closed: untimely demise.

[exequy]

WHO: Anders, Bastien, Darras, Gwenaëlle, Ilias, Iorveth, John Silver, Kain, Kitty, Loki, Magni, Merrill, Sidony, Sorrell, Teren, and Wysteria.
WHAT: This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom.
WHEN: Bloomingtide 18-27.
WHERE: Orlais, Tevinter, and the Deep Roads.
NOTES: There's an OOC post with a lot of info over here! This log covers everything up to the day before they return. There will be a separate log for actually returning, so don't jump the gun.

Baron Deshaies is a gracious host, who graciously shows everyone the entrance to the elven ruins on his property when they arrive, and graciously enlists his serfs to help them set up camp nearby to beat the sunset, and graciously invites them to dine with him in his gardens—the only part of his fairly humble estate large enough to host so many people—before they retire for the night. It's a nice dinner, albeit one that's apparently stretched the capabilities of his meager household staff to a breaking point, judging by their harried manners and how hard one of them is sweating.

They're midway through the main course (and his detailed retelling of how he found and chased away a few suspicious characters who were snooping around the ruins before, heard them speaking in some funny old language, might have been Vints) when the first head droops. Then another. If anyone realizes they've been drugged, it won't be fast enough; weapons are out of reach, the food has been laced with magebane—among other things—and it's only a matter of seconds before everything goes dark.

And that's how everyone died.

No, okay—everyone does eventually wake up. But it isn't a pleasant experience. There are headaches, first of all, and dehydration, altogether similar to a horrific hangover, and it's hot and humid, and they're in the back of one of several possible carts, hidden from view by heavy canvas and packed in close to their fellow captives, being jostled unrelentingly by the stones the carts are driving over. They're also bound—everyone in magic-dampening manacles, mage or not, just to be safe—and gagged. They stay that way for a very long time, until the sun has set, and the captors who have been complaining and gossiping and telling one another to shut up for the last few hours shed their fake Orlesian and Fereldan accents. A border has been crossed, and after a few more miles they feel secure enough to take a break.

They aren't being paid to deliver dead people. So they also strip the canvas back and remove the gags, to try to get everyone to drink some water, and then let them stay ungagged. They're in the middle of Nowhere, Tevinter; even if someone heard them scream, it wouldn't be anyone inclined to risk helping them.

I. ESCAPE! The first and only good opportunity comes on the second day, when they pass within sight of a village on the outskirts of the Silent Plains, and all but three of their captors load into one of the carts—the one containing everyone's accumulated belongings—and head off to see if they can make some extra coin on the side. The three left behind are a nervous young mage who seems to think he's in charge, an armored archer who's having none of that, and a sleepy man with an enormous war hammer. The odds aren't great. But they aren't going to get better.

II. NOW WHAT? After daringly and successfully escaping into the blighted desert with only the provisions they could scavenge and from their captors and carry on their backs, everyone finds themselves in the desert with only the provisions they could scavenge from their captors and carry on their backs. So that's cool.

III. THE SILENT PLAINS. The Silent Plains are as much of a wasteland as they sound, but not really completely silent. Some animal and plant life has returned, with stretches of the desert even verging on becoming grasslands, in the ages since the Blight destroyed the ecosystem. It isn't impossible to find water or the occasional speck of civilization. There are decent odds that those civilized specks contain people who would happily report a bunch of wandering foreigners, however, so forays into villages and farms need to be done carefully and rarely—but it isn't impossible to pull off a trade here and there, or to sneak into buildings at night to permanently borrow supplies.

But that's rare. The majority of the journey is just a camping trip from hell, consisting of days of walking without shelter from the sun and nights spent in total darkness to avoid creating beacons for whoever may be trying to pursue them. Sometimes there are darkspawn.

The landscape improves just in time for another problem to arise: the border is much more heavily populated with enemy forces, and reconnaissance efforts might make clear that they're all on alert, going so far as to make neutral merchants at border crossings remove their gloves. Fortunately—as implied by the darkspawn—there's another way South.

