MOD PLOT ↠ The Soldiers of the Demon Charged

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone!
WHAT: Striking closer to home.
WHEN: Justinian through Solace
WHERE: The Western/Central Free Marches
NOTES: OOC post. Please use appropriate content warnings in your comment subject lines.

WEEK ONE: THE COLLAPSE OF HASMAL

Recently in Hasmal, growing outrage from native Hasmalis over the swelling number of Tevinter refugees within and outside the city has led to a series of smaller violent incidents that went largely unanswered by local authorities, leading to additional targeting of more established Tevinter communities within the city and the makeshift fortification and arming of the camps outside. In the last week or so, after a period of simmering tensions, the situation in Hasmal has boiled over into violent riots. Reports out of the city conflict about what finally caused the rapid escalation, how bad things got, and whose fault they were. But they agree that it very quickly became a dangerous situation that the city authorities utterly failed to bring under control. Fires burned in some quarters of the city and deadly clashes between factions forced uninvolved citizens to barricade themselves in their homes. Some city leaders urged calm and peace while others encouraged supporters to seize the moment and fight for the upper hand. The Grand Vizier was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, amidst the chaos, the gates were opened and in marched the Tevinter army.

The violence, and then even more Tevinter's arrival—supposedly to help restore peace to the city, though it's unclear whether that has actually happened—has caused many to flee the city, particularly the refugee community who had fled from Tevinter once already. With nothing but the Tevinter desert of the Silent Plains to the north, most either jumped ship down the Minanter or came south across the river into Tantervale territory and Wildervale, with some now arriving in Kirkwall with their tales of chaos in the western-most March.

Also, Commander Flint and Scoutmaster Yseult are missing, having gone to meet a contact coming across the Minanter from Tevinter some days ago. They ought to be returning, but neither has been in contact since. In their absence, Ambassador Rutyer and Provost Stark will be running Riftwatch, and can direct Scouting and Forces as they see fit and delegate authority for those operations as necessary.

UNKNOWNS

This is a fast-moving situation, with events clearly already running well ahead of news. With limited resources at hand, intelligence networks in the previously quiet Free Marches have been somewhat neglected by the Inquisition and Riftwatch both. Much remains unclear, subject of wild rumor and conflicting reports from the few sources in the area:

There are stories that the Grand Vizier Rekam Antoninus, ruler of Hasmal, is either complicit in the Tevinter takeover or in league with refugees to try to bring down the city's nobility. There are rumors he has fled the city, or even that he's dead by a half-dozen different hands.

There are similarly conflicting reports about other Hasmal city leaders, with some said to have been encouraging the various factions involved in the riots, trying without success to calm the situation, or using the situation to advance their own interests in one way or another. It's likely that at least a few were cooperating to some extent with Tevinter, though exact numbers and identities can't be known right now.

The size of the Tevinter force in Hasmal isn't yet clear, as the numbers reported by those who fled the city at their arrival range from "most of the Tevinter army" to "five times the size of the entire Tevinter army."

All reports at this point are coming from people who have fled Hasmal, so there's essentially no reliable information about what the situation is like inside the city since Tevinter moved in.

RIFTWATCH'S WORK

As soon as word begins trickling in, Riftwatch will begin sending parties north to investigate the situation. Anyone with a relevant skill or two might be assigned to venture out to:

• AERIAL SURVEILLANCE: Use griffons for aerial surveillance of the region between Kirkwall and Hasmal, to watch for any further movement of the Tevinter army. Using sending crystals, they'll also be able to send back reports of the routes any large groups of refugees seem to be taking. And they'll be charged with assessing the roads and terrain between Kirkwall and Hasmal, identifying the routes an army could take to reach further South and what chokepoints—bridges, narrow passages, castles and fortresses with defenses that might hold—could be exploited to slow them down. (The distance from Kirkwall to Hasmal is too great for the griffons to be flying back and forth every day; aerial teams will be gone for several days at a time, and in the meantime staying on the property of a druffalo farmer in Wildervale or in wilderness camps of their own making.)


• ASSIST TRAVELLERS: Intercept people fleeing Hasmal—to assist them, when necessary, but also to get as much information from them as possible to try to separate rumors from first-hand accounts or find consistencies between stories that might point toward truths. Many of these people will be refugees twice over, already having fled from Tevinter in the wake of Corypheus' takeover, so some may have relevant information about Tevinter as well. And there is always the possibility that some loyal to Tevinter and the Venatori are disguised among the refugees, so they'll need to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.


• ASSIST TOWNSFOLK: Meet with the Countess of Wildervale and local leaders of smaller towns and villages. Those south of Wildervale may need to be alerted about the waves of travelers they're about to see, while those north of Wildervale will have been reached by refugees before Riftwatch and may be overwhelmed by the sudden swell of visitors and potential long-term residents. Some of those fleeing Hasmal may be settling into these villages for the long haul due to exhaustion or a lack of resources, while many others are terrified of Tevinter at their heels and want to go further south to put at least one major city between them and Hasmal. It's a valid fear, so in addition to discussing the refugee situation and how many more people the villages can viably feed and house, Riftwatch teams will need to help assess their defenses and escape routes if the invasion pushes further south, ideally without causing a panic.

