MOD PLOT ↠ SECRET STEEP'D ROOTS

[faderifting]

WHO: Open
WHAT: Trapped! Trapped in a jungle!
WHEN: Bloomingtide 9:46
WHERE: Unknown
NOTES: OOC post! The three starters in the comments can have multiple threads, and feel free to ask us on the OOC post if you have any "what will happen if I x" questions.

When the eluvian shatters, there's a stutter in the flow of the fight. The eight Venatori nearly all freeze in place for a moment when the glass cracks, watching their way out and their plan crumble, and afterwards they never quite manage to get their rhythm back. But they don't quit, either. In the end, they all go down fighting.

Riftwatch takes no casualties, and the four members of Riftwatch who were taken captive are all alive, accounted for, and mostly unharmed.

That's the end of the good news.

The massive, shattered eluvian was set within a ruin carved and built out of a steep embankment, now almost entirely reclaimed by the jungle. All that's left are the remains of walls—some full height, others crumbling where vines have pushed between the stones or spreading tree roots have disrupted the ground. But with daylight fading and several injuries that need attending to before anyone can move, the surviving walls and thick plant growth form the best shelter anyone can hope to find before nightfall.

When the sun rises and better stock can be taken of their position, the jungle in which everyone finds themselves is still not immediately recognizable. It's hot compared to Kirkwall at this time of year, with temperatures hovering around 75-80F and kept relatively consistent between day and night by the high humidity and non-existent breeze. It rains with some frequency—light showers that are little more than mist by the time they reach ground-level or torrential downpours that start with little warning and drop several inches of rain in an hour before disappearing as abruptly as they'd arrived.

Most of the ruins extending up or out from the embankment are little more than chunks of moss-covered stone buried in the undergrowth. Searching around them will find them a stream running through the remains of a carved stone channel, fast enough to be safe to drink, and they can follow that a short ways out of the ruins to where it joins a much larger river. They won't see any traffic along it except for a variety of river creatures that would be happy to eat them. Judging by the position of the sun and moons, the river leads south.

There is one half-sunken portion of the ruin complex that's more intact, but after exploring it confirms there is no back-up eluvian on offer, there's little choice but to set out into the dense growth of the jungle. Huge trees create a canopy far overhead, and the floor is soft and springy with dead matter. Giant ferns, vines of every variety, and flowers of every conceivable color crowd them at every turn, making travel slow and damp. Overhead, and all around, are the sounds of other creatures moving through the same space. Birdsong, monkey screeches, the constant buzz and chitter of insects. The fauna in the jungle is a mix of the usual sorts of beasts one would expect in such a climate: parrots, monkeys, snakes, absurdly large insects, the rare big cat, whatever other weird animals walk around a jungle.

The walk south along the river will be a long and difficult slog through dense jungle with no real respite from the environment along the way—and no real certainty about their destination. They'll have to make a new camp each night as best they can and push on the next morning, hiking through seemingly-endless forest. At first, they will have the benefit of a path, a trail south alongside the river that appears to have been cut less than a month ago. It will lead to a second set of ruins where signs of Venatori presence will be obvious. They will make camp here for a couple days while they explore more thoroughly for clues about where they are and what the Venatori were up to.

Beyond that point it will be necessary to cut their own trail, an exhausting process that means even slower going and tired arms for everyone who takes a shift at the front of the line. The only break will come when the jungle abruptly gives way to a deep gorge, the river taking a hard west-ward turn and dropping down a series of magnificent waterfalls to what looks like a very large lake at the bottom. They can either find a way down the falls and hike west around the lake, or cross the river via a narrow rock bridge over the falls and continue south back into the jungle. They'll stop here and make camp among the rocks for another couple days to try to identify the lake or the falls before they go any further and risk walking miles in the wrong direction.

The journey will take a few weeks in total, with plenty of time and opportunity for a few people scouting ahead or foraging for food to find trouble (or fun) on their own. But the entire group will also encounter a few hazards together, including, in chronological order:

• Shortly after leaving the elven ruins where they came through the eluvian, a flash flood will catch the camp one evening, despite its position on the best available high ground, sweeping away some supplies and ruining others. People outside of the camp, for whatever reason, will lack the high ground and might experience a more dangerous rush of water, and everyone will have to go to sleep damp and hungry.
  
  
• A day after the group leaves the dwarven ruins, a swarm of dragonlings and several drakes will emerge from a mountain cave when the group passes too close, breathing fire and intent on chasing them away. Their high dragon won't appear for the fight, but several days later she will fly overhead, barely visible through the canopy but obviously very, very large.
  
  
• A few days later, they'll come upon a hot spring that appears crystal-clear and fine for drinking and bathing, but will result in people developing minor, mostly auditory hallucinatory effects an hour or two after their exposure to it. The plants growing nearby will show to have an even stronger effect, if anyone is foolish enough to eat them to find out.
  
