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

v / mountains

[hornswoggle]

[ Ah, fresh air.

And...an entire fucking mountain. ]

This is more of the countryside than I ever cared to see.

[ John sounds flippant, but he is truly at the end of his patience. This entire venture is bordering on the ridiculous. Scaling a mountain.

He'd just wanted to get rich. How had such a simple plan led him to this point in his life? ]

[indissection]

You can certainly say that again.

[ Sidony looks ragged. She looks nauseated and she breathes out sharply, her dress dirty and hanging around her, hair tattered. She wants to brush her hair, she wants to take a bath, and she is particularly unimpressed with the nature of this entire journey.

She rubs her hand over her face and sighs softly. ]

Do you think there is much left to go?

[hornswoggle]

[ John doesn't look much better, but it also matters less to him. Certainly, he'd like to wash the grime from his skin. He'd like to trim his beard. He'd like to have a proper meal. But he's lived through worse than this. At the very least, he's alive and he's moving towards the place he's supposed to be. That's far better than some of the worse moments he'd found himself in. He stretches his free hand out to pat Sidony's back lightly. ]

More than either of us would like, I'm afraid.

[ Not that John actually knows. But they have an entire mountain to navigate. ]

But it'll go more easily now. And food won't be as hard to come by.

[ And he'd take the mountains over the wasteland of the Silent Plains any day. ]

With any luck, someone will stumble over us while we make our way back. That's better than our chances before, isn't it?

[ Optimism?? Merrill's better at it, but John can consider their improved odds pragmatically while still resigning himself to a further march towards Kirkwall. ]

[indissection]

[ Anyone that has known Sidony for even half a moment will know that appearances matter a great deal to her. She was raised on it - raised to be bold, to be proud, to know how beautiful she is and hold her head high because of it. Being covered in muck and sweat and blood and, shamefully, tears does nothing for her image, her arrogance or her confidence. She's only glad certain people are not here to witness her shame. ]

That is not the answer I was hoping for.

[ The pat does soothe her a little, like a frustrated cat, and she sighs softly. ]

Do you think there might be scouting parties? Surely the Inquisition hasn't entirely given up on us.

[ There are some rather important people in this group, after all.

Surely someone would come, surely - Byerly would - or - someone. ]

[hornswoggle]

[ What a question. It's innocent enough, but it lances at a very particular set of concerns John has been worrying at as they've traveled. (What are his men doing? What is Flint doing? What has Madi been told, if she's been told anything at all?) There's nothing to do but speculate about what's occurred in their absence, and it had been an easier thing to ignore in the dark, trying to keep from falling into a crevasse.

Now, out in the open air, he has to consider the weight of Sidony's inquiry. ]

With any luck, we've passed right beneath them.

[ Unless there had been no search. John doubts that, but he isn't sure what they'd have come up with. What clues had they left behind? It had been a mess, and then they'd all but vanished. Even the most dedicated scouts have their limits. ]

I know there's a few among us who would be too greatly missed for anyone to give up on.

[ No indication of whether or not John counts himself among that number. Is he invaluable? As a figurehead, as what Billy's been fashioning his name to mean, John's likely just as useful dead as he was drawing breath. ]

[indissection]

[ There's something that burns in the back of her throat, something that makes her feel like tears are tickling at her eyes - she doesn't want to give into that kind of weakness, not here. She can't do it, she refuses, because she must appear far stronger than any average noble lady might. She is a member of the Inquisition now, after all.

Pressing her lips together, she hesitates for a moment. ]

I wonder.

[ Breathing out, she glances up at John for a moment, stepping a little bit closer, ignoring the knots in her stomach and the twist of her hands. ]

Maybe so. Perhaps we will simply inspire a celebration when we return.

[hornswoggle]

[ John hums softly, indecisive. He's aware of her drawing closer and abandons the hand on her back to offer her his elbow. Is this not how gentleman do it? John's seen it done, but though he's passed himself off as many things, a gentleman has never been one of them. He can affect some passing resemblance, though how high can the bar be? She knows he's a pirate, and they're ragged, dirty and half-starved. ]

I hadn't thought very much about it.

[ There's a pause, before John amends— ]

I've thought of my crew, of course, but what the inhabitants of Kirkwall would do...

[ The idea of being included in that doesn't settle so easily. Worse, they'd left on such a fractured note. What did they even call their group now?

And John knows so little of reunions. For much of his life, when he had left, it had never been with the intention of returning. Now he finds there are faces he wishes to see again.He thinks of Flint, coming up over the hill, heralded by blood and gunfire. He thinks again of Madi, and the way she had clutched at him, how soft her face had been beneath his fingers. He thinks of his men, cheering and yelling. John hasn't contemplated anything more than that. ]

Well, any excuse for some levity in these trying times. I wonder if some new catastrophe has occurred while we wandered our way back.