IV. THE DEEP ROADS. In hindsight, a terrible idea. But by the time they realize that the intended path out of the Deep Roads—one that would have taken them to the surface outside of Cumberland, where they could yet find allies to help them get back to Kirkwall more quickly and comfortably—has caved in, they're already a day and a half deep into the journey.

In some places Blight crawls up the walls like black mold. Those not lucky enough to be immune to it have to cover their mouths while traveling and be careful not to leave any wounds open and exposed. Here and there the path forward gives way to chasms that have to be circumvented or crossed using improvised rope bridges. And there are more darkspawn, more frequently, but perhaps not so many as there should be.

If the provisions from the surface run out, then dinner will be roast nug.

V. THE MOUNTAINS. The last stretch of tunnel gives way to sky on the northern side of the Vinmarks. Not the southern side. Not even the top. Being able to walk the last stretch of the journey downhill instead of first climbing some mountains would be too easy.

Comments

MAGNI STARTERS

[villieldr]

or you can hit me with a wildcard eh

I. ESCAPE - feel free for this to end up as multiple threads or group thread, if you want to jump in

[villieldr]

( She can’t reach out to the spirits for help. It is an unpleasant realisation, though not a jarring one. The manacles might keep them from her awareness, but that did not mean that Korth had forsaken her, even in this disparate landscape, and it did not mean the spirits would be unreachable again in time. Patience would serve her better than panicking, although she couldn’t say she was without concern for those others here. Time might not be on their side to allow for too much patience, either.

Going to the sleepy one with the hammer would make sense, if he woke up the reach could do a lot of damage. The mage was skittish, and with their magic wielders and other abilities seemingly contained, that limited their options.

She nods to someone next to her, hoping they follow her lead, as she stands up to face their captors. She’s too looming to stand much chance of sneaking behind any of the discretely, but she can hold their attention. )

Please, they need help. ( With a nod to the person next to her, who’s she hopes is playing their part. ) Do you have any herbs, potions— anything?

hops in

[hornswoggle]

[ John has been in tight spots before. But for perhaps one of the first times in his life, he finds himself uncertain about how to proceed. This is not exactly like being cornered for the contents of his purse, or even discovered in the hold of a ship. Talking his way out of this would be particularly difficult, especially since he has resigned himself to the idea that he cannot simply leave these people behind.

Allegiances. What an inconvenience.

But the moment Magni speaks, John straightens up, eyes snapping to her face. There's a split second of: what am I meant to do with that? before John apparently resolves to curl slightly in on himself and groan pitifully. He's not going to register to anyone as a threat. (Whether or not that proves to be true is another matter.) And if it ends with him dumped off the cart and left for dead, well.

That's not necessarily a bad deal either. ]

AYYYYY

[villieldr]

( Good. Her plan, impulsive and not wholly thought out, but whatever might be necessary to distract and buy Kitty time. The bid is to draw focus, and the rest will hopefully fall into place. It's good of the pirate to cooperate, at least. She doesn't know much about him, though the thought of a person who lives on the sea, who she assumes would love the sea as much as she loves the mountain. Where she is used to the cut of cold air, his breath draws in salt.

Thank the Sky Lady that he was at least a better performer than she; if it were Magni needing to pretend to be unwell, she'd manage to muster a weak cough before realising (belatedly) that she still looked remarkably robust. )

I think the sleeping draft was too much for him. He's... weaker.

( Perhaps that itself sounds a little flimsy as reasoning, but Magni is by far the tallest of the people here, and everyone here seems comparatively spindly so far as she's concerned. Sorry, Silver. Don't take it personally.

The mage starts to come closer, concerned and suspicious, grasping his staff buuuuuuuut does he buy it? )

jazz hands

[hornswoggle]

[ John could be insulted, but when he's actively trading on the ruse that he's weaker and less threatening than the rest of this party there's not much to be insulted about. What's the second part of this? They break the mage's neck? Get the staff to someone who can use it? John still doesn't like their odds.