Meanwhile, in Kirkwall, those who aren't suited to fieldwork or who are between trips out of the city will:

• ATTEND MEETINGS: The Viscount, Kirkwall's nobility, and City Guard representatives in Viscount's Keep will be meeting for long hours to discuss whether or not Kirkwall will be able to accept refugees (and to what extent) and the city's defenses and fortifications. Riftwatch won't have any formal say in these decisions, but its representatives may be able to provide information as it becomes available and maybe sneak some opinions in there as well.


• READY LOOKOUT TOWERS: Assist the city with transporting supplies to and chasing bandits out of rarely-used guard towers in the Vinmarks.


• ORGANIZE RIFTWATCH'S EFFORTS: Amass, organize, and disseminate the information being relayed back from the teams in the field—for example, making sure the Riftwatch teams advising refugees on which villages and cities will be able to take them in aren't directing them all to the same place and causing it to become overwhelmed.

There are also a few specific missions that will be assigned to those with suitable skills at the end of the week. Based on the available information, teams will be sent to Hasmal and to Tantervale to accomplish the following:

• HASMAL AERIAL SURVEILLANCE: The Hasmal team will travel by griffon to conduct fly-over surveillance of the city and the territory to the north and west, to try to gather information about the Tevinter forces. From griffonback, the team may occasionally spot Tevinter scouting parties or small clusters of soldiers that can be picked off or harassed, whether from the air or by landing to confront them.


• HASMAL GROUND SURVEILLANCE: The griffon team will also be carrying passengers, a small team who they will have to stealthily drop into Hasmal so that they can spend two days gathering information about the situation in the city itself before they're picked up by the griffons once again.


• TANTERVALE OUTREACH: The Tantervale team will try to meet with Tantervale's leadership to coordinate defense and relief efforts. They'll travel by horseback (griffons would only remind folks how weird Riftwatch is) and work through diplomatic channels and court backchannels to try to gain an audience with the Lady Chancellor and/or her ministers and persuade them of the benefits of working together.

These missions will be interrupted by the red lyrium dragon, which will first arrive over Hasmal just as the griffon riders are collecting their spy passengers for departure. The dragon will chase the griffons off before continuing on to Tantervale, where the team in the city will be forced to flee its attack and escape from the city.



WEEKS TWO & THREE: THE RUIN OF TANTERVALE

After the news of Tevinter's takeover of Hasmal, its closest neighbor, Tantervale, is calling a muster of whatever fighting-age men are left in its territory. Most of Tantervale's soldiers have previously joined the Exalted March, leaving the city-state only lightly defended. Whoever remains is ordered to arm themselves and meet outside the city within the week to protect against the threat of Tevinter incursion, or possibly even to threaten to join any supposed 'peacekeeping' force in Hasmal. The exact plan is unknown, but the citizens of Tantervale—known across Thedas for their religious zeal—appear eager to answer the call to defend their home and any fellow devotees of the Chantry from the dangerous northern heretics.

But in the end, how many they manage to attract to this makeshift defensive force hardly matters. The gathered host is powerless to stop the sudden, devastating attack of the corrupted high dragon. The huge, red-lyrium-infected beast—known to be under the command of Corypheus for some years now, but rarely seen since it perched triumphant atop the Archon's palace in Minrathous 3 years ago—emerges above Hasmal before flying the short distance east to Tantervale and laying waste to that city.

Simultaneously, confused reports are reaching Riftwatch from both Orlais and Ferelden, indicating an array of calamities: scattered across both countries, several small villages and their fields were recently set aflame, an important bridge over the Drakon River destroyed in Ferelden, a noble family and their entire staff found hanging evenly spaced from rafters in their estate not far from Halamshiral.

UNKNOWNS

Riftwatch agents present at Hasmal and Tantervale during the early stages of the dragon attack witness its beginning, but as they have to run for their lives, little is immediately known about its outcome. Given the destruction they did see, it's believed that Tantervale was a massacre, resulting in many, many deaths and much of the city destroyed by fire and corruption. A wave of people have now joined the stragglers from Hasmal fleeing south, but how many of them actually managed to escape the city of Tantervale itself as opposed to its surrounding countryside is unknown, and among those who survived, many begin to show signs of darkspawn corruption on the road.

Per the reports coming from the South, the leaders in both Ferelden and Orlais initially respond as if being invaded before realizing that the incidents were not the beginning of a larger military push. It will take some time for it to become clear that all of these events happened on the same day as the assault on Tantervale, mostly by individual actors.

RIFTWATCH'S WORK

Most of the work Riftwatch was doing in Week 1 will continue in Weeks 2 and 3, while pivoting or expanding to include dealing with the situation in Tantervale as well:

• ASSIST TRAVELERS & TOWNSFOLK: The attack on Tantervale will essentially double the number of new refugees fleeing south, testing the work Riftwatch did in Week 1 and greatly increasing the strain on communities in Wildervale. Some they may be able to persuade to make do and accommodate more fellow Marchers, while others will reach the end of either their supplies or their patience or both, and Riftwatch agents will need to help calm tensions and find alternatives.


• SHORE UP DEFENSES: Efforts to shore up defenses in the region will ratchet up, and Riftwatch agents will be called on to do things like help train emergency village militias, build makeshift defenses, and provide advice on what to do in case of dragon attack.

