or are you emblems of truth?

[heorte]

WHO: Ellis, Ellie, Abby, Vanya, Marcus, Strange
WHAT: Road trip into the Hunterhorns.
WHEN: Cloudreach
WHERE: Hunterhorn Mountains
NOTES: Trying to find a Warden in a mountain range.

THE JOURNEY

Seeking a camp in the Hunterhorns is—

Difficult. To say the least.

In the eyrie, in the midst of saddling the griffins and strapping supply-laden saddlebags into place, Ellis had unfurled the map and spanned the likely places a hidden contingent might be found. It had not looked like such a formidable stretch of mountain range to search, bracketed by Ellis' thumbs.

In practice, it is weaving through high peaks, bundled against cold. It is alternating between dipping low to examine traces that may be tracks or signs of a past camp, and soaring high to avoid less than hospitable wildlife or weave through jagged peaks. It is painstaking work, seeking a trail within even this narrow strip of range.

Each night, they must descend. Find a ledge upon which the griffons can land without scrabbling for purchase and nearly toppling. Hope for a cave that might house them, or a flat ridge upon which the griffons can roost while they sleep in the saddle.

And in the morning, they must do it all over again.

THE CAMP

But eventually, the search ends.

Not in retreat, but in a small camp, cleverly hidden. We'd rather not be spotted by air, their leader says, a self-possessed, serious woman who introduces herself as Mila. She studies each of them intently, lingers on the griffon embossed on Ellis' breastplate.

Yes, they are permitted to stay. And to talk, mingle among the dozen or so Wardens within this camp. Ellis vanishes, first into a tent with Mila, and then later, when campfires are lit and a cask of wine is cracked open in a kind of welcome, into a second tent with a tall, dark-haired man, for a time.

The Wardens around the fire are pleasant enough. They answer questions. They speak frankly, if carefully. Some defer to Mila. Some prefer to speak in tandem with a partner. Some sigh through their recitation. But most speak of the same things when explaining what drove them away from their fellows in Weisshaupt—

Questions that piled up and up, with few answers. Some speak of Adamant and the binding of mage Wardens to demons, and how many of those mages died of it. Or how many of those mages disappeared into Tevinter to be treated and never returned. Some object to the use of darkspawn and demons by Corypheus' army, murmur darkly about the rumor that Corypheus is a darkspawn himself. Some worry after red lyrium, and the new strain of darkspawn that have been reported as fused with the substance. Many speak of their distrust of Tevinter.

One, Reynald, speaks of something wholly new, absent from Riftwatch's records until now: he was tasked once with guarding a portion of the Deep Roads along with an entire contingent of Tevene Wardens. Venatori mages came and went, he explains. He saw nothing of what took place, but he heard darkspawn, and the jangle of chains, and red lyrium had been maneuvered out past the Wardens in near-overflowing carts.

What have they been doing? This is a topic the Wardens speak more freely about.

Setting up a pipeline, they explain. A pipeline to help Wardens, and any others who oppose the Tevinter regime or draw the ire of the new authorities in the Anderfels escape, and join them in the mountains.

They're trying to spread word, they say. They want it to be known that the Wardens are heading in the wrong direction, following bad ideas into worse outcomes. But this is not going so smoothly, because they are still Wardens, and they are occupied with protecting local villages from increased darkspawn activity in the western Anderfels. They have contacts in Hossberg, and in Weisshaupt, and in other towns and cities, and they travel when they can to grow their network and spread word, but they are only a small company, and all this takes time. Sometimes they do not have any time at all.

We aren't leaving, Mila will inform them the next morning. But now you know where we are.

A send-off, of a kind: Mila's decisive answer to an unasked question and the implication of parting on friendly terms before shooing them onto griffon-back and out of their camp.

Comments

ota.

[heorte]

CAMPING.

How much conversation can a person really have on griffonback?

And sure, Ellis isn't exactly Riftwatch's foremost conversationalist, but at least at night it's possible to engage him if someone so chose.

This night, they've been lucky. Having spotted a hollowed out section of caves, they are sheltered in total, griffons and all. Butterball reclines against the wall behind Ellis, crawking sourly over the rations doled out while Ellis unfurls the map once more. Smooths a bare palm over the surface, hair wild from the wind.

"Careful with the fire," is a murmured suggestion, not really an instruction. He isn't much concerned with his traveling companions being careless; they are deep enough within this space that the light won't travel, won't spill out of the cavemouth and give them away.

CAMPING.

