faderift | vanishing army - the a-team [closed]

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vanishing army - the a-team [closed]

WHO: Adrasteia and Athessa
WHAT: Rudely being awoken by Nevarrans
WHEN: earlier in the month
WHERE: Orlais, Fields of Ghislain
NOTES: Report

Searching north/northeast from Ghislain toward the Tevinter border and Lake Stelle.

The whole area they're flying over is farmland, and they'll notice spring work beginning in the fields below them. The villages and small towns that dot it have suffered under occupation much the same as those in the lower Fields of Ghislain that Riftwatch visited in August/Kingsway, and they'll fly over occasional burned fields and ruined buildings. But further south and east they'll also see signs of rebuilding in progress, and may spot a Nevarran patrol or two.

They'll also get hassled by one when they camp for the night, rudely awakened by a party of Nevarran soldiers with Van Markham insignia. But once they convince them that they're Riftwatch (the griffons won't hurt), they'll be allowed to go, with assurances that no big Tevinter force has passed through this area, but a note that their surveillance has seen an uptick in traffic heading from Perendale to Tevinter.

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There's a clang as the kettle is hurled at one of the Nevarran soldiers and hits him square in the chest plate, armor singing. One of the elves, be it Adrasteia or Athessa, threw the damn thing when the soldiers decided to announce themselves.

"I say again," the soldier in charge (presumably) says, holding his torch higher to cast its light further. "Who are you and what is your business here?"

It's late. Early. Whichever, really, and Adrasteia? Is annoyed by all this. The soldiers with the Van Markham colors, the fact that they've been roused before the dawn

"Who we are is annoyed to be awoken at this hour when we've done nothing wrong, clearly." A glance towards where the griffons were tethered for the night tells her that both are awake and making curiously annoyed noises; at least they haven't been bothered too much by this patrol.

"But we're with the Riftwatch, if you must know."

"And we're just supposed to take your word on that, are we?" Some other soldier asks, apparently oblivious to their mounts. Athessa drags herself upright to better address the group and gestures broadly.

"Who the fuck else would we be, riding around on griffons?" She asks, rhetorically.

Very not-rhetorically, one of the Van Markham soldiers ventures: "Wardens? Their crest is a griffon, is it not?"

And what if we were Wardens is on the tip of Adrasteia's tongue before she remembers just where she is and what's been happening in this war with her brethren; instead of answering that question aloud she simply shifts herself upright and then onto her feet, still dressed in riding clothes.

She dusts herself off with a huff and glares. "You have a point, for all you seem too young to shave." One of the other soldiers scoffs a little at this accurate depiction of his fellow soldier. "But we are with Riftwatch, here to try and survey the area to see where the Tevinter forces retreated to, and if you've no intention of taking our word for it, I'd like to know what you plan to do about it."

The lead soldier narrows his eyes at them, but doesn't speak for a moment. He looks to the soldiers to his immediate left and right and nods once, a gesture returned by both soldiers before they peel away from the rest to approach the griffons.

"What are your names?"

Athessa sighs. "Athessa. And Adrasteia, Chawcey, and Potato."

May as well include the griffons in their introduction. She looks at the two approaching the mounts and warns: "Keep your hands away from his beak if you don't wanna lose a glove!"

The soldier nearest to Chawcey turns to look at Athessa at just the right moment to not see Chawcey lift his head, finally deciding the commotion is worth waking up for. The griffon clocks the soldier, and more importantly the shiny hilt at his hip. Looks tasty, doesn't it? Shiny and tasty. Makes sense to a griffon's mind.

Were Adrasteia being kind she would have called the noise the soldier made 'a startled yelp' when, in fact, it was quite a bit of screaming at having the large beak heading in the direction of his hand (which was at his hip, with the hilt) and crunching down to the bone.

She does not flinch nor cover her face with her hand at the sheer stupidity of it all. Oh, Maker, does she want to do the latter at the very least. The newly wounded soldier is screaming, his partner is staring in shock, the leader turns to see what all the noise is about, and Adrasteia sticks her fingers in her mouth to let out a sharp whistle to get everyone's attention before this becomes an even worse night for someone.

"I'm a Spirit healer. Come here, away from the griffon, and we'll see about your hand, all right?"

No one asks her the dumb question of why away from the griffons, especially after Potato yawns and rears up, putting her forepaws on the shoulders of the gaping soldier, in the hopes of getting him on the ground where she can sit on him.

Now Adrasteia slaps her palm to her forehead.

Somehow Athessa doesn't cover her face either, though she does grimace with enough exaggeration that even the soldiers and their inferior eyeballs should be able to see it. Then, she addresses the lead soldier.