For those in Kirkwall:

• ASSIST ARRIVING REFUGEES: Pressure on Kirkwall itself will increase as the first refugees arrive at the city and an even greater number look likely to do so in the near future. Kirkwall has a fairly fraught recent history with refugees from a crisis—the influx of Blight refugees from Ferelden caused a nativist backlash that went on for years. In this case, the locals will be somewhat more friendly because the refugees are their fellow Marchers, as well as slightly more frightened because this crisis isn't happening across a sea. But there will still be a fairly tepidly charitable response to the needs of incoming people, and those escaping Hasmal who are clearly of Tevinter origin will have an especially difficult time. Riftwatch's help will be needed in connecting the new arrivals with those who are willing to help them and aiding in the construction of some temporary structures and camps for those without other means of housing themselves.


• PREPARE FOR THE WORST: Riftwatch will be called upon by the Viscount's office to work with the City Guard to review Kirkwall's defenses, work on emergency upgrades, help man observation posts further afield to provide early warning of any imminent attack. For the time being, a regular rotation of Riftwatch members will be sent to keep watch at some of the further towers, since their sending crystals will allow them to pass along more information more quickly than the warning fires. There will also be a lot of discussion about how to handle a dragon attack--with the expectation that Riftwatch will take a lead role in defending against any such attack.

Elsewhere, Riftwatch will send teams to:

• STARKHAVEN: Believed to be the most likely next target for assault other than Kirkwall. Riftwatch will send a team to meet with current leadership to offer to provide mage support against a potential dragon attack, coordination of defensive efforts, and to learn how Starkhaven plans to handle Tantervale refugees.


• OSTWICK, MARKHAM, HERCINIA, ANSBURG, & WYCOME: Too far to have been directly affected yet. Riftwatch will send representatives to court to try to meet with leaders to discuss coordinating efforts across the region for mutual defense against Tevinter, encouraging them to raise soldiers, shore up defenses, and take in refugees.


• FERELDEN & ORLAIS: By the end of Week 3 it will be clear that what happened in Orlais and Ferelden is likely a diversionary tactic, meant to compel them to keep their attention at home rather than throwing too much of their weight behind assisting the Free Marches, but a few people will be sent to investigate the sites of some attacks for any evidence of how they were coordinated and to be sure further attacks aren't impending.

(OOC Note: For attacks in Ferelden and Orlais and for small villages around Hasmal and Tantervale, you're welcome to invent the names of these places and invent details of what exactly happened without checking in with us. If your character is from one of these areas, you're also welcome to say their hometowns or places they're familiar with were affected, as long as: (1) it isn't a place big enough to be on the canon map of Thedas and (2) if someone else's character is coincidentally from the same place, you check with them first.)



WEEKS FOUR & FIVE: THE MARCH ON STARKHAVEN

The situation in the Free Marches continues to deteriorate rapidly. With Tantervale now more rubble than city, nothing substantial stands between the Tevinter force in Hasmal and either Kirkwall, home of Riftwatch, or Starkhaven, the cultural and financial heart of the Marches. An advance on one or both of those cities is believed to be the next logical step, but nobody knows for sure which it's going to be or whether it's going to come in the form of an attack by dragon or just ("just") an army.

Reports from the Riftwatch teams in and over Hasmal at the end of Week 1 spotted signs of that army readying to move, and further griffon reconnaissance during Weeks 2 and 3 confirmed that with Tantervale out of the way the army is now moving quickly. Their path is clearly pointed east toward Starkhaven. Like Tantervale, Starkhaven is lightly-defended, much of its forces—along with its ruler, Prince Sebastian Vael—in Orlais with the Exalted March.

Help from elsewhere is unlikely to arrive in time. Those Marches who might have been best positioned to support Starkhaven in its time of need find themselves with problems of their own, as coastal communities in Ostwick and Hercinia suffer a rash of brutal and unusually well-organized pirate attacks. The port towns of Torbay and Ogwell near Ostwick and Noli near Hercinia take the brunt of it, sacked and burned by marauders. There are several attacks on shipping reported as well, with prizes taken from normally safe waters where the Waking Sea meets the Amaranthine. Both city-states have increased naval patrols and are now on alert, but they're looking outwards, not inland.

UNKNOWNS

How quickly reinforcements will arrive. Agents and Inquisition contacts in Orlais report that the Exalted March is now aware, and that there are urgent debates among the commanders about how to react. Prince Sebastian Vael is thought to be planning to return imminently, but precisely how long that will take—and how many men he will bring with him—remains unknown.

RIFTWATCH'S WORK

• SLOWING THE ADVANCE: Riftwatch will do its best to slow the enemy advance and buy Starkhaven time to prepare. Without the numbers to engage the host directly, teams will instead be tasked with making the journey as difficult as possible by creating obstacles along the way: think rockslides, blown bridges, washed out roads, felled trees clogging the river, sabotaged boats and wagons, and so forth. Traps or small guerrilla-style attacks may be laid at some of these points, but with strict orders not to risk it unless conditions allow Riftwatch the advantage to attack swiftly and then escape again. The goal is to harass and pick off low-hanging fruit, not get caught up in an unwinnable battle.


• PREPARING STARKHAVEN: Preventing an attack on Starkhaven seems impossible, but Riftwatch can at least help the city prepare for it. At this point a siege is the best option, but it will mean being (or at least looking) strong enough to withstand an initial assault. Top priorities are:
  
  • Reinforcing city defenses. These efforts were already underway by Week 2, but will become far more urgent, and leaders will be much more eager to hear from Riftwatch anything they know about the enemy forces.
  
