MOD PLOT ↠ BEFORE THE GATES | OPEN LOG

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: A race to a Gate, with detours
WHEN: Late August to mid Kingsway
WHERE: Arlathan Forest
NOTES: See also OOC post, puzzle log.

Intel out of Hasmal and the Antivan borderlands suggest the enemy has abruptly changed gears, hurriedly redeploying most of the teams that have been busy combing the southern end of the Hundred Pillars north, to the edge of the Arlathan Forest. The only plausible explanation is that they've got a hot lead on another gate, more urgent than whatever they've been (so far fruitlessly) searching for north of Starkhaven. This provides Riftwatch with an opportunity to finally beat the Venatori to a Gate and prevent them from opening it—but they're going to have to move fast.

Helpfully, previous surveys of the Crossroads located an eluvian only a few hours' walk away that leads into the Arlathan Forest, so the enemy's head start in terms of travel time can be swiftly made up. The fact that the Venatori have brought so many of their search teams up from the south suggests they don't know exactly where in the forest the Gate is, but there's no telling what clues they might be working on and they out-number Riftwatch, so it's all hands on deck to scour the ruins strewn throughout the forest and find it first.

I. HOME BASE

The eluvian Riftwatch is using is located inside an expansive chamber, so cool, dark, and quiet that it might initially be mistaken for a cave. Or not even mistaken, exactly. It is both cavernous and underground. But when torches are held near the cavern walls, they reveal a wall within the wall, smooth dolomite bricks with large, arcing windows that frame nothing but sheets of limestone, both smoothed and in some places receding in rivulets where water has been seeping through for hundreds of years. Young limestone stalactites are beginning to creep in through the windows.

In summary: a room within a cave, scattered with ancient stone benches in various states of crumbling and more recent additions made of wood, cloth, and vine, all partially rotten. One of its two expansive doorways opens on a stone corridor, perfectly straight, between three smaller rooms. The smallest looks like a shrine, walls adorned with a crumbling mosaic of the elven pantheon. Another room was not always a bathroom, but in the past century or two someone has fashioned it into one, harnessing a rivulet that's streaming and seeping from somewhere beyond the cavern walls to build a stone bath reminiscent of a fountain, overflowing into smaller pools before the water is swept out of the room altogether by the stream's disappearance through the wall. The water tastes of limestone, but it's fresh and safe to drink.

This is where Riftwatch sets up its temporary base of operations for the search of the forest. Carting supplies across the Crossroads and replenishing them from time to time is simple enough. Someone even thinks to bring hay to spread beneath the bedrolls in one of the smaller rooms. The central chamber is lit by the glow of the eluvian, torches, and lyrium glowlights, ultimately bright enough to do paperwork. Some people make a routine out of doing their normal ("normal") work here, for the time being, to be on hand if there's an emergency or to save themselves the walk back through the Crossroads between stints in the woods. A map of Arlathan Forest—a bad one, at least at first—is spread over a wooden table that's gone soft and spongy with age and moisture; it wouldn't support a man's weight anymore, but it can hold a map and the markers used to keep track of which areas have been searched, where Corypheus' people have been spotted, and which landmarks seem promising.

The second doorway in the chamber opens to stairs. Stairs down. This structure was once above, not below. But two stories deeper into the earth, the stairs give way to a natural cavern, no sign of elven construction in sight, with a draft that guides visitors through a narrow passage and out into the forest.

II. CITYWIDE GREEN INITIATIVE

Arlathan Forest is not as tropical as the Donarks that Riftwatch found themselves stranded in a few years ago, but it is far enough north to be warm, humid, dense, and deeply green, home to a constant symphony of buzzing and chirping and squeaking and the occasional (hopefully) distant snarl or growl. Of particular note are the presence of alligators, jaguars, and small elephants, along with the usual collection of smaller wildlife and the elusive halla.

