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

[hornswoggle]

[ There's some light in Merrill that refuses to be dampened by blight, darkspawn or the relentless south-ward slog they've embarked on. John admires it, though he feels no particular pressure to affect a similar optimism himself. Treading that line between hope and pragmatism can fall to John and the rest of them. ]

I heard a lot of stories about dwarves in my travels. But you don't find a lot of them on the open sea.

[ Which John had, at the time, chalked up to good sense. Now he's not so confident in that assessment. ]

You know, this whole disaster is going to eclipse any story I ever heard about dwarves.

[ John is fully, fully prepared to embellish accordingly to be sure of that. ]

[chainlightning]

Not a lot of Dalish on the open sea, either, [ Merrill giggles, careful not to let it ring too loud in the caverns around them. ] But then, this is also probably the most Dalish that have ever been in the Deep Roads at one time.

[ All two of them. The clans had enough trouble above the surface; they didn't need to add Darkspawn to the list. ]

Varric will be terribly disappointed, [ she continues, ignoring the pull of sadness at her heartstrings and refusing to think too hard about what Varric must be thinking during this. ] He loves a great big story about- well, him. Not so much other dwarves.

[hornswoggle]

[ John almost tells her: there's elves enough on the open sea. But there's a difference. He understands it, and he avoids the misstep. But still, he thinks about Merrill on the sea. The men would like her, he thinks, though he likes Merrill too much to actually extend any offers to board the Walrus. ]

I can't imagine anyone being disappointed to miss out on being stuck down here. Even a dwarf.

[ Even on that sounds like the kind of dwarf John would like to have at least one drink with. ]

Regretting having come along in the first place yet?

[ Because John kind of is. In spite of everything he's said about being helpful, about furthering the cause, he is slowly coming to regret being this helpful. ]

[chainlightning]

Oh, he'd hate the actual dark and the Blight and such, [ Merrill confirms with a laugh. ] But a chance to brag and be the hero? Not so much.

[ They all want some bragging rights though, don't they? A little bit of heroism? Just enough to settle the part of them that thirsts for it. Wasn't that, in part, why Merrill was here? ]

There are plenty of things that I regret more, [ she settles on, having mused over John's question for a moment. ] Though being hit with that warhammer was- not fun.

[hornswoggle]

[ So this dwarf sounds like he'd do fine among the pirates of Nascere. Good to know. (It also sounds like John and Varric should never meet.)

But less good...regrets in such a visceral sense. John had meant it in the immediate, but there's an implication in Merrill's response that suggests something bigger. Something that requires looking back beyond this mission at what he's left in his wake. John exhales hard. His broken thumb has mended, braced and bound, but the scuffle on the cart had taken it's toll. ]

I'd wondered if it was smart of me to go off in the first place, with so much happening.

[ There had been a chance Flint would have need of him. There was their business in Llomerryn. There was the running of the Walrus. Plenty of reasons to stay put rather than go traipsing out into the world, and yet— ]

But it seemed important to be useful. I hadn't expected the baron to be so duplicitous.

[ John's oversight. He'd have to consider that at length sooner or later. ]

[chainlightning]

[ None of them had expected the baron to go to the lengths he had. That had been the problem, of course; a problem that Merrill expected they would solve when they got back. ]

The ruins are still potentially important. And we didn't actually die, so... I guess their trap backfired.

[ Something positive to latch onto, accompanied with the idea of returning to the baron and smashing his face in with her staff. ]

If it hadn't been us, it would have been someone else. Maybe in a worse way.

[hornswoggle]

I suppose this means the Baron will die now, in some exceedingly unfortunate way.

[ Is John not supposed to be voicing that thought? ]

It was a foolish gamble on his part. And we'll have a look at the ruins anyway, I suppose.

[ This is "we" in the abstract. John certainly isn't keen enough for a repeat trip. He looks sideways at Merrill, trying to assess whether she's curious enough to have a second run at the ruins. ]

[chainlightning]

Unfortunate for him, at least.

[ They're all going to voice that thought, you're fine John. ]

We will. [ She is absolutely curious enough - in no small part because it's her heritage. ] It's my job, at least, and I've done it before getting paid for it.