faderift | ↠ WHAT PRIDE HAD WROUGHT

WHO: Everyone (except those who remain behind to keep an eye on the Gallows)
WHAT: Just some ruins, nothing special
WHEN: Solace 17-20
WHERE: The Arbor Wilds, Southern Orlais
NOTES: OOC post! Second log post for NPC threads! Image source!

For most, the journey through the Crossroads is miserable: the world is grey and lifeless, the light twists disorientingly like the world is being viewed through a water droplet, an incessant sound is always just beyond the edge of hearing, and walking anywhere feels like walking uphill.

For elves, it's a world in bloom with a stained-glass sky. La di da.

But everyone does eventually arrive, together, at the site of a large eluvian. There are signs of recent activity; a long-dead guard previously discovered by the Riftwatch team that traveled there before has been moved, and a spear left leant against the side of the eluvian where a new elf may have more recently temporarily taken his place. There's no guard there now.

When the team passes through the eluvian and into the verdant temple grounds beyond it, the reason quickly becomes apparent. They're met not with a volley of arrows from an army of guards, but the warily trained weapons of the small handful that remain after days of repelling an invasion from beyond the temple walls. It's a fight they're losing—one they thought already lost, given their casualties and the fires now burning outside the walls—and their exhausted, bruised leader only needs a little prodding, and only seems a little suspicious, before he orders his people to stand down and accepts an offer of help.

I. REPELLING CORYPHEUS' FORCES

The Temple's Sentinels have been reduced to a handful of wary elves, most of whom don't speak Trade very well, but they manage to give enough direction to get those who will be fighting outside of the quiet Inner Sanctum to the outer gardens. The Temple's outer defenses—powerful enough magic to kill an aspiring god, if it's run into blindly—have finally fallen, but what remains of the Red Templars and Venatori mounting the assault have been slowed by the overgrown labyrinth of gardens, then the arguments and preparations needed to blast a magical hole in the floor to expose the crypts below.

They're taken off guard by the sudden, non-Sentinel reinforcements. But they're still a powerful mix of Tevinter-trained mages and amplified Templars, and—if anyone cares—the longer the fight drags on, the more damage is done to the Temple's gardens. It's not a good time to dally or pull punches. Not even when a familiar face is found among the enemy.

II. THE PETITIONER'S PATH

When the last of the Red Templars and Venatori have been killed or chased into the jungle, the Sentinels—perfectly happy to have most of these interlopers locked outside a little longer—will be quick to disappear, save one, who will direct their attempts to get through the doors again with bored, skeptical broken Trade. The most direct route back inside requires walking the Petitioner's Path, a mazelike path through the gardens, weaving around corners and through tunnels of ivy, in places obscured entirely by the overgrowth.

There's no trick to the floor tiles, here. Only a trick of the mind. Clarity, supplication, a request for justice, and then at points along the path spirits will begin to appear. Some will wear the faces of those who have wronged you—offering excuses, begging for mercy, or refusing to be sorry, and in all cases wanting to know what you think they deserve. Others will wear the faces of those who you've wronged—wanting to know your excuse, asking if you think you deserve forgiveness.

Mercy isn't required, to pass Mythal's test. Only an even hand. The same justice for one as for the other. Succeed, and the spirits will lead you to pass freely through the doors.

III. THE CRYPTS

—or fail, or refuse to participate in a heathen ritual, or see the folly in risking that sort of exposure in less than total privacy, and your option for rejoining the rest of Riftwatch is a labyrinth of a different kind. Corypheus' allies were interrupted before they blew the floor wide open, but there is an opening large enough to pass through single-file into the ancient crypts below. The path through is dark, wet, and winding; now and then one of the dead rattles and threatens to rise; and the Sentinel babysitter, apparently disgusted by the fact that anyone might refuse or fail the test and still enter the Temple, refuses to serve as a guide or provide a map.

But it could probably be worse. Somehow. There could be less historical value in the moldering ruins, for example, or fewer pieces of gold and scraps of ancient jewelry lying around for the taking.

IV. THE TEMPLE OF MYTHAL

Back within the quiet of the Inner Sanctum, Riftwatch's envoy is permitted to rest—with varying degrees of individual acceptance, depending on whether or not they successfully walked the Path to enter, and all of them watched as closely as the small handful of remaining Sentinels can manage. Their leader, Abelas, doesn't shy away from the dire facts. Not enough of them remain to protect the Temple and the Well of Sorrows. Corypheus will likely be back. Convincing him not to destroy it, and finding a viable alternative, will be a task.

In the meantime, those who have better things to do in Kirkwall can return at any time, and anyone ill-suited for a fight but well-suited to assisting in the discussion with Abelas or the efforts to clean up the damage and tend to the fallen—either out of genuine interest in preserving the Temple or in an effort to butter up its guardians a little—can safely cross through the eluvian to help.

