open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

[faderifting]

WHO: Inquisition Forces
WHAT: Inquisition forces cross the mountains into Orlais to deal with Emprise du Lion
WHEN: Wintermarch 25 onward
WHERE: EMPRISE DU LION
NOTES: This is a mingle-style log for the Inquisition camps, local tavern, and general/open Inquisition work, etc.

This time they hike down to the west, but the trip through the mountains is no easier. The snow is heaped up about the road where wagons have pushed it aside, stomped into slippery pack beneath the feet and hooves that have gone before. Of the main track it is ankle deep at best and in places it drifts, waist-deep on a tall man and enough to bury a dwarf who hasn't come prepared with snowshoes. Everywhere the wind howls, biting cold, and the sky hangs low, a pale flat grey that makes it difficult to judge distances. Those who know winter weather call it a snow sky, and near-daily squalls prove them right.

They set up camp in Sahrnia, across the broad expanse of frozen river that has trapped the villagers here upstream. Tents pop up in rows and in the shells of tumbled-down buildings, fires blazing and thawing the ground to mud. When the supply wagons roll in they re-open the local tavern, brightly lit with flaking paint on the walls that might once have been colorful and patterned tiles on the floor that seems to swim like an optical illusion after too many glasses of the cheap red wine that fills the cellars.

Even deadlier reds hold the hills: Red Templar sightings have been frequent and it is said they are operating in several locations in the region in significant force. Some of these men and women have become hulking, crystalline beasts. Many others are in the earlier stages of corruption: red-veined and -eyed, aggressive and superhumanly strong, but still visibly human and coherent if spoken to. Red lyrium is even easier to find, jutting out of the ground or cliffsides, filling caves-- the Tower of Bone, a fortress that has stood for centuries, now threatens to split from the inside out. The area's wildlife was none too friendly before, but now the wolves and bears have begun to be corrupted by the lyrium and many will attack on sight, without provocation. (The snofleurs that bumble harmlessly around the river seem unaffected.)

Everywhere there are ruins: broken bridges, crumbling colosseums, and the great hulking mass of Suledin's Keep tucked between the distant hills. Scouts reported that Red Templars hold it as well.

RIFTER ARRIVAL - SAHRNIA - THE HILLS - TOWER CAMP - A HANDY MAP

Comments

[apostasia]

( where sabine is evidently a quite dedicated drinker - martel is vaguely impressed, in spite of himself - he is meandering at a more sedate pace through both his ale and her story. with someone else, he might suspect embellishment; with sabine, he (resignedly) suspects there is actually more to it than he's being told. )

Do you want mine? ( --is an amused counter-question, tilting the tankard lazily. )

I wonder if there's not something they could do to your bow, you know. If you were so inclined.

( what the inquisition needs is for her to take it into her head she needs a magic bow. )

[glandival]

[ Sabine tips forward enough to inspect his tankard, wrinkling her nose, before she gets to her feet with a scrape of metal cupware along the scarred wooden table. She shan't wait for him, but he may find himself with a second ale awaiting this finishing of his first all the same, upon her return from the bar.

But his thought gives her pause, head tipping, her face that of an elf's face who is imagining herself with a magic fire bow. ]

It is worth asking, non? Perhaps it can also keep me warm at night.

[ But she's on her way, elbowing through the sparse crowd in a manner that is pragmatic, and still sober, if with an affect of someone who has no interest in engaging with literally anyone she bumps into. ]

[apostasia]

( sabine being so purposeful and his ale being about half full yet, he doesn't feel compelled to get up and follow her; she's a grown elf woman, she can walk herself across a tavern. he does turn and lean in his seat to keep an eye on her, all the same, which is why he has the opportunity to instantly regret the brief and deeply entertaining thought that a magic fire bow is more likely to keep her warm at night than anyone in skyhold, who all value their limbs too much to try.

because someone in this tavern does not, apparently, judging by the hand cupping her backside.

martel sighs.

he is probably going to have to stand up. )

[glandival]

[ I mean, it's fine. It's almost fine. It might be a surprise to anyone who has met her that Sabine doesn't instantly murder people attached to wandering hands, instead brusquely sticking an elbow into the offensive arm hard enough to smart, with the intent to wordlessly move to some other section of the bar, empty tankard in hand.

But that hand goes out again, finding her belt and pulling her backwards. It's ruder, more assumptive in a different manner than that time Martel had dragged her into dancing, and the other wandering hand presumes to bury itself in her hair, like a child reaching for something shiny.

They always try it, with the hair.

