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

[notathreat]

"Thanks," Ellie says with a nod, handing over the supplies. He can probably handle it just as well as she can, and these days, she understands the need to take care of someone with one's own hands. It's probably for him just as much as it is for her.

She gives a snort under her breath, grinning back, even as she winces at the pain in her foot.

"Getting hit by a fucking arrow sucks almost more than getting hit by a fucking bullet," Ellie commiserates. "Especially because they usually don't do a clean passthrough. Assholes."

But she smiles wider.

"Mages are worse, though." She indicates her foot.

[acreage]

There are ways, maybe ways he doesn't even consciously notice, that this meeting helps him. The general reassurance of Ellie's well-being. Getting off his own feet for a few minutes. Opportunity to relieve someone else's pain, in whatever small measure, as he accepts the supplies from her. It's hard not to feel helpless in the aftermath of what happened here, between the battle's wake and the city's suffering under occupation becoming clearer by the hour.

"At least the shaft makes them easier to pull out."

No need to dig anything out like a bullet, so it could be worse. He sets to work, opening the pot of salve and beginning to apply it to damaged skin. His eyes are for her, to ensure he doesn't hurt her unnecessarily. Healing isn't really his wheelhouse, but he's got some experience with field medicine. Necessity. And this job doesn't demand special expertise, really, just steady hands.

"You got in a fight with a mage?"

Asked with a little eyebrow quirk, like he's asking about a random street brawl and not a battlefield full of enemy mages.

[notathreat]

Ellie winces. She's the idiot who pulls out arrows.

"Depends on the kind. If they're barbed at all they're a huge bitch to pull out. It's almost easier to push them all the way through."

Ellie rolls her shoulder, reaches up to tap a point there. He can't see the scar, where he's layered under her leather armor, but it still twinges.

"Easier for them to cause infection than bullets, too. Sucks."

At the question, though, she gives a shrug. "Not that much of a fight. I think she thought I'd be an easy target to pick off. Nobody expects archers to be able to do other stuff."

[acreage]

"It's always great to hear all the ways it could've been worse," he says dryly, eyes lifting to her shoulder.

A part of him thinks, who the fuck shot her with a barbed arrow? Not here, he'd guess, or probably. Her tone makes it sound more like an old wound, maybe something from one the places she was before. Though she's been here long enough, he realizes, to have old wounds.

"Nobody who hasn't met you, you mean."

With warmth. She might've been hurt badly after they parted, but he'd been right to expect she'd give as good as she got.

He scoops out some more of the ointment, massages it in gentle circles. It has to hurt despite his best intentions, but it doesn't stop her from discussing the relative merits of getting shot by bullets or arrows. She probably has firsthand experience with both.

"How'd you get started with archery?"

[notathreat]

Ellie give him a wide smile, but it gentles at the compliment. Yes, her foot hurts monstrously, but the salve helps, and she shuts her eyes to try to block out as much of it as she can, latching onto the question instead so she can have something else to think about.

"Picked it up as a kid. It was one of the weapons we trained with."

Pausing, she realizes she hasn't really... told him much, actually.

"Never used it in an actual fight until later on. The winter when I was fourteen, Joel was... hurt pretty bad. We were holed up in Colorado while snow just dumped on us, and he was in and out. Fever. We didn't have much food and bullets were hard to come by, but I could make arrows. So I used a bow to hunt. Some rabbits and a deer... and then later-"

Taking a deep breath, she lets it out. There were things in those mountains that hunted little girls.

"Well. I was just a kid. Back then I really was easy pickings, if somebody got ahold of me. So it was better if they never saw me at all. The bow was really good for that, and so was my knife."

[acreage]

He continues with the salve as he listens. The pot is picked up once more for a final smear of the stuff, then closed; and after he's done, he moves to unwind a length of bandaging. He'd done his own foot recently, but this will require a much softer touch.

"I've heard a thing or two about Colorado winters."

Even in his global warming-ravaged version of Earth, the blizzards there could be brutal. He sits, fabric in hand. A part of his mind wonders if it'd be better to let the cream soak into her wound for a moment before he starts; a part considers the logistics of pulling the bandage around her foot in the least painful way possible; and a part imagines being fourteen in the biting cold, the only person who could protect you out of commission. What would've happened to her if Joel died? Starvation or frostbite or somebody who'd see a kid as easy pickings.