Wild as it is, the forest doesn't allow anyone to forget that it was once a city. In the heart of the forest the terrain is cliffy and jagged in a way that suggests that, rather than the city only sinking into the earth, the earth might have risen to meet it halfway: there are towering, sheer-faced rock formations that evoke the image of buildings several stories tall, now encased in stone and plant life. Sometimes a vine-covered fragment of roof- or tower-top emerges from the top of one of these rock formations, or an expanse of brick wall from the sides. They're all in an ancient elven style familiar from, if nothing else, the Crossroads everyone walked through to get here. The lower, marshy land between them–in some places occupied with streams or wider rivers–have occasional patches of tiled stone where roads once ran instead.

There are signs, too, of more recent occupation since the ancient city of Arlathan was swallowed by the earth. Forest-dwellers from within the last age have built walkways and bridges among the cliffs and rock formations that occasionally still hold up. They've left behind tools, collapsing huts, signs of occupation in caves, and occasionally a more recent skeleton or three. And there are rarer signs of the Dalish who still occupy the forest: arrows embedded in tree trunks, statues of wolves or other symbols of the pantheon, a few old abandoned camps, a damaged aravel.

III. MORE MAGIC MORE PROBLEMS

Of course, this is not a normal ancient city swallowed by the earth and left to become a wild forest over the course of more than a thousand years. It's a magical one.

Alongside the bugs and birds and creatures occupying the forest are spirits, in more abundance than most people have ever seen them. There are small swarms of wisps drifting like butterflies around objects of interest to them, and more humanoid, ghostly, temperamental wraiths drifting over marshlands. A very rare wraith will have a voice, a name, and perhaps an errand to ask or a bargain to make. Shades wait in caves, and demons of any kind might be discovered waiting for victims in the nooks and crannies of the woods–but in particular the sylvans for which the forest is known, which any traveler passing nearby is warned to watch for.

Less common are the Forest Guardians. Easily missed among the rocky, viney landscape until they begin to move, they're massive constructions of wood and stone, tall as golems, with vine-covered stone bodies, walking on four wooden legs bound to stone feet covered in runes and moss. They remain immobile until attacks on the forest (or someone drawing enough magical power to disturb the Veil) rouse them. Then they wake to hunt the perpetrators with two wooden arms that end in thick metal blades imbued with lyrium. The arms swing in predictable patterns–they're enchanted, not thinking. And with sufficient force, they can be "killed."

Between all of this and the unfamiliarity of the landscape, it may take time to notice the biggest problem of all, which is: time is fucked.

At its mildest, traversing the same ground might take an hour going one way but two or three hours going the other, as if it's stretched out somehow, despite no clear changes to the landscape to justify the added time. If there is added time? They may burn through rations and tire as if a whole day has passed, while the sun hangs unmoving in the sky or it stays dark for just as long, and return to the base camp to find they've been gone only a few days instead of the weeks they thought. And even a confident navigator may march confidently north for several hours before realizing they've been going south the whole time (or have they).

The effects become more severe the closer to the center of the ancient city one goes. At some point a team might find themselves going in circles no matter what they do to avoid it. And that's not the worst of it. If someone is inventive enough to begin marking a passed landmark with tally marks, they'll find the count flickering back and forth each time they pass it, requiring them to put the marks down out of order: their second time past the stone, then their seventh, then their fourth.

Their sending crystals work—erratically. Sometimes not at all. Sometimes with long waits between answering messages. Sometimes with responses to the five questions they asked in silence arriving out of order. To those on the other end–or those waiting for them when they arrive back at Riftwatch's underground base—nothing unusual will seem to be happening, and their trips back and forth no longer than expected.

And it gets worse!

Through all of this, visitors to the forest may begin to see themselves and others in their traveling party, some distance ahead or behind them–mirroring their actions, having conversations, before or after the real ones do or did or might have done the same. While you're not oblivious to them, they are oblivious to you–the best way to tell the real from the mirage. Except they are not exactly mirages. They affect the world around them. A bridge that breaks beneath their feet ahead of you will still be broken when you reach it; should you break the bridge, the copies behind you will stop at the destruction to plan another way around.

