faderift | MOD PLOT ↠ SECRET STEEP'D ROOTS

Entry tags:

MOD PLOT ↠ SECRET STEEP'D ROOTS

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Sonia?" Byerly is pushing through the crowd - quite literally, shoving one of his fellow Riftwatch members who stands between him and his cousin to get them out of the way. "Son- " He spots her, then, and gets free of the throng - takes four long strides forward and then wraps her tightly in his arms, his embrace nearly enough to press the breath from her.

"Oh," he says softly into her hair, and that's it; just that one, soft sound.

"Byerly -- "

She chokes out his name as soon as she sees him, almost tripping in her hurry towards him, but he closes the distance between them in no time, and she flings her arms around him, holding on as though for dear life. Byerly is home in this uncivilized place, solace from the lingering terror of the last few days, and she has never been so glad to see him in her life. She can't seem to find words for anything else, just buries her face in his shoulder and lets out a muffled sob.

There's a lot he wants to say, and much of it is cruel. He wants to scold her for being reckless, to tell her that this was precisely the reason he didn't want her joining the war effort at all. He wants to tell her that he knew something like this would happen. These are all monstrous impulses, and he swallows them down. Because not only are they dreadful, they're untrue - She took as many cautions as all the rest, did she not? But he hates that she was out there. Hates that she's here.

"Are you hurt?"

Those are the things Sonia is most afraid of hearing. She might buckle under a torrent of I-told-you-sos right now, and she's glad it doesn't come, clinging to Byerly like he might disappear if she loosens her grip. She is suddenly keenly aware of how dirty she is and how she must smell, and a little shudder of embarrassment ripples through her. She draws in a slow breath and pulls back enough to shake her head, blinking through damp eyelashes.

"They kicked us around a little bit, but..." The words seem to get stuck in her throat, oddly difficult to force out. She swallows, blinks, almost says I'm alright. She shakes her head again. "Just -- just tired and sore."

Kicked us around? He pulls back so he can study her face. His expression is very, very controlled, but there's still a flickering rage behind it. Years of spycraft, and years in Orlais, taught him to control his fury. But the sheer rage tearing through him threatens to burst out.

"They kicked around unarmed captives," he says, voice very soft.

Her face is smudged, tear-streaked and scraped in a few places, but there are no bruises, no welts from the back of someone's hand. Her neck is red and raw where the collar had been, and there are bruises elsewhere, but even as much as her stomach still quails at the thought -- far too recent for a memory -- she knows it could have been worse.

"Well, I don't think they were very interested in being friendly with us," she says, trying for just a little levity, but it falls flat, and she comes out sounding dull and childish. "It could have been worse. John and Colin had it worse." She bites her lip, her gaze falling. "If it weren't for Colin, I'd have been worse off."

He doesn't look much heartened by her face. The fury still is there in the set of his lips, the tension of his face, in his narrowed eyes. "Is that so," he says, his voice flat. "How so? What did Colin do?"

Sonia has never seen Byerly quite like this. She has seen him annoyed, frustrated, even angry -- but this fury... Ah, no. She recognizes it on delay, reminiscent of the look in his eyes when she'd come to him all those years ago after her first heartbreak, devastated as she had been. But even then...

"He defended me," she says, and even as tired and miserable as she looks, there is still a glimmer of fierceness in her voice, that little righteous streak she's always carried. But she slows down there, hesitating slightly. "I...one of the kidnappers got angry with me. He tripped over my foot and thought I'd done it on purpose. I really hadn't, I was just so tired, I didn't realize..."

She stops herself with another breath. God, that had been just the other night. She feels like she's reliving it already. "He was so angry, he was -- I thought he was going to hit me. But Colin...he spoke up. Talked the man out of it, even though there was a good chance he'd just turn around and take it out on Colin. They treated Colin and John like they were...disposable."

"Unlikely." His voice is clipped, distant. "The Venatori value magic. I would think that a mage would have had a far higher value to them than any of the rest of you. I doubt they'd have actually damaged him."

Damaged him. Like Colin was chattal.

"Were they kinder to you because you were women, then?"

Sonia's mouth tugs down into a frown, blinking water away from her eyes. Little waves of tears keep catching her unawares, aftershocks of terror and exhaustion.

"I...don't know," she says slowly. That alone makes her uneasy, but so does Byerly's easy dismissal of the real risk Colin had taken. "That's what I haven't figured out. They threatened to -- to kill John and Colin, but never Wysteria or me. They seemed to want to bring us alive the most. For...study."

Her stomach trembles again as her imagination races ahead of her, lays out all the reasons why the Venatori might want to keep the women alive more than the men. But no -- there had been women there, too. Surely they wouldn't allow... She shakes her head, her frown deepening.

"You weren't there," she says quietly, but with conviction. "You didn't see what they were like. I think they'd have killed him if they thought it would keep us in line."

"The rift shard, I suppose," Byerly mutters to himself. He knows that the Venatori are hungry for the power contained in them. Though while that explains Wysteria...

"Did they not know he was a mage, then?"

(It is easier to try to gather information. To puzzle through their motives. To try to uncover the root of it all, the reason of it. It is easier than confronting the fear.)

"But I don't have one," Sonia says, confusion clear in her voice. That would have made sense, yes, but she...well, as much as she takes pride in being Lady Sonia Barra of Wildcrest, she understands that her title is of no interest to the Venatori. She shakes her head again, sniffling.

"No, they knew. They took him first. They used him as leverage." And it had worked. Sonia, overtaken with fear, had laid her weapon down almost immediately. Not that it would have been of much use to her anyway, but she wonders -- if she hadn't, if she had held her ground, would things have gone differently? Selfish to pin all that on herself, though. Selfish and unfair. It wasn't anybody's fault at all. "It didn't seem like they were especially interested in his magic."

