Entry tags:
[CLOSED] WHAT'S YOURS IS MINE
WHO: Tertia, Ellis, Barrow, Clarisse, Tiffany, Ellie
WHAT: Riftwatch agents raid a Venatori red lyrium mine with the intent to disable the operation and kill the Venatori mage overseeing the work.
WHEN: Now-ish; whenever that makes sense.
WHERE: The Blasted Hills, the Anderfels
NOTES: OOC information is available HERE at the sign-ups post. The objective/points pool spreadsheet with relevant instructions is located HERE and should be open to editing. Please include any necessary content warnings in your subject lines. If you want some image inspo for a medieval fantasy mine, there's a great reference HERE.
WHAT: Riftwatch agents raid a Venatori red lyrium mine with the intent to disable the operation and kill the Venatori mage overseeing the work.
WHEN: Now-ish; whenever that makes sense.
WHERE: The Blasted Hills, the Anderfels
NOTES: OOC information is available HERE at the sign-ups post. The objective/points pool spreadsheet with relevant instructions is located HERE and should be open to editing. Please include any necessary content warnings in your subject lines. If you want some image inspo for a medieval fantasy mine, there's a great reference HERE.
THE BRIEF
As Riftwatch is currently divided between the Gallows and a gloomy Hightown mansion in Kirkwall, the assembly (with their gear and their griffons already prepared) meets in the old Qunari compound turned Riftwatch stable yard on the Kirkwall docks to receive their assignment in person. With paper at such a premium these days, the only written copy of the orders is sent with them rather than filed among the towers' records. There is a silent implication not to lose it. Neither Flint or Julius is keen to reproduce it from memory.
That sheet reads:
For Immediate Dispatch,
Members of Forces and Project Sashamiri are to proceed to the foothills above Alhoven. Reports suggest the trading post there supports a nearby mining operation in the Blasted Hills, and that supplies are typically conveyed to and from by a mule team with a distinct spotted animal among them.
Follow the team and its return to the mine. From a reasonable distance, assess the state and organization of their work. Intercepted correspondence suggests the operation is being overseen by Augustus Naevius, a Venatori mage. What other opposition forces may be present is unclear. Upon completion of your evaluation, proceed to: disable and destroy the workings of the mine and its overseers; to recover any items or records of value; and then, to make your withdrawal.
Supplementary: should any opportunity present itself to damage the reputation of Tevinter in the region, or to discourage Alhoven from further trade relations with the Venatori, see it done.
-J. FlintRather than attempt to assess the value of any notes or correspondence, bring back anything you can reasonably secure without compromising the primary objective of disabling and destroying the mine. Even if a document turns out to be relatively useless, we can at least use the reverse side to supplement our paper supply.
- Julius
ALHOVEN
The village of Alhoven began life as a trading post. Nestled at the base of a rugged cut of the Blasted Hills, it primarily serves to supply logging, mining, and itinerant trappers with a line back to the wonders of civilization: hot meals cooked by someone else, protection both from the elements and the dangers of the wilderness, and carnal satisfaction for purchase. Observation or stealthy investigation may reveal the additional following information:
- Alhoven is currently hosting a modest detachment of Tevinter infantry.
- The village's central square, likely the footprint of the original trading post, is reasonably well fortified thanks to a wooden palisade. While it has no formal gates or portcullises, there is only one distinct (albeit unguarded) point of entry.
- A watchtower on the edge of town hosts a lookout, and braziers are kept burning at night to illuminate the main thoroughfares of the village. It's rare to see individuals in the streets alone after dark. A series of traps found in the foothills above the village where Riftwatch is stationed suggests there's been recent trouble with bears or wolves.
- The population skews older and rougher, with a majority qualifying as seasonal. That said, the village has begun to sprawl outward and there are signs that the rough and tumble lifestyle of the remote outpost may soon shift toward a more hardily domestic one. There is at least one very cute Anderfels baby bundled up against the winter weather, and one of the permanent structures is a Chantry chapel.
