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

[overharrowed]

"Mm, hopelessly so, according to some people I've met." Before the Circle broke, he'd never been anywhere outside Ferelden, and seldom outside Lake Calenhad; it left a mark, linguistically and otherwise.

"Enchanter Julius," he offers, since they seem to be at the point where names are exchanged. "I suppose the title's an affectation, these days, but I worked hard to earn it so I'm disinclined to let it go."

[bouchonne]

"All titles are affectations. All society is simply an illusion, a grand game of pretend. The title's no more false now than it was when you first took it up." Which would sound impossibly pretentious if the line weren't delivered with such an ironic smirk. As it stands, it merely sounds obnoxious.

"Byerly Rutyer, of the Dragonmount Rutyers. Cousin to the current bann. Firsthand witness to just how much power is nothing more than a bit of playacting."

[overharrowed]

"A pleasure," Julius says, mildly bemused by the manner of the introduction, but not evidently upset about it. After a moment, however: "Just because something is invented, though, doesn't mean power isn't real. Many things that shape are world are, to a greater or lesser extent, built upon someone deciding on the rules we'd play by. Arbitrarily or otherwise."

[bouchonne]

"Which makes it an illusion," By returns. He waves his hand gently, as though wafting through something made of mist and vapor. "As a mage, you should know that well, shouldn't you? Your lot can conjure the image of an army advancing, and the shit that your enemies deposit into their breeches is quite real. But as soon as someone has the courage to try to stab one of those ghosts, it all falls apart."

[overharrowed]

"True. But men made up laws, conjured them from nothing, and the king can still hang a man for violating one. The law doesn't exist in the world the way a sword does, but it can be just as hazardous to someone who is careless of it." It probably says something that Julius seems to be enjoying the debate no less than he enjoyed the song. It's certainly as effective at distracting him, at least.