MOD PLOT: The Earth Trembled in Holy Terror

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone!
WHAT: Riftwatch returns to Nevarra to look into Curious Happenings and gets a little more Curious Happening than they bargained for.
WHEN: Guardian 9:51
WHERE: Nevarra City, the Necropolis, and beyond.
NOTES: If you have any questions, ask on the OOC post!

I. THE SURFACE

It's taken years for the Mortalitasi to cleanse Nevarra City of red lyrium-maddened undead, clear the streets of corpses old and new, and restore the dead to their necropoli, Grand and less so. But finally, citizens are beginning to return to the city. Wagons and carts are gradually filling the streets, the sounds of construction are everywhere, and a few enterprising traders have rushed ahead to set up shop—in makeshift stalls and tents, or in storefronts that may or may not have been theirs before—to corner the returning market. It's given this grand old city a strangely frontier edge, at least for the moment. Riftwatch isn't staying in the city proper, just passing through on their way to the Necropolis, but in the few hours they might spend there, they might get a general sense of how things stand in the city:

• The dragon damage to the royal palace (ironically, the Castrum Draconis) is mostly repaired, and Pentaghast soldiers and servants are making a show of preparing it for Queen Aurelia's return, ensuring it and the area around it is decked out in Pentaghast banners.
  
• The many ornate statues of royals, generals, and various heroic ancestors around the city are being restored not just by the servants of nobility in the wealthiest districts but by groups of returning locals hoisting their neighborhood's namesake princess or dragon hunter back onto their plinth.
  
• As the banners on the walls and the palace make clear, the Pentaghasts consider Nevarra City theirs. Van Markham statues are mostly being left in whatever state they're found in, but the long history between the families means it's not always clear cut—more than one statue's re-raising leads to a heated argument about whether its subject had more Pentaghast or Van Markham blood, or whether marrying into House Pentaghast counts if the marriage was short-lived, etc.
  
• In a few cases, this conflict seems less superficial: here and there but particularly in the noble districts, someone attempting to move back in will be met by angry accusations that they are actually Van Markham supporters, clandestinely or changing sides now to get their property back. It's hard to tell how many of these are fair accusations vs. opportunities to get an upper hand in old grudges between neighbors or rivals, but at least a few end in arrest by city guards or Pentaghast soldiers.
  
• Because while signs of community are everywhere—tearful greetings between long-separated neighbors, sharing supplies and sturdy roofs—so is opportunism. Squatters gleefully occupying a mansion, shopkeepers returning to find someone has already taken over their storefront. The mostly makeshift city guard seems to be operating at a constant jog trying to keep things reasonably orderly.
  
• Every so often clearing construction or opening a basement reveals a few straggling undead, calling Mortalitasi out to collect them for cleansing and restoration.

II. THE NECROPOLIS

Just outside the city lies the Grand Necropolis, a mausoleum that's stately but reasonably-sized surface structures have nothing on the layered maze of cavernous underground chambers that house ages of Nevarran dead. As invited guests, Riftwatchers will be housed in an assortment of chambers, most decorated with skeletal imagery, a few shared with occupied burial vaults. But the majority of the dead are on display, mummified and dressed as they were in life, possessed by spirits who shamble through the motions of life in tableaux within elaborate facades mimicking homes.

In the half-day they have to kill before the expedition that brought them here, there are a few things to do besides wander around gawking:

• Lend a hand with rewrapping and costuming the mummified undead who are still being restored after their misuse in the attack on the city.
  
• Step in to provide an objective outside perspective on disagreements between the Mourn Watch and mortalitasi loyalists from both the Pentaghast and Van Markham camps, each endeavoring to have their dead out-honor the other side's via more prominent and heroic placement in various tableaux.
  
• Meet with the Mourn Watch to discuss what precautions they're taking to prevent future problems with unhoused spirits, such as those previously funneled into cities by the Venatori during attacks, and press them to prioritize the matter.
  
• Tag along to assist with the routine outbreaks of unruly spirits — or wander into one inadvertently and deal with it alone.

