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

Now What & The Silent Plains

[doneisdone]

I. Pick a Little Talk a Little

Still groggy and sour, angry about her boots in particular being gone (left just in her undershirt and trousers, which are hardly enough to protect someone from cold nighttime winds in the desert), Teren is at least making herself useful by using her hairpins to pick the locks on the cuffs of anyone who needs it. She's shuffling around, looking strangely matronly without all her accoutrements, scowling and working and snapping at anyone who tries to be cute.
It's not the worst situation she's ever been in, but it could be a whole lot fucking better.

II. Quartermastery

Her years with the Wardens have made this a little less painful than it could be, but camping on the whole is easier when one has.. camping... equipment. And resources. And shoes.
Rather than have an angry meltdown, Teren begins to take inventory of all the supplies they have, heaping them together by type and mentally attempting to divvy things up. Anyone who tries to make a run on blankets or other supplies will be promptly yelled at and possibly cuffed upside the head, because they have to be civilized about this.

III. Baby It's Cold Outside

Being of the mind that she can survive just about anything with the power of sheer spite, Teren has ceded blankets to those of weaker constitutions (mostly so they won't bloody whine about it), and each night is spent trying her best to conserve body heat when she isn't keeping watch.
And Watch would be much easier kept if they didn't have to be on the move during the day, which is miserable in itself. As it drags on, she keeps herself busy and awake by helping out where she's needed and spurring the others along, even when she feels like she's going to collapse at any moment.
Could it be that her age is finally showing? Maker, don't let it be so.

III

[justice_is_blond]

"You can share my blanket. I promise I won't make any jokes or tell anyone." He's come over to where she's curled up and spoken with a low voice. If he hurts her pride, she's not going to accept the offer and it's much too cold for him to try to bundle her in the blanket and run away. This blanket is his, thank you very much. Not that he's done anything to earn it. But it's his.

Anders plops down on the ground right next to her.

"Sitting or laying, which do you prefer? No blanket isn't a choice. I'm the healer, I'm pulling healer rank. I don't care if you don't think that's a thing because it is now. I say so."

[doneisdone]

"...laying."

No other comment is made, Teren looking up and over her shoulder like a disgruntled cat, not about to get into it with Anders-- possibly because she'd prefer this outcome anyway, and doesn't feel the need to posture towards it like she normally might.

[justice_is_blond]

There's nothing else said. He's very still for a moment, braced for a comment, and it doesn't come. That makes him instantly concerned, something that's reflected in his expression as he lays down and spreads the blanket over them.

"You'd tell me if you were injured, I'd hope. There's a staff, I can borrow it to make healing easier, and I'm a fan of the heat so it's not taking too much out of me."

[doneisdone]

"I'm not."

She's being brusque, not that that's terribly out of character: but regaining consciousness to find she was the last one awake did something to Teren, something she has to stew over for a time.
Nonetheless, there's a sigh of relief when the blanket falls over her, and she indulges Anders by gripping it and tugging it closer to her.

[justice_is_blond]

Anders tries to stay quiet once they're both tucked in. He doesn't want to annoy her and he's rather glad of her company. In fact, he's successfully silent for several minutes. Then he fails.

"Is something... That's a stupid question. Of course something's wrong. We're hiking back to the worst city in Thedas, on foot, after being tricked and held. Sorry. It's hard to not worry about you."

[doneisdone]

Continuing her silence for a time, the tension in the air around Teren grows so thick it's almost tangible: when she speaks again, her voice is shaking from what can only be quiet rage.

"I want my fucking knives back."

[justice_is_blond]

He reaches over to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"We'll get every single one of them back. And more. And we'll get my dagger back too." His dagger sheathe is far more important than the blade itself. "Then we'll find who is responsible for this and stab them. Or you can stab them. I'll hit them with lightning once you're clear."

This is all dependent on them surviving, but since he's free now Anders is willing to give even odds on that now.

i.

[chainlightning]

One of the manacles around Merrill's wrist is damaged, having taken the brunt of the blow from the warhammer. Merrill suspects her wrist underneath is badly bruised, if not broken, and while the manacle is almost a splint... well. She's a mage. She needs it off, and so she almost doesn't notice when Teren comes to pick the lock until a hand touches her wrist.

She yelps like a startled puppy, but at least she doesn't swing.

"Sorry- sorry, it just- it hurts."

[doneisdone]

"Easy now," Teren murmurs, in a tone as soothing as she can manage-- it's her Talking To Animals voice, a little quieter than usual, a little gentler. "Hold as still as you can and we'll have Anders see to it, pretty."

[chainlightning]

It's a nice voice, at least. Merrill recognizes Teren, of course, and so while there's still an edge of tension to her shoulders, she nods. Instinct wants her to withdraw, to pull her arm away and cradle it out of reach, but she has to get the manacle off - which means she has to sit still. "Warhammers hurt," she tells Teren, trying to not think about the pain quite as much as how it happened.