- The lack of agricultural infrastructure buried under snow and ice suggests Alhoven is entirely reliant on trade and its collected stores. They don't appear to be doing poorly for themselves.
THE MINE
The targeted red lyrium mining operation isn't much of a journey from Alhoven up and into the unforgiving Blasted Hills. Composed of just a few permanent triangular outbuildings and an array of equipment, the mine isn't all that expansive. What it is, however, (in total defiance of the weather and cold), is awfully productive. Careful observation, stealthy investigation, or the general chaos of the melee may reveal the following details:
- The camp's workforce predominantly consists of animated corpses being controlled by the Venatori mage overseeing the operation, Augustus Naevius. While it would ordinarily be impossible for a single necromancer to accomplish so much on his own, those familiar with other cases of corpses being animated and directed by the power of red lyrium may easily rationalize that's how Naevius is managing as well as he is.
- There are no more than ten non-corpses guiding the work, including the driver of the mule train. Where the animated dead are responsible for the bulk of picking and shifting stone down in the pit mine and for driving the treadmills of the various heavy machinery, the living workers are responsible for the finer work of keeping everything running smoothly. It's impossible to tell from observation if these harbitten living workers are non-mage soporati, mages in their own right, Tevinter soldiers who have become too apathetic to wear much of their armor, or enslaved men and women with a considerable amount of autonomy. That said, they are living in an apparent abundance of comfort. No one seems to be going cold or hungry, although the mood is deadly (ha ha) serious.
- The majority of the corpses are Anderfels natives. Though the residents of Alhoven must be unaware of it, it's likely that this, rather than hungry wildlife, may be the actual cause motivating the anti-predator precautions being taken in the village.
- There are also a number of corpses wearing Tevinter armor/fashions.
- In what is probably a totally unrelated note (it's definitely related), there are three bunkhouses in the compound. Only one seems to currently be in use for that purpose; the others have been turned into a barn and storehouse.
- The animated corpses work day and night without rest, overseen by living workers in rotating shifts. Naevius himself spends most of his day repairing damaged members of the undead workforce, re-allocating the division of undead labor, consumed with some weird red lyrium experimentation, or shut up in the outbuilding that serves as his quarters-slash-office (where through a window he can be seen to be feverishly writing).
Once the attack kicks off, it will quickly become apparent that Naevius is as dangerous as he is industrious. To make matters worse, if he isn't taken out of commission quickly, Riftwatch members will soon find themselves facing an army red-lyrium infested undead; if Naevius is successfully killed, the red lyrium will continue to make the spirits possessing the undead aggressive, but they'll be much easier to corral, kill, or weaponize without someone guiding them.
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“I’m glad you’re here,” he says wearily, “and that you… well. Know what the fuck you’re talking about.” His own hand raises to pat hers, returning the gesture.
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"As long as we know why we're here, I suppose. In the... I don't know. Philosophical sense. We know why it has to be done, even if we're not sure how."
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"What's the hardest decision you've made? It's a big question," she admits, with a little shrug, "but I think about it often. How many things I've chosen between, how many calls I've made. How easy some have been. How difficult."
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"Coming here," he decides seriously, though the corner of his mouth twitches up slightly after the fact, as though he's just become aware of the dour face he's making. "...Riftwatch here, I mean. Making that choice. Could've kept wandering around finding mercenary work till I died or got court martialed."
Both are still very much on the table, of course, but at least in better company.
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"I understand that. Riftwatch would be a big decision to anyone, but then, given the circumstances-- Well, if those were the three options, I'm glad this is the one you chose. Did you enjoy the work of a mercenary, while you were doing it?"
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"Beating up bandits and debtors, killing the occasional wyvern, all for this or that rich nob who never learns your name and pays just enough to get you drunk until the next job." Which says something about the payment's recipient, at least, but he pretends not to notice.
