TAKING SULEDIN KEEP

[faderifting]

WHO: The Inquisition
WHAT: Capturing the Keep
WHEN: Guardian 23
WHERE: Emprise du Lion
NOTES: Violence, gore, etc. This log contains closed prompts for quest participants, but is open for anyone who wants their own battle- or post-battle logs. ICly it will take most everyone they have in the region to take the keep, so any character could be part of the assault and its aftermath. It's also forward-dated to the 23rd, so if your character isn't currently in Emprise, they could be by then!

By 23 Guardian, the Inquisition has pressed the Red Templars out of the hills and snow and into Suledin Keep. The assault on the keep starts before dawn and is long and deliberate; there are no trebuchets here. By the time the sky has turned a bright enough gray to pass for morning, the Inquisition has worked its way into the snowy, twisting maze of gardens in front of the fortress. Soldiers weave around the walls and the rubble and the spikes of lyrium. Archers climb up mounds of tumbled stone and into the ancient, twisting trees for better vantage points. By the time the fortress itself is breached, the sun is setting again behind the clouds, and snow is falling.

The Red Templar forces are many and though for them this is a retreat, a last stand in the region, they are well-organized. They fight with the single-minded fury of the corrupted, and indeed many of them show signs of advanced lyrium infection, eyes red, crystals jutting up out of skin, sometimes so numerous that they begin to form their own sort of armor. A few have been so completely consumed that it is difficult to tell they were ever human to begin with. The battle will be long and bloody. Courtyards and wall positions must be taken one by one and held, and more than once retaken again after a successful Templar resurgence. Any Inquisition member able to fight is likely to be pressed into service before the day is done.

As the forces press forward the snow behind them is left checkered red: lyrium, blood, Inquisition uniforms. There are bodies to identify. Wounded to tend to. Enemy soldiers beyond hope of recovery to be put out of their misery, perhaps, for those so inclined. A giant's carcass is laid out in the gardens for inspection; two more are already dead and rotting in cages and chains, with red crystals infesting their bodies. Bigger crystals have infected the castle itself, sticking up from the ground and out of walls almost as if they have been cultivated here. They must be smashed as the army advances, for any who linger near begin to feel its effects, particularly the wounded.

Comments

[metaari]

Metaari takes his spot across from Isabela, putting the giant between the two of them. Now it was just a matter of who he thought might be the more interesting target between the three of them. He knocks an arrow and draws it back, eyes darting from the giant to his team to the mine--it was wandering too far away from him to stumble across it properly.

He tightens his jaw and shoots, the arrow lighting on fire thanks to the rune on his bow, and it embeds itself deep into the giant's shoulder. "Come on, ugly. Over this way!"

[visus]

It's probably the arrow more than the insult, but the giant almost seems to respond to Metaari's jibe, lifting a heavy arm and roaring in the qunari's general direction. He is the handsomest giant in this Keep, thank you very much. But thankfully not the smartest, as, drawn by their attention, he lumbers forward directly into the path of Twisted Fate's fire mine. But he's moving a little more quickly than might have been originally anticipated from such an ungainly creature, and the blast of flame only manages to singe its backside. This of course prompts another roar, and a flail of its club that sends a wash of icy snow and dirt at its assailants, threatening to get in the eyes and mouths of the unwary.

The giant advances more quickly after its initial shock has faded, feet shaking the ground hard enough to unsteady even the most skilled aim and balance. It lashes out with its club, a huge haymaking swing at the trio.

[easternseaqueen]

Isabela does her best to maintain her balance up on her perch, though she does find herself in a rather awkward-looking position. She takes a moment to regain her bearings and the aim of her crossbow.

After all, what was the old adage? Ah, yes. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. And this one looks just dumb enough to miss a tripwire.

She attaches a rope to the bolt and fires, sends it flying across the way, hearing the satisfying kachunk! of it hitting its mark. She then whistles at the giant, trying to get him to blunder over it, trip, and hopefully fall on its ugly face.