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

[rowancrowned]

After a moment of watching her hold her tongue, he shifts, so they are closer, and they both might leech off one another’s warmth more effectively.

“Rest,” he says, closing his own eyes. “They will wake us if there is something worth waking for.”

And perhaps, when that happens, it will be good news, or just some news. As it is, with both of them some degree of crippled, they have no better use.

[shri]

He is warm, he is more than warm and the realisation is mildly frustrating. This is a mistake and someone is going to skewer her for it if she doesn't do it herself. She has no business laying on others, seeking comforts she has no right too from someone who should otherwise hate her.

But... his eyes close, he looks at ease and that's... somehow acceptable, more than having to take up an offer directly. Saying yes or no. Not that it comes graciously, particularly, as she shifts. Not closer to him exactly, her pride is too dear to her. But she is cold, and she aches. She is an old woman in a young woman's body. Sleep doesn't come easy as that most often, but right now she wants it too, even if she should tell him a half dozen things. I scream in my sleep, the dark terrifies me, I hate sleeping alone. None of it comes, somehow, if she spoke about any of it, it would be too much and she simply could not. So she doesn't, perhaps, is not so bad if done in silence, following practical advice, and - if she maintains it properly as she manoeuvres herself, settling at an appropriate, respectful and not needful distance. She will doze, at least a time, and then go back perhaps to riding and not taking up space. That will not be so bad.

The truth is nothing like her image of discreetly napping in the corner, unconscious bodies were traitorous things. A few minutes later, she is stone cold unconscious, and rolls, looking for the heat she can't get by herself, into him. Holding onto his arm in his arm like grim death with her fingers vice-like. Her face pressed into his shoulder as she finally, finally, sleeps.