The true purpose of Riftwatch's visit, however, is to aid in the investigation of the mysterious corridors discovered and cleared of a fade rift last time they dropped by. While there's no particular expectation of violence, the Necropolis' overseers have decided what they've found there might in fact be out of their wheelhouse — or at least of benefit to Riftwatch, whom they owe a few favors. There's no expectation of violence, so there's no need for anyone to remain behind. Along the long walk — more of a hike, really, up hills of sand and down winding cliffside paths to reach the most convenient entrance to the corridor in question — their guides describe what they've found so far in enough detail that those listening in and familiar with Riftwatch's other work may guess that the Old God temple structure they're talking about, which they're pleased to report they've batted several groups of Venatori interlopers away from in the meantime, is actually a gate,

Their hosts will lead the way deep into the Necropolis, along the same route they traveled before. This time they continue down the elf-made hall, through which they will find that the doors along the hall previously glimpsed past the rift have now been forced open. Most lead to partial rooms ending in rough stone walls, but one overlaps with half an ornate doorway. This leads into a much larger, but partially collapsed elvhen space. Among the ruins, Riftwatchers will spot the crumbling remains of mosaics and large statues that might once have been some sort of bird.

A passage through the rubble (cleared by the Mortalitasi, they'll explain) leads upwards, the Old God structure apparently layered on top of the elvhen site. As they climb up through the floor into the Old God structure, they'll hear a clamor of sound, amplified and echoing too wildly off the walls for its location or nature to be identified though the obvious guess is that something's happening to the colleagues they left behind. The Mortalitasi lead the way toward the strange (gate-like) chamber, which is not a straightforward process. The halls are a maze, and the veilfire torches seem to be positioned to cast confusing shadows and shifting reflections off the onyx of the walls at angles that somehow always flare light directly into eyes. Combined with the noise, the effect is disorienting, maddening.

When they finally reach the central chamber, those in the front of the group will quickly discover several things that despite all the chaotic noise of battle still ringing off the walls, the Mortalitasi left to keep an eye on the chamber are already dead; that this space is definitely one of the Seven Gates; and that the Venatori are just completing the ritual to open it.

As they cross the threshold there is a sudden rush of energy, like the air being sucked from a room though no physical breeze stirs, a sensation as if a great soundless bell has pealed vibrates through walls and bones, and then anyone who has not already stepped into the Gate chamber vanishes.

If your character had already crossed the threshold into the Gate, proceed to Part III. If they had not, proceed to Part IV. Any character can be in either group, but you have to choose.


III. THE TEMPLE

The force of the ritual is stunning, but there isn't time to be stunned. Almost before the sensation has faded, things are happening. In the center of the ritual chamber, a rift tears open onto perfect blackness, tendrils of Blight beginning to reach out of it and into the room. Some of the Venatori spot Riftwatch's entrance and lift staves or draw weapons, moving to intercept.

At the same time, a group of armored men enter from a passage across the chamber. Some might spot that their plate does not resemble the familiar shapes of Venatori armor, but it won't take any feat of perception to guess they're not Tevinter's reinforcements when they begin attacking the Venatori. A chaotic battle ensues, the elves—as it will become clear they are—intent on killing the Venatori but not hesitating to defend themselves against any attack by Riftwatch, real or perceived, and the Venatori fending off all comers.

As soon as the last Venatori falls the elves depart as quickly as they arrived, disappearing back through a nearly invisible door without a word to Riftwatch. In the aftermath, Riftwatch agents will find themselves with a few things to investigate:

• The Riftwatch agents who were standing behind them a moment ago, who have just vanished. The portion of the temple they just passed through to enter the Gate chamber is now gone, replaced with a similar but not identical section of corridors. It's also different in that it doesn't contain any of the Riftwatch agents the other bit did. They are nowhere to be found.
  