"I'm moving over there to get the griffons off 'em," She figures it's best to announce her intentions rather than spook any of these lads into drawing weapons. "So ya know, don't attack me or nothin'."

Convincing Potato to stop trying to crush the second soldier goes a lot better than convincing Chawcey to let go of the first soldier's hand. Athessa shoves Potato's soldier of choice back towards the group once she's gotten the griffon off of him, then turns to her problem child.

"Drop, Chawcey. I said drop." For emphasis, she snaps her fingers. Chawcey looks at her, sees her, recognizes the command, and decides to bob his head a bit, but not let go. Athessa gives an apologetic shrug to the soldiers and Adrasteia. "He's stubborn."

"Once the griffon lets go, I can see about your boy's hand there," Adrasteia points out, because she may as well offer to heal him. Could go a long way towards smoothing things over with this patrol, now that everything's gone sideways a bit. "If he can tolerate that kind of thing."

"He will if he knows what's good for him," comes the reply, and Adrasteia is grateful that at least someone here has some sense other than just her and Athessa. "Can you do it now?"

"Not while Chawcey's got a hold of him. Mhm, though, hold on." She starts rummaging around her pack until she finds some dried meat and pulls it out. "Let's try distracting him with other food." She makes her way over to Athessa and the griffon, immediately snuggled up upon by Potato, who gets a hefty shove back and a pat to the beak. "Think this'll work?" To Athessa. Normally Adrasteia would not be for positive reinforcement of bad behaviors but the guards pained noises are working her nerves (if they'd just left well enough alone, none of this would have happened!)

Athessa doesn't get a chance to answer before Chawcey zeroes in on the dried meat in Adrasteia's hand. Immediately upon realizing there might be something more delicious on offer, he releases the soldier and turns bodily towards the elves. He plops his butt down like a trained dog, tilting his head this way and that.

"I guess so," Athessa says. The soldier with the crushed hand clutches at his wrist and makes a pained, pathetic little whimper. "Come on, go siddown over there, ya fuckin walnut."

She says that to the soldier, not to Chawcey, and points him towards the fallen tree she and Adrasteia had been using as camp-side seating.

It seems that through this nonsense, they've managed to be convincing enough that some of the Van Markham soldiers relax slightly, and the one leading the pack begrudgingly concedes that they probably are with Riftwatch, surveying the area as they claim.

"There haven't been any Vint forces routed through this area," the lead soldier says. He eyes the griffons, but seems satisfied that they won't attack any more of his company. "You're wasting your time."

The meat is tossed, underhand, towards Chawcey who catches it in his beak easily, messily gobbling down as Adrasteia sighs and pushes some of her half-loose hair out of her face before turning around to go see about the young man with the mangled hand. She helps him get his glove off, managing only to suck her teeth as the leather and flesh separate from one another.

"Close your eyes," she tells the young man, handing him a small bottle from her satchel on the ground, "and drink from this." It's whiskey, not a healing potion, but he'll probably want something to take the edge off while she heals his hand. Feeling flesh and bone reknit itself together is never a pleasant experience, and she knows this very well.

"Now you'll have a story, of how you met some Riftwatch officers and their griffons. Maybe a small scar."

The soldier can't be any older than nineteen, twenty, and Adrasteia remembers with a pang what it meant to be that young. Already Joined, already widowed. She lets out a breath and swallows before focusing Spirit healing through her hands and into his.

"Do you know how the Vints retreated from Ghislain?" She asks the lead soldier.

"No," the soldier responds, shaking his head. "But our scouts have reported increased movement out of Perendale, heading north."

"As in towards Tevinter?" Athessa asks. She's making sure Chawcey and Potato stay put, and making sure the soldiers don't get too close either. When Chawcey has finished with the meat and starts head-butting Athessa's back, begging, she shoves his beak away and chastises him quietly.

"Yes, Tevinter is to the north, is it not?" The soldier bites back, bitterly. Clearly this encounter has not been the highlight of his evening. "We haven't any more information than that to share. Whether these are soldiers or refugees or just—" He says some very descriptive, unsavory words in Nevarran. "—Tourists? We do not know. But traffic heading north is always noteworthy, these days."

'Why in the name of the Maker would there be tourists traveling on during a war' is all over Adrasteia's expression but she keeps her mouth shut, having finished healing the solider's hand. The sky darkens in that way it does just before the dawn and she sighs away any consideration for the sleep she's lost due to these foolish Navarrans.

"Seems likely they left via Perendale, then, back to Tevinter. I suppose that will be the sum and substance of our report." Plus a few lines discussing these folks and Chawcey's choice of diet. "Thank you for your help," Adrasteia adds on, because she's feeling the opposite of thankful but also wants the soldiers to leave.