  
  • Stocking the city. This includes bringing in supplies to prepare for the siege they now hope comes, whether by wagon or boat or griffon, and Riftwatch may even be asked to help negotiate with merchants and farmers to get deals done and goods delivered faster if possible.
  
  
  • Bolstering numbers. They need all the fighting manpower they can get, so Riftwatch will be helping recruit by explaining the situation, the context of the war, and encouraging anyone able to fight to help, and then transporting them from the countryside to the city walls as fast as possible. Bringing in fighting men means more mouths to feed, so Riftwatch will also be asked to help ferry vulnerable people out of the city to safety in other Marches. At first this effort will focus on the young and old with political importance, but it will be expanded (if Riftwatch pushes and also if they work fast enough to make it feasible) to include young and old of all classes.
  
  
  • Helping keep the peace and avoid a panic. Between the news of the on-coming army, the rash of high-profile assassinations (see below) and the horrific fate of Tantervale, the people of Starkhaven are understandably on edge. The mood in the city is one of barely suppressed terror, and city officials are anxious to avoid any incidents that might light a spark and distract from necessary preparations. Riftwatch will be asked to assist the guard in patrolling public areas where people tend to gather and help defuse situations, from breaking up brawls and preventing theft and hoarding of supplies to chasing off an obnoxious crier who won't stop stirring up fears with his vivid tales of how he received his scar at the hands of the vicious, unstoppable Tevinters.


• PROTECTING THE COUNTRYSIDE: The enemy journey through the Marches isn't as orderly as it was in Orlais. Parties of enemy soldiers and mages are veering south (occasionally north, into the strip of Marches before the Antivan border, but mostly south) across the river to attack travelers, sack villages, burn farms, and generally cause chaos. This will also involve periodic dragon attacks in the regions between Hasmal, Wildervale, and Starkhaven. These attacks are sudden and brief, hitting random locations, causing death and damage, and leaving as quickly as they arrived. Riftwatch agents traveling through the region for any purpose will need to be on guard, and teams will also be tasked to help patrol the countryside and major roads to protect against enemy attacks. Some teams may be stationed in towns and villages for days at a time, ready to respond to any reports of enemy attacks nearby and coordinate via crystal.

And in the midst of this work, there will be some additional specific missions:

• STARKHAVEN ASSASSIN: An assassin is stalking the streets of Starkhaven. Four prominent citizens have been murdered in the past two weeks, including two high-ranking guard captains, a celebrated knight who won the Grand Tourney not long ago, and Lord Kennech, a frontrunner to replace Lord Greer as regent. The murders have been brazen and bloody, not identical but each marked with the sigil of a prominent family drawn in blood, the first (over Lord Kennech) being the symbol of House Harimann, now most famous for having arranged the murders of Prince Sebastian Vael's family in a coup attempt in 9:31. The other houses referenced similarly have prominent betrayals and power-grabs in their history. No one is quite sure what any of it means, but it has certainly set the city even further on edge and has suspicions between members of the ruling class nearing a high. As a neutral party, Riftwatch will be asked to help provide security for potential targets.


• DRAGON TRACKING: Corypheus' dragon has rarely been sighted very far from him, and its presence in the Free Marches raises the possibility that he's somewhere nearby. A few different small teams on griffon- and horseback will attempt to track it to where it's resting between its excursions to terrorize the countryside, with the hope that Corypheus is there and this may present an opportunity to confront him directly with fewer fortifications.


• FIREBOMBING THE ARMY: As the army nears Starkhaven, another griffon-based team will make one last push to slow them down. The evening before they inevitably reach the city, the team will fly over their camp with mages, Antivan Fire grenades and breakable flasks of oil, and anything else they can come up with to rain literal fire on the Tevinter camps.

WEEK SIX: FALLING ACTION

The Tevinter force finally arrives at Starkhaven. After all the work to delay the enemy and speed preparations, the city is ready to hold fast against them at least until Prince Sebastian can return from Orlais with the army and (they hope) the Exalted March in tow. The Tevinter force, clearly still hoping to take the city before those reinforcements arrive, sets up camp as if for a siege but then launches a pre-dawn attack in hope of breaching the gates. This is repelled, but periodic assault (mostly magical) on the city walls continues—thus far with little effect.

Now that the enemy has arrived at Starkhaven, there isn't much more Riftwatch can do to help directly. The force is still too large for them to take on, and while they can get away with some limited griffon stealth missions in and out of the city, the large-scale operations of previous weeks are no longer possible. Prince Sebastian and the fastest part of his forces will arrive by the end of the week, and he will then take the lead in determining how to defend Starkhaven. He'll be happy to talk to Riftwatch about what they've seen and done in the interim and will be grateful for their efforts on behalf of his city. But there's a lot for him to figure out at present, and coordinating the type of smaller-scale work Riftwatch is best suited for isn't top of his agenda at the moment. Essentially, he'll be in touch.

RIFTWATCH'S WORK

All agents in and around Starkhaven are pulled back just ahead of the Tevinter force's arrival, along with any last group of vulnerable citizens they're able to get out. Riftwatch will continue to put more focus than it previously had on the Free Marches, with increased patrols and surveillance, and will keep an eye on the refugee situation as things develop. The enemy presence in the Marches will continue to cause trouble, with occasional parties of soldiers and mages marauding, posing new hazards closer to home than before that will periodically require Riftwatch's attention. And the situation in Starkhaven will continue to develop and may require more assistance in the future. But otherwise, it's more or less back to business as usual for now, just with a new set of issues added to the pile.

