All Mortals Shall Know - Part II

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: A hit close to home
WHEN: Beginning of Cloudreach 9:50
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: OOC post! General CW for war-related violence, NPC death mentions, and significant peril to PCs. Use other CWs in your subject lines as needed.

Just after sunset, an hour or so after the news begins to arrive of mass Venatori action in Minrathous—a second coup, if it can be called that when the power already behind the throne finally steps out in front of it—comes another alarm, this not through the crystals at first but from Kirkwall itself. The watchtowers Riftwatch once helped repair burst with signal fires. Just one at first, to the northeast, and then after a time two more at once, and a fourth, bright against the falling dusk. On each the shutters begin to flash, two short interruptions and one long: the signal for a dragon attack.

Not even a high dragon like the one Corypheus's has tainted with red lyrium and enthralled could cover the distance from Minrathous to the Free Marches so quickly. But the watchtowers continue to blink the signal until, one by one, they're snuffed out.

I. THE CITY

Griffon riders and ranged fighters are called out as soon as the dragon signals come in, taking flight to wing across the harbor and spread out to locate this dragon, still not visible even from the roof of the Gallows. In the time that word is spread, lift ridden or stairs climbed, griffons mounted and launched, the watchtowers go dark, the sun falls deeper below the horizon, and Riftwatch arrives in the city proper just in time for a massive explosion at the Viscount's Keep to light up the twilight. Silhouetted against it, and now seared into the backs of everyone's eyes, is the shape of two small draconic creatures with riders on their backs wheeling away from the Keep.

Now that they know what they're looking for, Riftwatch's griffon riders will realize there is no single large dragon over the city. Instead there are a dozen or more of these creatures, smaller than griffons, bodies like large horses between leathery wings. The first time one wheels close, its rider flinging a spell or a grenade, they'll recognize the shape of the heads, the shrieking cries, the burst of fire or ice or acid poison from their mouths—they're dracolisks, now with wings.

Below, a hue and cry in the streets brings citizens with bows and buckets, joining the fight against attack and fire both. The city guard mobilized as soon as the first watchtower was lit, and arrows and crossbow bolts spray from atop the walls and roofs, but their range is too-easily evaded. The enemy on their dracolisks wheel above the city, some attacking Riftwatch's griffon riders, attempting to herd them into the path of a spell, others breaking off to drop explosive grenades on the city below, pillars of smoke rising beneath them.

Just as Riftwatch's griffon riders are beginning to come to grips with what they're dealing with and engage the enemy in the skies, another explosion lights the falling dark. Just as large as the one that has taken the top off Viscount's Keep, this comes from the stairs to Hightown. The noise alone is tremendous, the sound of the explosives almost drowned by cracking stone and the earth-shaking crash of buildings tumbling down from the edge of the cliffs above as Darktown splits open and sends a slice of Hightown cascading down into Lowtown. As it falls, a cadre of dracolisks breaks off from their current paths and heads for the Gallows.

While much of Riftwatch will need to follow them to defend the Gallows and the work contained in its towers, others may remain in or over the city to continue assisting with defense there. The remaining dracolisk riders will attempt to target the Twins—the large statues outside the entrance to the harbor, connected to the chains Kirkwall uses to control ship traffic through the Waking Sea—in an apparent attempt to down them and block that passage entirely. But between Riftwatch and the force of guards and civilian militia members mustered by Guard-Captain Aveline to shoot arrows from the walls and skybridges, they'll be driven off without success.

II. THE GALLOWS

At the Gallows, those who don't ride griffons have also been instructed to prepare to assist the city. As the explosions in the city are felt, large enough to rattle the furniture even from this distance, and news of the flying dracolisks arrives, all hands are ordered to get themselves to armor or infirmary and make ready to venture across the harbor. Those who can provide healing are an obvious need, but just as urgent will be assistance with evacuating damaged buildings and protecting those on the ground, especially if this proves to be followed by a ground attack. But the first ferry hasn't yet left the Gallows dock when the battle comes to them.