"Do you require anything else of us?"

A liminal silence settles over the Van Markham soldiers for a long moment. A few of the grunts on the periphery exchange glances, while others still eye the griffons warily and try to act like they're pacing away from them because they're securing a perimeter and totally not because they're not keen on having their hands crunched.

Apparently holding hands with Adrasteia isn't enough of an incentive for them. Fools.

After the long moment has run its course, the lead soldier shakes his head. "No. But if Riftwatch plans on being a continued presence in the war effort, it may benefit you to develop some insignia to identify you by. To avoid such inconveniences in the future."

"It's on the list." Athessa rolls her eyes. Of all the stupid things to prioritize. The soldiers disperse with much clanking of plate armor and without any further discussion, and Athessa gives Adrasteia a flat look. "Tourists. Fucking morons."

"They are fucking morons. They do realize there's a war on, don't they?" Adrasteia puffs up her cheeks and sighs; it's so dumb. All of it is so dumb, and could have been avoided if they had just listened to the two of them. "And Riftwatch has, by my understanding, been a part of this conflict since it separated from the Inquisition. Maker forbid they listen to a pair of elves."

She stretches her arms over her head. "Well I suppose I'm awake for the day, how about you?"

Athessa blows a raspberry.

"Pffft. Who'd listen to elves? What've we got to say that matters to shems?" She begrudgingly starts packing up the stuff around her bedroll, then goes to retrieve the kettle that was thrown at the soldiers.

"Yeah, I guess. I don't wanna be, but Might as well."

"Sorry about all this," Adrasteia says, as if she's responsible for the behaviors of the soldiers in the first place. She does feel bad, though. "If we get back early enough there could be naps. I mean, there probably won't be. But there could be."

"You should be sorry, since it's obviously your fault," She says, very sarcastic. She gives Adrasteia a wry little smile and keeps packing up.

"I mean there could be naps now, nobody'd be the wiser when we return right on time."

Adrasteia snorts through her nose, shaking her head. "That's true, but I don't want them coming back and I feel too wired to nap now. If you think you could sleep, however, I wouldn't mind keeping a watch."

Athessa pretends to consider it, pursing her lips and tipping her head this way and that. But no, it isn't fair and it wouldn't make sense to do that.

"Nah. Better to just get back and hope the next job is boring enough to sleep through."

"Alright." Adrasteia smiles in Athessa's direction. "I'm glad you were here, at least." She's not sure that someone human wouldn't have outed her as a Grey Warden to people who've likely fought against them, at this point in the war.

Plus, she just likes Athessa.

Either way, there's a camp to pack up now, and griffons to be properly fed, before they head back to Kirkwall.

"I'm not the one who healed that kid's hand," she points out, and carries some of the gear over to lash to Chawcey's saddle. "Which is a good thing, you know. All I could do is smear some leafy goop on it."

She chuckles to herself about how differently those soldiers' stories would play out if they'd been sent off with a goopy, ruined hand instead of no harm done and a story to tell in bars to impress people.

"Well." Adrasteia shakes her head. "I couldn't just leave his hand like that, even if he did deserve it for being a bit of an idiot and not listening to us. Also, who approaches a beast of that size so brazenly to begin with?"

More gear packing, and her's goes to Potato, who wants to sit on Adrasteia; she allows the griffon this moment, scratching along feathers and petting her beak. "Soldiers taste gross, don't they sweetie? Yes. Yes they do. I'm glad you didn't bother."

At the same moment that Adrasteia is talking to Potato, Athessa is snatching something out of Chawcey's beak and saying, "Get that outta your mouth, bird-brain!"

Chawcey looks offended, and Athessa stares him down for a beat before giving in and ruffling the feathers on his neck affectionately. They do this often.

"I don't think Chawcey thinks anything is gross. Back in Nevarra he kept trying to eat undead dragon flesh."

She can't help it; she laughs, loudly, at watching the standoff between Athessa and Chawcey. And then when Athessa tells her that he'd tried eating undead dragon flesh her laughter reaches to the point of tears streaming down her face and breaths being gasped in between.

It takes her a moment to compose herself, arms wrapped around the griffon in her lap (who is just thrilled with this turn of events, really; Adrasteia too amused to move means she won't be unseated from the elf's lap immediately) and even then, there's an eruption of giggles here and there.

"Oh, Maker." She breathes deep, in and out. "Sorry for that, but I think I needed it. Undead dragon meat, ugh." Adrasteia sticks out her tongue.

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vanishing army - the a-team [closed]

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cw: mild gore

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