Comments

marcus rowntree.

[luaithre]

weeks two and three. closed to petrana and julius.

[luaithre]

The thing that was missing was leverage. And so when a lever is presented, it stands to reason that Riftwatch ought make use of it.

And Marcus hadn't needed convincing, being the one to present it to his companions when conclusions were drawn. Discussion over candlelight during the over-warm Starkhaven summers, letters being written and rewritten and finally sealed and delivered, speculation and explanation. Dipping his hand into the silty past and drawing up what microscopic morsels of use he might find, and Petrana might note that the estrangement Marcus had once described to her truly is just that, and Julius can mark that that there doesn't seem to be latent anger there that might threaten to hiss and spit from deep, earthy cracks.

Probably.

The scheme is this: the Rowntrees are a merchant family, fairly affluent but where titles and social arrangements and quiet manoeuvres are the life blood of the properly, nobly wealthy, business and liquid assets and dealmaking is that of Starkhaven's upper-middleclass. Their business is ships, empty vessels that carry the materials of others up and down the winding Minanter and into the wilder oceans. Lately, cargo has included people, halting the usual delivery of produce, textiles, construction supplies, luxuries.

Refugees, specifically, with enough means to buy their way onto safe passage even with the exorbitant rates set by the company, but not enough means to refuse or bargain for better. It stands to reason that they could take a great deal many more if profit wasn't an issue. But profit always is. So enters a benefactor, and an actor of the crown.

And them, of course, to brook negotiations, to receive a letter that warmly invites them to their family home.

It's a very pleasant morning. The city of Starkhaven carries on as if the spectre of war wasn't beginning to shadow their doorstep, and it is a city, in the way that Kirkwall is a city, and Val Royeaux, and landing somewhere in the middle of these two in terms of its prettiness. It is too well-planned to resemble the former's odd sprawl, too even handed to have such wildly polarised standards between the poor and the wealthy, but likewise too utilitarian to gleam and shine the way the Orlesians prefer to live. It is stone and heavy wood, widely curved roads, lightweight carriages, small gardens and fountains.

This residential block is a street lined with townhouses, relatively narrow but tall. The building they stop at, all grey brick and red wood and unmarked glass in the windows, takes up more space than most of its neighbours and looms high, with only a small courtyard separating the front door from the street, and a low fence and gate of iron. Marcus leads the way, unlatching the gate with some small amount of muscle memory, headed down the path, up the stairs, to a door that

opens, before he has a chance to really brace himself and knock.

(He hasn't betrayed nerves, particularly, just a quiet apprehension throughout the morning. He has dressed well, but that's fairly standard, for him, and their recent diplomatic efforts. He carries his bladed staff at his back, which is as well, and you can't say otherwise.)

There is, from the dim shadows of the house, a feminine squeal (truly, the only word for it) and they will see Marcus drawn stiff-backed into an embrace from someone significantly shorter than himself. A woman, not very young, but oddly youthful in her way, has ignored the looming hover of a dark metal blade in favour of a hug, which is a little at odds with the way Marcus had described his last meeting with his blood relatives (his mother's anxious hands, clutching a teacup, bone white, and all siblings banished upstairs).

"You got in early," says the woman, who is not the matriarch, clearly. Marcus had described a little sister, Agnes, as having existed, but too young for him at the time to assign much in the way of attributes. "I was hoping so, because they won't be. Early, I mean. Oh, goodness—"

Breathless, Agnes steps back, all smiles. Her dark hair is done up neatly, and her dress is simple but stately. She absently smooths the front of it as she steps back. "Please, come in, and your friends, of course. Hello," she adds, sketching a sort of curtsey as she holds the door open, bright blue eyes locking immediately on Petrana and Julius with open fascination.

Marcus's hands are still at a hover from having raised them uncertainly, and they drop, now. But he does obey, with a nod, stepping inside.

[overharrowed]

Julius shouldn't feel anything in particular about this greeting, other than possibly some concern for how Marcus will take it, and so he doesn't. (That is absolutely how it works.) Instead, he lets Petrana enter next and, bringing up the rear, enters as invited. If his eyes flick to Marcus, assessing, it's subtle and brief.

They've talked a great deal about strategy and facts in the lead-up to this visit. But it is a different thing, this little girl now a woman ushering them in with enthusiasm that would be unusual for a trio of mages, one from another world, even in a context without family complications. Among whatever else he's not feeling, Julius is curious about Agnes, an unknown variable who has already proven herself unusual.

He's determined to let Marcus take the lead, but the manners are more a reflex than a strategy: "Thank you for inviting us into your home. I'm sure we're all sorry for the unsettling circumstances."

[ipseite]

It is not immediately clear, Petrana thinks, whether this unexpected welcome bodes well for finalizing these negotiations or not. A promising indication of familial willingness to work with them, or a sop to divert attention from reluctance? An indication of openness, or an implied insult?

None of which will become clearer lingering in the doorway, so when Marcus is clear of the greeting Petrana offers Agnes her own, offering her hands with measured warmth and a pleasant smile,

“Madame de Cedoux,” she introduces herself, “and Enchanter Julius. We and Mssr Rowntree will be representing Riftwatch in facilitating the arrangements we have proposed for your family's ships.”

week five. closed to derrica.

[luaithre]

Fire, shouting, arrows. It's war of a kind that Marcus is familiar with. Fighting dirty, mainly, outnumbered and underestimated.