They have a night here, more or less. Mila had been clear, and Ellis hadn't really been given leave to tarry once they accomplished their mission. They've found Wardens in the Hunterhorns, and that can be deemed a success, even if said Wardens have no intention of coming down from the mountains.

Ellis hadn't really expected them to. (He had not expected any part of what he'd actually found here.)

Within the camp, there is a wary, slow-thawing consideration of Ellis. The conversations he has with his fellows are colored with a kind of intense scrutiny that never quite lets up even if the flow of their discussions eventually thaws past wariness.

He has positioned himself well, back to the sloping mountain wall, from which he can observe the entirety of the night's proceedings. Where Wardens can come and go from him as they will. Initiate conversation as they wish and break off from it as they please. And presumably where anyone else can come and go as they please, circle back to him over the course of the evening.

Butterball comes and goes too, along with the other griffins, leaving and returning with freshly-hunted supper clenched in their talons to enthusiastically clack over. They are a safe focus for his attention, and he drifts to them eventually, to shuck off saddlebags with the assistance of a pair of awed, enthusiastic Wardens.

That being said, all offshoots of his evening end the same way: with Ellis rising to his feet, leaving conversation, and walking away from the fire-lit common area with Cathán O'Dwyer.

also camping

[notathreat]

They meet with the Wardens, with Ellis' people. They seem decent enough, though Ellie can't say she grasps all of the intricacies behind why they're all the way the fuck out here, and why Ellis is with Riftwatch, and not them.

Sometimes it's not important to know everything, down to the last detail.

Ellie wends her way to Ellis' side, leaning one shoulder against the mountain wall, putting it to her back to look out at the camp.

"Did you find what you wanted?"

It sounds like a genuine question, rather than an urging to turn back. This feels... unfinished.

[heorte]

"I think so."

What had he been looking for?

He had put the thought to the Commander in terms of what may or may not be useful, the necessity of knowing rather than operating on Ellis' interpretation of rumors. Hearing their intentions now, it is—

A relief, yes. But all else becomes complicated in its wake.

It's a thought that could simply be left there, but having some sense of Ellie, her curiosity and interest, he tacks on, "They are serving our order as best they know how, from a disadvantaged position. I was worried we'd chased a rumor, and would have to go back empty-handed."

That he'd led them to chase a rumor into the mountains. Having to relay that to the Commander would have been difficult, for the waste of resources as well as for the vanishing potential for hope.

"What is your impression of it?"

[notathreat]

"Mostly the same," Ellie admits, chewing on the inside of one cheek.

"I wish they'd help us more directly, but I mean. I get why they want to stay out here. But maybe if they can't help us, we can at least help them."

Ellie levels a look back at Ellis, tilting her head. "Riftwatch isn't the only thing that matters when it comes to taking down Corypheus, or helping people. Maybe we can start there."

[heorte]

A flex of expression that could pass for a smile. Ellie is a rifter, so were Ellis to say They are Wardens the joke may not land.

He is an outlier, in some ways. It isn't surprising to him that even this little group, for all the ways they are breaking apart, are determined to operate as they have chosen: separate and focused on the edicts Wardens have upheld for millenia.

"There?" is a prompt, creating space in which Ellie might say a little more.

There snags somewhere different for Ellis, maybe. Thinking of how they might chase one loose thread that is beyond the reach of this camp, but aware that it runs slightly counter to Riftwatch's day to day.

[notathreat]

"Helping them. So they can help people."

Ellie shifts her weight from foot to foot, her arms still crossed over her middle. She hesitates, then looks up at Ellis again.

"And... there's something else. That stuff Reynald was saying. About the red lyrium, and the deep roads. And the darkspawn. I dunno if you remember when we went to Orzammar? But I think Vanya and I saw what he was talking about, when we were in the Deep Roads. I remember there were lots of carvings, a giant red crystal, and darkspawn in cages. There were dwarves with red lyrium armor. They chased us."

She shakes her head. "I think we need to ask him if he remembers anything else about that operation. It was one of my first missions, so I mostly didn't know what was going on. I don't know if it's connected."

og camping

[armd]

Flying all day has been good for one thing: stopping Abby from sharing a confined space with several griffons unhappily. Turns out she is too tired to care. The slow click and clatter of beaks and ruffling of feathers accompanies the crackling fire well anyways, all of it combining, melting down into soothing background noise. Allowing her gaze to track down toward the map as Ellis unfurls it, helping to hold a corner down, she stares at it with weary eyes.

"... How much did we cover?"

No luck, this first day. Abby supposes it was never going to be that easy.