No one is bound to the fates of these forwards- and backwards-echoes: should a double fall off a cliff ahead of you, you can choose to be more careful or avoid the area altogether to prevent the same mishap. Attacking animals, demons, and enemies will see them, as well as you, and may be convinced to go after them instead. Or they may pick them off ahead of you, giving you some forewarning of what you're about to step into.

Despite their apparent solidity in these moments, they don't last. The branches they have bent will remain bent, their footprints will remain printed, and the debris that tumbles over a cliff's edge with them will remain piled at the bottom, but they themselves inevitably disappear when no one is looking. They're only people who might have been.

IV. THE AMAZING RACE

Anyway, Riftwatch didn't come here to hang out with possessed trees and walk in endless circles for fun. Teams are sent into the woods in specific directions or in pursuit of particular landmarks, combing the forest for signs of a Gate or the Gate itself. They may travel three or four days in one direction—three or four real days, however brief or long they feel to those doing the traveling—before reaching their destinations. Along the way they'll have to make and break camp in the safest places they can find, forage and hunt to supplement their rations, and keep their eyes peeled for the forest's other intruders.

Corypheus' people are here too. Venatori, Red Templar, or corrupted Wardens and various lackeys have fanned out within the forest, searching for the same things Riftwatch is. Intelligence indicates they don't know for certain that a Gate is nearby. Riftwatch would like to keep it that way, so the rules are a little different this time. They can't know that Riftwatch is here. Everyone who ventures into the forest will be required to dress like they could be hunters, bandits, or recluses. And anyone who could report that Riftwatch is there can't leave the forest alive, and they need to look like they've been killed by something or someone other than Riftwatch.

This could mean ambushes and traps, herding them into angry wildlife or forest monsters (or vice versa), arranging for mysterious accidents, anything that maintains the Venatori's illusion that they are in a one horse race to the Gate. And in the meantime, the enemy search parties need to be tracked, misled, and thwarted whenever possible, and any information they have—clues they're following, records of areas already searched, maps—stolen or, if that's not possible, destroyed.

Sometimes these plans will be complicated by the presence of time-rippling doppelgangers. Your team might agree to sneak up on an enemy camp in silence, only for copies of you who came to some other agreement, apparently, to launch a coordinated fire-raining attack in the background. Or they might be ahead of you when you sneak in, oblivious to your presence while they beat you to slitting throats or stealing notes. During firefights it may not be possible to tell whether the person you've just watched die is your friend or only one of their echoes. And Corypheus' people are suffering the same effects: a man you ambush on the trail might only be a double of the real man, arriving on the scene a minute later to see himself already dead on the ground, suddenly very on guard.

Comments

marcus rowntree.

[luaithre]

II. CITYWIDE GREEN INITIATIVE; just chilling.

There's a river maybe half a day of hiking out from Riftwatch's home base, or, at least—it has taken them half a day, and it's impossible to gauge its true distance. This is how long it has felt, and how long the sun has apparently travelled in the sky, or near enough so as not to raise any suspicion.

But the river is a welcome sight. Humidity clings like wet cloth to skin, heat trapped amongst the dense trees, the over-oxygenated density of the air and the constant hum of forest insects and bird cry all oppressive enough that the soft sound of running water promises some welcome respite. It is almost lake-like in how wide it is across, shallow where the water runs white off of rock. Fish flash fearlessly beneath the rippled surface, plainly visible in the clear cool.

Marcus takes a knee at the edge of it, letting his mage staff drop and submerging his waterskin to fill it. This, too, is set aside in favour of simply scooping up water in his hands and splashing his face, letting it run down beneath his collar. It's only then that he notices, about three-hundred feet where the river bends off into the trees, the emergence of a cluster of small elephants roaming through the water.

An uncertain hand drops to the mage staff at his side as he stares, but that only takes a moment to relax. Slowly, he shifts out of his knee to sit on the bank, and watch quietly from this distance.

III. MORE MAGIC MORE PROBLEMS; the long midnight.

It has been—what, a week? A week in which the twilight has been held in suspension for at least a full twenty-four hours, before dipping down into a night that lasts twice as long.