Whatever. John's self-appointed job right now is to look pitiful. Which he attempts to do by slumping slightly to the side, groaning as he lifts shackled hands to clutch at his heart. Is this a heart attack? Whatever. So long as it gets that mage closer without rousing his well-armed companion, John isn't worried about specifics. ]

[rathercommon]

[ As skinny and weak as Silver looks (sorry, SIlver), he still looks considerably more threatening than Kitty. So while the mage looks at Silver with more suspicion than fear, he doesn't even glance at her. She encourages his lack of interest by shrinking in on herself, looking as small and unremarkable as possible.

Softly, too softly to carry, she says to the two of them - ]

Get him closer.

II WHAT NOW? / III THE SILENT PLAINS

[villieldr]

1. What now?

( Only when they have gained some distance, some semblance of (brief, very brief) shelter, does Magni break her silence. Anyone who needed help to run she’d have gladly hauled up. Rough as the treatment the past few days had been, she was still fearsome strong. )

I think… better we travel at night. Use the stars to guide us, let us move when it is cooler.

( It’s not perfect, it could slow them down and might not be the safest option for other reasons, but it could help their visibility at least. The problem would be finding appropriate cover that could be hidden away in during the daytime. )


2. Permanent Borrowing;
( You know one of the reasons the Avvar aren’t popular in Fereldan? Other, of course, then that Fereldens are whiny bitches? It’s because the Avvar unrepentantly take things from the whiny bitches, and are very good at it.

Granted, they have the advantage there of striking in winter, and of having parties that have worked together a long time and are used to relying on one another. Here, they’re weak, have been travelling with limited resources for days, and Magni has her doubts as to how sharp any of them might be given the circumstances.

It’s dark, and she and those who agreed to come with her, are here by the wood stack of residence that has seen better days. It has inhabitants, though, a well and supplies, and she’s crouched down low, drawing a layout in the dirt that sets out the positions of the well, the house, the smokehouse, the sheds.

She sighs. )

I don’t think we can get in and out fast enough. ( She speaks very softly, that same roughness that is always in her voice exacerbated by the conditions.
There are dogs, who could sound the alarm or make an attack, and they can’t afford to take more hits, or the household raising an alarm that could tip off their pursuers. ) We have to choose one, maybe two.

( Water from the well, food from the smokehouse, other supplies from the house, maybe tools that could double as weapons from the shed. )


3. Wandering.
( If only they could get some great sheet of cloth, some canvas, she’d volunteer to be the tentpole as they kept walking with it held over all of them. It’d be a worthy sacrifice to give them all a break from this unrelenting sun, but alas. Aside from the lack of materials, if anyone caught sight of the spectacle it could make it all to easy for them to be re-captured.

She doesn’t have much left in the waterskin they managed to pilfer, but she slows her stride a little to fall back to another member of the party, and holds it out in offering. Maybe she is monitoring these things. )


4. Wildcard.

1

[indissection]

Can you read the stars?

[ Sidony looks extremely put upon. She is clearly out of her element here - a lady in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but her rather tatty dress and frustrations to keep her company, looking windswept and tired. It's clear that this is not something she is used to doing, even if she considers herself quite lucky to have been wearing sensible shoes before she left.

Goodness knows what might have happened if she was in all her silks -

All the same, she looks a touch petulant, more like a child than the adult she claims to be. ]

And what of bandits, or worse?

[villieldr]

I worship the Sky Lady.

( By way of explanation - of course she can follow the stars. Not so well as some, whose entire life is dedicated to the Lady, or those who lives their lives tracking and ranging, like her sister. Magni's primary god is Korth, but she holds all their gods in reverence, and what mountain child would she be to not appreciate the sky above as much as the stone below?

The young woman is amongst the youngest in their party, the kind of refinement that marks nobility without the resilience that some had gained. Perhaps it meant she was sheltered, but that seemed less likely in the Inquisition - or whatever it was they were to call themselves, now. )

Bandits will come in day or night.

[indissection]

The Sky Lady.