There is barely time for a crystal alert of incoming dracolisks before they arrive. They wing circles around the towers, flying close enough to touch the sides, hovering for seconds here and there in pairs as if trying to look in the windows. Almost as soon as they've come they draw back–

And then the Mage tower explodes. A burst of light and force engulfs the uppermost floors, flinging stones the size of a man outwards. It is immediately apparent to anyone remaining within (though there should be few, given how lightly occupied it is to begin with) and those watching from without that the blast has destablized the entire tower, which teeters for only a moment or two, just barely long enough to allow for a race to safety, before toppling over with a thunderous crash. It tips outwards before it drops, crushing a chunk of the outer wall and flinging the remains of its top floor into the sea. The impact sends out a shockwave, followed by a cloud of dust and debris that sweeps across the Gallows courtyards.

The other devices—because now that they know to look, there are devices fixed to the sides of the other two towers, up near the top—do not explode immediately. The dracolisk-riding Venatori continue to circle above, throwing spells and arrows and the occasional small grenade down at the denizens of the Gallows, while two of them also appear to be focused on the devices, trying to get near enough again to hit them with some sort of spell. It quickly becomes clear that there is a chance to save these towers, if the attackers can be fended off long enough to remove or disarm the magical devices before they're triggered.

Of course, it's not going to be easy. The devices are each attached to the outside of the tower between the top two floors, meaning they must be accessed by climbing out a window or off the roof and rappelling down to them. Once there, they'll prove to be attached with some impossibly sticky substance, such that trying to pry them off would damage the workings and risk explosion. The only option is to deactivate them where they are—whether by lowering someone knowledgeable down a rope, or by conveying instructions to someone good with heights by crystal or from the nearest window. The insides prove to be a complex combination of machinery and magic, clockwork mechanisms, enchanted or carved with delicate runes, panels inscribed with glyphs, glass tubes full of Maker knows what volatile compound, brass spinners like thaumoscope sensors, and so on. If attempting to defuse a bomb while dangling from a rope weren't difficult enough, the Venatori on dracolisks remain active overhead, doing their best to wreak havoc below while trying to hit the devices with the activation spells, which (thankfully) require concentration, time, and very precise aim.

They succeed in activating the device on the Templar tower first. Unlike the Mage tower, it doesn't immediately explode, but instead begins sending tendrils of ice racing out along the stone, finding its way into every crack and fissure, every weak patch of mortar, forcing the tower apart stone by stone. But the interference of those working to stop it has done something—weakened the device, or distracted the mage on dracolisk-back sufficiently to throw off the spell she casts to detonate it—and the ice only spreads so far.

But it does spread. Those defending the Templar tower will have to abandon it as the uppermost floors begin to crumble, aided by force and telekinetic spells that can target the frozen weak spots without needing so much precision. Climbing down, catching a griffon ride, or jumping across the gap to the main tower (if someone's good enough at jumping) are all rational choices, under the circumstances, but those who choose none of the above and take the stairs may be able to make it to the lower floors before the upper three collapse.

In the meantime the Venatori shift all their focus to the Central tower, home to Riftwatch's painstakingly-assembled library of rare volumes, records of all of its work, and storerooms full of irreplaceable artifacts. There, a third type of device. When an activation spell gets through, it at first seems to do nothing, but then the stones of the tower begin to shake. At first just a tremor, but the shaking intensifies and spreads, like an earthquake spell amplified throughout the building. Those trying to defuse the device must race to deactivate it before the building rattles to dust beneath them, taking most of Riftwatch's resources with it.

The Venatori do their best to disrupt this work, trying to pick off those on the outside or top of the tower, lobbing spells and explosives at those on the ground, and doing battle with the griffon riders in the air, but eventually, the device is disarmed, its shaking stopped before it can bring the tower down, and the enemy forces retreat.