For those who are willing to sleep on the ground in a jungle Temple for a night or two instead, while the matter of the Well is resolved, it may be possible to slip away unnoticed to explore the Temple in the dark, at least until caught and escorted back to Riftwatch's makeshift camp, or for someone who's been appropriate respectful to convince one of the Temple guardians to show them some of the murals and statues. But venturing outside of the inner temple walls will require either traversing the crypts or walking the Path to get back inside. Every single time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Adasse exhaled noisely, before he put both his hands on Sorrel's waist and leaned their foreheads together. "I trust you more than anyone else, in my entire life. You never have to ask me to do that. So you never have to choose. I trust you to do ... you. Perfectly Sorrel."

"Breathe, ma'nehn. It's alright. Everything's alright," He murmurs, soothing, rocking them back and forth on their feet, shifting their shared balance from one side to the other, "What brought this up? We've talked about it before, but I thought—"

He stops, and now Sorrel is properly annoyed. Not at Addasse, this time: that's done with. Oh, no no, there's something else he'd very much like to set on fire, given the choice.

"...Those fucking spirits."

"Right. Breathing." Adasse sucked in a few deep breaths, moving with the rocking. Glad to have Sorrel here to balance him. He opens his eyes only when Sorrel curses, giving a weak smile.

"... yeah. They. Er. Kind of tore open some issues."

Sorrel scoffs, in a way that implies he'd like to growl and snap like an animal, but is restraining himself for Adasse's sake, and nothing else. They're poised together almost as if for a dance, Sorrel's hands up and Adasse's gentle at his waist. He shifts, sliding forward into a more proper embrace, letting the body-warmth and contact, the smell and weight of his lover, ground him in the present moment.

"Do not listen to them," He says, fiercely. It would be fiercer if it weren't slightly mumbled, and done in a whisper, but one works with what one has, "You are my brave, generous, selfless heart. I'd be lost without you. The only way I'm ever going back to any clan, is if you're coming with me. And you hate camping."

Almost as much as Sorrel hates Kirkwall. But then, they both have their reasons, and Sorrel is content. It's easy to stay when staying is your choice.

"Okay?"

Adasse exhaled slowly, before he folded himself into Sorrel. Gripping him tightly, shifting so he can kiss Sorrel's forehead. Leaning into his lover, his husband. The one person he knows to trust the moment Sorrel speaks.

"...I really hate camping." He smiled against Sorrel's forehead. "But I would still come with you. Cuz I can handle it, for you."

He wasn't surprised to hear it, but just the same, Sorrel wasn't expecting Adasse to volunteer so cavalierly to go into the woods. It melted him out of his anger, into a much softer sort of gooey feeling, and he smiled.

"We can talk about it later," Sorrel murmured, smoothing his hands comfortably down Adasse's arms, "Can't go anywhere until Riftwatch and the Inquisition get this whole business fixed, anyhow, right? Lots of time to make plans, and— And!"

He grinned, now.

"In the meantime... really amazing ancient elvhen temple."

"Okay. Also, I am still wearing boots because I am not wearing sandals." Adasse stated with a broad smile curling over his face. "But yeah, we can talk about it later because ... All the things you just said."

A laugh, deepening. "Really. Amazing. Elvhen. Temple."

"If you really wanted to be a proper elf, you'd go barefoot," Sorrel says, the joke in his lofty tone only emphasized by the teasing smirk, "Shoes are for savages."

But enough of that; he wants another kiss, gentle and chaste, but enough to settle his heart. All is well. All is well. All is well.

"I'm sorry that I snapped at you," He murmurs, quietly, "Truly. I guess... the spirits kind of set me on edge too."

"And there you go, proving why I should never be a proper elf." Adasse smirked in turn, "Because I happen to adore being a Savage."

The kiss is given, light and warm. Comforting instead of starting something.

"I'm sorry I was a bloody idiot. Those spirits can go fuck themselves in the Fade, for all I care."

Sorrel smiles, then falters, and seems for a moment he has something more to say. But after taking a breath he says only, "You're right" and strokes Adasse's cheek fondly.

"C'mon, look at this," He continues, reaching to take Adasse's hand, pulling him towards the carven writing. They're carved in, softened by the intervening time, but still sharp and easily discerned, "It's still so clear, even after all this time. Do you even know, how little writing the People have left, these days? Most of our books are written in common, and that's few enough."

Adasse followed after him, fingers curled tightly around Sorrel's as he started taking it all in again. He squeezed the other man's hand tightly, while he leaned in. Trying to make out the words.

"We'd best make as many copies as we can, then." He murmured, looking up at the mural. "Have you brought your sketchpad? You could draw these murals and we could show them to the outside world."

"Are you kidding? I've already done two—" He's already shoving the pages aside to show him the work in progress. They're both of the same mural, though one is much more detailed than the other and shows only the face. It's Sorrel's usual meticulous work, the ancient lines reproduced no less lovingly than the rooftops of Kirkwall or the curve of Coco's ears.

Though, for perhaps the first time he actually seems proud, of the result.

"I have no idea who it's of, not really, but I have some ideas. It's a man, so it isn't Mythal herself, but it could be Elgar'nan, though that'd be strange for the placement. I could ask the guardians..." He trails off at that, suddenly embarrassed, "...But they... kinda terrify me. Don't tell anyone, yeah? I mean, you met them. Right?"

When you were at the gates, Adasse, taking out your feelings on the Venatori.

↠ WHAT PRIDE HAD WROUGHT | OPEN LOG

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