MOD PLOT ↠ ALL SOULS WHO TAKE UP THE SWORD

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

[muckspout]

Edgard manages a half grin at Barrow.

"Maybe you can eat it then." He says quietly, still worried. Edgard's not unconvinced that Barrow could swallow the whole thing and solve this problem.

He looks to Vincent who at least seems unafraid and has given the only option to not swim, so Edgard nods gruffly to him.

He starts and jumps backward when the lightning strikes the creature. He's seen this before, but every time it's surprising and alarming, lighting up the sky and hopefully the creature.

He steadies his hand, bow still drawn, and waits for the creature to... scream? Can it? Edgard shudders and tries not to think about it.

[thereneverwas]

Rather content to not fall any further in Derrica's esteem, Barrow does as the lady says, positioning his back to her and, in doing so, noticing the encroaching soldiers.
He meets eyes with the broadsword-wielding intruder, lowering his head and squaring his shoulders like a bull preparing to charge, daring him to come closer.

Barrow isn't going to run at him, of course-- that requires far more energy than he currently has-- but he'll be ready if the fellow gets any ideas.

[portcullis]

Vincent’s look hardens to meet Derrica’s in aside. He’s not much taller than her, all told, friction discreet in this little pocket between octopus hell and burning-full-of-enemy-combatants hell. What?

The first Imperial soldier back on the scene is enough to break the tension. If Rovente waits to lock his sword up out of its swaggering tilt until the gentleman with the broadsword is bolstered in his charge for the party by a scorched pair of stragglers in heavier armor, well. It’s been a long day, they’ve already killed plenty of foot soldiers

and there is the spectacle of a giant octopus having the everloving shit electrocuted out of it to watch.

Already pale tentacles pulse shock white in the throes of Derrica’s spell, crystals cracked and split where lightning takes root through twisting flesh. It thrashes and contorts and sinks bubbling below the surface; the net sways with the release of the sea monster’s weight sloughing out of its slope.

The giant octopus -- when it boils sloppily up out of the water onto their position on dry land a beat later -- now seethes a bloody, murderous crimson.

[tender]

It works, and it doesn't work.

Though realistically, Derrica hadn't thought she'd manage to kill the massive thing in one strike. Dealing it some damage is enough, and getting it onto dry land where her melee-oriented companions can hack at is enough too.

Whether or not it's pleasant in the long run, well—

There is still only one way out, as far as Derrica is concerned. They'll have to deal with the obstacles in their path to utilize it. She sets her jaw, dismissing th instinct to back up. There's nowhere to go. Their trio of interlopers are joined by a further eight figures struggling through the ash and smoke.

One bears a gleaming shield.

"Go," Derrica says, in the same motion as she cracks the butt of her stave against the ground beneath the feet. The cool blue light of her barrier washes over all four of them. "You have to keep them off us until this thing is dead."

Presumably the duty of their resident beefcakes, but who knows how templars view strategy. She still turns her attention back to the bulbous mass of octopus bearing down on them.

[muckspout]

The sight of the creature squirming and the sizzling sound transfixes Edgard. He blinks and tries to take stock of the situation. It does appear to be working, but he doesn't know how long Derrica can keep it up. He was already aimed at an eye, so he lets fly and immediately turns to the soldier another arrow already in his bow.

He's aiming for the soldier's heart, but another lightning blast from Derrica makes him jump so he hits the hand instead.

He curses and briefly shuts his eyes. Steady he tells himself. Don't fuck this up

[thereneverwas]

The sound is enough to make Barrow want to turn back, but he knows that if he breaks eye contact, if he loses concentration, it'll be all the harder to gain the upper hand.
That, and it's taking all his conviction to keep his hammer aloft as it is, the pain in his shoulder having gone to numbness, blood soaking into the gambeson beneath his breastplate, dripping steadily from its metal rim to pool around his feet and on his leg guards.

The leader of the small unit lunges forward in a feint, pressed back at the last moment by a full swing of the hammer.
"Don't fucking do it," Barrow grunts in warning, resetting his grip.

[portcullis]

Can an octopus scream?

At the plunge of Edgard’s arrow through one of its bulbous eyes, boiling water whistles into jets of steam that shriek through the creature’s siphons. Its lead tentacle slaps hot around Edgard’s waist while he has his eyes closed, squishy suckers giving way to red lyrium talons that grind for purchase in armor, flesh -- whatever they can grasp while the beast tries to tear him off his feet.

Another lashes for Derrica’s staff, slick with a mixture of ink and mucus. A third coils after her ankles, the slogging weight of the mantle sluicing along behind.

Rovente’s approach to combat is a little more direct: he’s flanked in to defend, parry, and hatchet-chop through the spine of the man Edgard’s just upset with an arrow through the hand. The man’s head is still attached, but not well enough to confer its surprise to the rest of the body. He kicks it over to interrupt the lunge of a behemoth in full plate; there’s a flash of holy light that stifles a spell mid-cast and sends several of them staggering blind, and so on.

The mage with the shield is closing in, but that’s a problem for six seconds from now.

thank rock for very good enemy roll

[tender]

Whether the newly arrived soldiers are inspired by the appearance of the octopus, or by the arrival of the wayward twin and her vicious smile, or by the beheading of their fellow, the outcome is still inspired.

They are not fools. Derrica had noted that with some dismay earlier, watching how they had chosen their targets. They are a mixed group. They do not flinch from templars. They are led by two vicious battlemages. It would have been better if they could have avoided tangling with them again.

Of course, the soldiers are not her main worry. The tentacle attempting to deprive her of her staff and enclose her ankle in sucking embrace is her main worry.

Behind her, a volley of fire and molten stone spit through the air toward Rovente and Barrow. It is a cover, surely, for the rushing approach of six armor-clad and sword-wielding soldiers. The front line. Behind them, the white hot crackle of lightening follows as the vicious-faced twin joins her brother.

Derrica wreathes herself in lightening. The tentacle around her leg is repelled with a zap, and Derrica is free to pivot, aiming to bring the heavy focus of her staff down on coil attempting to squeeze the life from Edgard. The templars will have to hold off the encroaching combatants, and keep both sword and flail at bay.

thank u rock

[muckspout]

Whether or not an octopus can scream, Edgard definitely can. His face distorts and he yells and tries to wiggle out of the tentacle which wraps all the tighter.

His vision blurs and he sees light and fire surrounding Derrica. He screams again.

The tentacle drags him to the ground and he is dragged, belly down, closer to the water. When he registers this, he stops screaming and squirms around and bites the tentacle.

"Not dying in the fucking water!" He shrieks and bites again. It's not really hurting the octopus, but he's no longer screaming.

[thereneverwas]

With his back still turned to the octopus, Barrow has no opportunity to worry for the safety of his little buddy-- he does hear the scream, but it's a distant thing, flooded out by the chaos in front of himself and Rovente.

He counts to himself, one second, two seconds, and swings his hammer, knocking a combatant away with a dent in their breastplate, and likely their breast beneath it. He swings back the other way (three seconds, four seconds), clips a leg, sends someone sprawling; five seconds, and he pauses, grips the pommel of his hammer, and mutters a quiet word.

A battlemage's barrier, just now forming in the wake of the previous spell purge, dispels once again. Barrow cuts his gaze to Rovente, hefting the hammer back into position, knowing the other Templar can get to them more quickly.