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

𝟏) 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠

The battle is dealt with in waves. Abby doesn't much mind so long as there's time to catch her breath in-between stops and starts. Out in a fight she's loud, and she draws attention. She snarls, and spits, and curses at bodies that fall beneath the wet thunk of her spiked mace, and the people on Riftwatch's side quickly learn to use her as a shield, that they can hide behind her bulk and let her carve pathways through. She's good like that: a furious battering ram.

The dispelling of the shield makes their formation messy though, and it's not long before she accidentally finds herself turned around and half-blinded by sweat in her eyes.

The end of the mace pulls up sharply before it can hit anybody on her own side, careening hard into the earth. A close thing, too close for comfort. Abby winces in apology, and wipes her face, and yanks her weapon back up into both hands all in the same breath.

"Shit," she pants, sheepish, "Sorry about that."

𝟐) 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟

And later–

When most of the fighting has died out, and they're all reeling in their blood-stained silence, Abby is helping somebody through the mess toward the tents. She'd already been on her way there herself, had come across somebody limp and staggering, and stopped to loop her good arm around their waist.

Her other is dangling very painfully at her side, obviously fucked. There's an egg-sized lump welling up on the reverse side of her elbow that she can't see, but for now it could be sprained, could be badly bruised... Let her believe, okay. She's sweating, very uncomfortable and struggling to keep her fellow fighter upright.

Could use another limb, if you've got one going.

𝟑) 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

Well, not that long, but the triumphant return is set to be extremely undignified when you're not allowed on a horse without supervision. Abby's been instructed to partner up with somebody. Her arm has been set and splinted reassuringly, the worst of the pain kept at bay by healers, but she can't use it at all. And she isn't really allowed to use the working one either, much to her dismay.

"Fucksake," she mutters, angry, embarrassed to be in this situation- she's essentially waiting around to be picked up.

Edited 2021-12-08 02:54 (UTC)

The lull in the fighting is a welcome relief. Glimmer feels exhausted, as if she's used every last drop of herself up blasting the enemy in every way she can think of and at last, at last it's over. Her darling Blanche has been landed to be tended to, fed and watered and now Glimmer can try to rest.

Too bad Glimmer pushes herself harder than she should, really. She's lingering at the edge of the camp when she spots Abby and the other fighter. Without pausing to think about her own state, she hurries over to loop an arm around Abby and help support her.

"Abby, oh Gods you look like a mess--!"

"Wow, thanks," Abby grits out, grimacing through the sharp pain that jolts unpleasantly down her arm as Glimmer comes to help her. It's not that she doesn't appreciate it, really, just that it's ill directed-

"Take him," she insists, panting, "I'm fine, I can walk."

She just needs the weight off her shoulder more than anything. She's hurt too but she doesn't want to leave this person behind after noticing him. They're spread too thin, who knows how long he'll lie out here waiting for help.

"You okay?"

"Okay--!" Glimmer says and hurriedly switches sides to take the weight of the other wounded man off Abby's shoulder. She grimaces--she's small and even with the muscle she's been putting on this isn't easy. Still, it can't be that far to go to the healers' tent, can it?

"I'm fine, what about you?"

She'll help out again in a moment, one that she spends with her eyes shut and stalled in place, panting. She doesn't want to give Glimmer cause to stop though, so after a few welcome gulps of air she's moving again. They're almost at the tents, they're on the outskirts, wide out from the battle.

It's been a long walk from the city center to get out here. Abby would collapse, if she wasn't certain that would fuck up her arm even more.

"Not good," she admits, because it would be stupid to grit her teeth and pretend to be fine, "Some fucker with a club got me." She gestures, toward her dangling arm, but it hurts to do that. Everything fucking hurts. Gravity is not her friend right now.

"Shit," Glimmer says emphatically as Abby explains what happened to her. Even as she's supporting the wounded man, she reaches out to take hold of Abby's arm. She's gentle--or tries to be.

"Hold on--" She's exhausted, but she thinks she has enough in her for this. There's a flash of magical energy, all bright, shimmering pink sparkles and then the three of them reappear significantly closer to the tents. It's not like it used to be, where she could have simply taken them all directly there but it's better, isn't it? That they're this much closer to the medical tents?

She flinches at the gentle brush of fingers, too wired on protecting her injury to curb it, and then a tug of magic drags all three of them through space, almost at the outer edge of the tents. Abby stumbles inelegantly, whipping her head around–

Yeah, it is better. That covered a lot of ground.

"I didn't know you could do that," she says, breathless with wonder. She's seen Glimmer teleport herself, but not other people. That's so fucking cool. Now that they're this close she's got a bit of a second wind, so she comes to help out with the man Glimmer is supporting, looping her good arm back around his waist to steady him. He doesn't seem to have noticed the use of magic at all. To be fair, he's almost unconscious.

Glimmer lets out a groan. She's tired already from the battle--had done her fair share of teleporting then and this last one had hit her harder than she'd expected. Maybe she'd pushed herself too far? She forced herself to stay upright and stumbled along under the weight of the wounded man they bore between them.

"Used to be better at it," Glimmer responds weakly. "Coming here gave me some magic back, but not all of it. Used to be able to land us pinpoint, where ever you wanted, however far..." She sucks in a breath as her head swims. Maybe that wasn't the best idea? But the tents and help are closer.

"Now it takes so much more out of me. Like I'm a kid again."

"Yeah, I can see that."

Glimmer looks almost pale. She overdid it, didn't she. Abby pulls on the man's waist, gathering most of his weight over on her side again. "Go," she pants, gesture for Glimmer to drift ahead of them, "See if you can find a spot to put him."

They won't be the only injured people here. At least the man is the only person who needs a bed. Abby would be more than happy with an empty spot outside the tents, so she can sit and sink in every inch of her hurt.

She'll be fine. She just needs something cold to hold to it, and a good rest. Glimmer probably needs food, and a warm bed. These are easy things to get.

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