[ 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

[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.

[fairforce]

Tiffany frowns at that, but there is a job to be done here and she will do it. She presses the needle in, pushes the plunger--holds, waiting, then pulls it out smoothly and presses her thumb and first two fingers in that spot instead. She can feel the steady rhythm of Barrow's heartbeat there. He's weak but he's alive, and he will continue to be so.

"I don't believe that." She looks up at him, her fingers still pressed to his arm. Blood has already dripped down along the side of his temple. She will need to wipe it away. Does she dare to put pressure there, to try to stop the flow? Or would that only make it worse. "That people get what they deserve. I don't believe that's the way that the world works."

[thereneverwas]

The lyrium offers instant reprieve, and Barrow sighs deeply as he feels his muscles begin to unclench. There's additional pain as they sag around the arrow, and his face tenses in response-- it seems he can't win, but at least the tremors will stop for a while.

"Perhaps-- not," he huffs, a little too distracted to focus fully on the conversation, the draw of his brow indicating exactly where his mind is.
"--thank you," is shuddered out, his eyes squeezing closed. There's no winning here.

[fairforce]

"Of course."

Tiffany lays her hand on his for a moment, a gentle press to remind him that she's still here. The pain is plain on his face. She hasn't been there, precisely, but she knows how terrible it is to be hurting and alone. No one should have to suffer that.

"Don't fall asleep," she reminds him. "I'll be terribly bored without your conversation. I'd thought I could rely on Astarion--he seems to always have something to say--but he's all the way over there, and I'm going to be sitting over here for now. And I think yelling will draw all the wrong kind of attention. So unfortunately, it's up to you to entertain me."

[thereneverwas]

It takes Barrow a moment to collect himself, to control his expression back into something that isn't a grimace. Every breath only enhances the deep, searing ache, given new clarity by the lyrium's effect.

Bless the stuff for being nearby, and damn it for existing.

Another shuddering breath, and he nods, clinging to Tiffany's gentle words. "Do you," he wheezes, "like poetry,"

[fairforce]

Tiffany laughs, quietly, the sort of laugh you give when it's late and everyone else has gone to bed and you don't want to wake them. Carefully, slowly, she shifts the way that she's sitting so that she can stretch her legs out in front of her and put her back against the wall of the cliff beside Barrow. The rearranging takes longer than it ought to. That particular worrying ache in her ribs doesn't make moving easy. Her armor doesn't help.

"I feel like I've aged seventy years," she says, half to herself. "Do you like poetry? Or are you guessing at what I might like?"

[thereneverwas]

"I like..." Barrow gasps, measuredly, "some poetry." He pauses, his eyes falling closed a moment.
"...the filthy kind."

[fairforce]

That makes her snort.

"Disgusting." It's too light to be a true judgement. "Go on, then. Recite me one."

[thereneverwas]

It's like he's been waiting his whole life for this (and, you know everyone has favorites).

"A harlot who came from Churneau," he begins in a rasp, pronouncing 'Churneau' in the terrible provincial Fereldan way, which is to say, 'Chernew';
"...filled up her nethers with glue."
Each breath is measured, his eyelids fluttering from the effort.
"She said with a grin... if... they pay to get in... they'll..."

He coughs.
"...pay to get... out of it, too."

[fairforce]

"Oh," Tiffany says, and lets her head loll back against the side of the cliff wall. "No. I hate that."

She's grinning all the same. Hate is to be taken with a grain of salt.