"You did well," has to be a stupid instinct to say. He's only hearing a broad outline of the story, and years later. He can only imagine what she'd dealt with. His approval doesn't actually mean anything in this. So the next sound he makes is a rueful one, shooting her a brief smile before he starts to slowly wind the bandage over her burn. "Obviously," he adds, self-effacing, voice lilting closer to good-natured teasing, "because — in case you haven't noticed — you've gotten really good at archery."

[notathreat]

"Thanks," Ellie says gently, a half-smile on her face. Jim's being kind, but she recognizes the need here. This whole thing has them both rattled, and the humanity is sorely needed. They both need to do something other than confront so much death.

"Comes in handy for the whole staying-alive thing," she adds, and takes up the roll of bandages, inspecting them before she reaches out, gesturing down at his foot. She can see the way he moves.

"You re-wrap this lately?"

[acreage]

His pause to think about it her question is probably answer enough.

"I've lost track," he admits, because this is Ellie. With most, he'd be more inclined to play it off. There are, after all, things that matter more right now. Still, even as he pulls his own leg up, he asks, "You sure you can spare them?"

Supplies are dear right now, especially bandages.

[notathreat]

"You bet," she answers immediately; she's used to supplies being scarce. You use what you have, to avoid using more later with lingering injuries that refuse to heal.

"Got some salve too. Can always make more on the road."

That's the absolutely wonderful about elfroot. It grows everywhere. They never seem to be able to exhaust the supply in the countryside. She'd give anything to have something so useful back home.

Ellie opens up her backpack, pulling it out -- yes, Jim. She means now.

[acreage]

If he blinks at the immediacy of this, well. He considers that she probably didn't mean that they should look at it, say, tomorrow. So he draws up his left leg and works off the boot.

Ellie was right to ask: these are the original set of bandages he was given in the medical tents, a day or so ago. For as much as he's adjusted to the technology level of Thedas, there are things he's still catching up on. On the Roci, he'd likely have a reminder ping on his hand terminal, and it'd simply be a matter of heading to the med bay and letting the autodocs do their work. Here, he's relied on the convenience of magical healing, but that's only been able to do so much in the aftermath of the battle.

His glance to her is acknowledging — okay, you have a point — as he sets to unwinding the fabric. The arrow didn't go in too deep, luckily. Silas was able to deal with the poison, luckily, and that had been the priority. It means the puncture isn't as bad as it could be, but the area's still reddened and sensitive from the lack of care taken with it. It'd be a smaller thing if Jim'd stayed off it, but she has to understand how much that wasn't an option.

[notathreat]

"If Derrica asks, we stayed off these," she says, lifting her eyebrows. It's gonna be all too obvious they didn't, but at least they helped each other bind up the wounds so they wouldn't get too much worse.

She tilts her head as Jim uncovers the wound, pulling the little sealed pot out of her bag and popping it open.

It looks somewhat familiar.

"Astarion got hit with one of those," she says, concerned. Rightfully. "It was poisoned. Did you get back fast?"

[acreage]

With a flash of humor: "Agreed."

Not that, considering she knows the both of them, Derrica is likely to believe it. But she worries so much as it is. He's already given her a scare.

Which —

there's a ridiculous instinct to ask, Astarion got poisoned? Surprising he didn't mention it, considers the man who not fifteen minutes ago claimed the worst thing hurt was his pride.

"Fast enough," isn't really what she's asking. Neither is: "It was fine."

He withholds. He rarely outright lies. So, after a beat,

"There was poison. A healer took care of it. I'm fine."

[notathreat]

Ellie winks back, giving him a tired smile. It'll bite them in the ass later probably, but that's a problem for tomorrow's Ellie and Jim. Right now, they still have things to do. So she hands over the supplies, helping with an extra set of hands as needed.

She doesn't have a healer's gentle touch, but she's caring enough.

"Good," she answers with a sigh. "And they must've handled it, or you wouldn't be standing. I've seen shit work a worse number on people, but not by much."