faderift | open: mabari crawl.

Entry tags:

open: mabari crawl.

WHO: Open (with a closed starter)
WHAT: A team takes dog sleds into Ferelden's snowy southern reaches to procure an antidote to poison. So: a Balto knock-off and a game-canon body heat meme.
WHEN: Haring 9:46 (pre-dream plot, so no need to take it into account)
WHERE: Southern Ferelden
NOTES: OOC post. There's a closed starter for people who signed up to talk to the herbalist, but otherwise this is open to anyone, make-your-own-adventure style.

The team's journey takes them from Winter's Breath, in the southern foothills of the Frostback Mountains, to the even-more-southern foothills, just north of where the map they've been given fades into ambiguity and a few depictions of enormous, cold-hardy beasts that may or may not truly exist. There's a smaller village there—Talon Point, named for a jagged rock formation in the surrounding mountains, under the protection of the Bann of Winter's Breath—that serves as a waypoint for traders and travelers to and from Orlais during the few months a year the mountains are traversable and the rest of the year as a conduit for trade with the Avvar and Chasind.

Other than the map, their guides are the dogs themselves. The lead dog for each sled team comes from a locally-bred line of particularly fluffy mabari. They're clever and communicative—albeit a bit less affectionate and more stubborn with these strangers than with their currently-absent masters—and used to making this journey. They know the way to Talon Point; it's a cold, snowy journey that requires making camp in the woods at least once, but otherwise, it's a straightforward trip.

The local accommodations are not much to speak of. With the inn shut up for the winter, the only place anyone can offer them to sleep is a barn. But it does provide a place to come back to, between bouts of splitting up to seek out the herbalist, who lives to the west and further up the mountains, or fanning out to the east to gather eshimeric. It's a reddish lichen that can be found growing in small quantities in the cracks and crevices of rocks, if they aren't covered in snow or if the snow is knocked away. Scraping together enough to allow for one dose and one do-over will take several days of dedicated searching.

The landscape they're searching is inhospitable, to put it lightly: deep canyons with narrow paths carved into their walls just asking for someone to nearly fall off the edge, pockets of dense woods that are difficult to traverse and easy to get lost in, expanses of barren land with no shelter from the wind at all, and frozen rivers and lakes which, of course, may not fully support the weight of someone trying to cross them. The sparse wildlife is mostly typical of the region, but now and then there's something—maybe a wolf, maybe a rabbit—that's unusually aggressive and still showing lingering signs of the blight.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

dogs

It's not optimal, but they are at least prepared for one night camping out in the open. Or semi-open. The trees do a fair job blocking the wind. Once the tents are settled, it's comfortable enough.

And once the tents are settled, Ellis is exempted from pretending his attention is anywhere but with the dogs. The lead mabari are standoffish, but the rest of their sled teams are happy enough for a little attention. And if that's where Ellis posts up at the end of his watch, well, who can really fault him?

"It's almost unnecessary to sit up," Ellis says, looking up at the sound of footsteps. "They'd let us know if there were anything afoot."

This is theoretically true of all the dogs, but Ellis' gaze has shifted back to the stern mabari as he says it.

barn

The barn is an improvement over camping, but it is still large, and it is still drafty, and there are an assortment of barnyard animals that also call it home. Stood in the center corridor, Ellis gives it a brief once over, then takes a few steps forward and to the side to get a look at the hayloft.

"It'll do well enough," he says, looking back to scan faces and take in the general reaction. "With our gear and the doors sealed, it'll be warm and I assume we'll be undisturbed."

As if to immediately prove him wrong, a goat butts against his kneecap. A cow groans in one of the far stalls.

It'll be fine.

search

The map shows no markings indicating a bridge. Walking a stretch downriver had yielded nothing, and the biting wind discourages retracing their steps and further to see if there are any better prospects upriver.

But they still have to search the stretch of land between the forked rivers. The marked stretch of crumbled ruins is probably easier to get to in the summer months, but they can't wait for the summer months, and they can't gamble on the idea that they'll come up with the lichen elsewhere.

So, time to edge across the ice and hope for the best.

"Careful now," Ellis cautions, a little strained. He's far more solid, and as such is hanging back, keeping some distance to avoid dragging anyone down with him if disaster strikes. "If you go in it'll be a miserable walk back for us both."