[ Which sounds as ridiculous and silly as the Maker itself, but she's not going to make a comment on it if this woman might be one of her only ways to get out of this situation alive. She feels somewhat nauseated at the idea of following any kind of whisper of religion, but...

Tilting her head up, she breathes out for a moment. ]

But we'll be safer at night, you think?

[ Oh, if only she had her tools. Her things. Anything. ]

[villieldr]

Even the desert is colder at night. Moving in this sun could be the death of us.

( If she has learned anything from Lakshmi about the desert, it was its brutality. It seemed a place that could produce great life and vitality in the right circumstances - these were decided not the right circumstances. The sun was racking across them, harsh enough to drain the life from them if they weren't careful. )

We will be able to move further, be seen less easily. ( It seems better to her. ) The group must decide.

( It wasn't up to her alone. The young Nevarran had just as much voice as she, and she nods to her, a silent question - what do you think? )

2

[staysail]

[Darras, squinting, weighing their odds in his head, gives a quick curt nod of agreement. Its sharpness is undercut by the grin that he turns on her, very white in the dark.]

Smokehouse. Take extra for the dogs, see if they'll fall quiet if they're fed. And then we go for... ooh, [halfway between a sigh and exhalation, scattering a thin bit of dirt over the little diagram she's done] what d'you think we choose next. I say house. And then the little shack third, if the dogs're still filling their bellies.

[Certainly he's no Avvar. But she's no pirate either. And yet here they are, and perhaps it's a canny enough match to work in their favor. Darras hefts his short crude knife in his hand, sticks its tip in the dirt and gives it a little wiggle, boring a shallow hole.]

To be honest with you, I like our odds.

[villieldr]

( She makes a quiet sound of agreement. It's not a bad idea, but if the dogs are vigilant they might alert the owners to their presence before they have a chance to get the distraction food to them. Looking to the pirate, Magni looks at him long and steady. Certainly she doesn't know him, or didn't before this, but they're in this together. They have to trust one another, and she accepts his judgment in this. Aren't skirmishes what pirates do best, if stories are to be believed at all? )

Look for weapons or waterskins. ( Food and water will only last so long, but supplies that can help them secure and keep that in the future? Magni taps her knuckles against the dirt twice, nods her agreement, and starts to move for the smokehouse. There's not a lot of cover, but at least it's dark. )

[staysail]

[Darras touches his fingertips to his temple--half a salute, half acknowledgement, like he's demonstrated where her words have gone into his head. He's up and after her when she moves, following quick and quiet.

The sand against the soles of their shoes makes a soft scuff, a whisper of noise. The smokehouse is a dark square against the darker sky, which stands vast and open above them. They're halfway to it when one of the dogs lifts its head, ears pricked. It's cooler in the night, out here, and the dogs left to keep watch are doing so mostly in a huddle. Some of the others now lift their heads as well while the first dog wuffs, a deep warning, and rises to its feet to stand poised and attentive, scenting the air.

Darras slows, but doesn't halt his approach entirely. His eyes flick over to Magni. They've come this far. No use in turning back when the door is only a few feet from them.]

cw gore

[villieldr]

( A nod of agreement. They need to do this, no matter the obstacles. She doesn't have a blade, and the warhammer she stole from the guard's body is too heavy for a quick mission of this nature. Instead, she is armed with flint smashed into a blade, and she glances back to Darras.

They need to survive. They need this win, even if only for morale. Tact may no longer be an option, but she'll cling to it as long as possible.

The head of the Tevinter mage is a prize she'll not give up, but she does cut the ears from it with a rough gash, and tosses them to the dogs. Maybe enough of a distraction, a matter of interest, that they can carry on without chaos breaking loose. )

IV. THE DEEP ROADS.

[villieldr]

( Ah, the Deep Roads.
It would be an opportunity, something fascinating and reverent, if not for every single thing about the circumstances. A chance to explore, to try and access one of the old Thaigs and see if she could find something significant or of value to give Varmas to take to Orzammar, something that should be restored to Korth’s children still living and not lost to the night-gangers. This was not an opportunity for restoring precious things to their rightful honours; it was a desperate bid to keep their skins on their own persons, and the breath in their lungs.