It's during this unrelenting darkness that Marcus and whoever he is with decide to forge ahead, by now very low on rations and restless besides. Perhaps forward motion will push time along as its meant to. The pitch blackness of the forest is oppressive and thick, visibility so low that it's easy to imagine any number of threats standing barely a foot away from you, unseen and unheard.

In this instance, Marcus takes point. He holds his mage staff out like a torch, where the glow of the runes embedded in black iron offer a good ten feet of dim light. Occasionally, moisture drips from the canopies above, striking red-tinged metal and evaporating with a hiss of steam.

Then, he stops, lowering the staff sharply as if to inspect something on the ground.

0. WILDCARD ME; do it.

[ ooc ; feel free to sling me whatever kind of starter you like. Marcus is thrilled to do jungle adventures and is taking an excuse to do so, but can also be found resting at home base. i would also prefer one thread per prompt, but am a-ok with wildcard threads that kick off a similar theme (exploring forest, weird spooky time warps, etc). also hmu if you want something bespoke. ]

closed to matthias and derrica.

[luaithre]

Here is the camp, a small knot of Venatori and Red Templars both, robed figures and plate. Two large tents have been erected between the trees, and a campfire has been started. A man and a woman consult over scrolls while another sets up a pot for water, skewers hunted meat onto metal for roasting and sets it above the flames. There's a hush laugh from someone, and two more roam the perimeter to keep an eye out for dangers.

It is, on a human level, so much like a Riftwatch camp.

This is the kind of musing that only occurs at the very back of Marcus' mind, perfectly still in his hiding place, which is behind a thick cluster of dead tree fall. If one of the patrols thinks to check behind it, he will have enough time to move silently back behind one of the jagged rises of rock, and if necessary, do something more drastic to preserve his position. Crouched in place, his staff is resting lengthwise on the ground in front of him, wearing a set of pared down mage armor that's covered in the drape of rough-spun cloak. A few other pieces of forest green and earthen grey to make a convincing spectre of a forest bandit or recluse, at a glance. And hopefully a glance is all that will be needed.

Senses trained forwards on movement, the sight of flickering fire through the trees, any nearby sound more distinct than bird cries, he is also straining to listen out for something else. He imagines it will be chaotic, but just in case, he also has his crystal in hand, turning it between his fingers.

He is, also, alone, and waiting.

Derrica and Matthias are no longer in view of the camp, sent some distance north of it where all three had noted the dormant Forest Guardian in their scouting. Now, coming back to it, it's as imposing as it ever was, a golem-like massive figure of wood and stone, runes and moss crawling wet across its large four legs sunken inches into the soft forest ground. A colourful bird is currently resting upon one of its massive bladed arms, where some thin vines have tanged around it over time.

Their mission is somewhat straightforward, Marcus explaining it with the aid of drawing a rough map on a patch of clear earth: summon the Guardian to life, and lure it towards the camp. As soon as they're within view, they should fall back to a hidden position together while Marcus redirects the Guardian's focus from his position. They're to wait until his signal, and then engage.

The bird perched upon the golem raises its head to angle one beady eye towards the two mages, before dipping back down to continue to preen its long, red-purple feathers.

[inkindled]

Matthias' legs are sore from moving in a crouch to avoid being seen. His cloak is near enough to the color of the tree's trunks that he'd have done a good job of blending in without really trying, but it had felt important to try all the same.

The shape of the Guardian is craggy, a jumble of boulders tumbled down. When Matthias had first seen it, he'd mistook it for forest debris, hadn't realized what he was really looking at until he'd seen the massive blades. Stood before the Guardian, he plants his staff in the soft earth and commits some of his weight to it, staring fixedly up at the bird. With his mind he tries to will it to look up again. When it does not, he wills it to keep preening, and smiles when it does.

"Think a barrier would be enough to wake it? Or would that be too soft a touch?" he says to Derrica. They're a fair distance from the camp but he keeps his voice low all the same.

