faderift | MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

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MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

WHO: Anyone & Everyone
WHAT: Winter adventures as Riftwatch heads up into the Vinmark Mountains to do some work for (Provisional) Viscount Bran of Kirkwall
WHEN: Throughout Wintermarch and early Guardian
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains
NOTES: OOC post

Still-Provisional Viscount Bran has received a number of requests for aid from communities in the Vinmark mountains outside Kirkwall. He wants to keep them happy so that they continue to pay taxes to Kirkwall and don't become problematically independent or allied with some other state. But he also doesn't want to deal with this shit, and the City Guard isn't really equipped to go tromp around the mountains in the winter. So he has asked Riftwatch to deal with this, casting it as a shared danger (if any communities were to break away, they'd be more vulnerable to enemy collaboration, or hampering travel through the passes, and things like that) but if necessary will imply that Riftwatch's refusal would weigh unfavorably against the decision to allow them to remain in the Gallows for free.

This work isn't done at the exclusion of all else--other normal (and especially high-priority) work continues. Any work that isn't especially time-sensitive may be postponed, and otherwise agents will simply have to forfeit their free time and fit this work in on top of their other responsibilities. Something for people to complain about while they're tromping through the snow.

It's not a long trip back and forth to the Gallows, so people can come and go if they want, but Bran has also agreed to allow Riftwatch the use of the Viscount's hunting lodge, a rustic mountain retreat traditionally used for hunting parties, which happens to be in a roughly central location. As Viscount Bran is both Provisional and profoundly not the sort of man who holds hunting parties, the lodge has gone unused for some years now, and Riftwatch is bringing in its own supplies and a skeleton support staff to man the place for the duration. Those traveling up in the first group will have to help escort supply wagons through snowy, muddy mountain roads, unloading casks and crates into the cellar, and pitch in cleaning, making minor repairs, and generally getting the building set up after a decade of neglect.

The lodge is organized around a central hall with a massive fireplace, and a small library and study that will be used as offices shared between those visiting. Up the grand wood stair is a mezzanine level that looks down on the hall and leads to three corridors, each with a couple rooms. Rooms will be shared by groups of 2-4 people, the exception being the two suites generally reserved for the viscount and his wife, which will now be assigned to whichever of the Division Heads are in residence (and if there are more than two at a time, then to whichever Division Heads win a coin toss or something). Each room has basic furnishings, heavy and rustic, and its own fireplace. Bathing facilities are communal, provided by natural hot springs pools. While these are outdoors, there is a roof, and there is also a small springhouse alongside for changing, as well as a separate sauna.

The stables contain a number of sleighs in varying states of repair, which can be signed out for use. They're often the best way to get around this area in winter, and can be pulled by a team of Vinmark Goats, a big-horned shaggy breed of unusually massive mountain goats that are often used in place of ponies in this part of the world. The Viscount had a herd of them, which has since run more or less wild on his land and will need to be rounded back up for use.

There are a few communities with different problems, spread out some ways apart through the mountains:

ICE RIFT: The village of Erith has been plagued by shades and despair demons, which can be traced to a rift that has opened under the thick mid-winter ice of the frozen lake just outside town. Trying to get at it from above would mean cutting into the ice and fighting off demons while underwater and very likely freezing to death in minutes. So instead they'll need to traverse the ice caves beneath the lake to reach it, which will be complicated by the nature of shades, which leech off the energy of the livings' psyche, causing confusion, fatigue, and fear.
SNOWMONSTERS: Cragfield has been cut off by an infestation of what's only been described as "snowmonsters," that have been harrying travelers around the village or anyone who strays too far from the edge of town. They will prove to be some unknown variation of giant, even more aggressive, though a bit smaller and nearly covered in white hair. They have some resistance to magic, especially ice magic, and one seems capable of using ice magic, if crudely. They can be tracked through the forest and picked off a few at a time, or traced back to one of their lairs, usually in a cave or tucked into a rock formation.
THE GRIPPE: Galssop has sent an urgent request for healers to help combat a particularly virulent strain of the illness many in Kirkwall are suffering. Most of the town has fallen victim to it, including their only healer, leaving the rest without care. Complicating matters, reaching the town in winter (especially while transporting supplies) requires traveling up the frozen Wye river, using skates and iceboats. The villagers there will be wary of magical healing, and Bran as urged trying to use non-magical means of healing first if possible, though he and the sick will ultimately come round to the necessity of using some magic rather than see dozens die.
THE GRINCH: Lerwick's trouble is a young man who recently inherited Touraigle, the fortress above the village, and who firmly believes that Lerwick is also his inheritance. When the Mayor of Lerwick refused to enforce Lord Bertrand's taxes, the lord's guards ransacked the town, helping themselves to most of its winter stores, among other things. Riftwatch diplomats have been asked to help entreat the lord to be reasonable and return what he took. But the road up to the castle has been blocked by a combination of overzealous defenses and weather, forcing all visitors to climb a treacherous hill of downed trees covered in ice and the occasional, possibly-frozen (if they're lucky), booby trap.