III. THE AFTERMATH

The sun rises on a changed, chaotic Kirkwall. While the attackers didn't manage to inflict all of the damage they'd planned, Viscount's Keep is still rubble—with reports indicating Viscount Bran Kenric is among the dead, caught by debris while trying to organize an orderly evacuation—and Hightown, Lowtown, and Darktown alike suffered losses from the decimation of the staircase. The gap in the stairs is quickly bridged to facilitate movement, but the solutions begin makeshift, starting with a rope and wood bridge only wide and reliable enough for a few people at a time, and will take days and weeks to progress into sturdier scaffolding and wooden stairs to cover the missing piece. In the meantime, travel between the high and low parts of the city is slower, often involving long queues for either the narrow bridge or a ride on the industrial lifts straight up the cliffside from the docks.

Despite the damage, the mood in the city is more defiant than anything, anger primarily directed at Tevinter. There are some who blame Riftwatch, claiming that it's only their presence in the city that drew the attack, that they would all be safer if these foreign troublemakers took their problems elsewhere. But this idea doesn't get a whole lot of traction, especially not after the warning system they helped repair and Riftwatch's efforts to fight the enemy above the city at the expense of leaving the Gallows vulnerable. Their assistance with clean-up efforts in the city doesn't hurt, either.

In the Gallows, meanwhile, things might feel more destroyed than not, with the dust and debris from the collapsed Mage tower and the upper sections of the Templar tower scattered across the rest of the island. On the side of the Mage tower, the damage is extensive, with a whole section of the outer wall collapsed and a significant amount of the debris—including the residents' belongings—spilled across the rocks and down into the harbor. On the Templar side, stone walls from the upper floors have fallen more or less straight out and down around its perimeter, blocking walkways, with a large chunk of wall nearly flattening the smithy and all of its doors. Debris litters the training yard and has knocked a few holes into the thinner roofs of outbuildings and covered alcoves.

The Central tower is least affected, save the eyrie, which had previous holes and damage from the mage rebellion in Kirkwall and fell further apart, in turn causing the ceilings of the Scouting and Research division offices to partially collapse and bringing the structural integrity of the entire floor into doubt. The brand new lift, on the other hand, has come through largely unscathed. So too has the new tavern, as yet unnamed, and its first shipment of ale. So there is some good news.

The first two days after the attack, while the extent of the damage and possibility of further collapses are still being assessed, Riftwatch members are barred from sleeping in or near any of the standing towers, instead directed either to Riftwatch's warehouse near the docks or to tents set up around the debris of the Mage Tower, which can't really fall any further than it already has. As days pass, other options will open up: setting up cots in the outbuildings, dragging mattresses from the groups quarters into library alcoves, staying with various Riftwatch members and allies who have space to offer in the city, or continuing to camp out in the courtyards and among the debris as the weather warms enough to make it more or less pleasant. But between the time for reconstruction and the need to fund it, it will be at least a month before anyone can move into the remaining residential tower.

Assisting with relief in the city and sorting through the scattered debris in the Gallows or helping the hired labor brought in to help clear and rebuild will be an ongoing effort. In the meantime, everyone still has as much—or more—of their usual work to do as ever: adjusting plans and forming new ones to account for Corypheus' open takeover of Minrathous and the problems and opportunities that provides, or dealing with the news of other attacks that begins to arrive through contacts and field agents.

Comments

[wythersake]

"My pride may yet recover,"

His cheek scraped in the stumble. The back of a hand smears across cut, comes away clean. Skin knit new and pink, and surely a trick of the eye: How it seemed to slither before his touch -

"Though if you’ve a tailor, Monsieur, I’ve casualties to name," Isaac shifts his grip to brace, arm upon arm, still clinging to the bag. The grateful cant of his chin: "Enchanter Isaac."

Little space for subtlety here. They stand in a Circle, and the city lies a smoking ruin. Most necessary, now, to prove his use.