"Meaningless work, is all. Just violence and money and more violence. There's no..."
He scrunches up his face, gesturing like he's trying to grasp or conjure something from the air: a word, a concept.
"...Wysterias."
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"I'm sure there isn't," she says, when the danger of a second laugh has passed. "I think Riftwatch has many, many singular members that other organizations would be hard-pressed to duplicate--Rifters and natives alike. Honestly, I forget to separate the Rifters, sometimes. When I first joined I thought I would feel more strangely around them, but I don't at all. But that's what makes a unit, isn't it? The people. We're lucky, really."
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"I thought the same," he admits after a moment, "but they're just folks, like we are. ...most of them, anyway." Then there's Dickerson.
"What about you, then? Hardest call."
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This far from the fire, the cold has gotten into her toes. Tiffany sighs as she lightly stomps her feet, spiking a shot of warmth up from her feet and into her legs.
"There's been quite a few over the years. I'm not as traveled as you--I've spent most of my life in training, first for myself, and now training others. Do I learn the bow or learn the sword? Do I chop wood this week, or do I wash dishes? But--I think the first was the hardest. Joining the order. I was very small, and my mother and father sat me down and explained it to me. What it would mean, the good and the bad--though they couldn't possibly have known the extent of it. I was the one who had to choose in the end, and I went with the Lord Seeker. Everything that's come after that is connected back to the first--even this."
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His smile fades as he considers the implications of her story, softens into a sympathetic tilt of his head. "How small?" he asks.
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She smiles, with a little shrug. It's young, but there's enough congruity to their backgrounds that Barrow isn't likely to be terribly scandalized by this revelation.
"It's traditional. And really, the training wasn't so different to what I'd have gotten if I'd stayed in the Ruswold. My parents practically ran a military outfit on their own."
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"That's dedication," he observes, and he means it. "You never thought you'd like to do something else, even as a child?"
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A smile twitches at the corners of her mouth.
"Honestly, I was only six. At the time I was excited to be different than everyone else. My mother had just given birth to my sister Catherine--my third sister--and I remember the day they told me, my brother Ward had trounced me in a silly little game we used to play, and I'd spent the morning crying about it--so the thought of running off and joining the Seekers and becoming more important than everyone suited me just fine."
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But Tiffany isn't him. Barrow's smile is sad, but appreciative in its way: of their differences, of her ambition.
"Well," he muses after a short time, "what's something you've always wanted to do? Not related to your work."
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"It's not something I've often thought of," she admits after a beat of silence, "which is--I know--sort of pathetic. I do find my work to be fulfilling, so it isn't--but it's very consuming in its way, so--"
No, now it's sounding pathetic. She twirls her hair the other way around her finger.
"I'd like to see Satinalia in Antiva City. Just once, at least. Is that the sort of thing that you mean? Or do you mean something--I don't know, larger--"
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"That's exactly the sort of thing I mean," he reassures her, "the more pathetic and frivolous the better, I say. That's what fantasies are for. But--"
He holds up one halting finger, "we don't know that Riftwatch won't ever need us over there around Satinalia. A very attainable thing, I'd say."
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"If we're in Antiva, we'll be there on a mission, Satinalia or no. Are you suggesting we skive our duties for my little wish?"
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The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. "It's a wild enough place not on Satinalia," he remarks, "pity you didn't see it the last time, but you'll have your chance. I'll see to that."
Not unlike he saw to her receiving a little piece of Antiva on his return, but he doesn't let his thoughts linger too long on the fact. Perhaps he'd overstepped, but as long as they're still friendly, he sees no reason to regret it.
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"That sounds like an acceptable work-around, messere, yes. Good idea. Did you like Antiva, when you were there? Was that your first time going?"
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"There's always that to contend with, next time. But, hey-- Ferelden has residual Darkspawn, the Free Marches have bears, Orlais has Orlesians. We pick our battles."