[ OPEN | PLAYER PLOT ] This is how it feels to take a fall

[illithidnapped]

WHO: Tiffany, Barrow, Astarion and...you??
WHAT: an assignment gone terribly wrong
WHEN: week 5, segueing into week 6 of the plot, just after dragon tracking concluded with a terrible, literal bang
WHERE: the most silent portion of the Silent Plains, nearer to Hasmal, and not far from Tevinter's very nicely constructed base
NOTES: cw for injury, darkness, being stranded, absolute idiocy | OOC POST: here

Previously: having successfully scouted Primus Taxarchis’ base in the Silent Plains, Tiffany, Barrow and Astarion make an unsuccessful escape under the fully alerted watch of the base’s active forces— provoking a near lethal counter attack that sees them crash landing not far away, and forcing the stranded trio to desperately petition for help.

That’s where you come in.




The ravine runs like a crooked gash throughout desert sands, deep and layered, sloping inward at an angle too steep to safely (or reliably) climb. Easy to spot from above, not as easy to get into without breaking an ankle or an arm, and impossible to freely clamber out of once inside: the stone is brittle and flaking to the touch, lean too much on it, and you’ll drop right to the earth along with it.

The caverns connected to it are far more accessible— the only downside is they’re labyrinthine in their knotted nature: it’s easy to reach an end too narrow to be traversed, or so broad that it loops back on where you’ve already been, descending downward in steeper layers, becoming a near honeycombed network at points.

Of course, you also might not be alone in the dark. This territory isn’t as unclaimed as appearances might otherwise suggest, factoring in proximity to the base the three had been previously scouting. Luckily no overwhelming force has been sent to give chase and comb the desert in pursuit, but that’s not to say there aren’t still eyes to be found in the depths of lightless pathways. Armor-clad agents working for the exact same reasons you are, their noses to the trail.

Well. Not the exact same reasons.

The temperature is freezing cold at night, and in the fuller depths of the caverns where light doesn’t reach, that’s a near consistent constant. Firelight might draw attention, for better or worse. Magic, too, and— despite earning the label of Silent— there is wildlife occasionally to be found. Proof of life’s perseverance even in the harshes of places, fleeting and skittish.

Or dangerous.

Whatever approach is taken, one thing is clear throughout: none of this is going to be easy.


[ooc notes:

-The trio rest at the very bottom of those lightless depths where they’d initially fallen, in varying states of wellness and action.

-they’re lacking in supplies, warmth, healing, mounts, protection, a way out— you name it they need it.

-time is a given: none of this will go quickly, so feel free to handwave or assume anything you need to to make your dream threads come true.

-this timeline wise takes place at the end of week five segueing into week 6, when Riftwatch forces are free to head home if they care to, but given that this is technically hostile territory between Primus Taxarchis’ base and Hasmal, it’s probably going to be a deliberate choice if your characters decide to come here.

-pls just don’t do anything to officially alert the nearby base in full, that would be Bad— and super difficult to do from a hole in the ground but mostly just Bad. Otherwise chase your bliss and make your wildest spelunking/survival/heroic fantasies a reality.

-ooc post is here, for all your delving needs and details.]

Comments

Barrow

[thereneverwas]

I. for Tiffany and Astarion

Maker only knows how long it's been, but at least two days have passed, judging by the sliver of sky Barrow is able to see from where he lies prostrate and trying not to choke on his own blood. It may have been more-- he's been drifting in and out of consciousness, after all-- but the best timekeeping device of all is the one that has his muscles spasming periodically, with the characteristic mental drifting, dry mouth, and nausea that comes with lyrium withdrawals.
He wouldn't even have noticed it, if not for the spasms that shake the arrow sticking through him, now pushed all the way through by the bad (and perhaps good?) luck of landing on his back in the fall. He can do little more than whimper each time he shakes.