With a flash of white teeth, she turns, sacrificing a few spare strands of curly red in order to best slam her empty tankard into the human man's stupid face, snapping something sharp in Orlesian while he reels. ]

[apostasia]

( martel rises.

it's unhurried, both because frankly he knows that to be ultimately more intimidating than rushing in and because there's still a possibility that this will end quickly and at sabine's hands. she won't necessarily thank him for interceding. she probably won't thank him for anything at all in all the time they know each other, but specifically, she might actually be annoyed. especially, as it well might, if it simply results in certain assumptions about the nature of their relationship.

but he doesn't quite have it in him to sit idle, and the stupid human is spluttering in a way that doesn't sound apologetic, repentant, or even quelled. )

Sabine?

( a mild query.

several pairs of eyes turn. ah, the charmer has friends. it takes all sorts. )

[glandival]

[ Sabine is still holding on to the empty tankard, slightly raised, her weapon of choice (as opposed to bringing a knife to a bar fight, even if none are visible). She also notices the faces turning, the looming shadow of Martel who she has to force herself to contextualise as being on her side, although a sharp glance in his direction doesn't lack in hostility. He could well get a tankard to the face, too, if he tries to extract her from the situation.

In fact, let's just call an embargo on elf touching for the next few minutes.

The spluttering man didn't get the memo, however, nor does he completely notice Martel's presence, dragging himself up from the bar with his next action only to lunge at Sabine, a meaty fist flying. She acts swiftly, swerving aside, wrapping an arm around his, slamming a foot down on his instep.

A second goes for her, looking to drag her off, her shriek of protest implying he is halfway successful. A third, observant but unwise, immediately goes to put himself between Martel and the tangle of elf. ]

[apostasia]

( this is fine. martel considers the interloper for a few moments, before backhanding him almost negligently - there's a crunch as nose impacts table corner, which he doesn't regard besides presuming he can move forward without being further interrupted.

if he turns out to be wrong, he is the most sober man in this bar and easily the most willing to hurt somebody else.

but for now, he grasps the man catching hold of sabine by the back of his neck, wrenching him back as one might a dog, if one weren't particularly fond of it. martel, not being particularly fond of any dogs, performs the task ably, shoving him down after his friend. there is a sort of restraint to the way he approaches this, thus far; it's sabine's problem, sabine's choice as to how badly this next part goes. he would dearly like to make abundantly clear to them the unacceptable nature of their behaviour, but

if he has to settle for looming behind her while they leave, or

a well-aimed kick to the ribs keeps the first man down, but they're drawing attention. not starting to draw attention so much as starting to be hard to ignore. )

Sabine.

( decision time. )

[glandival]

Kick him again!!!

[ --would be her decision, although in fairness, Martel already did that quite thoroughly and the movement that Sabine is seeing out the corner of her eye seems to be more like a lurch out of the way, but still. Perhaps she doesn't expect to walk away from this cleanly, even with Martel's shadow casting over the situation. Perhaps she's tired of trying.

Whatever the reason, she'd used her freedom of grabbing hands to whirl back around, and by the time she's shouting back her Decision at Martel, she's jumped and landed on the original offender's back, arms wrapped around his throat.

They disappear together around the edge of a bar with a hard thump, but it's Sabine who springs back up, hair flying.

Hefting herself up onto the bar (with a wheezing sound that implies she stepped on the man on the ground in the process), she gets to her feet, nimbly stepping out of reach of a hand making a grab for her, and kicking the next one away. ]

[apostasia]

( oh, screw it.

he does kick him again, partly because what the elf wants, the elf gets, and partly because he was trying to rise in spite of the first one, but this is getting messy and he's forced to throw elbows to get himself a bit more space -

there is a quicker way. with little more warning than a not-very-apologetic, ) My apologies, little sister, ( he catches sabine by the waist and lifts her clear of the bar, bringing her about to face the men who've risen in the misguided notion that they'll have strength in numbers and that martel and sabine can't or won't fight this entire fucking tavern if they have to. )

Right in the face, darling,

( is inappropriately playful when he is proposing to use her as a weapon. )

[glandival]

[ She moves before she thinks, instinct triggered only by advice even when her brain is still stuck on hey! and late to catch up. Her leg swings up, following momentum, and slams into the nearest face of the men bearing down on them both, a satisfying solid hit that sends him sprawling.

A second makes a clumsy grab for her ankles but gets a boot heel in the sternum.

And Sabine laughs, a sound that's as sharp and sudden as splintered glass. ]

[apostasia]

( the momentum gained from kicking the second man in the chest is what martel uses to bounce her back up onto the bar, freeing his hands to catch the third man barrelling towards them and use his own momentum to send him flying into the wall instead of whatever it was he'd come at them half-cocked intending to do.

this is not how he'd envisioned spending his evening, he thinks, but he snaps another man's impromptu weapon (a bit of loose planking - as if this tavern or any part of sahrnia needs to be any more run down than it already is) over his knee and doesn't not enjoy reversing the pieces of it into his face.

his conscience is entirely clear. someone else started it. )