  
• The elves. Agents can find the almost seamless door they came and went by, but the passage leads to a set of crumbling stairs and a hole punched into the elvhen space below, where an eluvian is found. The few dead elves left behind lack vallaslin and wear armor that those present in Arlathan (or, years ago, in the Arbor Wilds) will recognize as an ancient elvhen style.
  
  
• The open Gate. It appears stable. As with the Gate seen in the Crossroads, the Blight is somehow contained within a perfect circle a few feet around the rift. It would be wise to stay outside that boundary. The floor beneath it has patterned channels, repositories for collecting blood, and other features similar to those noted at the Temple of Dumat, all freshly used.
  
  
• The dead Venatori have left behind notes and instructions on conducting the ritual they've just done, which corroborate what Riftwatch learned in Arlathan. Unfortunately they haven't left behind any extra materials that would allow Riftwatch to close the Gate, although review of their notes and comparison of the containers left behind suggest that they did bring extra artifacts that now seem to be missing.
  
  
• The temple housing the Gate is dedicated to the old god Zazikel, Dragon of Chaos. (Some might best remember him for the time his former head priest, the Madman of Chaos, flew the undead corpse of a dragon around Nevarra City several Satinalias ago.) Fittingly, the labyrinthine passages and distortions of sound and light continue throughout the structure, making losing one's way—and one's temper—a very real concern for even the best scouts.
  
  
• The elvhen temple beneath. This does not appear to be another case of veil-thinning effects pulling pieces of buildings out of place, or the necropolis's own strange habit of shuffling rooms about. Some walls and pillars of the two sites are continuous structures or even single pieces of stone, with only the style of decoration changing, making clear that they were built this way, the old upon the older. Sharp-eyed explorers will find patterns in the decorative mosaics that resemble wings, and statues intact enough to be identified as owls. One scrap of an inscription mentions "Dirthamen's shadow," and, "Lethanavir." Dedicated scholars of the elvhen gods (or those who go digging through libraries later) will recognize these as indicating a temple to Falon'Din.

IV. THE DEPTHS

Those beyond the threshold of the vanishing chamber will find themselves in sudden quiet and sudden darkness, save any light they provide themselves. The door that led deeper into the temple now opens into blackness that investigation reveals to be a cavern. There's no light to follow out, and though there is airflow, it seems to shift direction rather than come from a single source.

No magic button for putting the chamber back where it belongs presents itself. Attempts to reach the surface through the sending crystals only work intermittently, and there's nothing anyone can do to reach or help them anyway. Journeying through the caverns takes a few days (though it may feel longer), with no clear evidence that anyone is heading in the right direction. A path that seems at first to be heading up may instead head down; many promising routes end in dead ends. Aside from staring at the walls by firelight and endlessly walking, those seeking a way out might need to:

• Seek out water sources, most urgently. Some limited water might be found dripping from the ceiling at the outset of the journey, and just as things begin to get desperate, they'll be able to find a flowing stream of fresh, clear water flowing from a spring.
  
• Scrounge or hunt for food — the most accessible items being nugs and mushrooms, though the deeper they'll go the less familiar the fungus they'll encounter, including some identical to safe varieties that will instead cause hallucinations.
  
• Find a way to record the ancient dwarven symbols on the walls, not quite understandable even to those who can read more recent dwarven texts.

While few if any among Riftwatch's number may be familiar enough with Shaperate records to name what they've found themselves within, observation alone will allow the conclusion that it somehow feels alive, especially when they reach caverns threaded with of exposed raw lyrium veins that slowly pulse with light as if in time with a heartbeat. Upon entering this area their sending crystals, already malfunctioning, begin broadcasting anything they say through the lyrium veins in the walls, surrounding them with their own voices.

In time they also find the heart, a stone-encrusted node of lyrium suspended in a cavern that, on examination, has a spine and a ribcage larger than any dragon's (though only so much larger). They'll only have a half-hour or so to investigate, however, before a person with the build of a dwarf, indistinguishable beneath crown-to-toe nugskin armor save for glowing blue eyes, arrives and gets their attention across the language barrier.