"I suppose his talents are not particularly remarkable," Byerly says, his voice even more clinical. It's all simply - The only common ground between Wysteria and Sonia is that they are women, while Silver and Colin are men. And there is nothing about that that is not sinister. There is no place that thought leads that does not make him sick with terror and rage.)

"Perhaps your title," he says. "Did you tell them who you were? That you were a hostage to be ransomed?"

Sonia bites her lip again, shaking her head. That distant tone...it's somehow worse than the fury. She clings to him still, pressing her cheek to his chest, as though assuring him he doesn't need to be angry. But she doesn't really believe that herself. Deep beneath the lingering terror, she's furious too.

"No, nothing like that. They didn't even ask." Somehow, that thought hadn't really occurred to her until now. It had all happened so quickly, and the Venatori kept them moving almost constantly, too fast and dogged for time to think. And she had just been so childishly terrified. Her legs feel weak, she feels sick in her stomach. She leans against him, her voice small. "I'd like to -- to sit down now, please."

That request brings him back to himself. He takes in a breath, and shakes his head, and says - "Yes. Of course - Of course."

At once he's drawing her over to a spot at a base of a tree, stripping out of his doublet and setting it down upon the ground to make a cushion for her. A slightly absurd gesture - she's dirty enough that a bit of mud won't really change anything - but at least it might add a bit of softness.

Solicitously, gently, he helps her down into a sitting position.

"You must be - hungry. Thirsty."

She's stiff from the long days of walking, easing herself down with Byerly's help, but once she's down she goes slack against the tree with a breath of relief. Something about Byerly's chivalrous gesture is both absurd and deeply comforting. A gesture that would have been sardonic under any other circumstance.

Maker, her feet are killing her. Somehow they hurt more now that she has time to think about it. She nods, licking at dry lips. "Yes -- please. It...didn't seem like they had quite enough rations to go around."

For a moment, the fury returns. Or - fury is, perhaps, the wrong label. For this isn't fury so much as it's hatred - a true, pure, hard, cold hatred.

But hatred is hard to maintain when there's work to do. So he turns away, going to the supplies. He grabs at a flask of water and brings it over to her, kneeling down, lifting it tenderly to her lips, even though she's fully capable of holding it herself.

She's glad for the help anyway, offered wordlessly. She needs a gentle touch right now. She drinks deeply, the water a cool relief. Water, she decides, has never tasted so good. She leans her head back with a sigh, resting it against the tree. She reaches for his hand, her eyes dark and serious.

"Byerly," she says quietly, tugging his hand until he'll look at her. "They didn't really hurt me. Nothing happened."

"They force-marched you," he says, voice brittle, "and put you in chains, and starved you. They - "

His hands are trembling. He forces them to still, lest he spill water upon her.

"That is not nothing."

Sonia closes her eyes. No...no, it was not nothing. She wishes it were, but it's too fresh, her skin still raw from collar and chains, the sense memory of the hard ground in the Crossroads and the tension in the air -- it was not nothing. It was almost too much. She had been waiting to buckle and break at any moment. She hadn't, but she had felt so near to it. She just wants to assure Byerly that she's alright, even though she isn't, not yet.

"Oh, Byerly..." Her breath escapes her in a whoosh. There is a question she wants to ask, but she's not sure she wants to hear the answer. "I'm sorry I worried you so."

"It is not...for you to apologize." Byerly is rarely earnest, rarely honest, and he has trouble with it now, his voice faltering as he offers his reassurance. At once, he looks around, more to escape from her apology than anything else - "You needed food as well."

Ah, dear Byerly. She's never met anyone as terrible at being honest as Byerly. It teases a small smile from her, even now. She touches his hand again and nods hesitantly, trying to keep her breathing steady. She still feels dizzy from it all. Perhaps food would help.

"Yes, please. Just..." She tries to banish the silly, senseless anxiety from her face, but fails. This sudden, striking fear that if Byerly leaves her sight now, she might never see him again. Utterly foolish. "Just don't be gone too long."

He touches her hand gently. Then he gets up and moves away.

As requested, he's not gone too long - five minutes, perhaps. When he returns, it's with food - nothing particularly appetizing, just some dried fruit and meat, but still something. When he hands it over, his knuckles are scraped, as though he's struck something rough and hard - say, a tree trunk - several times. No comment or apology is offered; instead, he just holds the food out to her, his expression gentler.

"Will this do?"

It feels like an offering, when he holds it out to her like that, with that look on his face. Sonia reaches to take the food from him, her fingers touching the back of his hand gently, but she says nothing. It may as well be an offering, for how grand it seems, this small amount of food. She smiles then, so small, but real, a tiny touch of sunshine on her face.

"Yes," she says simply. She is hungry, starving even, but there is still a rock at the bottom of her stomach, an ill, uneasy feeling, so she eats slowly. She's almost too tired to eat any faster. She had been dreaming, desperately, of a rescue that ended with her in a comfortable bed, possibly even a bath. Those things are distant possibilities now, and she hasn't even begun to settle into the reality of their current situation. But surrounded by friends, in relative safety, with food and water, maybe she'll sleep anyway.

"They were saying we'll likely have to ration," he says, and then wishes he hadn't. Too late it occurs to him that if he kept her in the dark, he could likely slip her his food, give her a full portion, and keep her in the dark about it. He wonders if she'll accept it if she knows that's what he's doing. Well - He'll find out later.

"I fear we're not exactly well kitted out for our current surroundings." Well. "But we'll make do."

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