[heorte]

"Here."

A hand's worth of space framed between his index fingers.

"It's no small feat."

But suspecting this is not the kind of summation Abby will find reassuring, Ellis shifts topic to ask—

"How are you getting on?"

[armd]

She stares at his hand. It is a lot. Sure felt like a lot. Perhaps he picks up on the shift in her mood because he asks, then, and moves his hand to stop her from looking at it and comparing, "Fine."

Too quickly.

She sighs and adds, "I lived."

[heorte]

"Aye, you did."

Had they been in any serious danger? No, perhaps not. But Ellis is aware of what he'd asked of her. It isn't unremarkable, to spend this much time in the air when Abby had been very clear with him as to how much she hated it.

"Thank you," is the least of what's due to her.

She has done this because he'd asked. It would have been well within her rights to turn him down.

second camping.

[luaithre]

"We ought to maintain contact."

At some stage in the evening, Marcus finds Ellis in a temporary pocket of quiet and privacy. The former approaches the latter directly, cutting a path over the rough terrain without urgency but plenty of intent. Dressed in his usual heavy leather, plate, and furs, bristling black and dull gold-tone, staff lashed to his back, and the red glow of a cigarette trapped between his fingers.

A quick 'alright?' operates as off-ramp into that statement. "They've contacts in Hossberg and we've an eluvian there as well. We needn't say that much, only we've our means of quick response, if they have word, or they need outside assistance."

Ellis had mentioned discretion, and Marcus hadn't asked much after what he'd meant. This probes at it now, delivery mild, curious.

[heorte]

"Aye."

It is good to hear this spoken back to him, unprompted. Yes, they should maintain contact. Ellis' instincts here can be trusted, that it would be a welcome thing rather than an imposition.

Gentle probing, in this case, goes more or less unnoticed. Outside assistance is what snares Ellis' attention, and is where he directs the conversation as he runs fingers through Butterball's feathers.

"We might look into what Reynald was speaking of. What might be underway in the Deep Roads. If we know where they come and go from, we can intercept without needing to delve too far underground."

It would be foolish beyond measure to take a group from Riftwatch into the Deep Roads, but if they are mining red lyrium and they have a choke point, Ellis sees no reason not to pursue it. His look to Marcus is slightly expectant; is he in agreement on this point as well?

OTA

[notathreat]

i. Makin' My Way Montage

Traveling is probably one of the things Ellie's best suited to. She knows how to pace herself, how to gauge distance, how to forage and hunt along the way and barely lose time. The only thing she really has trouble with is remembering to take breaks. Partnering up with her griffon, Artichoke, has gotten her better at it.

It's also difficult to speak with anyone while flying, and Ellie thinks that that might be the only downside. She's certainly amazed at the way the miles eat themselves away below them, trails that should take them half a day melting off in less than an hour.

At camp, she's quick and efficient, getting the griffons settled and a fire started, taking advantage of anyone else's willingness to find wood or create shavings for her, and she'll teach anyone anything they're willing to learn, a carryover from her time in the dreams of the Crossroads. Aside from that, when she's on the ground, she'll talk to those who seem amenable to it.

"What's your favorite stupid joke?" she might ask, or "How are you holding up?"


ii. Wildcard.

wildcard

[armd]

They are well into late afternoon by this point and Abby has long since sunk down into herself, mind retreating away from the edges of the griffon. She is no longer morbidly curious enough to look over the sides. The best way to dodge the vertigo is to close her eyes, and she's spent several hours with her forehead cushioned unwillingly against Ellie's shoulder, holding on around her waist. Only seemed fair to Ellis to switch off every other day so he wouldn't have to put up with her all the time... not that he said anything to that effect, but Abby didn't exactly want to wait for him to.

For the first couple of hours she was completely rigid, holding on so tight it probably hurt. Over time, she's relaxed, and settled in against Ellie's shoulder and back. Now, she's growing bored. All she has to do back here is be alone with her thoughts.

Peeking one eye open, she risks a glimpse of the world ahead of them, squinting against the light.

Hmm. More clouds. So cool...

She heaves a big sigh, and sinks her forehead back into Ellie's shoulder.

[notathreat]

Knowing the extent Abby hates heights, she wouldn't have banked on Abby getting on a griffon for anything other than a life or death situation... but apparently "because Ellis asked" is reason enough.

And given what Ellie's seen Abby do for Ellis in the past, she's not actually that surprised.

Having Abby pressed against her back is weird but not terrible, and it should probably be funny -- and it was, for the first few minutes -- but then she just started feeling kind of bad for her. She hasn't begrudged her the use of her shoulder.