Though armed with unfamiliar weaponry, their new companion shows no inclination to harm them (unless threatened), though they do seem eager to get everyone away from the heart and may slap a hand away from touching anything. Riftwatch would be forgiven for thinking the dwarf intends to guide them to the surface out of the goodness of their lyrium-imbued heart, but they're led instead to a cavern where two other nearly identical dwarves are facing down an arcing stone protrusion across a chasm that's laced with red-tinged black instead of blue. They quickly make it understood that they're trying to remove this section of the rock — an emergency amputation. The creature they're protecting is not so very large, but there are only the three of them acting on its behalf, armed with pick axes and small lyrium explosives, and they're able to communicate with pointing and a quickly-agreed upon language of thumbs-up and thumbs-down that they need help:

• Use magic to pummel the stone or fire to burn back the encroaching veins of Blight.
  
• Help them place their explosives into hard-to-reach crevices, invent creative ways to hold them in place, and rappel around the edges of the rocky limb to get at it from new angles.
  
• Grab a pickaxe and get pickaxing.

And do all of this while dealing with earth-rumbling tremors and the occasional outright visible movement of the stone, as if it's struggling, all of which can only be calmed by the song hummed by their mysterious dwarven companions. As the work progresses they'll become more insistent that their assistants join in. Once the stone is connected by slivers of what it once was, the guardian who fetched them from the ribcage beckons them to cross over it to the other side, where they can watch as the two who remain behind detonate the last explosives to drop the arc into the chasm below.

The one who crossed with them will lead them from there through a maze of connecting caves, outward and upward, sometimes squeezing the largest of them through perilously tight squeezes, until they reach a point where the occasional ancient carving in the stone walls bear signs of elven and then Nevarran influence. The dwarf will decline to go any further. But from there only an hour's more exploration will allow them to emerge into a dusty chamber where a wandering, helpful Necropolis spirit can assist them in reuniting with the living.

Comments

talin | scouting | iii

[dirthsal]

a. descent

It shouldn't be a surprise that beneath these Andrastian edifices lie Tevinter ruins, and beneath those lie elvhen architecture—there's nothing the shemlen do that the People didn't do first, after all, their greatest accomplishments merely pale imitations of elvhen grandeur—but there's still something about seeing it, the proof of it, his People's history subsumed by centuries of human nonsense, that rankles. His face grows ever more sour as they descend further into the Necropolis, but he doesn't stop looking.

They pass a broken statue in the sand, what looks like it was once a bird—there's a wing, part of a torso, talons curled around a perch, and Talin narrows his eyes, crouching next to it and peering intently. It's not entirely clear what kind of bird it's supposed to be, but there are two options. Neither are wonderful, but one is undoubtedly worse than the other.

"Dirthamen or Falon'Din," he muses aloud, stroking along the elegantly carved wing, "which are you for?"

b. fen'harel'enaste

Talin is a stronger fighter than he was when Fen'Harel's agents first found him (not hard, though; he was no kind of fighter then), but his experience is with single combat in secrecy and silence, killing ben hassrath and Venatori spies as invested in keeping their cover as he is in keeping his. He's less accustomed to chaotic group battles with blight- and blood magic seeping through the air, oily and thick as fog, keeping one eye on his allies as well as his enemies. This battlefield is not secret, it is not quiet, it's as difficult to keep track of who's on what side as it is to dodge incoming magic—harder still when new people show up, with no clear affiliation but to themselves. He can barely keep up, deflecting swords with his daggers and sidestepping magic in a desperate effort to just stay alive to the end of this.

The gate falls away, slowly. All that matters is staying alive, and killing all the Venatori he can. That's all Talin sees, for a time—the molasses-thick swirl of blood magic, the sneering faces of Tevinter Alti ready to kill, the whirl and spill of bodies all around him. It's not some secret sense or instinct that positions him to block the dar'misu arcing toward a Riftwatch agent's head—he stepped into an unoccupied space and then there was a blade trying to split him open, that's all.

