[ 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

[acreage]

He finds the thread first. It's possible that his boot catches on a low-hanging portion of the thread first, but that still counts as finding and no one but him will ever know. So.

He's leaning, a hand on the string and eyebrows furrowed, as he wonders what he's looking at. Looking in either direction just shows him knotted connections to other threads, a steady cable into the gloom. Someone, he thinks, is a fan of the story of Ariadne; or else thought she was really onto something.

The only problem is that there's no way of knowing if this person, whoever they are, is friend or foe.

So, naturally, he follows the path to find out.

[broodypants]

There is silence in the glittering dark. Fenris senses movement in the sand, and folds himself into shadow. The string stops moving, stops twitching in the ghost of a breeze.

When Fenris is sure he has the advantage, he pulls down his hood, and lets the lyrium tattoos shine. Their blue light glows through fabric, through leather, through everything but metal. A strange sight in Thedas.

His voice is as deep as the caverns themselves. "You are with Riftwatch."

A challenge, not a question.

[acreage]

In another set of circumstances, this encounter goes differently.

If they'd met by daylight, for instance, where the whole of Fenris would be easier to see; where Holden might recognize his face, from around the Gallows, or recall his voice from the crystals. If they weren't a mere handful of klicks from a major Venatori stronghold, the danger of discovery very real. If this weren't so shortly after the dragon over Tantervale.

But this is not another set of circumstances. So instead of connecting blue with lyrium, as any Theodosian native would — as he could, if things were different, because he does know better —

instead, he feels an instinctive flush of panic. There will never be a time when glowing blue doesn't hit him squarely in the protomolecule fears; there are just better and worse days. A confusion of instincts means his hand goes to the hilt of his sword but expects to find a gun, but a delay in drawing probably works in his favor right now. The clear lack of accoutrement in the Tevinter style, colors, may help too; or at least, point towards answering Fenris's question. What helps less is,

"What the hell are you?"

[broodypants]

In his time, people have reacted to Fenris in myriad ways. This is neither the strangest, or the most discouraging. It is, however, cause for alarm. Fenris hefts a sword longer than himself without evident difficulty, holding it in a defensive posture. Moving his grey cloak aside, he reveals armor in a Tevene style, though a more studious eye may note it's many seasons out of fashion.

Fenris' voice is dark, even as the blue markings over his body flare to greater brightness.

"That depends," he says, "on who you are."

[acreage]

Riftwatch, the man had asked. And his brain catches up with him enough to remember that hybrids don't speak. More pressing danger is the bigass sword, and the armor that's recognizably Tevene. But he doesn't move to escalate — doesn't move at all — instead asking harshly,

"Depends how?"

[broodypants]

This is becoming circuitous. Fenris huffs with displeasure; he was never a patient creature. "You are with Riftwatch," he presses, teeth bared.

His grip on the sword tightens.

"Otherwise, I will make your death quick."

[acreage]

...yeah, okay, that doesn't sound Venatori. Slowly, he lets go of the hilt, puts his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

"You're right, I am with Riftwatch. Can I assume you are too?"

[broodypants]

Slowly, Fenris lowers his sword. He gives a wary nod. "Yes," he says, "you are here to form a rescue?"

Excuse him if he sounds skeptical. To Fenris' eye, Holden just looks lost... but maybe that's just his face.

[acreage]

"That's the idea."

If there's a little sarcasm inflected in his tone, well.

"We've got healers for the wounded." The wounded being all three of them stranded down here, but you know. "Did you come alone?"

[broodypants]

Fenris nods, slow. His eyes, well adjusted to darkness, look Holden over now as a comrade. He's left unsure of the man's utility. "Can you fight? Or are you a medic?"

[acreage]

"I can fight," he says, dropping his hands. Definitely not a medic, in this situation; not unlike Tiffany, he isn't going to be trying any kind of field medicine with healers around.

"Is the thread yours, or should I be expecting someone else to show up?"

If they were both investigating that, it's probably better to find that out now and not when a third party enters the mix.

[broodypants]

"They are mine," Fenris confirms. He studies the other man once more, and seems to find what he wants-- his hackles lower, his sword is sheathed. "I am Fenris," he says, "and the thread is mine."

He turns to keep going, to lay the groundwork, expecting his new companion to follow.

[acreage]

There's not much to do but follow, really, so he does. The name Fenris isn't entirely unfamiliar, now that he thinks about it, though he's sure he'd remember an elf with blue markings. Now that Fenris has been established as an ally, he's

still uncomfortable about it. But he can deal with that.

"Holden," he supplies, as they walk. "You're mapping the area?"

[broodypants]

Fenris nods, not one much for talking. "When I reach a dead end, I go back."

He intends to find the lost. That much should be obvious.

[acreage]

"It's a good idea." The path they walk branches, but Holden waves dismissively at one path, saying, "That one is a dead end."

Very possibly where he'd been, pretty shortly before running into Fenris. There's a temptation to ask what Fenris intends to do if an enemy starts following the string as well; but he's pretty sure he got a glimpse of it already. The sword clearly isn't just for show.

[broodypants]

Fenris nods; he always appreciates time saved. It makes him reconsider whether this man is of use.

"Do you know them?" He says, "the... wounded. The lost." The people they're looking for.

[acreage]

"Not the Seeker," he says, to start with.

Or not really. He's surely heard her voice on the crystals, seen her face around the Gallows; but a vague sense that someone is also a part of Riftwatch is hardly knowing.

"I've known Barrow a while, and Astarion as long as he's been here."

Which is a funny thing, how different his short-lived first impression of the vampire had been.

"You?"

[broodypants]

Fenris' shoulders slump, not in disappointment, but in the last of his wariness ebbing away. He sighs, and gestures vaguely into the darkness. "How many times has he insulted you? My count is... at least forty times."

Astarion, of course. Astarion.

[acreage]

He doesn't quite laugh, but it's a very near thing.

"I've lost count." More than forty sounds plenty reasonable, but he wouldn't be surprised if it was higher — for either of them, for reasons that are entirely to do with Astarion. "He was insulting me while saving my life in Tantervale. I don't think he'd actually stop for anything."

[broodypants]

"It's how he posits himself as superior," Fenris says, easy and without apparent judgement. "He believes himself destined for finer things. Or at least deserving."

[acreage]

"I figured he just enjoys being annoying," is dry enough to clearly not be a real judgment.