The bird stretches one wing in a graceful gesture, and continues its ritual. The curve of the Guardian's arm spandrels beneath it, hard angles turned soft and organic by the layer of moss and overgrowth.

[tender]

With all knowledge that Marcus is more than capable of moving unseen on his own, and managing trouble should it present itself, Derrica still carries prickling unease at their separation.

Leaving Matthias' side, Derrica walks a careful circle around the Guardian. Taps the butt of her stave against one massive stone foot, then looks back at him.

"I think we should try a barrier first," she agrees. "It's the quietest option."

What do they have between them? Lightening and fire. Both unlikely to go unnoticed.

Crossing back to him, she puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a little nudge.

"Let's start from there, behind those trees. We can make it come towards us."

just chilling.

[delphian]

The forest and the remnants of what it once was are fascinating — beautiful, strange, and the fade here offers glimpses of things that Tsenka has never entertained or imagined before, when she has a moment (or whatver a moment is, to this place—) safe enough to close her eyes and dream herself into its echoes. There are shadows here that stretch further back than anywhere she's walked waking or otherwise,

but today what most interests her is the other thing that all forests have a lot of: sticks.

As they've walked, she's tested the weight of various assorted fallen branches; carried one for a while, used it to poke through vines and brace herself while craning to get a better look at a swallowed up city, discarded it for another. She's choosing between two when Marcus takes a knee by the river, and waits patiently until he's sat, and it's going to be inconvenient to unfold himself back to his feet, and cracks him hard across the back of his shoulders with her best stick so far.

The Venatori may not get her before her brother does.

[luaithre]

Thwap, and on a delay while his brain restarts—

"Ow," articulated, and not very quiet, more affront than actual pain or surprise, those last two better expressed in that short silence that had followed. And yes, it will be a nuisance to get up fast enough for immediate retaliation, so Marcus digs up a handful of muddy, rocky river-dirt and twists so he can fling it in Tsenka's direction, as hard as he can from his vantage point.

Which isn't very, but there are definitely some stones in there. Also on his way to getting up, of course, elephants forgotten.

[delphian]

Tsenka yelps a no through laughter, dodging sideways away from his admittedly not very precise aim — tosses and catches her stick, spinning it in the air, an honestly dangerous choice to make when every precious moment is another he's getting his bearings and to his feet. It's the taunting that's the trouble; she can never resist the taunting.

“Don't—” is not a very serious warning, nor one she expects him to pay the slightest bit of heed to.

[luaithre]

Rolling onto all fours, Marcus gets to his feet but stays low so as best to snare her with a hand up under a knee. This was probably easier when she was a spindly youth, but then again, at the time, so was he, so perhaps it evens out as he goes to heft her up over a shoulder, the forest ground retreating as he straightens.

She still has a stick, and some ability to wrestle her way out of his grasp, but if he can't put her in the water, he'll settle for the muddy shore.

[delphian]

“No!” with more force and no small amount of delight — this is probably not the right place to be spurring Marcus on into this sort of childish carry on, but it's never disappointing to succeed in doing so. She struggles, wily, gets her knee between his shoulder and her chest and cracks him again with her stick (the thunk sound it makes is deeply satisfying) in the service of mostly just chaos because she's already got enough leverage at this angle to shove down hard and launch herself backwards out of his grip.

—and into the mud, hard enough to wind herself. This is still a win.

[luaithre]

Both of them into the mud, but certainly, Tsenka first.

Tsenka most, even, Marcus taking some care so as not to slip and actually injure anyone but nevertheless following her down, making a grab for the stick—this time she had been rewarded with just a grunt for her efforts—as he goes. A knee bends, the hand gripping the stick balancing himself in the dirt—

So that when he does sit on her, inelegantly and matter-of fact, not all of his weight bears down. Just a substantial amount. He is aware he is forty, and a look tossed down her way suggests she knows she is coming up fast on that milestone too. Nevertheless—

"I won't tell them you died well," he informs her. "I'll say you decided to live in the woods. There was no persuading you, but I'll get over it."

The stick is yoinked, and flung several feet away.