faderift | MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

WHO: Everyone!
WHAT: Assisting with the aftermath of occupation
WHEN: August through Kingsway
WHERE: Field of Ghislain
NOTES: OOC post. Please use appropriate content warnings in your comment subject lines as needed.

The Fields of Ghislain are, as the name suggests, broad open plains, more flat than not, more grass than trees. There are famous orchards around Arlesans at the southern end, but they fade into grassland and farm land, wide fields of wheat and corn separating quiet farming villages and the occasional bustling market town, the even more occasional country estate.

High summer here has always meant long hot days, dusty roads, and preparations for the harvest. Now it also means recovery from the sudden end to the area's year-and-a-half of occupation by the forces of Corypheus. On first glance, the area appears to have escaped relatively unscathed. There are a few burnt villages here and there, a few new rifts, and the scarred valley where the Battle of Ghislain took place, but there are also crops growing strong in the fields and markets open for business, people going about their lives.

On closer inspection, there's more work to be done. The immediate threats are obvious: an unusual number of rifts and the general thinning of the Veil they signal, small bands of enemies—including bands of darkspawn with red lyrium growths—still marauding through the region, isolated patches of red lyrium to be destroyed and Blight to be contained.

Most places have at least one building that's been destroyed by fire or force, some practically essential—a grain store, an infirmary, a watch tower—some invaluable in other ways—a chantry, a mayor's office, a monument to heroic ancestors. Some places showed more resistance than others, and there whole neighborhoods or even entire villages have been gutted by fire and the ruins shoved over like block towers. Some survivors fled and now return to pick through the debris, while others remained, living in shanties in the ashes waiting for a chance to rebuild. Despite the crops ripening in the fields there are signs of malnutrition in many places as well, stories of crops confiscated to feed the invading troops and only meager rations returned, worse off even than those affected by shortages elsewhere in Orlais.

And it's not just the material that the enemy has taken or destroyed. Every decent-sized village has its missing, people who were arrested and taken away in wagons or simply vanished one day out of the blue. Where there was resistance there were executions to discourage it, and while the inhabitants have already taken down and buried the displayed bodies, there are a few places where there is no one left to do so, or where magic placed remains out of reach but always in sight.

There are opportunities too: the enemy lived and worked here for 18 months. They did their best to cover their tracks when they left, but it was a hasty and unexpected withdrawal, and there is a wealth of information to collect and work through. There are houses they occupied that haven't been entirely cleaned out, papers only half-burned in an abandoned office, a storeroom in an outpost basement they forgot to empty. And there are the people who have been forced to live and work alongside them all this time to be spoken with, the names they've learned and the conversations they've overheard, the training exercises held on their village greens, all to be teased out and taken down.

One abandoned operation commands particular attention: the site that Riftwatch—then the Inquisition—observed on the eve of the Battle might be a shrine to the Old God Dumat. At the time this was a newly-discovered ruin and little could be discerned for certain, but during their occupation the Venatori have undertaken massive excavations. They've uncovered not just a shrine but a significant temple complex, much of it underground. Exploration of the lowest levels will be handled by a particular team, but there is more to see and do besides. The warren of ruins and the remains of the camp outside them must be searched for clues as to the Venatori's purpose here, and a preliminary study made of the site's contents. There are also the slaves who did the back-breaking labor of digging out the complex and now need assistance. Many are locals, who simply need a ride back to their homes. Others the Venatori brought with them from Tevinter, and they will need to be interviewed and local communities persuaded to take them in.

It is an unimaginable amount of work, but Riftwatch isn't doing it alone. The Inquisition still has a large number of noncombatants, many of whom have been sent to help with outreach and rebuilding in particular. The Exalted March, too, has plenty of volunteers that aren't exactly fit for the front lines. There is enough ground to cover for everyone, but there will be times when Riftwatch agents will be working with—or at least alongside—those from the Inquisition and the Exalted March, and orders are clear that they are to maintain good working relations and not start any trouble.

In between all of this there will be long rides by horse or cart from this village to that one over dirt tracks with cicadas buzzing in the sun, sweltering afternoons broken up by sudden, drenching thunderstorms, warm evenings playing pétanque on the green with the locals over a pint of cider. There will be as many wary as grateful, but hopefully by the end of the summer Riftwatch can tip that balance a little bit.