Thankfully the bone-crushing grip has relaxed now, and Abby's even comfortable enough to peek now and again.

"Keep your eyes closed," she says, raising her voice just enough to be heard. "Ellis just gave the signal to start heading down, so we're taking a rest."

Automatically she shifts her grip, fastening her fingers around one of Abby's wrists to hold on. Artichoke, following the lead griffon, starts to descend. It's a weightless sort of feeling at first that turns into a push of gravity as the griffons circle down and down, following the leader. Looks like they've found a likely place.

[armd]

"Huh?"

Oh, no. Before she can think she says, in a slightly higher pitch than usual, "Wait!"

She's not ready! Ellie didn't give her enough warning and she has to emotionally prepare for this, but Artichoke is already angling his head. He tilts smoothly downward, and Abby's stomach swoops; she whimpers, "Oh fuck me," and clings to Ellie for dear life.

Return of the bone-crushing grip. She needs to though, okay. It feels like they're going so fucking fast, but that might just be the wind whistling in her ears, sharp and cold. She concentrates on that, while she cringes into Ellie's shoulder.

[notathreat]

They're already descending. Ellie locks her arm around Abby's where they wind around her stomach, threatening to crush the life out of her.

Fuck, she's really strong.

"Abby- can't breathe." She bangs her hand against Abby's arm to get her attention, but doesn't otherwise make fun of her. She's seen this enough times to take it seriously, and watched Abby do shit anyway enough times to have some respect.

"C'mon, I need to land this thing."

i. belated, lmk if too belated

[wearyallalone]

Vanya is an uncomplaining and efficient traveler, flying during the day and taking on his part of the evening chores with a brisk, businesslike focus. But they can't always be flying or working, so she can find him after dinner at something of a loose end with Pamplemoose bedded down after a long day.

He flickers a smile when she asks how he is. "Well enough. I think it's a bit easier on those of us used to flying," not naming any particular names. "But how are you?" It seems like a genuine question, and not just a return of the courtesy.

never.

[notathreat]

Ellie's working over Artichoke with a loose rake after dinner, clearing out a couple of impacted feathers, the dust of the day, brushing the places where the saddle's rested. He's lying down, taking the extra attention as his due. She saw to him earlier but this is still a way of settling them both.

"Tell me about it," she says sympathetically, glancing over at the others. Abby especially is having a rough go of it, but she can't imagine Marcus and Strange are having a good time either. "I had a horse named Callus forever ago. For reasons. It would be a good name for a griffon too."

Vanya asks, and the ring of genuine care in the question has Ellie pausing, working the rake deeply in behind Artichoke's wing, where she knows he likes to be scratched.

"I'm okay," she says, and it's actually truthful. She is okay. It's a weird feeling, noticing it, saying it out loud. She's having more and more days when she's genuinely okay.

"Kinda worried about Ellis. But that's normal." Ellie pauses, then looks up at Vanya.

"What about you, are you okay?" It's not the same question, but.

[wearyallalone]

He musters a smile, though it's clearly a little tired. "I'm well enough. I'll admit I was a little concerned; this is the farthest from the Gallows I've been since I was ill, but it is not a problem." Maybe he's a little more tired, but maybe that's all in his head. Either way, it's not bad enough that he's not able to keep up or pull his weight.

He does, however, glance over at Ellis when Ellie mentions her worry for him. "Warden business is hard for outsiders to assess," he says, a bit quieter. "I am glad, at least, he asked for the help." Certainly not a foregone conclusion, under the circumstances. It's easy for Vanya, and probably for Ellie, to imagine him taking off on his own if he thought it best.

[notathreat]

Ellie nods. She can't think of a time when she was seriously ill, just hurt, but most everyone in the Gallows knew that Vanya had a tough time of it recently. It makes her worry about Mobius and Barrow. Whether they'll take the same route, or be rightfully wary of just how hard it would try to kill them rather than break its hold.

"Yeah, you're doing really well." Ellis wouldn't have pushed him past what he could take; that would be irresponsible and Ellis is nothing if not responsible.

She presses her lips together as Vanya lowers his voice, a quick glance out of the corner of her eyes before she nods, studying her boots.

"Me too. Dude's absolutely the worst about asking for help with anything." A brief smile flickers across Ellie's face, but that's the only way she acknowledges that both she and Vanya could probably fit into that category, too.