In addition to these specific issues, Rift Watchers can expect to encounter the usual Vinmark winter hazards: unpredictable weather, hungry animals, bad roads, scarcities, and so forth. Once news of their presence in the mountains gets around, they may be asked to take on similar small problems for others, like dealing with wildlife issues, helping search for a missing child, rescuing a hunting party trapped by a minor avalanche, etc. There are also basic chores to keep the lodge running that will always need extra hands, like chopping firewood, hunting down dinner, safeguarding supplies on their way to and from Kirkwall, and so on.

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As is the way of turn-based timing, Athessa doesn't get a chance to answer Loxley's question with anything more than a cheeky smile before her expertise is called upon.

"Too bad we don't have anyone like that, eh Matty?" She nudges him playfully on her way past him, then gestures for everyone to stay while she scouts out their opposition. As if that's even necessary.

The area before the bend is darkest and Athessa briefly disappears into it before her silhouette reemerges just this side of the bend, backlit by the sickly green glow of the rift. There, she stays, pressed against the wall of the cave and silently working one of her daggers out of its sheath. A quick swipe against her trousers and any smudges are cleared away, letting her use the flat blade like a mirror and see around the corner.

When she turns back to look at her companions, she shrugs and holds up one finger. I only see one. Weird.

Well then.

Loxley leans his arm against some cave rock as he watches Athessa disappear ahead, content to play 'guy with a sword' for this particular expedition. Even as he notes her tactics, form, with the specific kind of interest of a person so used to doing exactly what she is doing now.

Which is why, when she reports back that there's merely one, he says to Richard in quiet aside--

"Would you care to verify?"

“I don’t know,” says Richard. “Why wouldn’t you?” Matthias is asking the hard questions.

At Loxley’s aside, only Richard’s eyes move. He looks first, inevitably, to Loxley, pupils blown out wide in the semi-dark, carefully weighing their friendship and what it means to him. Then he looks over to Athessa, and her 🤷.

He sighs, breath furled out in an impatient fog, chin turned down.

Fine.

Outward appearances aside, without any kind of pink panther slink or pressing of back to wall, he is remarkably (suspiciously) quiet. He’s nearly to Athessa when he plants a boot down on a slick patch, and starts to slip. Starts to, because he catches his balance upright with a feline seize of muscle through his middle, one arm out, teeth grit. A pair of loose pebbles skirt across the ice like dice where he dug his heel in, clickety clack. He breathes out. Slowly.

Ten feet of glowing demon erupts from the ground at his feet and plows him (and itself) into the cavern wall, rocking cracks deep into the ice. It shrieks as it holds him there, all glowing, twisted sinew and horn, blind to Athessa at its turned back.

Dick’s cuss is indecipherable to all in attendance, hissed bloody through his teeth in a language nobody else in Thedas speaks.

To his credit, he manages to produce a dagger from somewhere, and rams it up fist-deep through the thing’s ribs.