"My pack," he wheezes, to whichever companion should check in, and faintly nods his head out into the cavern-- it fell off him when he fell off the griffon, but should still be around here somewhere.
Tiffany, at least, will likely be able to glean what he's looking for: a lyrium kit, with enough doses to last about a week, give or take. He tried to be prepared, but couldn't have known.

II. Rescuers

It's a sorry sight the reinforcements find, in the form of Barrow's bulky form pallid, still, and slumped on its side in a puddle of blood, the sources of which seem to be his scalp, his mouth and nose, and both sides of his torso. He is unconscious but breathing shallowly, an arrow sticking through his back and out his chest, through the lung.

[fairforce]

Tiffany does know what he's after. She's sat a few feet away, her back against the cavern wall that is blessedly very cool. Her arm feels badly and it hurts to breathe, sometimes, in a way that's made her reluctant to peel off all of her armor lest she find something horrible beneath it. But she's doing better than the others.

She tracks Barrow's clumsy nod with her eyes, seeking out the shape of his pack in the dark. Even when the sun is high in the sky it is dark down here. Splotches and shafts of blazing sunshine make their way down through that high-up fissure and bake the sand. The intensity of that light only makes the shadows shadowier.

She pushes away from the wall, her boots scuffing in the sand.

"You should have been a Seeker." Light, no particular judgement. If she fetches his kit, she can check on Astarion on the way. Not that she can do very much for him.

[thereneverwas]

There was a large part of Barrow that had every intention of hiding his particular abilities from the Seeker as long as he could, but now that she is the only thing standing between himself and an even more agonizing death than the one he's enduring, he no longer gives a nug's ass who knows.

A thin puff of breath suffices for his reaction-- a laugh, maybe, or a scoff, at the mere implication he could be anything better than a Templar deserter. He doesn't mind that much; he probably deserves it.

[fairforce]

Tiffany moves off, out of Barrow's field of vision. She's not gone for very long--his pack fell a ways off, yes, but she finds it easily enough, and then it's just a little farther to Astarion. Once she's sat near to Barrow a bit longer, she'll keep the Rifter company, too, which is a nice way of thinking of trying to make sure he doesn't die.

Back by Barrow's side, she lowers herself gingerly to one knee. It hurts, that deep deep ache in her chest and side sharpening to a stabbing, but Tiffany pushes through the pain and comes out on the other side. Letting out a breath, she lets the pack fall from her shoulder and onto the sand with a muted thud.

"Water first."

They have a little. There might be water somewhere down here, and in the meantime, they have to ration what little there is. Barrow is worthy of using up some of that. Tiffany's bad arm is fairly useless, so she pulls the stopper from her waterskin with her teeth and holds it out to him.

[thereneverwas]

Don't waste it, he wants to say-- he's certainly done for-- but if he's going to die here, better to do it slightly more comfortably, hence the lyrium.

So instead he just nods, his hand shaking as he accepts the waterskin and sips from it, trying not to take more than it will require to wet his mouth.

"Sorry I," he wheezes in a whisper, pausing for breath, "didn't tell you." His face is wry, if anguished; it's sort of funny, in its way, isn't it?

[fairforce]

"It is more suspicious not to have told me."

She's joking. Hopefully that comes across by the wry little smile she gives him in return, if he can focus his eyes well enough to see it. Her hand hovers just beside the waterskin, in case his grip should fail.

"You don't need to waste your breath with apologies. You can tell me anything you like after we get back to the Gallows."

[thereneverwas]

The smile is returned with one more sheepish, and a little nod, even though he winces as he does.
His inclination is still to protest, to dissuade her from getting anyone's hopes up-- especially his-- but instead he simply hands back the waterskin and rests his head against the wall, gasping lightly with the pain of it.

"The cats," he whispers after a moment, and pauses for a break, puffing in two shallow breaths, "...Athessa's... kittens. Make sure they're," puff, "looked after. Just in case." A pity they can't look after Athessa herself, but some things are simply beyond one's control.

[fairforce]

"I'm not very good with cats."

