiting for an answer.

[shri]

She doesn't falter, as he does, they are both misplaced, in very different ways. Customs and confusion. She doesn't push him away, rather, her still good hand, too cold fingers, run softly across the back of Priest's bare head in what could only be described as affection.

A nod that is unseen to his question, because she does not force him to lift his head, just adjusts so he can settle comfortably. Because the answer makes no difference to the question. A truth that warms her surely, even now. "They do. They always hear."

[divineshadow]

All pretext of formality dissolves when her fingers graze the nape of the Priest's neck. Invited, the Priest completes the lean, resting companionably against her.

(Still not friendship. But permitted.)

"The Divine Shadow," the Priest admits, "do not." It came as no surprise: What Thedas called the Void could not be so easily accessed and the Divine Shadow did not speak beyond it.

That does not change the ache of absence, the heart-hunger for direction. Though They would council anger at them for Their own fickleness--

The Priest is too tired for it. "What will you say to them?"

[shri]

"I pray that those who died today are taken speedily to whatever peace is waiting for them." Her own hands play without looking. Smoothing against the skin, roughly calloused and no softer for the events of the day. That faint tack of blood underneath them that weighed as heavy as sin below it.

"I pray that the blood I spill will one day at least serve a purpose, even if there is no absolution for crimes as great as killing."

And there her hands slow, she leans, smiles faintly to Priest, with a murmur. "I pray that I lose no one else dear to me."