But Venatori don't use dar'misu. Talin looks from the curved blade caught in his daggers, to its owner, sees elvhen ears and ancient armor and his blood runs cold. He shoves the elf back, quickly glancing back to check on the Riftwatch agent behind him, then snaps his eyes back to the elf in front of them. He's got his dar'misu ready, fingers flexing on the grip while he glances between Talin and the other Riftwatch agent, trying to figure out what they're doing.

He's not attacking again. He might have been as caught up in the battle as Talin was, just trying desperately not to die. He might—

"We fight the same enemy, friend," he grits out in elvhen, "Fen'Harel'enaste!"

c. the temple

As soon as they reach the temple, the real temple, it becomes exceedingly clear who it was for.

"Oh," Talin sighs, thumbing over an elvhen inscription at the base of a toppled statue, "of course."

Part of him resists the idea of sharing anything about this place with the shemlen, but a much louder part is far too aware of where they are to take that risk—he's down here with them, after all. Any traps these humans trip will affect him just as well; Falon'Din was not known for his mercy toward the People.

"I would be careful," he says to the next person he sees. "This is a temple to Falon'Din, our god of the dead. There will almost certainly be traps, and old magics lying dormant. Without an expert on Elvhen magic with us, it'd be beyond foolish to rouse anything that slumbers here."

A statement he punctuates with a deeply unimpressed raise of his eyebrow. He knows how foolish you humans can be, after all.

a

[bouchonne]

Byerly's manner isn't disrespectful, per se. He doesn't speak with any more irreverence than he would of the Maker or Andrastean works. That said, his default manner does tend towards the insouciant, so it might not be dreadfully difficult to hear mockery in his tone.

"Whichever one it's for deserves a refund on the gift. Poor broken little thing."

[dirthsal]

Talin is not easy to goad; he wouldn't be here if he was. There's a place among the Wolf's people for even the hottest-headed rebels, but it isn't in the middle of the enemy's camp. He was chosen for this assignment for his ability to shoulder the disrespect of the shemlen without reacting, to act friendly with them even when they talk down on him, his culture, his People, and his ancestors.

His ear flicks, annoyed and involuntary, at the shemlen's insouciance, but he rises from the statue with no hint of ire.

"You'd have thought my ancestors would craft their art to last."

The reflexive twinge of guilt at disrespecting the Creators has lessened over the years; the shame of disrespecting his ancestors never has. Talin hums a prayer of apology under his breath, and walks back toward the group.

[bouchonne]

Byerly's blasphemy cuts both ways. "Eh. You'd also think the Maker would have crafted His Golden City so it didn't turn black as soon as a few Vints showed up." His voice turns pensive. "Then again, I've interacted enough with Vints that I understand the impulse to burn your house down rather than have to host them."

He ambles easily along next to Talin, his long legs eating up distance in a way that an elf simply couldn't match. Perhaps a bit of a metaphor for what it's like to be a human in Thedas - carelessly easy.

[dirthsal]

Byerly falls into step next to him and Talin forcibly suppresses the sneer he can feel tugging at his lip, refrains from an instant response so he doesn't snap elvhen insults at the unsuspecting shemlen. It's easier to be bland and inoffensive in human cities where nothing really matters and their ignorance can amusing instead of infuriating. To be surrounded by them here, where he can feel the weight of all that's been lost to the People is... a challenge.

"That does seem to be one thing we can all agree on," he notes, mild. "Comforting, in a way."

He does not, and will not, lengthen his strides to keep up with the human's longer legs. If Byerly outpaces him, so much the better.

c

[armd]

"Sure."

Sign her up for exactly that — she's been in the bowels of abandoned buildings that looked a lot like this temple does in terms of the wear-and-tear; moss-stink and damp walls; the cold, clammy air; an unspeakable amount of dirt. Grave dirt, probably, considering this entire place... Abby is in no mood to rouse anything of any description. Whatever is in here can stay unroused, thanks.

To this effect she does not take another step, simply watches Talin's thumb pass over words she can't read.