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[Even in hindsight, it will be difficult to judge exactly where it began. It isn't as if they walk through a doorway from one room to the next and suddenly the down is up and up is down. It is a slow subtle and unwinding thing which underlies an already deepening sense of unease, and in a place so suffused with a sense of power it is difficult to pick out any particular impression against the noise of—

Near the back of their party, Wysteria pauses. Between the shadow of the shield at her back and the constricted torchlight, she seems very pale. Her expression slants toward a frown.

Something in the air is wrong. More wrong? Different. As if they have passed at some point into the current of an intersecting stream.]

Does it seem at all somehow darker down here?

[—Might be a good question, were the sound not swallowed entirely the moment it leaves her.]

[ Tony is a little ahead of Wysteria, and doesn't even twitch in response to the thing she says, on account of how he did not at all hear it. Which is odd. Not just because of the obvious, but because he is particularly twitchy, wearing that external sense of creep factor like a spider crawled on him at some point and now everything feels like a spider. The air, the longer shadows, even the subtle bodily sounds of his own breathing.

He's dressed a little sturdier for this excursion. Leathers reinforced in panels of chain mail, and a metal breastplate strapped in place, a little dinged up and dull. His shard-bearing hand is fastened into its focus, and the non-shard hand is holding onto the strap of his satchel, in which contains equipment, parchment, ink, charcoal. Four coppery rods are buckled to the outside, engraved in runic embellishment.

He doesn't respond to Wysteria's question at all, but does glance down when the sounds of his own foot steps seem to mute, expecting to see-- what, carpet? Moss? Something other than the dusty stone surface they are traversing, but no. He pauses, and those behind him will see him stamp his foot harder. ]

Hey, the floor's broken, [ he announces, and, being naturally loud, just a hint of sound escapes him, as if from a great distance. ] Or the acoustics are just-- hey, is this thing on?

[ He pivots back to Wysteria to gesture like: what the fuck? ]

Edited 2020-08-29 07:32 (UTC)

( the distant, barely-there sound that almost might have been tony's voice draws gwenaëlle up short at first for one reason—how the fuck has she fallen so far behind, what the fuck is going on in this shitty place—and then, immediately after, for an entirely different one as she realises that if she follows instinct to bolt forward she's actually going to collide with wysteria's back, and that tony would be even within hands-reach if she were inclined to reach hands.

she's going to feel really stupid if this comes out at a normal volume, but she draws a great breath and launches, )

WHAT THE FUCK,

( into the shadows of the passage, where it does not echo satisfyingly so much as muffle upon impact. )

[ The distant sound is enough to turn Kostos from where he'd distracted himself behind them, frowning at his own hand held out in the air, as if he might feel the Veil like a breeze, the same way someone might close their eyes against a loud noise or physically recoil from a blinding light—the wrong sense, out of alarmed impulse. He always looks a little bit like he'd prefer to be hunching his shoulders and is only resisting because someone told him to watch his posture, and now he's given up resisting.

Anyway, he looks up, ready to spot someone at a great distance and to have to rush to catch up, and finds Gwenaëlle just ahead of him in the murky dark.

WHAT THE FUCK indeed.

His own, ]

I fucking hate this,

[ is too quiet for anyone, unless someone wants to come stick their ear right into his mouth. He casts one longing look back the way they came, but then he starts to pull wisps through the Veil, one after another. ]

[ Freddie has been occupied with as much study and documentation of the structure around them as she can fit in while more or less keeping pace with the group, and just assumes that the silence following her pointing out this or that feature is thoughtful regard, or perhaps an understandable reticence to venture a less-informed opinion in the presence of such deep expertise. But eventually she notices that she can't quite hear herself, either, and frowns, looking about at the others and then at the room for some sign of the cause. ]

HOW STRANGE [ she says, not shouting because Baronesses do not shout, but raising her voice a great deal ] CAN YOU DISCERN THE SOURCE OF THE MAGIC? [ this is projected primarily at Kostos as the mage in the group. ]

[Tony's baffled gesture lends just enough sense of security for Wysteria to shoot a sidelong look in Gwenaëlle's direction—really, is the vulgarity so necessary—, clearly visible in the burgeoning wisp light before she looks past her to Freddie.

She takes a great breath, and (being something rather less than a Baroness) shouts back:]

IT'S DEEPER DOWN. —DON'T YOU THINK, [another breath, more shouting] ENCHANTER?

[ Tony is conducting some thorough experiments. Thus far, he has snapped his fingers at a normal distance, and then again right next to his ear. He pivots around to take in the sources of light, which also seem to be struggling against some unknowable force.

