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

[bouchonne]

"Maker, don't apologize," By says, flicking his finger against the side of Bastien's neck hard enough to sting. "If Orlesians and Fereldans stop jeering at each other, the world will stop. Birds will fall from the sky. The Maker will return - because Andraste was wrong; He will not return when we are all singing the Chant, but rather when we stop being shitty to one another. So let's not, because I cherish this shitty, awful, horrible world. We need to stave off His return as long as we can."

He rubs that spot with his thumb, smiling just a little to himself. Such an odd thing, to tell this story and be smiling a moment later. He'd like to think that it's because it's less painful than it used to be, but in truth, he suspects it's simply that Bastien is very good at what he does. Making you feel safe, making you open your heart. Dangerous in an enemy. In a friend... Truly, the Bards in his life are the most marvelous, the most beloved monsters he's ever met.

"And it was the eyes, if you must know," he replies, his tone a little prim. "The greenest you've ever seen. I half wondered if the man wasn't elf-blooded, with eyes like that. I wouldn't ever go after someone just because it's a scandal." He lets a little grin cross his face. "It's just a lovely little bonus when it happens."

[cozen]

The flick makes Bastien's eyebrow quirk—not like a wince, more like a silent threat of vengeance, do you really want to start that, etc. But between how charming I cherish this shitty, awful, horrible world is and the follow-up rub, all's forgiven.

"Coquin," he accuses fondly, closing his eyes again. He's still thinking about Byerly's sister, and Byerly's father, and the attention-hungry little ghost in the Crossroads, but what he asks is, "Was it a good kiss? I have always suspected Chantry Brothers of being slobberers."

[bouchonne]

"It was..." He trails off meaningfully, as if recalling a delicious memory, and holds that silence just long enough before he admits - "Unremarkable. In every way. Neither particularly good nor particularly bad. Which is disappointing, of course - one would wish that a scandalous kiss like that would be either the one or the other. Not just fine."

He moves his hand from Bastien's neck to his head, lightly scratching at his scalp as he talks. A bit meditatively, he confesses, "I never asked after you. I never even thought to. But I suppose that's likely what you were after, no? That it never occur to anyone to ask."

[cozen]

"Mhm. I would not have objected to being fascinating and—"

He's getting mumbly. He doesn't especially want to snap out of it, though, so he doesn't open his eyes, only his mouth, to stretch his jaw and wiggle his tongue a little, like that will help.

"—and having that charisma, you know, where people can be fully aware that someone is trouble and they still just cannot help themselves. But we must all work with what we have."

Another time it he might have been a little bothered, secretly, beneath the shruggy carelessness of his tone. But between Byerly's lulling fingers and the several more important things already making him ache at the base of his throat, there's no room for it.

"Will you be able to sleep? I don't want to make you talk about all of that and then leave you alone with it."

[bouchonne]

"As I have been alone with it for the past twenty-odd years?" He means for that to come out a little saucy, but it ends up sounding a bit sad, instead. Not because of his tone - just because of the content of the words. So he tries to make up for it by tugging at the ends of Bastien's mustache.

"If my life robbed me of sleep, I'd never be able to sleep at all, now would I? I'll be fine."

And, because he doesn't want Bastien to feel unloved or uninteresting or unworthy -

"And I know now how fascinating you are. Back then, I thought you only fun, but you truly are so much more."

[cozen]

Bastien cracks his eyes open at that first statement and endures the mustache-tugging without a single nose twitch. At another time, in another mood, he might say I warned you about touching my face. Now he just watches, drowsy and impassive, thinking—in that way that feels profound in the dark and stupid come daylight—about Byerly's twenty-odd years, and about how secret shames, like secret loves, can grow their own hearts and legs and follow someone around for so long that losing them is lonely more than it's a relief.

Then he makes a quiet little snorting sound, catches Byerly's hand to hold it to the mossy ground so it can't get up to any more mischief, and closes his eyes again.

"Don't flatter me when I'm too sleepy to defend myself," he murmurs, closing his eyes again. "It's not sporting. Now all my dreams will be about revenge."