faderift | closed | the bright sun was extinguish'd

While the merchants had all been very clear on the fact that something strange was occurring in the woods, they had been sadly light on actionable details. Their descriptions could match a number of trails within the woods potentially matching descriptions from the petition lodged with Riftwatch. Without any specific starting point, some searching is going to be necessary to hone in on a source of the troubles. Luckily, it’s not difficult to narrow it down to a handful of routes to begin the search for clues.

This section of the forest seems uncharacteristically darker, as if the tree branches are closing in overhead to block out sunlight. Various tracks can be found. Some human, but largely animal in nature. With increasing frequency during these investigations, birds will divebomb out of trees to peck at the head and ears of whoever is unluckiest to be within their sightline.

Of course, pursuing the tracks does mean inevitably bumping into the creatures that left them. Did you want to fight a bunch of overly aggressive wolves and bears today? No? Oh well. Good luck.

Traveling along the dark forest, Jone isn't really reminded of anything, aside from every other job she's ever done. Glory of the North, ennit. Endless fucking trees.

A shadow lurks in the dark between the trees. Jone spots it, and tries to suss out what it is, if it's dangerous, before it just kind of charges at her.

"It's a fucking bear!" Eloquence itself, Jone is immediately trying to move back and get proper room to swing her poleaxe. She hasn't taken a hit yet, which is honestly a shame, because she could use one.

"It-- Jone!" Barrow is mid-agreement when the bear charges, and he manages to dodge out of the way in time to take a swing with his warhammer at its hind end.

It's been a long day of birds tapping on his skull and other completely nonsensical occurrences, so a bear just having at them for no discernible reason doesn't draw any commentary. This is their life now, so be it.

"Yeah, what?" Terribly grateful for the help, Jone gets swiped by a huge bearclaw. Through minor miracle-- O Andraste who lives so holy within our hearts-- she retains her head, though blood now pours from somewhere past her hairline. The effect is somewhat gruesome. It hurts like hell.

The pain is perfect.

Jone swings her poleaxe, aiming directly for the thing's face. The bear dodges somehow, and she catches its shoulder instead. The thing roars and surges forward.

A shimmer slices sudden through the spare space between Jone and the bear. The haft of her poleaxe makes a little hole in Matthias' barrier spell, and the magic shapes around it like a stream would shape around a stick. The barrier is strong enough to hold its form, to rebuff the the bear's thrust forward. Now the biggest result of that surge is that the blade of the poleaxe drives further into the beast's thick shoulder.

Matthias, at the back of the battle, sidesteps, craning his neck, trying to get an angle. He's better at offense, but nearly all he has is fire, if he uses it on the bear at these close quarters, Jone will get singed, or worse.

"I hate," he says, mostly to himself, "bears," and if psychic damage were a thing, maybe that would be enough to wound, but there's no such thing, and he hasn't got an angle, and his barrier shimmers a dull sort of orange in the air, not nearly strong enough to withstand another surge but maybe, maybe enough time for a breath, a plan, a second hit.

Due to a severe and repeated failure to give a shit about her company until it proves useful, the look she turns to give the boy wizard is nothing short of manic delight. Mages make everything easier (in battle).

"I'll drive it off," she says with the excited motivation pain gives her. "You got something that goes boom? Love that in a mage."

"Do I," Matthias calls back. That's all he's got.

Abruptly, he changes the course of his sidestep and switches to a run, skirting still along the edge of the battle--away from Barrow, absolutely, who he is still unsure of, it's an even split on whether he'd fight a bear or a templar.

Downwind of Jone and the bear, he darts forward, right behind the beast's great back, and scratches a glyph in the dirt: a fire mine. It glows preemptively like a partially doused campfire. Matthias does another, and a third, the last one a little sloppy--he's not know for precision--and jumps back as the glows all begin to curdle, and brighten.

At least at a point now where he's able to control whether or not he's setting off Silences around mages, Barrow manages not to do so (it's just a bear, after all) and follows Jone's lead, stepping back to flank the beast and help to spur it toward the glyphs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glances at Matthias and offers him a distracted nod; he sees him, they're on the same page, no funny business. Not this time.

Jone's confidence stems from the fact that she can kill the bear without magic. If the mage is a fucker, she'll come for him later. A bear is not going to take her out.

Might make shit difficult, though.

Jone moves away just in time to watch the mage set the bear's arse on fire, and gives up a cheer. The lad's in her good books for now, certainly. She tries to get her axe in the bear's face when it runs by, mostly managing to snag an eye while it grunts in confused pain.

"Serves you, wanker."

A rock flies out of a tree hitting the on fire Bear directly on the head.

Edgard whoops and swings down from a branch.

“Took care of that, seems like.” He points at the tree. “There was plenty of room up there.”