Sound needs particles to travel. Light does not. Ergo, therefore, what? But trying to shove all this crap into knowable scientific correlation is only ever the worst, and he's gotten used to snapping the necks of those voices as they come. ]

BUDDY SYSTEM, [ he shouts, with a broad wave of his hand. ] EVERYONE WITH A PERSON -- IN LINE -- OF THEIR SIGHT. CHOP CHOP.

[ To add to the list of things Kostos fucking hates:

The fact that Wysteria is right, which he acknowledges with a glare—since when does she know anything?—and then a grudging tip of his head.

The buddy system, as a concept. He considers his options, then takes a single step closer to Gwenaëlle.

And the effect this place is having on his wisps. They're frightened, too, and without enough sense to reason their way out of it, they jump and twist. One spits a bit of ice into the empty air behind it. None of them are fit for being sent across the room to guard the others, as he'd hoped, without potentially lighting them on fire in a panic. So he stops at summoning three, and sends one back, and keeps the two remaining close to him, jumpy but controllable. ]

( gwenaëlle takes another until she's not quite shoulder-to-shoulder with kostos (this is the mage one, not the drunk one, but she's still not sure what the drunk one is called other than 'averesch, other'), close enough it's mostly by the light of wisps and her own hand that she directs an expression to him eloquent enough not to need additional volume.

like, so those are happening. )

DO YOU THINK—

( ugh, lung capacity. she tries again, louder and brisker: )

WORSE, DEEPER?

[ Freddie gives Tony an extremely flat look for either the notion that they require a buddy system, his presumption of command, or both. With a distinct air of 'I'm doing this because I want to not because you told me to' and no pause to assess her chosen buddy's preference (because what else could it be), she links her arm through Wysteria's and sets immediately off down the passageway. ]

THEN DEEPER IT IS. IF THIS IS INDEED A TEMPLE TO THE OLD GOD DUMAT, AS I HAVE ALWAYS SUSPECTED, AND IT FOLLOWS THE TRADITIONAL LAYOUT OF SUCH STRUCTURES FROM THE ANCIENT PERIOD, THEN THIS OUGHT TO TERMINATE IN THE RITUAL CHAMBER. HE'S A TERRIBLE BORE BUT RENE DELOT PUBLISHED A VERY COMPREHENSIVE MONOGRAPH ON THE CONFIGURATIONS OF ANCIENT TEVINTER TEMPLE SITES AND HE FOUND THAT IN NEARLY EIGHTY PERCENT OF SITES--

[ unfortunately the sound dampening soon drowns out her extremely edifying monologue and only Wysteria will get the benefit of such historiographical context. ]

[Conveniently, Wysteria may have already been pivoting toward Mademoiselle Durfort-Lacapalette, and so is saved some need to shoot Tony an apologetic look or two by being beaten to the punch and whisked away. For all that she might not strictly prefer to lead the way, there is nonetheless some bolstering quality to being subject to a history lesson which somewhat mitigates the latent dread of the thing as deeper and down they go.

In no time at all, Wysteria is shouting back some remark here, a question there, and the chatter (or at least the pantomime of it, as viewed from any distance too far for the sound to travel in the oppressive dark) sees them through a great deal of the reality of Rene Delot's scholarship as the corridors begin to narrow and bristle about them.]

[ Temporarily immune to flat looks if only by academic distraction and-- well, let's be honest, he has a chronic case of the heebie jeebies down here, Tony only confirms everyone has paired up and feels better about that than someone else playing fifth wheel. He can watch himself. That's just a baseline level of stress.

Down they go, through the obsidian hallways, through the magic-shaped carvings bristling out from the walls that grow longer, sharper, as if straining to take slices out of any of them who wander close enough. At some stage, Gwen and Kostos might note Tony jerk a little to the side and grab at an elbow as needle-sharp obsidian tastes blood between the panels of his armor.

And then there's a dragon head at the end of the hallway, its yawning mouth wide and shadowed. The smell of lyrium begins to permeate the air.

Tony yells, to be heard; ]

SO PROBABLY WE WANT TO GO INTO [ breathe ] THE BIG DRAGON MOUTH, BUT [ breathe ] SHOULD WE VOTE ON IT?

[ He raises a hand. ]

ALL IN FAVOUR?