[favoriteanalyst]

It must be a trick of light. Simply a smudge wiped away. Is all. Except then he names himself Enchanter, and so a small play of magic.

Of healing? Of healing. Blessed Andraste, the fucking timing on this man. "Know a few people with fingers good for sewing, though I imagine their hands will be full of skin instead of silk." He will help the Riftwatch-apparent across rubble, presuming a destination but will let Isaac be in charge of direction. Hell, they can help each other make sure they don't stumble face-first into a bit of what used to be dwellings and shops and streets and chip half their teeth.

"Mobius," he supplies, with a brief flash of friendly-enough smile before it's gone again. He keeps glancing at Isaac up and down. Has he seen the man before? It's possible, perhaps, but if so, then only in passing, not enough to make an impression. He's a stranger enough to Mobius, at least, and hasn't been around the Gallows in some time if their paths had ever crossed at all.

"Can't tell if this is a sign you should've stayed away or that you needed to be here right now. I'll take the latter, personally."

[wythersake]

"Providence," He agrees, and if that cuts two ways - well, Isaac has never doubted his soul’s destination.

Lowtown is half a ruin: A tumble of stone and timber and the black scars of flame, of cracking ice, acid pitting the metal dome of a shrine near Third. For all of it, the streets are alive. Kirkwall hums with the angry buzz of a city collected, and upon every corner Mobius might spy another little scene, neighbor helping neighbor; a hand to a child or a bucket to flames. Like something out of a morality play, the way they all come together -

Injury done one is, tonight, injury to all.

Still, it’s a time before they spy one (past a corpse, half-crushed, Isaac’s murmur at his elbow - Already gone -). At the end of a lane, a man stumbles about in cuffs, dazed, eyes shot dizzy with fright. With pain. With blind, delighted fortune.

"Help me," He coughs. Closer now, it’s easier to spy the twisted shape of his leg. His clothes are no more than rags, and his face can’t have seen sun in a stone’s age. He thrusts chained hands to Mobius - "Please, you have to get these off,"

Isaac has relinquished his arm, eyes snaking further down the street. An armored body sprawls behind toppled cart, blood seeping through the narrow slit of its helm.

[favoriteanalyst]

It's heartening. Devastating, yes, but the way people all come together in a crisis is enough to feel Andraste's warmth. Beyond the fires and the smoldering remains, that is. Hard not to think of Starkhaven, both times in fact, and the way neighbors helped neighbors, strangers helped strangers, to try and escape. He knows he'll be back among the Kirkwallers soon, helping properly.

Or, even, helping now.

There is an initial overwhelming urge to do as asked, because even if clearly prisoner, these are desperate times, and any and all hands are necessary. But there's a reason he was a prisoner, for quite some time if his state is anything to go by, and when he glances toward his companion to initially suggest aid, Isaac is looking elsewhere. Mobius follows his gaze.

Hm.

He refocuses on the man who is still injured and thus still needs help. "All right, serah," calm and soothing, and holds his hands out as though to calm a spooked animal. "Come sit. We'll take a look at that leg." And then perhaps direct him to a pop up healer tent, although if that guard died of something even more recent than the aerial assault, then that may not be the safest option. He does not suggest anything about actually uncuffing him. Seeing as the man seems to be getting about just fine that way.

[wythersake]

"Over in a moment,"

Isaac calls, stalking about the edge of the cart. Bread and sausage squish underfoot. A food stall to catch the evening drunks,

And a corpse. He’s nearly turned, left it off to see to Mobius and his scared little lamb, when a shudder rattles armored chest. Alive. It takes more work than it ought to pull the helmet from skull. The man's eyes roll back for it, blood coming thick from his mouth, from a seam in the side of his armor. Can’t be any older than his charge, for all he’s better fed.

Some steps away, the prisoner allows himself to be led. For a moment. But Mobius has seen the guard now, and he's seen Mobius. He clutches desperate for one of those spread palms. Metal rattles from skinny wrists.