Well. Underestimated for only a brief moment in time.

It happens when he takes a chance, seeing where several of the Venatori have begun to muster in earnest. With a kick, Marcus spurs his griffon into a dive, feeling that breathtaking weightlessness before he is dragged fast for the ground. Where smoke normally gathers around him in his casting, the wind strips it away in an unseen comet tail of dust grey, dissolving in the onslaught of the rain. It feels odd, to pull this magic from the ground when he is so high above it, but he's had training.

Cracks form. Great explosions of glowing lava burst from the ground, sending the contingent scattering. While the rain that has formed overhead makes quick work of hurled flames and Antivan oil, shaking earth and volcanic eruption.

And then the griffon, L.W.M, screams, and veers aside, almost throwing her rider from the saddle. Marcus had felt that jolt of something hit, and barks out a command to her to stay in the air, hauling on the reins. She flaps, working hard for elevation, but the direction he's driving her is away from the battle, and that's good enough for her. He casts again, motes of magic dancing around them under the effects of a Barrier, just in time for a barrage of arrows to chase them, splintering against defensive magic.

Away they go. His part in this is over, and he can tell from the labour of each wing beat that she's not going to carry him all the way safe. Away, away, and then he directs her for the ground.

Too fast. The strength in one wing seems to just give entirely, and in the split second before L.W.M can shatter herself and him on the earth, he casts again, a Barrier that is immediately expired on impact, but saves both their lives. He's thrown, finally, straps designed to help keep him onboard but break under force of emergency snapping as he goes rolling across the ground, the wind knocked out of his lungs and gasped back in only once inertia takes hold.

At least it isn't raining, out here.

So Derrica receives a message, where she's presumably on standby. "Marcus, here. I've landed some distance east of the encampment. I'll signal my location when you're near, if you can be. My griffon needs assistance."

[tender]

I'm coming, is all there is at first, breathless and rushed out with a cacophony of whinnying and shouting in the background.

And then, after a brief stretch of time, there is Signal me, please.

And then, after that—

Hoofbeats approaching, and Derrica's voice raised ahead of her to call, "Marcus, it's me," before he mistakes both her and her mount as a threat. She slides from the saddle, hurrying towards him and his downed griffon as she asks, "Are you hurt too?"

[luaithre]

The signal had been small, a brief streak of fire in the darkness, hopefully the sort of thing to go missed by enemy forces but seen by allies who are looking for it. Marcus suspects that the Venatori have enough to keep their attention, anyway.

L.W.M is a bulky animal even when prone, and she's lying a little awkwardly, weight listed to the side and a wing shielding herself. Marcus is nearby and out of beak snapping range, sitting, breathing, bruised and bleeding, but it's minor. Next to him, his staff has been activated, with its runic inscriptions glowing lava-red. It warms up his surroundings, but it's mainly motivated by the desire for some light to see by as the evening tips over into night.

"Not seriously," he says.

He rolls to get to his feet, ignoring the little twinges and aches as he goes. Dirt and soot both stain his skin and clothing, streaky where that strange rain had run.

The griffon is much the same, where he had run ash over the brilliant white of her feathers to remove some of the eyecatching lustre. There's no visible blood, but that one wing seems to tremble where it's poised, and she turns her head to hiss at Derrica's approach. Its a raspy, weak sounding thing, but a griffon won't hesitate to use the last of its strength to bite the hand that feeds it. Or heals it.

"Do you need to touch her?"

tony stark.

[propulsion]

tantervale, a coda.

[elegiaque]

( with tantervale in ruins and its citizens turned to yet more refugees, spilling out in unhappy streams to wherever will yet take them—

and gwenaëlle is on this wagon, bringing up the rear, because somehow in the course of her time at riftwatch she's become someone it's appropriate to attach to a guard and not at all times hiding behind them. it's still strange. casimir's letter burns a hole in her coat, but it's still coupe's that she keeps coming back to, ruminating on,

the problem is neither of them are sorry, really. but maybe that doesn't matter.

the wagon's weight shifts; someone sitting down beside her. she says, )

You're not my real commander, ( reflexively, by way of greeting. )

[propulsion]

That hurts my feelings.

[ Also a greeting.

He is armored up and so makes a bulkier than usual figure, even if it's relatively lightweight and patchwork compared to the plate-wearing beefs they don't have enough of. They are not riding into battle, or anything, but anything could happen, and he'd rather not get caught with his iron pants down.

He does go to take off his gauntlets now that he's settled. ]

But I am your real best friend.

[ Let's banter while a city continues to burn beneath its rubble. ]

[elegiaque]

( gwenaëlle's own work clothes are lightweight, armored but much more along the lines of — well, like a miniature flint, the boning in her almost corseted vest designed to keep knives from between her ribs, the high slit up the back of her coat meant for ease of motion and to flick out the weighted blades in the bottom of its tails. it's all in dark shades of green; all very dramatic.

it had taken some practise not to sit on the knives, but she mastered that before she took it into the field. )

When I've decided which of us that reflects worse on, I'll let you know if I'm offended.

( let's. )

kirkwall, prologue. closed to jim.

[propulsion]

It's night. Late. Bed time.

Unless you're a part of the small but dedicated contingent of insomniac workaholics that rattle around these darkened halls. Something that has also not changed: Tony still spends most of these hours in the Research workshops rather than the big boy offices, which makes sense. His place of work is full of documents and maps and people who need stuff and colleagues and their spouses or whatever who might object to the sound of tinkering in the wee hours.