  
• In a few areas, the river will cut gorges through the mountainous terrain, and following it will require either walking along narrow traversable paths on the cliffsides or holding supplies overhead and fording through the water. Watch out for dickfish.

Comments

open*: late.

[cozen]

[ * to people who wouldn't have seemed irritated by his presence, because he would have left them alone ]

Maybe they’ll be stuck here forever, and they’ll all learn to make jungle yurts or build charming little cottage-fronts onto cliffside caves, and Bastien will hang up garlands of tropical flowers and make a bed out of animal pelts. But until forever seems a little more likely, he’s sleeping wherever he falls, in the clusters that form around campfires at night—or on people’s shoulders or legs, if he knows them like that, until they shove him off—or stretching out at a respectable colleague distance away from anyone who looks isolated, so they won’t be dragged off by a jaguar without anyone noticing.

He sleeps easily but lightly, waking at every distant screech or cry and every nearer crack of underbrush but usually falling right back asleep as soon as he’s noted that it’s nothing to worry about.

But this time he catches the glint of another set of open eyes, so he whispers, “Are you awake?”—very quietly, just in case.

[sulahnan]

"Yeah, what's up? Oh," She raises her hand to block the glint of her elf eyes and smirks. "Sorry, did I wake you up with my...wakefulness?"

Athessa could sleep, and likely should, but it's been a while since she's slept in a forest--jungle? Jungle. It's kinda nice, even under the present circumstances. She sighs, puffing out her cheeks.

"Wish the canopy weren't so thick. It'd be nice to see the stars."

[cozen]

Bastien scoots over in stages—legs first, then arching his back to move his torso, then shoulders and head—until he's close enough to keep whispering without waking anyone else up. Close enough to lie on bits of her hair, too. He lifts his head again to move it so he won't make it pull.

"The Dalish must have different constellations," he says. "Or at least different stories about them, if they are the same—do they?"

[sulahnan]

Athessa smiles to herself, amused by Bastien's scooting and shifting, but she refrains from laughing. Just like him, she'd rather not wake anyone.

"Some of them are the same, I think," she whispers. "You can probably guess that the horse one is a halla to the Dalish." Kind of obvious, that one.

[cozen]

"Ah, yes, that is what I had heard about the Dalish before I met you. Two things." There's a breeze—not for them, trapped on the forest floor, but the leaves in the canopy rustle. "They like halla, and they are predictable."

[sulahnan]

"Predictable enough," she agrees with a shrug, and gestures at the stars they can't see. "Which one do you want to know about? I'll see how much I remember and make up the rest."

[cozen]

"A woman after my own heart."

He thinks for a moment. He hasn't looked at the stars here closely enough to know if they're the same, or in the same place, but he knows where the constellations fall over Val Royeaux on summer nights only a little less well than the back of his hand, and he lifts a finger to trace the shape where it would be if he were lying on the roof of his building in the city.

"Tenebrium," he says. "The owl."

[sulahnan]

She hums, thoughtful. "Falon'din, Friend to the Dead. Before he was banished by Mythal, he would take the form of an owl and escort the dead through the Fade. I told you how the Dalish bury their dead with an oak staff now? That's because Falon'din isn't there to guide them anymore."

Now that she's thinking about it, though, how's a staff supposed to act as a substitute for a guide?

[cozen]

"That is a shame," Bastien says. "It would be nice to die knowing that someone would be waiting to show you the way. Why was he banished?"

[keenly]

Colin doesn't respond right away. He'd almost like to be left alone. But only almost. He sighs and sits up, resting his arms on his knees.

"I heard something."

[cozen]

"Me, too," Bastien murmurs. He lifts up on his elbows, for the sake of being good company to someone sitting up. "What do you think it was?"

[keenly]

"Some kind of bird." That's what he's been telling himself repeatedly for about sixty breathless seconds.

[cozen]

"A brightly colored jungle owl," Bastien says, tone musing rather than teasing. It could be. If it is, he'd like to see one. But a important thought follows right on its heels: "Do you want to go sit by the fire for a little while? My heart is going—"

He taps his chest rapidly with his knuckles to illustrate a quickened beat.

Really, his heart rate is normal. He's fine. He could fall back asleep without delay, if he wanted to leave Colin alone with his thoughts.

[keenly]

Colin nods solidarity; his own heart is doing the same thing.

"I'll roll up some elfroot," he says, peeling covers back and grabbing his pack.

[cozen]

Bastien smiles briefly at that, before his focus shifts to moving quietly through the sleeping bodies littering the clearing they've chosen without kicking anyone. They aren't the only people awake—there's a night watch, in shifts—but they're the only people by the fire, which isn't quite dying but is starting to look elderly.

He adds some wood. He's only recently learned how to do it right.

