faderift | MOD PLOT ↠ ALL SOULS WHO TAKE UP THE SWORD

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MOD PLOT ↠ ALL SOULS WHO TAKE UP THE SWORD

WHO: Nearly everyone
WHAT: Retaking Val Chevin
WHEN: Late Firstfall into early/mid-Haring, 9:47
WHERE: Val Chevin, Orlais
NOTES: Generated injuries here! CWs for violence, slavery mentions. Use content warnings in your comment subject lines as needed.

THE BATTLE

The battle begins just after dawn, once the distraction at the harbor has drawn as much of the enemy force to that end of the city as possible. Bombardment (magical or otherwise) is fruitless while the elvhen shield artifact continues to magically reinforce the walls and gates, but a Riftwatch team is on its way and will soon have disabled it. In the meantime, while the enemy's attention is focused on the harbor the assault begins. The first waves of soldiers are sent up ladders to try to fight their way over. Some make it, and fight their way along the battlements to try to reach the gate below, in hopes of unbarring it from within even before the shield is broken. The attacking force very nearly manages a lightning-quick victory, numbers pouring over a section of the wall left unmanned by the harbor distraction. They might have managed it when, suddenly, a rush of magic descends down onto the walls, physically, enough to blow their hair back and everything, and a glowing dome spreads over the city—essentially an enormous magical barrier.

Those at the tops of ladders suddenly find their blows absorbed by the magic rather than landing on the overwhelmed guards along the wall, while the defenders' blades still pierce through from within. The tide quickly begins to turn in favor of the Tevinter defenders. Some of the attackers are caught already within the walls when the barrier drops, and without more following behind them are quickly outnumbered, either killed or forced to flee deeper into the city to try to avoid capture. There is traffic jam at the top of the wall as forward progress abruptly halts, and at least one ladder accidentally falls in the resulting confusion, taking a dozen or so attackers with it. Attacks from the walls above now rain down with impunity as the attackers attempt to force their way through the barrier, reasoning that all barriers break eventually and it's just a matter of applying enough force. For a short period that feels longer, the battle stagnates, all the damage being taken by the allied forces, the Tevinters on the wall able to regroup and reinforce their ranks.

It takes longer than anyone had planned but finally the Riftwatch team inside the city is successful and the barrier dome dissipates as abruptly as it had appeared. A cheer goes up, flagging morale restored, and the assault takes on renewed intensity. Without their magical protection the gate is no longer unbreachable. Rams are aimed at it and magical force as well, protected by archers and more mages, with assistance from some griffon riders above. The enemy throws down scalding stones, oil, even Antivan fire, but their force is stretched thinner and thinner, and more and more attackers make it over the walls to harry them back. Finally the gate splinters, and the armies of Orlais and the Divine stream into Val Chevin.

The Tevinter and Ander forces don't give in that easily. They make a stand in the central square of the city, fighting on the steps of the Chantry and the lip of the great fountain itself with its four leaping seahorses. They retreat through the streets, broken up into smaller groups, some barricading themselves inside a building, others seeking to hide in a home, more running, or looking for chokepoints they can defend, mages tearing stones out of walls to block pursuit. Some of the people of Val Chevin, sensing an end to the occupation at last, join the fight, driving soldiers out of their homes and shops with pitchforks and butcher's knives, raining trash and debris down on them from windows, calling out warnings and directions to friendly forces, offering water or aid where they can.

By mid-afternoon, it's over. Some of the occupying force have managed to flee into the countryside or into one of the few ships remaining intact in the harbor. Many more are dead. The remainder, perhaps as many as a thousand, are gradually cornered at various places around the city and give themselves up. Not all surrenders are honored--some, particularly Orlesians and locals caught up in the fighting, are eager to dispatch the enemy occupiers once and for all and unless someone intervenes may ignore the laying down of arms. Stragglers still attempting to hide or escape are rounded up throughout the day (some even later), tracked down by searchers or turned in by locals.

THE "SAFE AND SECURE" SHIP

Anchored at what is believed to be a safe distance just up the coast to the northeast of the city, Riftwatch's shipboard base of operations provides a landing and launch area for griffons, triage for wounded, and on large tables and boards a collection of detailed maps of the area and of the city and its various districts on which action is tracked as crystal reports come in. Some are assigned to shifts manning the crystals: taking in reports, asking questions, soliciting aid, sending griffon riders where they're most needed. Others analyze the information provided, plot it on the maps, or coordinate with allied movements. Supplies are doled out from the ship as well, from spare weapons and armor to food and water, grenades, lyrium potions, healing poultices. Though the breeze only intermittently carries the sounds of battle out here, the ship is still a buzz with activity throughout the day.