SHOULD WE WHAT? DID HE SAY VOTE? [ Freddie shoots Wysteria a look that is conspiritorially skeptical, whether the other rifter feels the same or not. What is this Fereldan nonsense. ]

WE HAVEN'T COME ALL THIS WAY TO TURN BACK NOW BECAUSE OF A FEARSOME CARVING. HONESTLY! [ Her expression does the work tone cannot when speaking at the top of one's lungs, as does her determined stride forward, Wysteria still tugged along by their linked elbows. Down the gullet they go. (Or at least Freddie does.) ]

Edited 2020-09-20 17:43 (UTC)

Two in favor,

[ Kostos says. It isn't a shout, so it's silent. Which is good. If anyone could hear it, it wouldn't sound nearly as snotty as he'd like it to. More distracted. His usual trick, using the wisps to be able to see behind himself, can't do much to assuage the sense that something is behind him when the wisps are similarly convinced something is behind them.

This is the second-worst. But the first worst would be turning around to leave and having to live with that, and with these people knowing it. So he grits his teeth and starts after Freddie. He even raises his hand a bit on the way to play along with Tony's whole vote thing.

He assumed Gwenaëlle is following him, but if not, she can be Tony's buddy now instead. ]

( gwenaëlle is following him; is already on the balls of her feet to move in all of this not exactly indecision so they're more or less still in step. probably it's unanimous. they're going into the bad cave. the sheer effort it would take to achieve spares anyone hearing her intense speculation on whether or not they are ultimately coming out the dragon's arsehole,

but know that it is happening, with serious thought given to the carving's proportions and the logistics involved.

this is probably why the first thing she says, when they're far enough in to see the bleak, sickly looking tear in the fade that doesn't illuminate the surroundings so much as leech the entire concept of light from them, is just loud enough kostos might hear it: )

Oh, I hope that's not it.

( it's probably not worth pursuing that line of inquiry. )

[It is, Wysteria thinks, distinctly dreadful. There is something about that dark, unrelentingly black shape in the center of the room which draws the eye and drains any pretense of good spirit - manufactured briefly, perhaps, by the silly sort of pleasure derived from being conveyed along into the room by Freddie's insistence - fully out of her.

After a moment's mute observation, she wills herself to extract her arm from where it is linked with Freddie's elbow and looks to Tony. It's possible that she says something loud enough only for her closest companion to hear] --Shall we? [--but her raised left hand in its glove and the demonstrative wiggle of her fingers likely communicates the thought just as clearly: should they close that awful rip sooner rather than later?]

[ Tony's eyes are wide, but that's only partway emotive. It's dark in here and so he goes wall-eyed in response, like prey at night, drifting up from the back end of the group to where Wysteria and Freddie are standing.

But also a little emotive. Bad vibes all round. His heart chopping along a little faster than before, that familiar rise of copper taste in the back of his mouth, the live-wire energy that feels like it could spark at any contact. But he's gotten decent at swallowing it down, keeping it on lock. ]

Found the leak, [ he announces, to no one, save that those nearby catch the harsher consonants, echoed vowels. ] Or the drain.

[ Curious. Is this thing emanating or pulling from? Rifts tend to be one way streets, usually the former, but blackholes run the opposite. Is there anything in their kit that could tell? He doesn't think so. But the thought of just leaving it here and being awful rubs him wrong, and when Wysteria wiggles her hand, he infers her question, nods, twists a glance around towards Gwen.

All three of them will be a lot of horse power, but he thinks: they might need it. Around his focus, green light crackles around his shard in anticipation, arcing over his knuckles. ]

[ Even Freddie is stunned to intentional silence by the sight of this rift, which is how you know things are Very Bad, Indeed. She makes no effort to stop Wysteria pulling free, understanding the lift of her former buddy's arm in the other rifter's direction. Since they have that matter in hand, so to speak, she steps away, freeing her attention to take in the rest of the room. It's difficult to make out much, but there is some bits of unidentified debris here and there, and a neatly stacked pile of-- ]

Dear me. [ She takes a few quick steps back toward the group, gesturing at the stack ] You know, there are quite a lot of corpses! [ She lifts her voice as loud as it goes and exaggerates her enunciation: ] CORP-SES! DEAD BODIES. OVER THERE.

[ Unnoticed by Freddie, who is simply gesturing back behind her while mouthing words at her compatriots, a misshapen figure detaches itself from the far end of the pile of corpses and begins shuffling toward them. ]

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MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

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