Just the thing to say before the brush along the river behind them rustles and a low growl sounds.

wildcard.

[ do literally whatever you want, i'll roll with it. ]

"At best," Maud replies darkly. It's not meant to carry to Ellis's ears--she has remained determinedly unperturbed by the hardships of their journey thus far and consistently positive about their chances of success--but that wind catches and carries voices in odd ways, swirling up loose snow and her grim mutter and whipping them both past his head.

Out on the ice she slides carefully forwards yard by yard, listening with anxious attention to every groan and creak. She stretches out a booted toe and taps at a darker patch ahead. It's difficult to tell through heavy boots and layers, but something feels softer than it ought, and she draws back a pace or two to find a different route. "I think we may need to go around this area," she calls back over her shoulder, turning to make sure Ellis sees her gesture, and instead catching the moment the wolf emerges from the bushes. Whether he's already facing it or not, she still instinctively shouts, "Look out!"

Ah, how quickly things change. One minute, his biggest concern was falling through the ice knowing good and well Maud is unlikely to be able to pull him out. The next minute—

He turns to see the wolf, notes the trail of dribbling ichor in the snow along with it's tracks, and makes a snap decision.

"Run," is the first thing out of his mouth, without thinking whether or not that's a wise idea on ice of dubious quality. "Get across!"

She's a few feet ahead of him. That head start is probably helpful, if he has to thunder across after her.

He may not be thinking about the wisdom of charging across that ice, but Maud is, once the initial clench of shock at the sight of the wolf lets go. She's no doubt that Ellis can handle it—a Warden, after all, and she's seen the easy way he holds a weapon, something in the grip and the heft and the shift of muscle—and no illusion that her presence is anything but a liability to him doing so. But it's not as if he'll be able to fish her out with a wolf at his back, either.

So she runs, but only right back up to that edge she'd found, and then quickly parallel, skirting the edge in search of a safe path across to the far bank. "It's too soft all through the middle!" she calls, sounding more concerned than she would have liked. What business does she have in Riftwatch if a single mangey wolf and a patch of ice get the best of her so easily? Thinking she could come on a mission, see something, do something real--

"Here!" her toe finds a firmer spot, a strip seemingly less shadowed by the dark water beneath, and she takes it, dashing across toward safety. She makes it a few strides before it gives way, cracking apart beneath her feet, and with a yelp of an unladylike curse she plunges into the water.

Ah.

The yelp and crack of breaking ice coincides with the appearance of two skinny, slinking wolves emerging from the bush behind of their bolder comrade. Ellis' main concern, keeping the scuffle well away from Maud, is slightly complicated by Maud's present situation.

"Maud!" comes instinctively, hoping for some confirmation that she's above the waterline. Surely she'll be alright for a few moments. Maud isn't a fighter, but she's clever and capable.

The first swing of the mace cracks the beast full across the face, sending it staggering. All wisdom dictates that these creatures are looking for an easy meal. Logically, all Ellis really has to do is make it clear they are not easy pickings, and hopefully that'll be enough to inspire a retreat.

Maud is clever and capable. Unfortunately, she's also wearing a big coat.

There's no immediate answer to Ellis's call, which arrives--after its journey through ice and water and over the panic-spiked heartbeat in Maud's own ears--as a blurry shout from above. But that helps, since 'above' is a concept that had briefly lost its meaning as the shock of the cold momentarily shut down brain function. But Ellis shouts, and following the sound she sees the gap she came through, a brighter grey than the rest of the ice, and she swims hard for it.

She makes it, too, her reemergence announced with a splash and a gasping breath. But getting back up onto the ice is complicated, the edge at first giving way again beneath her hold, and then layers and skirts and long jackets turning traitor as wool saturates and tangles itself around knees and elbows, drags at shoulders, billows and catches in the current. "Ellis!" she manages to call back, just before it sucks her under again.

When they'd set out this morning, searching in pairs had seemed sufficient. Split between wolves and Maud struggling to stay afloat, Ellis considers maybe they should have ensured they'd have at least one more person on hand.

Thankfully, the blow has sent the wolf staggering, it's two companions warily skittering further back. Black ichor splatters across the snow, and the injured wolf drools more as it lurches woozily around. The urge to pursue them into retreat pricks at him, but Maud—

Ellis hefts his mace, darts a look back at the blackened space in the ice before tossing caution to the wind.