Tiffany has a scrap of blanket that she'd torn half apart when she thought she might be able to fashion bandages--a well-intended thought that hadn't gone any further once she'd taken an honest assessment of her companion's injuries. She wets it from the waterskin and carefully leans in to wipe some of the blood from Barrow's face. Any wound is avoided, lest she accidentally make it worse.

"You can't leave that work to me. You've got to get through this, if only so someone competent is minding them."

[thereneverwas]

He knows what she's doing, but on some level, he appreciates it. In lieu of a chuckle, which would be anguish, Barrow just smiles good-humoredly and nods. Even if it's just to placate her, he hates to be fussed over.

"I s'pose I've," he whispers, "been through worse." He's no Astarion, but even Barrow has trouble shutting up sometimes, at least when there's commentary to be given.
"And with worse company." Which is to say, Thank You, Seeker.

[fairforce]

"Don't try to flatter me while you're bleeding from the head, you'll only make yourself dizzy. And I need some company. Even if you aren't the best I've ever had, I've had worse, and you're better than nothing."

She sits back and squeezes out the scrap of blanket, spattering the dry sand with drops of water and blood. There wasn't enough to truly clean Barrow's face, but he looks a little better now, and the worst of the blood has been watered down. His head wound is still fresh enough to be actively bleeding.

"What's the worst you've had?"

[thereneverwas]

He grins, and though it's almost a grimace, the warmth is still there. Better than nothing: he'll take it, thanks.

Turning his arm to give her access to the vein, he's silent for several moments before admitting:

"...that was a lie. This is the worst. But the rack was a close second."

[fairforce]

Tiffany winces as she opens the lyrium kit. It's the thought of the rack that does it, not the kit's contents. She's familiar enough with the basics of what will need to be done here. Unfortunate, but not Barrow's fault or failing.

"On a mission for Riftwatch? Or before?"

[thereneverwas]

"Riftwatch," Barrow whispers, settling back with a wince as another convulsion takes him-- that lyrium can't come quickly enough, and he's never been so grateful to have it with him.

"Spent... don't remember... how long," he continues wearily, "strapped in. Fucked all my joints for good."

His eyes fall closed a moment, a slow and defeated duck of his head. Should he survive this, he's unlikely to become more useful.

[fairforce]

"Surely a healer could do something."

He'll have thought of that. Of course he would have. And if it was work for Riftwatch, Riftwatch would have treated him after--unless he'd kept it to himself, which does seem the sort of thing he'd be likely to do. Tiffany hardly knows him and she can guess that much.

She's always been capable. That comes with being the oldest daughter, with being born to a Fereldan country lord, with training from a young age. No particular fine skill at cooking or cleaning or healing or mending, but capable enough to get by: that's Tiffany. Preparing the lyrium has a similar routine air, sure and steady that she is doing it correctly, and quick to finish.

"If I'd known Riftwatch was so hazardous, I'd have prayed to Andraste a little longer for guidance. Here," and she's matter-of-fact as she takes his arm, her thumb feeling along that inner crease of his elbow. "Take a breath."

[thereneverwas]

"You and me both, Seeker," Barrow mutters, still smiling through the shakes and feeling no small amount of relief at the confidence with which she finds the vein.

"I suppose we. All get what we deserve." He takes a breath, as instructed.

II if you're dying, Edgard is definitely the person you want to find you lmao

[muckspout]

Edgard blinks trying to see something, anything in the dark. He's holding the bow ready, but he knows he is utterly useless if he can't see. Not seeing makes him fearful.

He shakes off his fear, takes a deep breath, and strides confidently forward. At once, he collides into something which knocks him to the ground.

He curses and pulls himself upward to notice blood on his hands. His own? No. He moves his hands forward and touches a body which initially he recoils at. Is it dead? He gets his face close to the possible corpse's face to see better. He recognizes it.

"Barrow." He whispers and then a little louder. "Barrow!"

