player plot: the horror of sarrux's pass

[aberratic]

WHO: Caius, Gwen, Hermione, Jayce, Ness, Siorus, Stephen, Vanya (sumptus, elegiaque, reparo, pathlit, aberratic, wildered, portalling, wearyallalone)
WHAT: The Horrors Cometh
WHEN: Beginning of Harvestmere (October)
WHERE: Sarrux's Pass, outside Wycome
NOTES: OOC post here. TWs for body horror, NPC death, ghost town/apocalypse vibes, children in upsetting situations, and general horror stuff.

Characters

CAIUS

GWENAËLLE

HERMIONE

JAYCE

NESS

SIORUS

STEPHEN

VANYA

The residents of Sarrux's Pass, a small village tucked into the mountains of the Free Marches, have long held that their settlement used to be a bustling trade city where dwarves were as plentiful as humans and they had constant contact between the surface and the Deep Roads. These were assumed by the surrounding cities to be nothing more than fanciful legends for decades, but any long-time resident swore it was the truth, lost to time and "monsters in the deep."

Residents were finally vindicated a few months ago when an earthquake caused a landslide in the surrounding mountains, revealing a long-lost outlet from the Deep Roads. At first, residents of the pass were apprehensive, all too aware of the dangers posed by such an opening, but the longer they went without Darkspawn spilling from the entrance, the more eager they became to investigate.

Eventually, the bravest among them began to enter the Roads, in search of ore and artifacts. They were vindicated again, finding both, and Sarrux's Pass quickly became a magnet for treasure hunters, Lords of Fortune, historians, archaeologists, and anyone in search of a quick buck. Even in the face of the Venatori invasion of the Marches, the promise of fame and riches drew handfuls of people seeking their fortunes to the Pass. News from the area was steady, and filled with discoveries and success stories—as well as the brawls, backstabbing, and even the occasional murder that comes with any good gold rush town.

It's been a few months since the reveal of the Deep Roads entrance. News from Sarrux's Pass has slowed to a trickle, then a drip, and now, in the past weeks, nothing. The last message to make it out of the village three weeks ago said simply: "We weren't just right about the dwarves." The parchment was stained with an unidentifiable liquid—not water, not blood—which smelled of the sea.

Riftwatch has been tasked with investigating the village, with three goals: find out what happened to the residents, recover whatever valuables they can from the Deep Roads, and, if necessary, close the entrance again. There may be Venatori in the area, or Darkspawn, or territorial prospectors—without contact with the village, there's no way of knowing what Riftwatch may discover. © tessisamess

Comments

[portalling]

He circles around to her front, and just as Gwenaëlle’s own fingers lift, he starts to reach out to her on kneejerk impulse as well before he stops, hands still wanting to map her cheek, her jaw, her throat, her lips. He wants to kiss her. What an unexpectedly agonising limitation that he can’t do that right now.

And of course she should sleep sitting upright. Practicalities, sensible considerations, pragmatic next steps, this is how his mind always tends to work too, moving on to the next solution and the next and the next,

but as a brief indulgent pause, Stephen reaches out and takes one of her hands instead. Lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss to her knuckles; vicarious, offering what he can, and what he wishes he could.

“Of course,” he says. “We can probably stack up some bags too, to stop you from rolling over on the opposite side.”

And —

He’s a pessimist, a cynic who always prepares for the worst, but there’s an unaccustomed streak of hopefulness for her sake that he says: “All of these changes, they were temporary. Maybe this won’t last either.”

Nevermind that rifters’ bodies are more permeable and malleable than hers. Nevermind that she’s realer than he is, more existentially solid —

[elegiaque]

The grip she has on his hand holding hers is white-knuckled, even as she holds herself so still, so terribly and uncharacteristically still. Holding herself together with her nails, afraid and afraid of letting herself feel it. The fear or the hope,

“When we get back to the Gallows, if it hasn’t...gone, yet, I’ll send for Isaac,” she says, presuming that she won’t have to say in so many words why she might send for him rather than present herself (and whatever herself has become) to the infirmary. Maybe this isn’t something to have easy record of. Maybe it’s easier to get away with that because she’s fucking the head healer and it’s not as if he’s not going to be au fait with the nature of her body in the event of something going horribly awry with it,

anyway. She clings to the practicalities of a plan (even only this much of one) with pitiful obviousness, and his hand, tight enough to hurt.

🎀

[portalling]

“Good idea. We’ll…” He peters out, unsure how to finish that sentence. How far do Isaac’s abilities go? Can he rip out a pair of wings, then smooth over the scar left behind? It’s worth examining. Not necessarily because the wings are horrible, it could have been so much worse — he’d examined that ogre in the root cellar — but it is still unwanted, un-asked for. A violation.

Another violation of her body, something else done to her by ancient magic.

“We’ll see what we can do.”

Focusing on the practicalities gets them through the rest of the evening. Stephen carefully unclasping the rest of her armour, helping Gwenaëlle slide out of it, wiping the odd ichor clean from her spine. He digs around in his healer’s satchel and gets more elfroot for her, for the pain, for that shattered face.

There is a continual unexpected movement out of the corner of his vision, the furious buzzing of those wings.

Normally, bedding down with Gwenaëlle is a comfort after a harrowing day, but it’s meager this time. They stay mostly-dressed, on edge, ready to get up and run in the middle of the night if necessary. She sits propped up against him, mindful to not lie down, Stephen not wanting to accidentally flail an elbow into her broken cheekbone, both of them stiff and uncomfortable and careful.

They barely sleep.

By the time they get back to the Gallows, the wings are still there.