katabasis: (whatever this is that I am)
ƬƠƬƛԼԼƳ ƇƠƊЄƤЄƝƊЄƝƬ ƑԼƖƝƬ ([personal profile] katabasis) wrote in [community profile] faderift2023-03-13 06:06 pm

[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.


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. Flint

Rather 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.
fairforce: (08)

[personal profile] fairforce 2023-04-08 03:24 am (UTC)(link)
She nods again, a punctuation to her "Thanks," because he's focused now and won't be looking at her enough to see that nod. The words of Lady Seeker Hollace still echo in her mind: I can't hear the rocks in your head, Hart.

No food, so she'll have to improvise. Looking about, Tiffany quickly crouches and grabs a rock. She holds it up to her eye level, and clicks her tongue against her teeth. "Butterball. Here, Butterball, look at me, look, look--focus here, don't mind what Ellis is doing--we're here to help, darling, stay looking at me--"

Still waving the rock, she shoots a glance at Ellis, taking stock of what he's doing. "When you pull, tell me, please--Butterball, here, darling--"

The griffon is focusing on her, at least for now. His round yellow eyes track the path of the rock, despite the pain he must be in. His beak opens soundlessly and closes again with a clack.
Edited (icon selection) 2023-04-08 03:25 (UTC)
heorte: (rm00307 (2))

[personal profile] heorte 2023-04-12 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
How much do griffins understand of Trade?

It must be enough, at least, to remain focused miserably on Tiffany while Ellis positions himself beneath the spread of Butterball's wing. One hand braced against the flexing muscle of the griffon's shoulder, he very, very carefully wraps a hand around the arrow.

"Now," is a brief, urgent warning.

And before Butterball might think to investigate what now might prompt or remember to be skeptical of what Ellis is doing, he tightens his grip around the arrow and yanks is sharply free.

The resulting screech is utterly pitiful, but focused as he is, Ellis only manages to track the rest of the reaction from the corner of his eye. Keeping his hand and weight pressed down over Butterball's front leg in some minor, desperate urge to keep him from kicking Ellis into the dirt fully occupies his attention.
fairforce: (74)

[personal profile] fairforce 2023-04-17 12:02 am (UTC)(link)
Now, and Tiffany doesn't flinch back. Her wince is for the pain in the griffon's screech, the way the poor beast rears and bucks and twists once the arrow pulls free. Blood blooms fresh on pale feathers.

Tiffany raises her other hand--half to keep herself clear of Butterball's beak, and half so she can snap her fingers, trying to reclaim even a whit of his attention. "Butterball, here, here," clicking her tongue against her teeth, the way she'd call chickens.

The griffon's head whips back and forth, eyes rolling. His beak clacks as he snaps it open and shut, cutting off his own screeches--and suddenly his wings burst open, flapping madly. Tiffany stumbles back, stupidly surprised--how could anyone forget that griffons have wings? The force of their beating shakes snow from the trees around them, buffets against Ellis, crouched too close.
heorte: (117)

[personal profile] heorte 2023-04-24 03:52 am (UTC)(link)
They are fortunate, maybe, that Butterball doesn't simply take flight. Ellis isn't certain either of them could stop him from bursting through the treeline and heading wherever he chose. Griffins are willful things; they remain with Riftwatch because they choose to do so, and there would be little stopping them should they decide otherwise.

However, Butterball's wing clips Ellis hard enough to send him sprawling. Snow shaken loose from the branches above shower the three of them. Scrambling, Ellis is already lifting hands up, beseeching.

"Here now, you're alright," is a low, soothing appeal, even as Butterball's wings flap harder, beak clicking frantically.

A quick glance sideways clocks Tiffany. What he sees must satisfy: no injury, not too badly doused in snow, upright where Ellis is still on his knees, altogether in better condition.

"Kick snow over that," comes as a low aside; they should keep the arrow, but maybe out of sight for now.
fairforce: (04)

[personal profile] fairforce 2023-05-03 03:15 am (UTC)(link)
Tiffany is quick to recover herself. Her emotion had bloomed as suddenly as the griffon's blood, but she was taught to master it, and so she does. She does spare a glance at Ellis, and when she finds him snowy yet unharmed, she packs that, too, away. There is business that still must be done.

She does as she's told, quickly kicking the snow to cover the arrow. There is blood still on it. The first covering soaks crimson and so she kicks more, until there is a small mound studded only with bits of dirt and rock.

Butterball's next screech is less frantic. He rears onto his back legs as if to make a final dramatic point, wings flapping. When he lowers himself back down, it's with a thud, and another screech, but his wings settle at his side. He directs his next screech right at Ellis, an expression of offense.

Despite herself, a smile pulls at the corner of Tiffany's mouth.

"Does that mean he agrees?"