Not really as much that, lately. Down by 66.6%.

Light is kind of an issue, in medieval times, and while there's a lantern and some candles doing some of the work, it's not really enough to do this kind of fine-fingered work by. Which is why Tony is wearing sunglasses as he stands over his workstation, working on something made of dyed dark sailcloth stretched over some kind of flexible frame. Lying on the table like this, it looks a little like crumpled batwing.

There's no need for suspense. There are diagrams within easy perusal of something like resembles a wearable hang glider, with a few different iterations, wing shapes, harness designs, and, you know, Tony isn't given to locking the door when the only interruptions at this hour tend to come bearing gifts.

[acreage]

It's not so late that (1) James Holden isn't awake.

Which isn't saying much, probably. But it's a truism that it's easy to brew two cups of coffee as easily as one; and it's also true that if he's awake, there's a solid chance Tony is. All the more so, he suspects, since the announcement a matter of days ago. He'd have dropped by anyway, letting himself in with only a brief knock — but in light of that, and his new assignment, it seems all the more important he makes a visit.

He knows better than to interrupt. Instead, he stands some safe distance away, taking in the project occupying Tony's attention.

[propulsion]

There's a sound that's like tearing, but not, as Tony runs a sharp blade through fabric in one precise, straight line. He sets the tool aside to spread the wing out some, inspecting where the edge lines up with the frame. More crafty than furnaces and soldering irons and crystalised lyrium hooked up with glowing copper cords, but all the math has already been done, and there's no factory down the road to fabricate this nonsense for him.

He tips a look at Jim, over the top of black lenses. They've been enchanted to cast regular darkness and dimly lit workshops in bright daylight, saving his eyes, with bonus points for style.

"You ever go skydiving? I'm looking for volunteers."

It's maybe a joke, only in that he sends to be his own guineapig.

kirkwall. closed to jos.

[propulsion]

"Okay, you wanna stand over here,"

Tony's hands on Joselyn's shoulders guide her backwards and to the left, glancing sideways at the third humanoid figure in the room, and then guiding her an extra several inches away,

"that's fine. Just don't move from this spot."

It is midday, because sometimes he does thinks at normal times, and there is sunlight streaming in through the narrow windows. The Research workshop, or at least this one, does not quite look like a bomb hit it, because Tony's chaos tends to be at least somewhat controlled, method underlying the madness, but it is certainly more cluttered than it was the day that Hasmal fell. He has cleared some space, however, and situated Fred in the room after extremely slowly getting him to walk up the stairs.

Because Fred is FRED, for Fade-reactor engine droid, a metal man on T-rex feet, thick coppery cords that are wound with lyrium veining through his near-black iron frame, panels of polished amber ore with enchantments engraved into them set into metal. His barrel chest is well armored, and his hands are two-pronged pincers for later refining. His head, such as it is, is a knight's helmet, and yet somehow gives an impression of dopey obedience. He is not, in fact, the subject of today's demonstration, but is holding a shield in front of him.

It's round, with a silver-metal smooth plated finish at its front, and a subtle lyrium glow emanating from the back.

Tony backs up from Jos, and then looks around. The energy of this current phase of the cycle is keyed up, motivated, caffeinated, and starts searching the room for—something, ostensibly big enough for him to be moving chairs aside instead of checking desk tops.

[obdurata]

Now, it's not that Joselyn doesn't trust him—in fact, it would be safe to say that in broad terms, Tony is one of the people she trusts most in Riftwatch—but it just feels prudent that upon consideration, while he's backing up, she continues to move a bit further back along that diagonal. Just in case. Feels like the right thing to do.

“You have thought about how if we explode, there's only one division head left, right?”

—right???? She doesn't know the diplomacy head well enough—or, indeed, by name—to have any sort of opinion on whether or not he'd be suited to being left holding the bag (—of feral cats), but you know. Ordinarily there are four. One would be, whoever it was, unideal.

After a beat, “What's it look like?” Whatever he's looking for. Maybe she can help. Without moving.

[propulsion]

"They'll find somebody else," Tony says, pausing, adding, "That's not the right—we'll be fine. Nothing here is explosive. I mean, Fred's explosive, technically, so am I, but, aren't we all. I got it."

'It' being a long-handled mallet, dense iron and reinforced wood, hefted up two-handed.

"Okay, so, theoretically," he says, turning back to her and Fred, kind of addressing them both, mallet balanced against his shoulder, "what you all call magic is the transformation of one energy state to the other. When we pull fadeiation into the real world, it takes on a new form, fire, lightning, gravitational effects, kinetic force, et cetera, you get it," flippant, a gesture to her, totally a mage. "So the principle being demonstrated here is the conversion of non-magical force into a different form."

He brings the mallet back around to hold, testing its weight. Then, "Did you move?"

Week Four, Firebombing the Army, Closed to those folks

[muckspout]

[Up in the sky, they look down over the army approaching Starkhaven. Edgard on Sunbeam is towards the back of the pack of griffons. He fiddles with his several packs that are full of breakable flasks of oil. He notices the wind as it blows and starts to measure with his vision when he should make his first drop. He notices everyone else’s griffons are less loaded up.]

Wait a second. [He hollers forward.] Am I the only one here who doesn’t have magic?

[inkindled]

Seems so!