The demon springs from the ground like a whipping top at the moment of release, unfurls and screams--anger, first, and then pain as Richard stabs into it, and Matthias--

He's not thinking anymore, and he's not sulking about being the less-than-sneaky one, or gloating over anyone falling. He's not anything except the way he snaps his staff around, instinct and hard-won muscle memory. Hands gripped together first, then flat and open with the staff slapped between them. Fire leaps to his call, wreathes down his arms and hands and focuses down furious into a fireball, which then--thrust of hands and staff--blasts out across the distance.

The fireball hit the demon with a whop and bursts like a rotten pumpkin, spattering flames all down the demon's front. The thing shrieks again, more pain, flailing blindly. To make it worse: friendly fire is possible, and fire is neither discerning nor friendly--so if nothing else, Richard (too close to avoid) will definitely get his eyebrows singed. Athessa might as well; Loxley is probably casually stunningly safe.

Nothing personal to anyone.

She manages to escape the flames purely by virtue of being on the other side of the demon, but it's still close enough to be a close call.

"Watch it!" Her shout is embarrassingly squeaky, more of a yelp, really, but it doesn't stop her leaping onto its back, sinking both daggers into the meat of the abomination's sinewy shoulders. Its thrashing gives her enough momentum to swing one way, then the other, then direct herself back down towards the floor of the tunnel, pulling the demon with her in an uncomfortable-looking back-bend.

And, as it crashes to the ground with its head at Athessa's feet, Dick is officially out of its grasp.

Loxley is only slightly slower than the fireball that Matthias shoots from hands and staff, skidding to a halt on gritty ice in time to see the roll of a demon's head. He looks to Richard, and the funneled steam of his exhale is sharp, connoting a measure of relief.

Short lived. A demonic growl emanates a little further into the cavern, and then another, joining the one that Athessa had already spied that pivots to them now.

"Ah," he says.

And then dives in, green flaming flickering along the length of his rapier.

Richard’s swearing stalls into a monotone bellow of protest against the gout of flame that scalds his retinas and scorches the flank of his face. He rips his dagger free and spikes it in once more, blind. The demon howls; Athessa bows it back. Its talons spasm and unlock.

DIck slides loose to land on his ass in a leggy heap, oily with hot ichor and stinking of burnt hair. Bits of ember still chew orange through the ruff of his cloak, but he never stops moving.

One eye forced open, the other still screwed shut, he spits out blood, pins an elbow back and plants his hand, already pivoting to follow after Loxley. Somewhere in this, he tips off the world’s weariest nod of thanks -- to Matthias or to Athessa or to his god or to this entire plane for sucking so hard -- and reaches long to twist his dagger out of the downed demon.

He will need it where they are going.

"Bloody fuck," Matthias grumbles, and scrambles forward without offering any nods back at Richard.This time he does his best to avoid treading through the mess of demon remains, lest he, too, slip and fall on his arse. Certainly he's no coward, but who likes facing demons on demons way down in an underground tunnel?

Then again, this is what Riftwatch is about, isn't it. And it's better than scratching away at reports in an office somewhere, so, get it together, Matthias.

The tunnel funnels them out into the next open cavern, which is maybe the size of the stables back at the Gallows--but with a soaring ceiling, and without all the horses and stalls and hay and shit and things that make up an actual stable. Craggy wet rocks, white shapes that look like bones--animal, probably, if there's human remains among them, it's too dark for Matthias to tell, even with the green glow off Loxley's blade. And here's the demons that are doing the growling: one slumped and glowing orange, one hulking, spiney, plated almost as if it is wearing armor. Its growl almost sounds like a laugh, a greeting that Matthias pulls a face at.

He pulls up short just inside the cave, takes quick stock--could do a glyph if he can dodge in close, seal off the fire mine so none of the others will trigger it--and there's that peculiar greenish glow just ahead, around another bend, and that's got to be the rift, waiting to be sealed. He can hear it crackling away, even over the guttural growl of the smaller demon as it approaches, gliding across the cave floor like a swimmer, its brutish arms pulling at the air as it moves.

Athessa gets into the open cavern just after Loxley, and doesn't waste time engaging the same demon as he in a pincer attack. Even as four more demons crop up closer to the rift, she affords them only enough attention to assess the imminent threat, count their number, and return focus.