"If we are trapped here forever," he says quietly, even though he doesn't really think it's a possibility, "what do you think we should name our first settlement?"

[keenly]

Once Colin settles, he begins sorting through his pack for the oldest and most wilted elfroot leaves. The stuff seems to grow absolutely everywhere in the world. Bastien's question gets a weak smile.

"I don't know," he says, then changes his mind. "'Motherfucker' would be on the table."

[cozen]

Bastien thinks about it, while he sits down on the ground near Colin, and ends his deliberation with a nod. "Perhaps if we divided it into East and West Motherfucker," he proposes. "A little more distinguished."

The fire crackles and pops, sending up a stream of sparks. But for him, at least—though he was never that alarmed to begin with—everything is less threatening in the light.

"You know, it has been... seven years, I think, since I smoked elfroot."

[bouchonne]

"No," Byerly replies, rolling over to face the fellow, just to ensure that there's absolutely no way to interpret his quip as an actual rejection. And, for good measure, he further elaborates - "I've just established astonishing control over my dream-state. Ooh, that makes me sound like a secret mage, doesn't it?"

An insect buzzes around his ear, the same that's been whining and keeping him awake for an interminable stretch of time. He slaps the side of his face. No success.

[cozen]

"The Apostate of Dragonmount," Bastien murmurs thoughtfully. He shifts onto his side, too, with his head pillowed on one bent arm. "Crossing the continent in a haze of wine and women, careless and seemingly harmless, but a dark power simmered below the surface. He could never truly escape his terrible gift. And on the night the bugs finally drove him over the edge—hmm."

Has potential. But what's visible of his smile, given the dark and the deep shadows left behind by the low-burning fire, fades while he hums.

"Are you all right?"

[bouchonne]

It's a strangely sincere question. So By responds with a bit of levity - though levity that is, quite unfortunately, dreadfully true. "I haven't shat in two days. Otherwise, hale and hearty."

Then, because it is Bastien, By allows, "They didn't manage to make off with my cousin. So I'm all right. Even if we all die out here, at least we accomplished that."

[cozen]

"If we all die out here, it will be in forty years, give or take," Bastien says, "in a charming little village we built for ourselves, surrounded by grandchildren. Other people's grandchildren, perhaps, but all the same..."

A digression. A fanciful one. It dissipates.

"I am glad she is safe. I like her. Not that I wouldn't still be glad if I didn't like her, of course." For Byerly's sake, and for her sake as a person whose life wouldn't lose value just because she'd never made Bastien smile, et cetera. He shifts and stretches. "I never had any cousins. Did you grow up together?"

[bouchonne]

"Oh, yes. Step one: build a village. Step two: learn to farm. Step three: raid nearby villages for babies to complete our air of domesticity. I like this plan."

For a moment, he thinks back to Bastien's plea for an escape. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps they will be lost out here, indefinitely. Perhaps they will never return to the war. Perhaps they will indeed craft their own little Golden City - Golden Village - out here, enjoy the bounty of the land, never think again about Corypheus and bloodshed and the wrath of nations. If only it rained a little less out here - it doesn't exactly make it the best respite for his friend, that he's still stuck with damnable rain.

In answer to that question - "I think saying we grew up together is perhaps a slight exaggeration. But Wildcrest is not so far from Dragonmount, and so we would see each other rather often. She was always my favorite. An absolute darling as a child. A pity she's grown up so homely and shy."

It doesn't quite have the levity he'd like it to. There's still an undercurrent of fury in there; it's slight, but just enough to rob his words of their usual archness. His rage over what the Venatori did to Sonia - their mistreatment of her - burns even with all of them dead. But it's not as bright and hot as it was right after they recovered the captives.

[cozen]

"Ouais, I would never have guessed you were related," Bastien says, sarcasm even gentler than it usual, murmured into the dark and blunted by concern. He catches the buzz and rapid flutter of wings in the air overhead and between them and snaps his hand out to try to catch the insect in his palm.

And misses. But only narrowly.

"I saw a spirit that looked like her in the Crossroads," he adds, tone idle, half-distracted by squinting into the air and keeping his hand poised for another try. "During the Blight, she said."

[bouchonne]

He's quiet a moment. His gaze slides away.

"The Blight was not kind to Wildcrest," he says. "Not kind to any of Ferelden, but particularly unkind to her home. Particularly unkind to her family. It has resulted in...certain difficulties, certain complications in the lines of succession, which have brought her here."

Another moment. "One is a fool if one believes they can keep another person safe. Don't you think?"

[cozen]

"I think—"

He's still on the hunt. But it's a serious question, and the bug is nowhere in sight, so he retracts his hand to rest on his side.

"—it is not foolish to want to, and it is not foolish to try. But it is like anything else. Wanting and trying are not always enough."