Disaster doesn't strike until the afternoon, when a group of Tevinters fleeing the city manage to commandeer one of the remaining mostly-intact ships and somehow make it out of the harbor despite not entirely knowing how to sail. They straggle out into the bay, catch the wrong current, and are suddenly on top of the Riftwatch ship. Though smaller and already beginning to sink, the Tevinter vessel manages to tangle itself with Riftwatch's anchor cable, and the couple of mages on board make a doomed attempt to trade up for the bigger, more seaworthy model. They fail, but not before managing to do some serious damage to Riftwatch's ship, sufficient to sink it as well.

A hasty evacuation follows by griffon and longboat. The ship sinks rapidly, leaving just barely enough time to get all the wounded ferried to shore and still come back for the healthy before they go down with the ship.

THE AFTERMATH

IMMEDIATE NEEDS

First things first: the wounded from the battle need to be attended to, including not only those from Riftwatch's ranks, but also members of the Orlesian military, local civilians, and Tevinter and Ander prisoners—though opinions vary about whether or not to provide them with any assistance. The Orlesian military has supplies and surgeons, and Riftwatch will be welcome to either seek care or help provide it in medical tents that are set up on the outskirts of the city even before the fighting has fully concluded. During this first evening, this area is not a peaceful place to be, filled with shouts and moans and blood-spattered people darting between emergencies. Even with Riftwatch's help (and magic), resources are stretched thin enough by severe injuries that those who look like they're going to survive without help might be turned away to deal with their pain and cosmetic concerns the old fashioned ways: finding elfroot sprouting up between the cobblestones to chew on, or gritting their teeth and getting over it.

Throughout the night, paranoia persists about the possibility that belated reinforcements—or, worse, a dragon—might arrive to prolong the battle. Soldiers keep watch along the walls and at some forward locations, and Riftwatch's griffon riders are sent to observe the portions of the occupying force that fled north and ensure there's nothing amiss. Nothing seems to be, but continuing to lightly harass the Tevinter and Ander forces to hurry them on their way and keep them from pausing to ransack anything won't hurt.

In the morning, back in Val Chevin, those who look strong and uninjured are enlisted to help with clearing debris from the places where the fighting was heavy and magical enough to collapse walls and roofs or topple statues, or else loading bodies onto carts bound for the pyres outside the city. By mid-morning plumes of smoke streak the sky. The bulk of the damage and death is concentrated on the docks, where the dreadnought crashed and where the initial smash-and-burn fighting took place. Meanwhile, throughout the harbor, griffons will prove useful in examining the water for concentrations of floating bodies—which need to be fished out to avoid a walking dead problem in the future—or debris that's potentially either useful or dangerous. Given what the dreadnought assault team reports, there's also a careful search for any red lyrium-infested sea creatures in the harbor, but while other pens like the one that contained the very large red lyrium octopus they encountered, all have been destroyed in the chaos and no other beasts are spotted.

TAKING STOCK

Over the course of the week, supplies arrive by land and by sea from across Orlais—some from the government, some from charitable patriots who put together donation drives as soon as they heard the news. About eighty percent are practical and useful: winter shoes and clothing, flour and preserves and other long-lasting foods, bolts of fabric, apothecary supplies, a few dairy animals and chickens. The usefulness of the rest varies, including a crate of used toys (labeled FOR THE SWEET PEASANT CHILDREN), an assortment of expensive hats that were in season last winter, and collections of plain masks and face paints in case Tevinter was cruelly forcing anyone to go barefaced. Riftwatch is given leave to distribute these to people as they find needs to meet.

The surviving Orlesian civilians who have been trapped in the occupied city for the last two and a half years haven't been as starved or brutalized as popular imagination may have assumed, but the experience has been plenty miserable. Outside of a few public executions, agitators and those who fomented rebellion against the occupiers have by and large disappeared more quietly. Due to its collective general experience with the Tevinter language and magic, Riftwatch is given the fairly depressing task of sorting through the cells and torture chambers in Val Chevin's central keep, where records and other evidence of executions remain. It's enough to determine who died and how. Some had quick deaths; others were tortured or used for blood magic rituals. A handful appear to have been removed from the city and sent north to be held in Tevinter instead. Relaying the specifics to family members will generally be the responsibility of Orlesian officials, but family members eager for information may corner Riftwatchers coming or going from the fortress to press them for details.

Over the next couple weeks Riftwatch is also called to assist with handling other remnants of the Tevinter occupation, such as translating documents, evaluating evidence of blood magic, and sorting through relics and enchanted objects accumulated by the Venatori. Among the things left behind is a trove of elven artifacts seemingly extracted from nearby temples. None are as powerful as the shield; most seem to be completely unmagical cultural relics.

