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

[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."

[armd]

"Then land it!"

Hurry!!

Ellie's hand is on her arm, holding onto her. She did that when Abby almost fell off the side of the cliff on their first mission together, too. It does make her feel a little safer. Abby relents on her grip the tiniest amount, enough to grant a modicum of breathing room, and complains pathetically through clenched teeth. "I'm dizzy."

[notathreat]

Ellie manages a breath, though Abby's still holding her tightly, restricting her breathing, and uses it to speak, trying to keep her voice level.

"Put your head on my shoulder and shut your eyes."

Her ears heat, but honestly, they've been through weirder shit than this. She can endure a little bit of Abby being physically close to her if it calms her down.

Ellie angles Artie down, gentle circling rather than a plunge. It takes a little longer, and she feels kind of lightheaded, but it won't be quite so terrifying.

[armd]

Abby thinks nothing of it. She drops her head onto Ellie's shoulder and having that anchor, a place where she can make her head be still and stop spinning, helps more than it ought to. Slowly, her arms loosen up a little more on Ellie's waist. A little more, a little more. Now that she isn't shivering like a scared idiot she can feel the griffon's muscles shifting underneath of her as Artichoke lazily angles into the descent.

Ellie isn't saying anything now. Abby wants to ask if they're nearly there, but she doesn't want to embarrass herself any further than she already has. She bites the inside of her cheek to hold it back.

Landing is the worst part, anyway. Once this is done, she doesn't have to do it again for... another couple hours.

The thought makes her sigh petulantly into Ellie.

[notathreat]

As Abby loosens her grip, Ellie gets her breath back, but still holds onto her arm where it's looped around her waist, and as they get lower, she can hear Abby sighing, frustrated, and it almost makes her smile.

"We're almost there," she tells her. "I've got you."

Sure enough, within five seconds they've landed, and Abby will have warning by the way Ellie braces her body for it, riding Artie's galumphing movements as he hits the ground and trots forward for a few steps. While he can stop completely like a bird would and alight on a particular place, this tends to be a little smoother.

"Still alive back there?" she asks, giving Abby's arm a smacking sort of pat with her arm.

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."

[wearyallalone]

Her reassurance wins a small flicker of a smile from Vanya. But he looks thoughtful as she continues her thought about Ellis. "I think he's worried this could go wrong in a more practical way," was a gracious way of agreeing that he probably wouldn't have asked if it was only moral support he thought he'd need. "I hope it doesn't come to that, though. Both for his sake and because Wardens are known for being especially hardy opponents."

He hasn't had a life that put him in the way of fighting many Wardens, but he's heard stories (and, for that matter, seen Ellis himself fight).

[notathreat]

"I hope not. But I don't see why the Wardens would attack us."

They seem to want all the same things, unless she's horribly misreading the situation. She doesn't know anything about Ellis' past, but she also can't see him doing anything that would make him an enemy of the other Wardens unless something went terribly wrong...

But then again, shit happens. Maybe something else is going on with the Wardens she doesn't know about, or their are other factors at play.

Ellie presses her lips together, glances at Vanya.

"Do you think it'll go that bad?"

[wearyallalone]

"I honestly don't know enough to make a good guess," he says, frankly. "I hope not too. Wardens generally are known for being focused on one goal, and I don't see how an attack would advance it. That said, they're also known for not taking kindly to outsiders interfering in their business, so." A small shrug. "Hope for the best, plan for the worst?"

Or maybe that's just his general approach to life. The first part may or may not be optional.

"I trust Ellis, though. He would not have brought us if he expected it to go badly, or badly in that way."

[notathreat]

Ellie tilts her head to one side, considering. Vanya's right, but-

"I think he'd bring us if he expected it to go bad. But I also think he'd tell us if he expected that, so we'd be ready. He wouldn't kneecap us like that."

Though it says something that they're speculating rather than asking Ellis directly. It occurs to Ellie that maybe they should.

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?"

[portalling]

“You would think, wouldn’t you— although, actually, I don’t know how the sorcerers originally got hold of it. God knows, maybe it did originally come from some curséd tomb. It was a powerful relic sitting unused in storage at the Sanctum, until it chose me in the middle of a fight.”

A little wistful; like missing a favourite pet from back home. He’s staring thoughtfully into empty space over the mountains when there’s the clack of a beak, a startled yelp, and Artie successfully, contentedly inhaling some of Strange’s lunch. He frowns at the animal and retreats into himself like a hermit crab, drawing his meal closer and out of reach.

“At least the Cloak doesn’t eat. No feeding costs.” Strange looks over at Ellie, remembers their conversation from the crystals the other day. “You’re good with them, you know. Griffon Keeper seems like it would suit.”

[notathreat]

"The sanctum of-" she was going to say wizards, but- "sorcerers that are less supreme?"

Artie gives Strange a personally affronted look, like how DARE he guard from being stolen from, but then seems to grumble and accept it.

"That and it doesn't try to eat your fingers, I'm assuming." Ellie shrugs one shoulder, gives Strange a wry smile.

"Thanks. I guess I am settling down into having a job and shit in my old age." She chuckles wryly under her breath. "They used to think they'd never make a soldier out of me."

To be fair, she still isn't one. But it's plenty more official than the rest of what she's done.

[portalling]

“The Sanctum Sanctorum, yes— but hell, I’m adopting that tagline now. The Sanctum Sanctorum of Sorcerers That Are Less Supreme.”

It’s cold up here in the mountains, but a little warmer now that they’re not actively flying and the wind isn’t cutting right through them even higher in the sky; a few too many hours in the saddle and Strange can feel his extremities starting to go numb. He wiggles his hand out from a glove, tries to rub some life into his pained fingers between those bites of his food.

At Ellie’s rueful humour: “Yeah. Aren’t we all soldiers now, technically?” He was in Research, yes — holed up in those labs and libraries, yes — but he still schleps out into the field when necessary. Case in point: today. “Although I guess Riftwatch doesn’t try to brand ourselves as a standing army.”

[notathreat]

Ellie does laugh at that, the corners of her eyes crinkling with what will one day become laughter lines, if they get a chance.

"Nah. We're all just a bunch of assholes trying our best."

She cups her hands near her face, blows into them, paying attention to the stumps of her fingers, nodding as she listens to him, but this is the first time she's really had her attention drawn to his hands when they've spoken.

Scars are nothing new to her, she's got plenty of her own. But these kinds of scars...

"Holy shit," she mutters, and this is rude, probably, but she sounds impressed as she points. "How the hell do your hands still work?"