[ Little does John know: they are the catastrophe. ]

[indissection]

[ Sidony accepts his arm without hesitation; her fingers sink around his elbow and she leans on him, just enough that she can take some of the weight and tension on her own shoulders, but not so much that it might upset his movements or his walking. She knows enough of his leg from glancing to know that it might tip him one way or another if she pushes too much.

Looking up, she sighs. ]

I doubt they would notice my absence too terribly. They have other healers, more important than I am. I am sure they might miss Anders more.

[ There's a knot in her stomach as she thinks about it, feeling a touch uncomfortable at the notion. She terrible knowledge of being known, but also not wanting to be known. Horrific.

Laughing softly, she shakes her head, hair falling around her shoulders in soft, black waves. ]

I'm sure the world itself has ended.

[hornswoggle]

[ The stolen staff of a Tevinter mage makes for a poor crutch. John had never expected to miss his own crutch, but after it's splintering in the aftermath of Ghislain, after having it wrested from his grasp entirely before presumably being launched into their kidnapper's cart like a sack of potatoes, John finds he has opinions and attachment to what's been taken from him. The staff may be of use to him yet, but it isn't suited to the function of crutch.

But in the grand scheme of things, the complaint isn't worth voicing. They're all tired, hungry, and dirty. What's one more discomfort against that list? ]

I don't think it's as bad as all that.

[ Surely everyone in Kirkwall is proceeding calmly and optimistically. ]

I'd like to think the state of the world doesn't hinge on Anders' whereabouts.

[ And surely not on his own. John knows exactly who will have noted him missing, and none of them are members of the Inquisition. Or whoever they are now. ]

[indissection]

[ If there was something that she could do for his leg, she thinks, she would do it without question; he deserves the ability to walk properly. He has been nothing but kind to her, despite how stubborn and demanding she has been - and, oh, Sidony is well aware of her own arrogance, her own spoiled nature, her own demands. She is not blind to herself. She simply accepts it.

At least they're doing what they can, and he is being polite. She welcomes that, and it eases some of the pain in her heart. ]

Is it not?

[ Her lips twitch, just a little. ]

There are some that might say otherwise, given his reputation.

[ Come now, dear. Anders blew up a Chantry. ]

[hornswoggle]

[ Well, it was just the one time. ]

Fair point. Though in that case we should be reassured that everyone back in Kirkwall is getting along just fine.

[ lol ]

At the most perhaps we'll have missed more discussion of the split from Skyhold, and is that truly such a loss?

[ It is for John, who never intended to miss out on any part of that. Another reason why this venture had perhaps been a foolish undertaking, but who could have anticipated?

John should have. John, who has always been a duplicitous coward, should have been able to recognize another of that same ilk. He has been considering that as they made their way home. Why had he not been more suspicious? ]

[indissection]

[ The one time. She does hope it doesn't happen again. ]

One can certainly hope. They do so often seem at one another's throats.

[ Sighing, she squeezes his arm, just so. ]

Not particularly, no. I came here to work, not to fancy myself as some kind of devotee to the Maker or otherwise. As long as I still have work to do I cannot complain.

[ Leaning against him, Sidony glances up with kind eyes, flicking her gaze from his shoulders up to his face, features soft. ]

How are you feeling?

[villieldr]

( She laughs at that, but only quietly. Well meant rather than cruel, as she looks back to Silver. Truthfully she wasn't sure if she could call him friend, should call him friend, but he'd played into a desperate bid for freedom and had been ready to work with her with little time to prepare. It may have been necessity more than trust, but it had paid off in either case, and she appreciated it. )

I— don't want to offend. You are a capable man.

( That was proven already, but now they are more travel-worn, more tired, and she grew up in the mountains. Assumptions don't usually serve anyone well, and even so... he is missing a leg, and is decidedly not from the mountains. ) If you desire aid in this, I am—

( A tilt of her head. Here to help, she means, but talking at length with people other than those she is very comfortable with is not her strength. )

[hornswoggle]

[ So they have arrived here. Here being a place John has learned to anticipate over time, though it is harder to accept the offer of care from those outside his crew. (It's hard to accept even from his crew.) Time will never truly quiet the part of John that balks at the idea of depending on the people around him, bristling under the way he is now perceived.

But John is not a fool. If he topples down the mountain, then the entire miserable march through desert and darkness will all be for nothing. (And he must return to his crew, to Flint, to Madi.) This entire venture has been an exercise in leaning on people he'd much rather not have exposed any weakness to at all. ]

I'm beginning to think all of this happened to humble me.

[ Which is a joke. Hah. ]

I'm not offended, [ John reassures her, leaning his weight onto the mage's staff he's managed to keep hold of. ] It would be foolish to get irritated with someone trying to keep me alive, wouldn't it?

[villieldr]

( She makes a sound of acknowledgement, her expression one of understated amusement at the humbling. Magni likes this Tevinter pirate, which is a terrible idea, and she is going to make sure she doesn't trust the Tevinter pirate. )

Foolish, maybe. ( Tone says: but not unheard of. )

Up there, it's steeper than it looks.

( These aren't her mountains, but she knows mountains. ) I can carry you up there.