The rock earns another muddled grunt of pain from the bear as it strikes on its head and bounces off onto the ground. Matthias winces with involuntary sympathy. Not that the burning didn't likely hurt as well, but at least there was dignity to it.

"Didn't take care of it," he counters, "just hit it with a rock. We'd do better to go after it and finish this."

Edgard wheels around wildly and looks back at the tree.

"I thought you took care of it with the fire! The rock was just" He stumbles over his words. "for fun." He says sheepishly.

Edgard looks back at the tree considering climbing back up it.

"Fine" He sighs drawing his bow. He hits the bear in the back. It does very little except make it angrier.

Edgard dramatically shrugs, pulls out a knife and runs headlong towards the on fire bear.

Jone sees him go, and that's when the screaming starts.

From her. Because she is screaming. "Are you messin'?" At him. She is screaming at him. "Get the fuck back here, you great blert!"

And it's not long before she's running after him, poleaxe held high.

Edgard doesn't slow his pace, but turns in a u and runs right back toward Jone. He yells,

"Throwing things did work, fire didn't work, what exactly do you suggest other than gutting him?"

Screaming turns to cackling. "A bigger bloody knife!" And she keeps running straight. Bye.

Picking at something in his teeth, Barrow leans on the haft of his hammer and watches all this with his brow furrowed.

"I think we scared him off," he says, to nobody in particular, because they are all running and screaming.

Persevering through bird and beast will eventually lead to an overgrown dirt path that winds into a clearing. In the center is an altar built from unevenly hewn wood, lashed together with ropes. Closer inspection reveals that a number of runes have been carved into the logs, mingled with other markings. Blood has been splattered across the surface. The grass is knee-length, indicating it has possibly been some time since the altar was last visited.

However, crossing into the clearing and approaching the altar triggers a wave of wraiths, accompanied by a rage demon and several terror demons. It’s the world’s worst (best?) security system for someone’s arcane horror project. The noise of the fight will attract bears and wolves the longer it goes on, so do your best to end it quickly before someone loses an eye.

Edgard, out of breath and leading the way after having pushed himself in front, stops at the edge of the dirt path. He sees something tall in the distance.

“Is that a shelter?” Finally. He turns to the person immediately behind him, grinning. “Race you there?

Matthias wrinkles his nose. "What, go running headlong off into the bloody dark unknown? You first, mate."

He's not survived his seventeen years because he's stupid enough to hurtle toward uncertain structures in the distance. Instead, he stands on his toes a little, peering at the tall and distant whatever-it-is.

"We ought to do a bit of reconnaissance. If it is a shelter, who's to say there's not someone already at home?"

"That looks," Barrow opines with outstretched finger, cigarette in his mouth, "fucking suspicious."
He's been a Templar, yes, but he's also been a mercenary, and there are all kinds of ridiculous things in Thedas that a sensible person Should Not Touch, let alone race to.

So everyone is too spooked to actually go at the thing they clearly need to go at. Jone heaves a sigh.

"Why don't you set it on fire, like," she says to the resident matchbox. "Or something near it. See if somebody runs out."

Edgard rolls his eyes.

“I’m going up there to look at it.”

He walks out into the clearing at a brisk pace. He does not notice the wraiths that immediately appear behind him, but the others probably do.

"I set it on fire, it all burns up before we can get a look at it. Near, maybe-- oi, hang on--!"

This last part is delivered in a fierce and urgent whisper, as Matthias realizes Edgard has gone dashing off after all. He goes to step after him, then thinks better of it as the thready forms of the wraiths come streaming into sight.

With a muttered curse, Matthias crouches down, trying to avoid the notice of the wraiths for the immediate moment. He'll not be leaving Edgard to face them alone, just need to work out what he can do--only then there's that strange and all-too-familiar dry dull crackling, and a glow off to the left, in amid the trees. The clubbed form of a rage demon is surging toward them.

Without much change in tone, "Can you set it on fire now?"

But, oh, there's a bloody demon on the way. Jone has her poleaxe at the ready, and tries to back up into a defensive position. This isn't exactly altruistic-- if she takes the first few hits, her reaver's strength kicks in faster.

"'kinell," she murmurs under her breath. "He's a big one, ain't he."

What the fuck is stealth?

Edgard makes it to the structure and steps right up to it. It doesn't look like a shelter. He sighs. It's not his day. A weird glow illuminates the wood to show weird markings he can't read and...is it blood? Edgard nearly backs away from it, but stops. Weird glow?

He turns around to see a lot of wraiths and the others facing a rage demon.

"Putain." He whispers and draws his bow. He sends an arrow in the direction of the demon.

closed | the bright sun was extinguish'd

THE SEARCH.

IT'S A FUCKING BEAR | ota.

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THE ALTAR.

let’s have a ghost party errybody get in here

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sorry y’all imma fuck shit up

nice

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