Elsewhere, many locals were evicted from their homes to make room for Tevinter occupiers. While Orlesian officials sort through claims to those homes, including several contentious competing claims, Riftwatch is sent into them to sort through what the enemy left behind and make sure they're safe for their occupants to return to. In many they find the ashy remains of hastily burned private documents and a variety of fairly mundane magical objects: spoons that stir themselves, hats that are always cool on the inside, candles that light and extinguish in response to clapping.Each is the work of a bound spirit that can be released or destroyed—or left to continue its eternal work, if someone wants to pocket an object rather than restore it to its original inanimate state. Throughout the city, there may also be opportunities to reunite grateful civilians with appropriated belongings ranging from fine art to beloved old horses.

Orlesians aren't the only ones in the city in need of assistance. A small number of Tevinter slaves—exclusively those performing menial tasks, as far as anyone can tell—remain in the city now that their masters have been killed or captured. With the Orlesian populace and military inclined, on average, to consider them threats and collaborators, Riftwatch's intervention on their behalf is necessary. Interviewing them and checking their stories against witness accounts and Tevinter records, to ensure none of them are Venatori mages or gleeful torturers in disguise, will allow Riftwatch to vouch for them confidently. They may also be able to find sympathetic locals willing to shelter and hire those who would like to remain in the city, though there aren't that many who do want to stay.

Throughout their time in the city, Riftwatch representatives are asked to report what they find regarding the treatment of the locals and any practice of blood magic. While Orlesian officers ask for Riftwatch members to give this information to them directly, it's quickly clear that it's likely to influence Orlais' decisions about how to deal with the thousand-odd Tevinter prisoners. Individuals identified as responsible for atrocities are being tortured or executed, especially if they're unlikely to have or provide information, and there is nothing ensuring the entire group won't be ultimately executed after the dust settles. With that in mind, Riftwatch receives instructions from the Division Heads to instead bring the information to them so it can be compiled, double-checked, screened for any individuals Riftwatch may need to question themselves, and delivered with a diplomatic touch.

GOING HOME (OR NOT)

Approximately a week after the battle, as the majority of Riftwatch is preparing to leave, Empress Celene and members of her retinue arrive in Val Chevin. They're greeted by a restrained military parade and less restrained enthusiasm from the civilians, who will line the streets to catch a glimpse and celebrate the symbolic return of the city to full Orlesian control. Riftwatch's attendance is not mandatory. Most of the organization leaves that day to return to Kirkwall and their other work. However, a small number remain behind for a few more days, overseen by the heads of Diplomacy and Forces, to provide administrative support while the Ambassador and Commander liaise with the Empress' people about their plans for the Tevinter prisoners. As thanks, they might be invited to endure a few stifling fancy dinners.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I. No Surrender

The streets of Val Chevin are red with blood in some places, and though Ellie's never properly seen war, she's no stranger to the horrific violence. Sometimes, she thinks it's something that comes back, settling over her shoulders like a well-worn coat, but other times she knows it's in her skin. In her blood. It's something that'll never leave.

The enemy soldiers are starting to break and fall back. Some are cornered, wounded, flagging, and others are fighting to the death.

Ellie's dropped in from above to force a small group of them back, and four of them have temporarily separated her from her griffon, driven her down an alleyway to block her in. It's close quarters, too close to use her bow, too close to blink out of sight and slip away, and they're coming in fast.

She pulls a knife, and her eyes burn gold.

"A mage!" one of the soldiers screams, and rushes her. She lunges, predator fast, and blood paints the wall of the alleyway in a curving splatter.

No human should be able to pull that off. But magic or no magic, she's cornered.

II. A Sinking Ship

Piracy's clearly not all it's cracked up to be. Ellie's safely in the air when she catches wind of the bullshit going down on the coast, and while she's a touch worse for wear, she's still very much in this fight.

The ships are floundering, the anchor lines pulled tight, and the crack of the hull sounds very much like a thunderclap, slicing through the air around her and Artichoke. He gives a piercing shriek, and Ellie as gasp as the vessel starts listing to one side. Even if she's not very well-versed in how ships work, it's pretty fucking obvious this one is sinking.

Gritting her teeth, Ellie grips with her knees, sitting up in the saddle, and pulls an arrow out of her quiver as they go into a dive. She pulls back, and as they hit the mark, she lets the arrow loose. It slams through the throat of one of the assailants, which had been aiming for one of the escaping longboats.

A second later, she spots someone who is definitely not one of Corypheus' soldiers, still trapped on the deck of the sinking ship.

"Got you!" she yells, and turns Artichoke. They don't have enough level space to land, so they'll have to time this right.

She outstretches her good hand as they come in hot, ready to snatch them up from the sinking ship.

III. The Price of War

The aftermath is always the worst. The dead haven't been dead long, but if they wait much longer the rot will set in. Ellie is one of the few loading up the carts, fishing through pockets to see what personal effects can be returned to families. Citizens, enemy soldiers, and their Riftwatch's own, they're all so similar now.