"Maud!"

Cracks spider-web across the ice as Ellis darts across, circling wide around the break. He wrenches off his pack as he goes, flinging it to the far side on the off chance he ends up plunging into the water.

This time there's no reply. Beneath the water, Maud struggles to get free of the coat that by now is as good as an anchor. Every moment that passes is another weight hung on the chain, and first limbs and then thoughts begin to grow slow. Maybe he can spot her, face marble-pale as she wrestles with the constrictions, before the slow-motion scrap drifts her away from the hole, twisted and turned about.

The rushing in her ears quiets. Her arm slips free, finally. The space between heartbeats stretches. Legs shuffle, heave into a kick. Another. She reaches for where the surface should be, and fingertips touch only ice.

The wolves are prowling, whining and snarling, circling further from them. Is it wishful thinking to hope they're drifting towards the scrubby treeline? Ellis would prefer if they were gone entirely, but if he's set upon by a new, optimistic beast, he'll deal with it when it happens. Maud's drifted, and Ellis can't leave her to this any longer.

A frantic scramble, hands shoving at snow, reveals the swirling, ghostly impression of Maud beneath the ice. Ellis has a moment to regret casting his mace to the shore before he slams his fist into the ice. Once, twice, three times, blood spattering as the ice cracks and gives beneath the force of the blows. Plunging his hand into the frigid water, he is lucky to catch hold of her by the front of her jacket. The ice groans beneath his weight as he shifts, drawing her up and towards the edge of the newly broken circle of the ice with both hands.

"Here, I've got you," is the first thing he says when her head breaks the surface. "Try not to struggle just yet."

This is as far as he can pull her, for the moment, without risking the ice giving way beneath them both.

A gasp and spluttering cough are his answer, and for a moment Maud moves like she might have missed that direction, arms rising, body twisting in Ellis's grip. But another cough and a heaving breath comes instead, and then she nods, "Alright. I'm alright."

She gets an arm up enough to grip the edge of the ice, testing if the lip will hold her at least enough to keep her head out of the water and let her float here safe from the current dragging her away again. "The wolves?" she asks.

Good: Maud is lucid, hacks up water and draws breath and latches onto the edge. Nothing gives way beneath her.

Bad: The possibility of wolves.

"I think I killed the first one," Ellis tells her, which is a fair assumption based on the state of the creature. "There are two more, but that might hold them off."

And he can't leave Maud in the water much longer. It'll do her harm, and they aren't so close to Talon Point and the barn that Ellis can assume they can take further risks.

"I'm going to pull you out, onto the ice," he tells her. "Then we'll get my pack and circle around, away from them, to go back the way we came."

Search called on account of tainted wildlife and the threat of hypothermia.

None definitely dead, one only possibly dead, and two definitely alive but maybe gone is not the ideal configuration of wolves in the present circumstances. But Maud can hardly blame Ellis for prioritizing her continued ability to breathe. She nods again at this plan, and reaches up to get a grip on his sleeve just above the elbow, bare fingers a useful development for the moment.

Even soaking wet she's not weight enough to trouble him, especially as the sodden overcoat that's been dragging her down finally slips free of its tangle around a boot and sinks without her. The uncertainty of the ice still makes it awkward, and her skirts are liable to drench his pant legs before they're both safe on more solid footing again.

A distant, useless consideration: a shame to lose that coat.

But they'd had to have taken it off her anyway. Ellis doesn't give the thought anymore space in his mind as he helps Maud maneuver herself first flat across the ice and then, slowly towards the far shore.

Still, the wolves lurk watchfully near the scrubby treeline.

"Those are blighted," Ellis tells her, because she deserves to know even as miserable as she is in this moment. As he speaks, he's drawing the thick blanket from his pack to swath around her shoulders without waiting for permission. "I don't think they'll make a second run at us, but there's a chance, so you'll go ahead of me when we cross back over."

Hopefully without either of them going back through the ice. Maybe their odds are better now that disaster has so thoroughly struck.

"We need to get you back more than I need to clear the wolves out of this place."

It's always great when a plan hinges 75% on hypotheticals and luck, but.

ellis | ota.

search

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barn!!!

farm boys unite

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