The name Falon'Din does not ring any bells.

"What kind of god is he? Benevolent? Or..."

[dirthsal]

At least some of the shemlen know how to listen. Abby's question earns what might be a laugh, but might also just be a derisive snort.

"As benevolent as any of the Creators."

Which is to say, not at all, although the stories that would have evidenced that have been lost to time and human interference. If it weren't for Fen'Harel, none of them would ever have known the truth of their gods—which makes it a kind of calling to spread the truth when he gets the opportunity, doesn't it? Even to humans, or—check the anchor—rifters.

"In the stories I've heard, he was vain. They all were, of course, but he was a breed apart. 'The blood of those who wouldn't bow low filled lakes as wide as oceans', my hahren said."

Talin lets that sit for a moment, lets Abby's imagination conjure up what that must have looked like—and then shrugs.

"Always sounded a bit hyperbolic to me, but lakes of blood the size of lakes would still be terrible."

[armd]

Back home Wolves spoke about God all the time, the Bible and faith, and the creation of the world, but Abby never bought into any of that. How could you believe in a higher power and spend every day of your life fearing you might die at any moment? Why would one person bother to create everything, sit back and watch it all go to shit?

She still hasn't moved from her spot. Her lip curls.

Charming.

"That's a lot of blood." And a lot of people who, for whatever reason, refused to bow low. "Is that what we should expect if we trip something off in here? A cave-full of blood?"

[dirthsal]

No shit, shemlen, is it a lot—

This isn't helpful. Even in his own mind, raw as this place makes him, he needs to remember why he's here, his goals, what serves them—it is painful, yes, to share this temple with shemlen; to lash out now will only alienate him from the people he needs to be observing. What does it help, for him to be rude now? What has she done to earn it, except listen to him?

Talin breathes out, slow and deliberate, and approaches Abby, gaze sweeping the area in front of her. It's difficult to look at the temple with an objective eye, but if he ignores what it is he's looking at, if he only looks for the telltale signs of trapped walls, trick floor tiles—

"Difficult to say. You're safe to move forward, for now."

No traps that he can see, at least. This would be easier if they had a mage with them—Elvhen traps are more likely to be magical than mechanical.

"I know of another Temple to Falon'Din that required supplicants wade through a river of blood just to enter the antechamber. Between the effects of a thinned Veil and the magic laid into this place when it was an active temple..."

Who knows what might be waiting for them?

[armd]

She watches him looking, waiting for his expression to betray information to her. Are his eyes different? Does he see things she can't see? Whatever he's gleaned is satisfying enough to permit movement — Abby nods and steps forward. It feels better if she keeps a hand resting lightly on the handle of her mace.

"Yuck." Re: the river of blood. "But I've waded through worse."

And Talin is free to imagine exactly what that might mean if he feels like it.

"Is there a reason we're going further in? Past the potential river of blood, I mean, couldn't we just... go?"

[dirthsal]

His eyes glint in the dark the way a cat's might, but otherwise he sees no more than Abby could with training and familiarity. Abby seems to be keeping alert for another fight, ready to pull her weapon at the next sign of a disturbance, so Talin decides to trust her and not divide his attention. He keeps his focus on their environment as they move, eyes peeled for the subtle shimmer of fade that signifies active magic, ears tuned for the hushed movement of air that means a hidden door—

and then he stops in his tracks, eyebrow raised, intrigued and even, ever so slightly, impressed.

"Worse?"

He'll answer the why of it all in a moment, please explain.

cw discussion of death and corpses

[armd]

Fair.

Abby snorts and says, in warning, "It's bad," perhaps unnecessarily. Of course it's bad, they were talking about a river of blood before this moment, one she has been imagining as very fresh, for some reason, and that's why this is worse.

"I came here from a world that was in a permanent Blight — basically people who died became infected and would attack anything that moved and I've had to get through rooms of them, after they've been killed, again."

Talin might not need further description that than but she adds, "I remember the smell. And I was wearing a gas mask."