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

[laurenande]

[She listens, still and silent as he explains, and whatever amount of her attention had wandered at his previous answers is abruptly focused on him again. She had been terribly curious--such abilities were rarely found in elves and even less likely in men--and his answer had given her everything she required.

Her smile is out of place, in that any expression of joy would clash with these blighted lands, but it is sincere. In fact, there is something charmed and bemused in it; it is a far cry from the frustration and anger that drove her from her tent.]

Often I have chided others, warned them that even the Wisest cannot see all ends, and here I find myself wanting for my own advice.

[She offers him the breastplate back.]

To beckon divine power is a feat few in my homelands would undertake lightly, but it seems your skills and mine are far closer than I would have dared to hope.

To use your own fëa to...cast is a harrowing experience. I imagine it is far worse for you than I, but I cannot say for certain. It is not an art practiced in Thedas, thankfully, but binding will and power to objects can make such things less...impactful.

[apostasia]

( he sets it down, and shrugs, elegant if one-shouldered-- )

I don't find it harrowing, my lady. It's been a matter of relearning my own limits; broader than they once were in some ways, tighter in others. ( one because of his lack of a leash; one because of his foreign nature in this strange world. but one complicates the other, and the thread of frustration that lingers has more to do with the lingering uncertainty of how much is what. how much of the change is thedas, and how much is that he is achieving things he'd never imagined possible?

what would this feel like, if he were where he came from? easier, he suspects. but maybe more dangerous, for all that. )

It is...

( he considers his words. )

It's natural - a grace to it. I've found it seems to be the effect and not the method that defines how much of a fight Thedas will put up to me, but the difficulty of it is - an exaggerated version of what we were already trained to adapt to. To work this way always drew on my own strength to a degree; the more complex the spell, the more I'd feel it. That's still true here, but the definition of what is 'complex' is not, ( a wry smile, ) quite universally agreed upon.

Sorcery has always carried the risk of overextending yourself. Thoughtless exertion has killed the foolish before.

( and the desperate. )