"Please, they’re gonna kill me. Let me loose now, you’ll never see me again, I swear -"

"Go with him," Still knelt, Isaac glances over a hank of sharpened metal, dark fluid soaking it to end. His knee angles to block it from view; instinct to disguise this, before his mind's even made up. (It would be a waste of time to hide a stranger's crime, a waste of goodwill,) "And we'll get them off of you."

Isaac catches Mobius’ eye, trusts him to run with the lie. The guard is likely beyond help, his breaths wet and rattling; but appearances must where chance will not. Hands pressed to the wound, there's no time for delicacy: A fist bundles in the Veil and wrenches tight.

[favoriteanalyst]

There's a lot going on in just this short few moments. Mobius doesn't know this man, but clearly if the Enchanter has seen fit to stay with the body, then it seems reasonable that there's something afoot with it. Perhaps not yet just a body, or simply finding the evidence that this wasn't a death from the random happenstance of a city under siege.

Whatever the case, Isaac will see to something there, and Mobius will tend to the prisoner. Now former prisoner, where his attention slides back to. A hand in hand, other hand at his bony back, ushering him to a slab of fallen stonework. "Shh, you're not gonna get very far on a busted leg like that."

And yet managed to get the upper hand in a fight with a guard. If it was even a fight at all. The man is a caged animal newly let loose. Frightened of shadows, the way his eyes dart around, but eager for the freedom. It takes a little more coaxing to get him to actually sit, and when he does, it's with a great sigh, twist of his leg already eased up off the ground.

"I can get out of your hair," he insists, still babbling, chains still rattling, even as Mobius crouches to take a look. Basic field medicine, that's still in the back of his mind, the simple emergency patches soldiers of all sorts get taught just in case, but this looks like more than a simple patch job. A splint could help set it back in the right direction, at least, and some dressings around it before that, but he'll need a proper healer before infection sets in, before it stays twisted for life. "Won't be a bother to nobody; I can't stay here, I can't, but I need--"

"When's the last time you ate?" Mobius interrupts, a hand on good knee and a glance up at his sunken features.

The question catches the man flat-footed, owl eyes blinking. "...I-"

"Or a proper meal. I'm assuming you got fed on occasion, but I think we both know that doesn't count as an actual meal."

The ex-prisoner lets out a wild bark of a laugh that seems like it takes all the air from his lungs. "Wouldn't say not to a full course if you're offering, but I don't see one laid out anywhere."

"That's Kirkwall for you," says Mobius evenly with an undercurrent of chuckle. "Never enough to go around except for the rats. I want you to breathe nice and easy for me." An example, steady inhale, steady exhale. "Everything else feel fine? Anything else feel hurt? Broken ribs are a bitch, you'd know them from the breathing. My friend here," with an increase in volume enough to catch Isaac's attention, "can see if there's anything left in the cart worth salvaging, see if we can't get some food in you to help the healing."

Another weak rattle of chains. "That's real kind, but if you could just--"

"One thing at a time. Don't have a key on me, but we'll figure something out, okay?"

[wythersake]

With eyes off him -

The guard is still breathing. The Fade twines about his hands to find the man beneath, and finds him wanting. The great death that knife stuck has already crashed along gut and vein, a hungry spiral of collapse.

The guard is still breathing. The guard is beyond saving. It is,

Not such a difficult thing, to draw away the last of that life. Call it mercy. His own blood is very loud in his ears. Every soul punctures the Veil, and his fingers curl to widen it now, hasten its departure. Some piece catches, hangnail,

"My friend here,"

Loud enough to catch, to break him from daze. Shit. Isaac stands, smears hands across trousers to rummage at the cart. He comes up with - a whole onion? No, there - bread -

(Somewhere in this the shank vanishes, kicked below the stall.)

"He’s gone. Shrapnel," A breath. Isaac offers out the roll. "Let’s see that leg."