[ 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]

Those are interesting assertions to make about James Holden for a number of reasons, but he smiles and lets them pass.

"I get the feeling that's not something to feel too sorry about."

Cazador, that is. He doubts he'd like a lot of the people Astarion had known before falling into Thedas.

[illithidnapped]

Astarion jokes easily about him. Free-flowing, the way his mouth twisted easily even in exhaustion for that prior commentary and all its darker implications— whether or not Holden could possibly glimpse beneath the surface to understand just how deep the ice runs underneath— and so maybe it's no surprise that his mood drops just as quickly in the next beat. Not weathervane, not chaotic.

Sobered.

“You truly have no idea just how lucky you are for it.” The words are slowed by sincerity, his own attention tipping away into deadened air, profile angled towards the ceiling overhead as his eyes drift briefly shut. Easy to pin promise on the idea that it’s Astarion’s lot now, too. Merciful absence.

“We should all hope that’s one creature that never steps through a rift into this world.”

Thedas has quite enough terror already, and the veil might split itself apart to spare potential pain under the crusades of both a tyrant magister and a true vampire lord, if it ever came to that.

“I’ll take your sacrificial virtue, your heroism, and all your irritating kindness over that.”

[acreage]

Jim turns to watch Astarion as he speaks, amusement bleeding out in the wake of that sincerity, in the horror just behind his words. There's so much that he doesn't know about the vampire. And that isn't a thing that bothers him, in the same way that it doesn't bother him that he only knows broad sketches of Amos's past, that it took years for Naomi to start trusting him with her truth. But he's confronted with the breadth of it, in this moment, his ignorance of everything Astarion has been through.

He could promise something like, we'd protect you, and he'd mean it. But it'd be an insult to the darkness lurking beneath the surface of that admission.

Instead, he says, "I'm glad you're here."

[illithidnapped]

“Why would you ever be glad of that?”

A genuine question for once, not a barbed one, even as Astarion huffs for the effort of folding his fingertips against the hem of Holden’s coat, clinging to those heavy seams.

He can’t fathom it. Or— he doesn’t know how to trust it, given the strange juxtaposition of their exchanges thus far.

The way Holden keeps the world at arms length by holding it entirely too close.

“Someone else surely would’ve saved you, you know. And I’m not inclined to lap up pity for my past, if that’s what this is supposed to be.” Those are, after all, the only angles he can glean from all available possibility. “I’m not even the only former slave here.”

Not in Thedas. Not in Riftwatch.

[acreage]

Former slave is a hell of an admission. Even with every dark thing he's alluded to before now, it's unexpected. He doubts Astarion would've made it if he weren't hurt and sick, shivering in the dark. So he swallows, hard, doesn't allow any burst of fresh anger or outrage to breach the surface. Instead, he moves into a position that's actually a little less comfortable than the last — a little sliver of rock, or crystal, or something poking his back just so — and breathes out.

And when he looks to Astarion again, there's a smile, lopsided, on his face. The question doesn't pose much of a challenge to answer.

"I like you." He's also glad Astarion is here, away from that evil fuck, though the argument can be made — compellingly — that he might not be much safer here. "You're weirdly likable for a pain in the ass vampire." Then he shrugs. "You can call it selfishness. I wouldn't have met you if you hadn't come here."

It's wording that, he thinks, may appeal more.

[illithidnapped]

Holden’s right, of course. There’s so much he wouldn’t normally let slip living in the gap between acute awareness and the drowsier loss of inhibition. Even so, as far as Astarion’s concerned, it’s earned just for being here. Lost in the wastes. Keeping him from being alone.

“You— ”

He makes a soft noise of disbelief, blinking rapidly

Normally he’d be cavalier about it. Dismissive. But there’s a difference between saving the world because you’re hellbent on virtue or absolution or the concept of goodness— and saving someone because you happen to approve of having them around. For Astarion, the former will always bring about resentment. The latter, though....

“I’ll call it selfishness, then.” An echo of Jim’s own wording, though it’s feather soft now. Delicately threaded. Something akin to acceptance, and visible throughout his own well-worn state. “....and I’ll take it.”

For once, not out of simple greed.

“When someone’s consumed with doing the right thing, it’s always been a facade, you know. Or a way to make themselves feel better. Something to cling to like a childish pacifier. A blanket. A suckled thumb.” This, now, is all broader talk. Something that excludes Holden, rather than something directed at him; he’s proven he’s different.

Or— or Astarion now thinks he is.

“Good people aren’t good people.” Naive, unknowing, lacking in cruel bite, or utterly passive, yes, fine, all those are possible— but not goodness.

He pauses there, knuckles warmer as they press against the lining of that coat. Turning away from bitterness towards something far more relevant.

“...thank you. For not leaving me alone in the dark.”

[acreage]

He hears Astarion out.

He listens, doesn't interrupt at any point. It's becoming increasingly easy to understand why Astarion might have trouble trusting him, trusting anyone, trusting the idea of good intentions. And the truth is, this isn't unfamiliar to him.

"You're giving me too much credit."

But that simple, brief protest is as much as he'll say in response to that. It isn't what he thinks that matters, here and now. Instead, he goes on,

"You're welcome. You should try to get some sleep, if you can. I won't go anywhere."

[illithidnapped]

It’s the last part that seems to slacken him entirely— or at least whatever portion of his posture that was still left on guard, inherently wound up like a spring for all the trouble lurking down here in the dark.

So he moves, though it’s painful. Just by a near inch, turning more to one side— jacket clutched tight, the thinnest barrier between them, blanket still draped across them both— fitting his gaunt cheek to the warmer slope of Holden’s shoulder.

If the man moves. If he intends to leave for anything, Astarion will sense it.

Satisfied with that knowledge, sleep comes all too quickly.