[doneisdone]

"Aye, they'll do that," Teren murmurs back, working away. It doesn't take her long, though her hands are shaking a bit from the day's exertions: but there's a click, and the manacle unclasps, and she carefully catches it so as not to aggravate Merrill's injury.
"You're lucky if that's the worst of it," she says, even offering a little hawkish smile.

[chainlightning]

There's an anticipatory hiss, a clear tension that strikes through Merrill's body when the manacle unclasps - but Teren catches it and is careful, and so she slowly relaxes back into something alert but not quite like a halla on the tips of its hooves. "Good thing we have healers." Good thing they're alive, all of them. Even with the trek that they're going to have to go on.

She grimaces faintly at the thought, but there's nothing for it. They'll make do. "I can create a little bit of ice, once I've got some energy back. Melt it for something to drink, to clean some of the cuts."

[doneisdone]

"There you are," Teren intones, "solving problems already." She rises from her crouch next to Merrill, glancing around for whomever's next in line, only to find that the elf was the last of them.
Heaving a sigh, she returns the pin to her hair, attempting in vain to capture some of the loose strands pulled askew by being manhandled. "My left tit for a looking glass," she grumbles, to no one in particular.

[chainlightning]

"Would you like me to try?"

It's the last Merrill can do, really - and she has one good hand that can help. If her wrist were feeling better, she'd likely offer to braid the strands back in the Dalish style, to really make sure that Teren doesn't have to deal with her hair for the long walk back. Maybe she'll still make the offer later, when they're at camp and Anders has had a chance to help ease the worst of her ills.

iii

[hornswoggle]

"You should sit," John says, quietly in the dark. "I'm awake."

There's no point in two being awake at once to watch for danger, for whatever comes lurching after them in the dark. But John isn't so sure Teren will simply accept an offer to let him take the last of her watch, so imploring her to sit down is John's initial, opening salvo.

[doneisdone]

She had been aware of his presence, so Teren's head turns only slightly when a voice emanates from the dark form of the man nearby. She seems to consider his offer a moment, and after some deliberation, takes a few steps nearer.

"Won't be falling asleep anyway," comes her response, in a hiss of cold and ache.

[hornswoggle]

"So sit anyway," John tells her, shrugging, even though the movement will likely go unseen. "You may as well."

There's other persuasions on the tip of his tongue: your pacing is making me nervous or you'll exhaust yourself faster that way. But John doesn't wheedle. It seems almost a waste of energy at this late hour, and to what end? They'll all do as they like. So long as they're all trying to stay alive, what is the point of objecting?

"You'll hear it all the same from here as you will there."

[doneisdone]

A grunt of irritated assent and Teren gives in, her skinny legs (so much skinnier without their leather padding) folding to drop her into a sitting position beside him. Her lanky arms drape over her knees, her head falling forward to rest briefly on one of her elbows as she takes a deep breath in and sighs it out.

"I knew it would never get easier," she mumbles, raising her head again to wearily push long silver strands-- more now than before, it seems-- out of her face, "but this is rubbish."

[hornswoggle]

"You can say that again," John agrees. "I never thought our trek home would be easy, but on the whole..."

John sighs. He stretches out his good leg with a soft groan. He's in a better position through this than he had been when the Walrus had been becalmed, or when they had marched from the sea to Madi's village, but none of that has made this particular journey any less trying.

"I don't suppose you know of any shortcuts?"

A prospect that's been discussed to death, to the point where John raising the topic now is more joke than serious inquiry.

[doneisdone]

The question actually merits a bark of laughter as Teren raises her head again, shaking her head. "Shortcuts," she repeats, "that's a good one. If there were any decent shortcuts in the Deep Roads we'd all be seeing Darkspawn a lot more, I reckon."
Not to mention other Wardens, or at least maybe ones who don't want the rest of them dead.

"Nice try, though."

II

[staysail]

"What can I get for two tent pegs?"

Pretending this is a market, that they might barter, being purposefully cavalier about the whole situation, this is surely the way to go. Darras is even holding the tent pegs, two small stakes. He lifts them a little higher, so they're in Teren's full view.

Even bedraggled, worn out from the trials of their capture and subsequent escape, Darras manages a half-grin at her. Very charming.

"I'll tell you now, there's more where these came from. Bit non-traditional, announcing that from the off, but I'm seriously interested in a trade, so I want it known."

[doneisdone]

"You can.

...keep the tent pegs."

The grin leads Teren to believe he's joking, something for which she currently has no energy-- not even to be sharp with him, as it's been a long day and she's still sore from the beating she took earlier.

"What is it you need."

[staysail]

"Oh, aye? Brilliant."

A man very much attached to his tent pegs, apparently, Darras shoves them back into the pocket of his loose trousers.

"I'll remember the kindness. Is there by chance any sort of weaponry in with the stores? I'd thought to sharpen up the pegs, but I'd need an edge for that anyways, so I might as well get a knife, or the use of it. If there is such a thing."

[doneisdone]

The word 'kindness' yields a small curl of her lip that could almost resemble a smirk in the right light, but it's followed by a weary shake of her head.

"Lad, if there were any knives to be had," Teren drily replies, "you can bet your beard I'd be among the first upon them."