"I'd say he wanted the moral support, but he's even worse at asking for that."

another ancient latecomer pls forgive

[portalling]

Poor Ellie has consistently been on chauffeur duty, and since Strange knows her a little better than most, he often winds up hitching a ride whenever Abby isn’t nearly strangling her in a panic.

Thankfully, this passenger is easier. It turns out the older man is surprisingly comfortable in the air, unflinching about that sweeping vertigo in the pit of one’s stomach, accustomed to peering down from a birds’ eye view. He does a lot of scouting over her shoulder, squinting at the ground and looking for signs of travellers or camping. The main thing which keeps throwing him off is the griffon itself, having to get accustomed to the rhythm of those beating wings and stay out of their way, and balance his weight on a living creature instead of being magically suspended in the air.

So this is the start of Doctor Strange’s griffon training: the occasional oh, fuck as he tries not to lose his balance and fall off behind Ellie; and then after long hours scouting in the saddle, climbing off stiff-legged and wobbly as he sinks to the ground. They’re perched on a treacherously narrow ridge, and everything hurts. His hands are aching from the cold air, even in his warm gloves.

“Did I ever tell you about my sentient cloak?” he asks, conversational as Ellie also dismounts and starts to tend to the animal. “I don’t really know how it worked, but it always knew what I was thinking and where I wanted to fly. These griffons seem more difficult.” A beat, reconsidering, “Alright, sometimes it disagreed with me. But still. Point being. I’m not used to needing to guide them with reins and knees or whatever.”

But he’s gonna have to get used to it. He misses the sky, misses quicker travel, hates being landbound: he wants to learn.

if you can forgive me please and thank you

[notathreat]

Strange is much, much easier of a passenger, despite the awkward distribution of his weight at times. Say what you want about Abby, but she hugs tight and close, meaning Ellie can lean as she needs to.

Strange tends to trail off into thinking other thoughts, losing sync with her, but so far they've managed well aside from occasional curse.

Ellie's feeding Artichoke what looks like some type of preserved meat from her pack, which by the quantity of it is a treat, just a few cubes. Not that the griffon cares, because he horks it down so fast he can't have tasted it. Ellie gives his ear-tufts a fond scratch.

"No?" she asks, turning her head with one of those bright-eyed looks she gets when Strange talks about magic from his world, a glimpse of something much younger, who still thinks it's all amazing. She likes his stories.

"That's so fucking cool," she says, shaking her head, rubbing her hand along Artie's beak.

"I mean... maybe it read your mind about where you wanted to go. Or maybe it just felt your body language." Since he doesn't ride he probably doesn't know, so she pushes to explain.

"You can guide a griffon with your reins or your knees or whatever, but they're actually way more sensitive than horses. He can tell where I want to go, and how fast, because of the way I lean or hold onto him. I actually started really getting good at flying when I stopped trying to tell him what I wanted and just... felt it?"

She shrugs. She's not explaining this well. "Like if I wanted him to spin while flying. I'd just lean over like I was gonna pitch myself out of the saddle to the side. And he'd go into a spin. I bet when you flew with your cloak it was like that too- you leaned into where you wanted to go."

Ellie comes to a pause, then pulls a face. "Or maybe Artichoke reads my mind because he's magic or something, fuck if I know."

[portalling]

“I mean, telepathic griffons would be the least of the weird shit we’ve encountered here and elsewhere, if you think about it— Artichoke, are you reading my thoughts right now?” Straightening up on his perch on the rock, Strange stares directly at the griffon.

The griffon stares inscrutably back. Then, beak empty and snacks gone, he makes a snap at trying to affectionately eat Ellie’s hair.

“Hm,” Strange says, “I guess not.”

The others in their party are alighting on the craggy peak, finding their own safe spots to settle. Carefully picking through his own supplies, Strange takes out his own preserved food to chew on. “You’re probably right, though. There’s so much to nonverbal communication and body language — it’d make sense that we’re clearly telegraphing where we want to go, even if we’re not consciously aware of it. It was handy being able to give the cloak commands in plain English, though. It was— did you ever get to see that children’s movie, Aladdin? The Cloak of Levitation has big Carpet energy.”

[notathreat]

"No harm in checking."

Ellie throws a look at Artie as he tries to nip at her ponytail, which of course does nothing. Besides, Strange has some possible treats for him, Artie, because who else could they be for?

"Carpet-" Ellie pauses, then laughs out loud. Yeah, she saw that one on a movie night. "Man, it sucks that it didn't come through with you. That sounds like a lot of fun."

Ellie pauses, tilts her head.

"How'd you get something like that, anyway? Break it out of a tomb?"