[thereneverwas]

The collision elicits a groan from the body, which doesn't move or speak, though Barrow's eyelids flutter when he hears his name. He's awake enough to recognize Edgard, but can't do much more than that, too weakened by the days spent prone and slowly bleeding-- but at least it's too cold for infection.

Paging Adrasteia

[muckspout]

Edgard sees Barrow's fluttering eyelids and releases a breath. Not dead. Yet. He still can't see so he pats down Barrow's body gently trying to find the source of the bleeding.

Edgard draws back when he feels an arrow. He curses.

"Barrow!" He says again, but this time he sounds nearly tearful. He shoves it down. He grasps down to his belt to find his crystal.

"Need some help!" He shrieks into it. "A healer! Barrow is down here and he's--" His voice breaks. "Not good."

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia hears the call through the crystal but she also just hears Edgard's voice from some distance away, and so she breaks out in a run, making her way through twisting corridors of stone and darkness before she finds a shape she takes to be Edgard in the dark.

She pulls her pocket lighter out and opens it. It's Edgard, and Barrow, the latter on the ground. Blood, too much of it.

"Hold this," she says, putting the lighter into Edgard's hands and holding her breath. She likes the man but his smell is sharp in the dark. "Has he been able to speak?" She's going to try healing the head wound first, to see how that goes. The arrow, however, gives her a bit of pause. She's going to have to remove it before healing him.

[thereneverwas]

Whether or not any of this is actually happening will be left to later deliberation, because Barrow is too deeply submerged in fever and weakness to fully engage with either person shouting in his vicinity.

His head wound is shallow and already clotted, from where he banged his head on the rocks in their descent; more concerning is the blood from his nose and mouth, staining his stubbly face and still bubbling gently with each labored breath.

notifs are weird pls ping me if very delayed

[muckspout]

Edgard cups the lighter in his hands and gasps a little at the sight of Barrow. He breathes quickly and doesn't immediately hear Adrasteia.

"N-no." He responds. "No talking. Thought he was-- and then it was Barrow."

He stares blankly still holding the lighter, frozen. The sight blurs a little, but he blinks it away and tries to steady his breath.

no worries!

[kantikoy]

Well, the clotting tells her that perhaps the head wound isn't as bad, but the blood from his nose and mouth tells her that the arrow is bad, worse perhaps than she originally thought.

She reaches into her robes and pulls out a flask of healing potion, hoping she can simultaneously get it down Barrow's throat as she manages pushing the arrow through him. Pulling it, she thinks, would do more damage as the tip catches at his internal organs on the way out. She manages to get behind his head, propping it up in her lap, one hand at the arrow where it comes out through his chest. "Alright," she says to everyone assembled but mostly so that she has a plan of attack, "come here," to Edgard, "and hold that lighter closer so I can see. I'm going to push the arrow through, from the back, if you can hold him up a little bit, and then if you can get most of this," indicating the flask "into his mouth at the same time, I'll try healing the damage to his lungs." Hopefully, it's just one lung but either way, she's prepared to pour every ounce of her magic into this.

[thereneverwas]

Having the flask shoved into his mouth and its contents poured down his throat is enough to awaken Barrow, however temporarily, with a violent coughing and sputtering as his body reacts to the new stimulus.

Although conscious, he rather wishes he weren't.

[muckspout]

Edgard has one hand on Barrow's shoulders and one hand on the light. He takes a deep breath to stop them shaking.

"It's going to be alright." He says unconvincingly. Don't die! he only just stops himself from saying.

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia's hand is splayed across Barrow's back at the place where the arrow was just moments ago, having managed to shove it clean through his body and set it aside with a little care; she'll want to see if it's been poisoned later.

She takes a deep breath in and pushes with her magic, knitting together flesh section by section. She thinks of Sidony's books on the way the body is built, and she thinks about faith, and she thinks about Barrow's voice when she's heard it and she prays that this works. That he'll heal, that he'll be whole, that he'll laugh it off after.