player plot | when my time comes around, pt 1

[cozen]

WHO: Abby Anderson†, Byerly Rutyer†, Clarisse La Rue†, Cosima Neihaus†, Darras Rivain†, Ellis†, Evelyn Farrier†, Florent Vascarelle, Gwenaëlle Baudin†, Jayce Talis†, John Silver†, Josias di Jaconissa†, Jude Adjei†, Julius, Marcus Rowntree†, O. Barrow†, Peter Parker, Tiffany Hart, Valentine de Foncé†, Xiomara Novoa†, Yseult
WHAT: A bad end.
WHEN: Solace 21
WHERE: Granitefell, Free Marches
NOTES: This is the first log for this plot. Use this for fight scenes, death scenes, poignant (or not) last conversations before anyone knows they're going to die, etc. Characters who are not dying or on the limited list of survivors can't participate in person or be on-site during this log, but they can appear via sending crystal as needed/desired. (Or you can inbox that stuff, but please link it somewhere so I can find and read it.)

I. BEFORE

The attack that brought them here happened a few days ago, leaving the village of Granitefell a smear of ashes on the plains between Starkhaven and Ostwick and its surviving population scrambling for shelter, food, and medical supplies. That's what Riftwatch is doing here, mostly. Helping. There's also a report that the dracolisk-mounted soldiers who burned their way through the village were looking for an elf in particular, whom they searched out by name and plucked out of the flames to carry off into the dark, and looking into that—questioning the elf's family and acquaintances, examining the belongings that survived the fire, searching the surrounding cave- and ruin-dotted landscape she used to hunt to see if she might have stumbled across anything in the process—is helping, too, in a bigger-picture sense.

The first day they spend there is hot and quiet. Even the injured villagers succumbing belatedly to their injuries do so without much noise and fuss, and the survivors not strong-backed enough to work alongside Riftwatch hide in the shade and talk quietly about what they could possibly do now that everything is gone.

The night is a little noisier. First in a normal way: the heat lifts, people are more willing to move about, the children and teenagers who spent most of the day in heat-induced dozes are suddenly full of energy. So while all or most of Riftwatch, having forgone naps themselves, may be asleep in the early hours of the morning, someone is awake to shout in alarm when something dark briefly blocks out one of the moons. Which is all the warning anyone gets.

II. DURING

The sky rains fire, and once the camp is burning, the flames light the dragon from below, glinting off the red lyrium crusted along its joints and ridges.

Not long after, attacks come from the ground as well: Tevinter and Ander soldiers, some mages, some mounted on dracolisks that breathe fire or electricity, others effective enough with their swords and morningstars, coming at the camp from multiple directions to sweep anyone who tries to flee back toward the center. They're not surprised to find Riftwatch there; perhaps that's why they came back in the first place.

But they're not distinguishing between soldier and civilian in the carnage, indiscriminately crushing bones with magic or running bodies through with swords, taking the time to pause and kill anyone who cowers and screams rather than focusing only on those who put up a fight. They're led by Itaeus Ferra, a figure who may be familiar to some, riding a dracolisk that seals the fate of many of the injured by spewing poison over their burns and other open wounds.

Still, it's a closer thing than they expected. What begins as an obvious plan to wipe out everyone they find transforms, as time wears on, into an attempt to merely take out as many as they can before their own losses become too great and their remaining soldiers withdraw. When they do, the dragon lands to guard their retreat, with a tall figure—not Corypheus, but a cackling and corrupted man of similar stature—riding astride it, urging his dragon into giving the encampment one last torching while inviting whoever may be left alive to come out of the dark and try their luck against him. (Maybe someone takes him up on it, but if they do, it does not end well for them.) It is only after a long lull when no one stirs or answers his taunting that he announces they're boring him and departs.

III. AFTER

The survivors are much fewer this time. A handful of Riftwatchers; only a slightly larger number of villagers, mostly children whose protection was prioritized. The numbers will dwindle further over the next few hours, as the sun rises and people succumb to their injuries before even the fastest-flying help can arrive.

Comments

[hornswoggle]

"It's hard to say."

The situation is some measure of desperate, isn't it? Losing so much, having so little means to rebuild.

John is not a father. (There had been a child in the dream, the Herald illuminating a trajectory for his life that had not come to pass.) He cannot say whether the people of this village would send their children away.

"It might be worth discussion. Maybe those who stay here are the ones capable of rebuilding, and the strain on the next village is reduced somewhat. Or maybe they all stay, and we need to divert a few wagons of resources to make sure they're on their feet in time for winter."

A hand turns, a shrug of a gesture. There are options. None of them will be easy.

[armd]

Abby turns a rock over with the toe of her boot, pushing it toward the fire, stretching out her leg. "If we're gonna do it, we should pick who's gonna say it. Riftwatch's most agreeable."

Despite everything, it makes her grin suddenly. She lifts her gaze toward John. "Who would you pick?"

[hornswoggle]

"Apart from myself," is a foregone conclusion; John immediately understands the bright flash of amusement on Abby's face.

A weighing sort of pause follows. Not everyone is within view, but John knows everyone who had been dispatched, all those who must be moving within the village as they speak.

"Jude," he decides. "And Seeker Hart."

If there is to be a duo to make the case, to speak to people of their hardships and the difficult choices that may be made to ease them, they'd be hard-pressed to choose better than Jude and his affable charm, Seeker Hart and her gleaming, Chantry-stamped armor.

They hadn't exactly brought many other diplomacy-minded options along with them.

[armd]

"Oh," Abby says, fighting to keep a straight face when she looks at him, "And not me?"

Yeah, right. It only takes her a moment to back down on that front. Chuckling now, "Yeah, I'd pick them both too. And maybe Jayce." He's that same kind of easy-going and friendly that Jude is, she thinks, if not a bit awkward.

In the interest of reassuring John, "We can be the back-up."