Once the bickering stops, they do work like a well oiled machine. Loxley's blade flashes here, Athessa's own glints there, parry, thrust, riposte--at one point as the demon is beaten back with steel and flame, Athessa dodges aside to get a clear shot at the short-arse attacking Matthias. Her throwing knife does little damage, but it staggers the slumping figure long enough that Matty doesn't need to dodge an attack while casting, and she can shift focus to a new target.

The closest of the new four is a rage demon, hunched and pulsing, hardened bits of its lava-like substance cracking and sloughing off as it moves. Athessa steps out of the way of a clumsy swipe from its claw-like hand and hacks the limb off. Of course, in the nature of rage demons that pisses it off and it swipes again, with the other arm, which it then loses. They'll regrow before too long, but Athessa is quick; she spins around the demon as it charges her, easily placing herself behind it and slashing both daggers down its back.

From somewhere in its blindspot -- a guess based off its attacking movements, given how this thing of lava and smoke barely has a face -- Loxley strikes with a blade that is no longer wreathed in green flame. Stands to reason that something made up of pure heat wouldn't take much offense to a lick of fire.

No, instead, in the strange half-light of volcanic glow, the air around his blade seems to tremble like watery surface tension, and as the blade plunges deep into shifting fiery mass, that same unstable, invisible energy ripples across the rage demon's flank.

He ducks as the creature twists with strange preternatural flexibility and slashes a clawed hand, and he twists the blade out with the intent to do damage as he does. Staying in melee, Loxley shouts;

"Will closing the rift hurt these things?"

The crackle and spit of the largest demon’s lightning whip splits the party as it lumbers into the mix, sending a stiff shock up through boots and into spines. Pressed back against the chamber wall, Richard reflects violet light as well as the ice, saturated with offal as he is.

Later someone will have to scrub him off like a tar-soaked loon.

He waits for this latest contingent of demons to fan out into the fracas, barely breathing, and by the flash of the next whip he’s slipped well behind their ranks, right hand raised open to the rift. If closing it doesn’t hurt them, it should -- at the very least -- stop more from crawling through.

"You're the Rifters," Matthias shouts back, "why would we know if closing the-- shit--"

The ungainly end to this sentence is because the lightning whip has crackled in his direction, lashing out in such a way that Matthias has to throw himself to one side to avoid it. He manages to get out of the way of the worst of it--a slap on the arm that sizzles, and he bites at his lower lip to avoid shouting out from the pain.

In the moment, Richard has looped around behind, his green-glowing hand raised like a pathetically small talisman, held up toward the rift. The demons have not seen him yet but they will, in a moment. The rift has begun to make a horrible denting noise as Richard gets closer to it. Its form refracts and contracts wildly as if it is trying to disguise itself from this new threat.

Matthias shoves down the pain in his arm and raises it above his head, his staff clutched in his other hand. A barrier lifts around Richard just before he moves out of Matthias' range, a surprising shock of shimmering blue in the sickly greenish light of the cavern. That brutish rage demon is still with Loxley and Athessa, but they will kill it soon. This barrier is for the hulking spiney demon that has, at last, noticed Richard. It grumbles a roar as it turns to stump after him.

Whatever Loxley just did kills the rage demon so quickly that Athessa barely has time to divert her next attack towards the next closest--which is a kind of shade she's never seen before. The silhouette is the same hunched form as the others, but the core of it is gnarled like an old oak, and along one of the ridges of its de facto bark, it splits. Raw, meaty flesh is exposed in that split, and lined with teeth as if its whole body is a mouth and its skeletal mask of a face is only there to distract until it can bite.

The sight of it stops her in her tracks for one baffled moment.

"Well I don't like that," she decides, and skirts around the beasty to slice one dagger upwards along the opposite side of its...toothy gash, while striking down the length of its back with the other. The shade screeches and flails blindly, mouth gnashing. Yep. It's a mouth.

"Wow, I hate it!"

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MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH

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Enter: An Ash Wraith