Ellie's doing steady work, but she pauses over one of the bodies; an enemy soldier curled up on his side, around what looks like a broken-off spear shoved into his side. As Ellie goes to move him he groans softly, reaching out a blood-streaked hand for hers.

He begs, softly. Far gone. Ellie kneels down next to him, draws her knife, and without any bit of hesitation, pulls it across the skin of his throat.

Blood soaks the stone around her knees, and Ellie stays there a moment, looking at his face, before she reaches out to thumb his eyes closed.

"Help me lift this one, would you?" she asks, her voice level.

Wandering in a daze, at least as best he can while the ship tilts and pitches, Mado's face is colorless and his eyes dull despite how he looks to the sound of Ellie's voice. He grips the ship railing with what appears to be his good arm, the other bandaged around the shoulder but already bled through.

He grips her hand with a wince of pain, using the momentum from her griffon to pull himself upward, transforming briefly into a far more easily conveyed rock dove-- and it's lucky his aim is good, because he immediately flops onto Artichoke's back, the little bird's right wing so damaged as to be nearly coming off.

He doesn't transform back just yet. As the dove, he closes his eyes and nestles into the side of Ellie's leg, gripping the griffon's fur weakly with his claws.

If Ellie hadn't seen Mado transform herself, she might not have believed it. But between one heartbeat and the next, she's gone from carrying a young man to a badly injured little bird.

"Jesus Christ," Ellie whispers, pressing her hand down protectively along his back, pulling Artichoke up and out of the line of any enemy fire, stabilizing the wing with her hand. It probably hurts like hell, but she wants to be careful not to do any more damage.

Once they pull up enough and their flight levels out, Ellie lets go of Artichoke to gather Mado up in both hands, holding him to her chest, tucking him in underneath her cloak. She's warm, and her heartbeat's fast, but she hopes it'll help keep him from going into shock.

"I've got you, buddy," she murmurs, wrapping her cloak around them both to keep them warm, leaning forward a bit.

"I won't let you go."

Having spent all his energy on the flight, and now too weak to do anything more than breathe, Mado nonetheless appreciates the warmth. His own little bird heart beats against Ellie's chest, signaling his continued vitality, at least for the time being.

Ellie goes silent, just holding him on the flight, blood slick and sticky against her collarbone.

"Almost there," she murmurs, her voice gentle as they start their descent to the shore, to where the longboats are unloading. Artichoke gallumphs to a stop on solid ground, folding his great wings and clacking his beak as Ellie swings out of the saddle, sliding down his side to the ground.

She makes her way towards any of the healers, doing her best not to jostle him too much, hoping she can find somebody who can stop the bleeding. If not, she'll have to take a crack at it herself.

Even if he were awake enough to make the decision otherwise, Mado likely would have remained a dove for the duration of the journey and after, if only because it makes him all the more portable.

However, it may be difficult to convince someone that a bird needs immediate medical attention. It's fortunate that there's a faint consciousness thrumming through him still, one eye opening blearily as they reach solid ground.

Ellie rushes into one of the healers' tents. They're crowded now, with wounded everywhere, but most are waterlogged, shivering but okay, needing to warm up after their unceremonious dunk into the sea.

Ellie gives a glance around the tent, then makes for a free cot in the corner, kneeling down next to it and whispering to the dove in her hands.

"I'm gonna hide you, so nobody sees you change back," she whispers to him, with a there-and-gone stroke of a fingertip along to top of his bird-head. Carefully, she places him on the cot, then pulls up one side of the fur covering the cot, creating a makeshift blind for him. She blocks up by his face with her body.

Perhaps he'll thank her for this later, if he remembers. In the meantime, Ellie's whisper is enough to prompt him into what must be done next; when he's lain on the cot, a few moments pass before he shifts back with a weak cry of pain.

The bandage is still over his shoulder, but absolutely soaked through with blood, which already is beginning to stain the fabric of the cot beneath it. Though he's conscious, there's a glaze over his eyes, heat radiating from the wound as well as his forehead as he looks dully up into Ellie's face.

He looks so much older when he isn't smiling.

"Mamae," he croaks, in a voice low and soft, "sei tornato per me?"

"Fuck," Ellie chokes out, reaching up to touch Mado's sweaty curls. She's seen plenty of people hurt, and this is bad. She wonders how long ago this happened, if anybody's tried to help him, to fix him up. To stop the bleeding.

She can't understand what he says, but the meaning's clear enough.

"S'okay," she mutters, shrugging off her cloak, knowing instinctively that bandages won't be enough. She shifts closer -- the wing was coming off. Is his arm? Does that translate? Should she try to save his arm, or will that have him bleeding out?

She calls out to a healer -- acknowledged, but not immediately available. So Ellie takes her cloak and presses it over the wound, putting pressure on it, for all the good it'll do. There are tears in her eyes, but she ignores them.

Instead, she hums softly under her breath, comforting them both.

OTA: cw violence, death

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