[ 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

[broodypants]

[A huff of air, light in the darkness.]

You are rather sentimental when injured.

[illithidnapped]

[He laughs— and then coughs. The cinched hissing that follows is a sign he knows it was a terrible mistake— though the hoarseness in his voice still reeks of humor when he adds:]

Well. Good thing I don’t make a habit of almost dying, then. People might start to think I’ve got a heart.

[And how dreadful that would be.]

[broodypants]

And dramatic as well.

Are your injuries entirely due to your fall?

[illithidnapped]

Oh— [It’s an afterthought of an amused scoff. Of course he hadn’t heard, rushing in with a single focus.] No. Those were just the icing on the cake.

Magic, that’s what did it. Is...doing it, so to speak.

[Astarion needs a moment longer to manage sucking in breath to force irrefutability into the equation:]

Not to worry, I’ve had worse.

[broodypants]

So to speak?

You hardly sound up to anything other than rest. Don't try to move.

[illithidnapped]

They’ve got an eluvian. At the base nearby. To and from Minrathous, that’s how they’re doing it.

[There’s no real explanation for his segue. Maybe his focus is slipping, maybe he’s worried about what might happen if this takes too long— or maybe he’s just searching for topics as though they’re footholds to keep clutching fast to this brittle comfort, not wanting to let go just yet.]

I don’t— I don’t think the others have mentioned it to anyone else. There wasn’t much time between the start of our exit and everything going to shit. [His fault, of course, but he’s not possessive of any regrets.]

[broodypants]

An eluvian... [Disgusted noise.] Those only bring trouble. As I'm sure you've seen.

Was it corrupted? Did you- did you go near it?

[illithidnapped]

[Astarion's breath hitches in a baleful hiss.

Corrupted?? They can be corrupted???]

...I...wouldn’t know how to tell if it was.

We drew near but— we were careful. Kept out of sight, only stuck to the tower walls and scaffolding.

How dangerous is it?

[broodypants]

Some house the Blight. They cannot be purified.

Corypheus has the same ailment.

[illithidnapped]

If that’s so, I don’t think we were in any danger just by clambering about in general proximity. I certainly didn’t feel unwell until— well. [The pause he steals there is both a means of venting muddied bitterness and catching his own breath.] I’d almost had the little bastard that struck me, you know. Half an inch higher and my arrow would’ve split his skull like an apple.

At least the others before him went down easily.

...you would’ve been pleased.

[Astarion’s still proud of it. No one tell Barrow or Tiffany.]

[broodypants]

Many things house the Blight. Elven artifacts included.

I've never doubted your skill. Or your ability to bounce back.

[Hint, etc.]

[illithidnapped]

[He makes a gentle noise there. Quiet.

It’s another beat before he adds:]

You doubted my skill a little.

Probably the ruffles.

[broodypants]

[Fine, fine.]

Initially, I thought you were all... talk. A great deal of talk.

[illithidnapped]

Just my luck.

I finally win you over and the world conspires.

[broodypants]

This world always conspires, and will keep on conspiring. It is hungry for upheaval.

But don't let that make you feel less special.

[illithidnapped]

[He laughs, and it hurts— ] Mmph.

Talking to you is an agonizing pastime, I hope you know.

[broodypants]

I would advise shutting up, but I don't like hopeless endeavors.

[illithidnapped]

[He stifles it better this time, the urge to react.]

Things being what they are, I might not have much control over that anyway.

[Exhaustion is a beastly thing, and as the seconds tick on, it's winning out.]

You will hurry, won't you?

I'm not usually one to ask, but—

[well.]

[broodypants]

The line goes silent, for a time. Fenris is making his way to the sound of the noise, the softness of a voice. Wouldn't it be easier, then, to keep talking? Fenris has never been one for the easy path.

He finds Astarion rather dazed. "You've ruined your frock."

[illithidnapped]

He hears Fenris first. A different sort of scuffing echoing along cavernous walls compared to the type he’s heard before, heralding trouble.

But dazed is right. Thinking clearly is for someone better off, and so he errs on the side of caution even after he smells the faintest touch of ozone in the air, fingers quick to reach for the hilt of his dagger, oversharpened teeth clicked together as blue seeps slowly into view—

And ebbs away the moment he hears that unmistakable voice.

“Never much loved it anyway...”

He isn’t upright. That might go without saying. Still settled in frigid sand to keep a clear line between irritant and injury— and to keep his own head, as far as blood flow and common sense are concerned.

Also, for what it's worth, great for playing dead.

“Almost thought you were one of them. One of these days...I’ll need to teach you a thing or two about subtlety.”

[broodypants]

"I am subtle enough."

Fenris crouches in the sand, looking Astarion over. How will he get him out of here? It will be slow and awkward, but that can be a better victory than rushed and vicious. Without waiting for Astarion's assent, he begins to pick the man up in a bridal carry.

"Hold still."

[illithidnapped]

In field treatment is a miserable thing. It does the job, but it could, all things considered, do a better job. His wounds are only barely closed. Only the worst of them stymied, the cloying rime that'd stuck fast mostly reduced now to fringe chill and stiffened frost. More than anything else, he just wants out.

To not be left alone in the dark.

Even so, the choked-off exhale that escapes him as he’s hefted up into sturdy arms is the only sign of discomfort he entertains, fitting his cheek to the uninviting lip of Fenris’ cloak-covered breastplate, eking out a space for himself to brace against movement.

“—not one for foreplay, I see.”

[broodypants]

"Very funny," Fenris says, unamused.

There is the matter of pain. Fenris doesn't like causing it unintentionally. He's aware Astarion is injured, that is the entire point of this enterprise. Fenris can't fix it.

Moving through sandy caverns, Fenris asks, "what are the extent of your injuries?"

[illithidnapped]

“Nothing to fuss over."

Fenris might dislike being the catalyst for further discomfort, but whatever jostling plays out is merely the segue between a despairing point A and a deeply desired point B: Astarion wants this. And if he needs to say as much out loud, he will.

If, that is.

"The bandages will hold, I’m sure— as long as you don’t start shaking me about like a fledgling gnoll by its withering scruff." In the meanwhile, consider him still deeply impressed those talons don’t ever seem to be anything but perfectly controlled. Not even biting into his skin as he rests heavy in their grasp.

"Trust me, it’s nothing compared to old scars."

He shifts his chin a little more, shutting his eyes in easing transit. Adjusting to it.

"And...for the record, you’re much warmer than frozen cavern floors."

[broodypants]

Fenris' elf-eyes glint in darkness, illuminating a familiar scowl. "Tell me where to avoid, at least."

Yes, he can see bandages, smell blood, hear Astarion's incessantly vague complaints. That does not qualify as the sort of detailed information he needs to feel secure in this endeavor. His gauntlets do not catch or tear, but they could be more exact.

Fenris could always be more exact.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"