It shelters them from the sky, but they are now exposed to a whole different manner of danger. )

1. A THAIG / SHELTER FOR REST.
( The ruins they have found shelter in offer respite, but leave a feeling of longing in Magni’s heart. She takes some time, though does not move as far away from the group as she might prefer to - she’s not an idiot, there is safety in their proximity, and she wants to close her eyes to pray.

Barely audible murmurs, one hand resting against the ancient stone archway largely destroyed, head bowed in respect as she prays to Korth, the Mountain Father, he who brought the dwarves into being and gave the the gifts of the stone. )

Come to this place, Mountain Father. Free your children’s home from the night-gangers.


2. KEEP MOVING.
( The flow of molten rock casts an orange glow upwards, flickering over their skin as they walk. It’s oppressive, even to one who has spent so many hours working at the forge, and they are all struggling.

One problem: what was once a bridge over the massive river of lava has crumbled. A thin, thin strip of rock remains, but Magni looks uncertain as she assesses it. )

Ah.


3. WILDCARD
Darkspawn attack? Roasting lizards over the fire? The options are endless.

1

[doneisdone]

"Noble of you to try," comes a languid reply, and Teren is leaning off to one side, arms folded and watching the camp. "This fucking place is bad enough in full armor and armament. No gods I know of make their way down here at the best of times."

[villieldr]

Magni has little cause to care for the Wardens, this one even less so - granted that distaste is rooted in something like pettiness. Not raising from her knees, she keeps her hand set upon the stone, feeling the cool of it, the shape of the stone.

“Don’t presume you know my gods.”

[doneisdone]

"I don't presume to know any gods," comes the snort of a reply, but if there's any ill will coming from Teren's end, it's not potent (really she's just Like This).
"Just seems strange, I reckon, praying to the mountain sort when you're deep underground."

[villieldr]

"Korth is of the stone. He raised the mountains, but the stone is living, and it's his. The dwarves as his children, and this was their home. It should be restored to them."

Slowly, she exhales, taking comfort in the cool of the stone under her touch. A glance over her shoulder, then. "Your ilk are too busy joining the night-gangers to bother fighting them, anymore."

V. MOUNTAINS.

[villieldr]

( Mountains, at last. Not her mountains, not even close, but there is a familiarity that she is grateful for. )

We can breathe easier, now.

( There’s a long way to go, there will be a long way to go right until they are at the Gallows, but at least now there is something like freedom. )

(Or like, wildcard whatever. )

[chainlightning]

I don't think some of the others will completely agree, [ Merrill giggles, even as she steps up to the other woman. She links arms with her with a familiarity born of days wandering in the desert, but she'll be easily pushed off, if Magni wishes it. ]

But I prefer it to ending up in a city.

[villieldr]

( Magni, giant as she is, tilts her shoulders to make the linking of their arms a little easier. She doesn't mind contact, she just doesn't tend to seek it out; conversation is much the same. More inclined to be alone, more inclined to silences, and that meant she sometimes did not really come across as very social. Maybe she just needs to rebrand herself as a good listener.

A quiet sound is all Merrill immediately gets in response, before she remembers that... she should respond. )

Me as well. There is... discomfort for me, in cities. These aren't my mountains, but they are...

( A little tilt of her head, an expression of better. )

[chainlightning]

Not the city, [ Merrill adds with a little laugh.

She adjusts her arm, changing to more of loose hold so that Magni doesn't have to crouch. It's a bit like hand-holding, but with more arm. ]

And I know how to survive here better than in the desert.

[villieldr]

( She nods. Not the city, and that was good enough. )

My Lady hails from the deserts. Her stories she has told me... they made it easier to know.

( Her voice is by default quiet and gravelly, a roughness that rasps over her words, and then she looks up to the sky. )

What is your home like?