we did not ask for this || semi closed, semi open

[nonsibi]

WHO: Bellamy & other people
WHAT: catch-all log for stuff to happen in.
WHEN: misc. (Drakonis - Cloudreach)
WHERE: misc. (but mostly Skyhold and the surrounding area unless I update this to say otherwise)
NOTES: stuff, things. I'm putting pre-planned stuff in here but I'm happy to make new plans.

Comments

KANE - demon fites

[nonsibi]

The demands on the limited accommodations within Skyhold means a ring of tents without, camps that range outwards in vaguely concentric circles, clinging to rocky plateaus, ranging out into the valleys. The longer that they stand there, the more established these encampments get. Footpaths have become like alleyways and streets; tents become more like homesteads, still portable, if necessary, but growing more grounded by the day.

All the same, this roughshod civilization gives way quite quickly to wilderness, like there's some invisible curtain wall that surrounds the tents, keeping them tucked in safe. Once outside that invisible wall, the wild filters in, paths that are little more than tramped-down patches of dirt and brittle grass, hulking rocks, deep caves and swales and sheer drops when you least expect them.

And demons. Which is why Kane and Bellamy are here, dispatched from Skyhold with specificity. One of the most fringe encampments has had trouble with demons--rage demons, supposedly, an ever-shifting number. Bellamy's mixed emotions come of being dispatched and having a purpose, something to do. He's put himself ahead of Kane, sword still sheathed, shield still fixed to his back. All this way and he hasn't apologized or explained to Kane about riding ahead to Skyhold. Nor has Kane asked. He probably won't ask.

The precarious way means they're on foot. Their mountain horses could have picked out a path, but riding a horse at a demon would be a foolish move. They've long since left the last of the tents behind. The noise out here is mostly the wind, sifting through the tufts of grass and spindled tree branches, whistling around the crags of the rocks.

Up ahead, where the path bends, movement becomes clear through the screen of scrubby bushes. Bellamy stops. His hand goes for his sword.

[letterandspirit]

Kane doesn't need to ask.

Boys will be boys, for one thing, even grown up ones, and now Bellamy and the mages have had a taste of freedom beyond the Circle. And on the other hand, to question it would be to admit an act of insubordination, and Kane had a reputation for how he dealt with insubordination (which was swiftly, and without empathy). He can't be that man anymore, and Bellamy isn't truly his charge.

But he is, whether Bellamy would agree or disagree, Kane's responsibility. Whether or not he is capable of ordering the young man around anymore, won't change that.

He's content to follow in this expedition, going careful down the rocky terrain, hands as considered as his feet. He's had his fair share of demon killing, Red Templar slaying, and wolf stabbing in Emprise du Lion, and the break from all that corrupted hostility was nice and all, but something to do, and to do it for the Inquisition, suits him. Conversation is kept to a minimum -- professional, speculation as to demonic activity, advice about shaky footing on the mountainside -- and dwindles completely as they get nearer.

Behind him, Bellamy can hear Kane placing a bolt into his crossbow, which he'd brought along at the news of the vicious, fiery demons harassing the edges of camp. It will all come down to blades, but if he can do some damage at a distance, first--

"Bellamy," is very quiet, just enough to register at the edges of his hearing. A tip of Kane's head indicates he should move to the side. Ambush.

[nonsibi]

He spares half a glance back at Kane, first at the steady heavy sound of the crossbow bolt. Then a little more than a glance at his name, enough to get that cue.

"Yes sir." Also in an undertone, gruff and quiet, but still with a touch of humor to it. You're the boss, which is simultaneously true and not true. Whatever he makes of rank and authority, Bellamy's not stupid. He can follow this lead. Picking ambush makes good sense. Anything to give them an advantage.

Bellamy's boots crunch in the thin soil and rocks as he steps to the side of the path. Hunched to keep out of sight as much as he is to get a good sightline, he keeps his hand on his sword, and his sword still in its scabbard.

The nice thing about rage demons is, they're like beacons. Especially out here in the wilderness, all grey and brown and mottled green. The low grumble is a dead giveaway, a sound like two half-molten rocks getting rubbed together. Bellamy narrows his eyes, trying to make out their number through the dense thicket of branches, the rise of the rocky hill.

Careful not to disturb too much of the loose grit of the soil, he side-steps slow around a boulder. Already he's picking out a path for himself, a clear shot that'll get him about halfway around where the demons are clustered. Rush from that side. As long as there's no sudden drops or surprises over there.

"Three," he tells Kane, still in that undertone. "Your move."

This isn't fun, but it sort of is.