[Matthias is hanging gamely on to a griffon. He doesn't mind heights, but heights from the back of a griffon is something different than heights from the top of normal buildings made of stone and mortar and sturdy things that don't breathe, buck, and screech.

He is dealing with his apprehension by firmly ignoring it, betrayed only by his iron grip on griffon's harness. Yes, he will very immediately need to relax that grip in order to cast the spells that he is here to cast--better than Edgard's oil flasks, destructive and forceful fire that can consume whole lines of Vints and soldiers and any enemy--very soon, he will need to do that, but he will take a moment longer to hang on, steel himself--and smirk at the non-mage that has found himself among them.]

That's not a problem, is it, mate?

[muckspout]

No.

[The word is drawn out and not convincing. How did he get here? Did someone want him to die?]

Just don't leave me behind since I had to carry all this shit.

[He glances down at the ground and starts doing the mental calculations.]

And think about wind.

[Edgard scoffs. His job is clearly more difficult.]

[sparklequeen]

[ Glimmer is, herself, sadly unable to cast fire magic. Being a Rifter prevents her from doing so, though she can through sparkly blasts of light everywhere, at least? In absence of fire magic, Glimmer avails herself of some similar bottles of oil. ]

I can cast magic but not fire magic!

[ She insists over the sound of wind and gryphons. ]

[CLOSED] https://tinyurl.com/fftvwc5j

[illithidnapped]

It starts off thrilling. Slipping in under cover of night, a self-contained saga woven together in its entirety from quiet steps, careful climbing, nimble work to eavesdrop between guarded tower tops— any commotion, any attentive glance from their enemy a promise they won’t make it out alive— all avoided. All far from the ending to their collective tales.

An eluvian, under control of one Primus Taxarchis, shuttling assets to and from Minrathous. No wonder they were able to strike so swiftly, so efficiently.

The end of their mission, however, is less riveting, less satisfactory in any sense of the word.

'You want to leave? -Now-? We could do more to ruin them—'

The enemy’s right there. Unaware. Blissfully so. Their own exit assured now that they’ve gone through the trouble of calling for their griffin escort, clouds still hanging low enough to mask their descent and due escape. Astarion, however, lingers near the edge of the parapet, lip drawn into a resentful sneer, his eyes narrowed in a way that's all too telling.

Not that either of his companions knows him well enough to recognize it.

The moment the flutter of griffin wings can be heard overhead, Astarion turns smoothly on his heel, arrow nocked, foot to the edge of the parapet, bracing against how he leans over its side— and fires.

The dull sound of a plucked string chased by faint clattering far below. The second swift, and just the same, only this time a sharp cry of alarm rings out in its wake. Third arrow. Red eyes gone hungry with bloodlust, the heat of resentment visible in the twist of his lips, peeled back to show overlong teeth.

The base is alive with alarm. His quarry is alert, aware. They can see him just as much as he can see them in spite of the fog that clings to the tower tops. His shot is less than lethal, only striking a mage in the crook of their arm— damn.

[thereneverwas]

"Astarion--"

The terminally even-keeled Barrow is just about at his wits' end with this mission, between the deeply unpleasant experience of riding something not horselike enough through the fucking sky and the fact that they are now entrenched in a seemingly inescapable situation, at least by his preferred means, which would be sprinting for the door and swatting enemies out of the way with his hammer like a bear fishing for trout.

But the griffons are waiting, and Astarion has apparently decided it's time for suicide, and the arms trainer in Barrow who's forced to act like an adult is just about done with it.
Without further argument or explanation, he lunges forward to swing one enormous arm around Astarion's frame, attempting to lock the elf's arms to his sides and carry him like a flailing pile of firewood.
The time has come to get the fuck out.

[fairforce]

There is a lot happening at once. The griffons, on their own, are a lot. The beating of their wings would be quiet from a further distance. Up close, it's as steady a rhythm as a war drum. What they've seen is something that is in the past, now--but it was a lot, and the distance of that memory makes it now less so. Anyone would be distracted.

And yet Tiffany--consummate big sister, even while engaging in acts of war and subterfuge--senses the disturbance of a nearby should-not-be-happening commotion. Her head snaps around.

What she sees is Barrow half-tackling Astarion. "What are you," is what she starts to hiss, and then she sees Astarion's face, and, "What," as she moves to get closer, to-- help, in some way. Hopefully.

betrayal of the dice— cw for injury

[illithidnapped]

He hates to be touched. To be pawed at like some common beast, unrequested. And so where otherwise his plan had been to swiftly slip back in retreat the moment talons touched down on stone, he opts— instinctively— to fight.

Not against Tevinter, but his own ally.

Barrow’s grip is overwhelmingly strong, but even so, he’s working against a creature serpentine in nature: Astarion twists in his grasp, drops his weight like a stone, hissing and spitting. Arrows from below plinking as they bounce uselessly off tower walls (the true advantage of holding higher ground in play).

“Get your damned hands— "

It prolongs their positioning there on the ledge, and when at last Astarion finds some small amount of victory in wrenching his own posture to a point of near freedom—

He jolts back into Barrow’s arms. A flash of magic blinding the whole of his vision, the shock of it a tangible thing, and terrible for it— his breathing stuttering entirely of its own accord, the bow he’d been clutching clattering to the ground— grip slackened for the jagged, blood-tinged shard of ice sunken into the muscle of his hand.

And it's matched by a swath of far more vicious fragments, embedded in a faint arc from the slope of his throat down across his chest.