The scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, and it was giving Lady Marceline a headache. That, and a number of other factors.
The Exalted Plains, a region of the Dales in Orlais had recently played host to a front in the Orlesian civil war, or the War of the Lions as it was also known. The place had been beautiful, once, before it was ravaged by war and blood. Lady Marceline and the rest of the Inquisition had received a missive from her father, Marshall of the Loyalist forces. The letter was not unusual, Marceline often received them from her father, and they had always comforted her with the knowledge that he was still okay, and the war had not yet taken him. However, his most recent letter did anything but.
This time, he had written to request her, and the Inquisition's aid. Demons had infested the Plains, and forced the armies to turn their attentions away from each other and on them. From the tone of the letter, it sounded as if the situation was dire, and that both sides were losing ground to the demons. It worried her, to hear that her father was now facing a force of demons, with no real way to get rid of them short of an Inquisitor.
While they could not interfere in the civil war of a nation, they could deal with the rifts and rid the Plains of demons. As valiantly as the Chevaliers fought, they could not hope to defeat what must seem like a limitless force of demons. At the very least, Marceline had hoped that once the demons were gone, that both sides could come to a ceasefire--at least until a time in which a more permanent solution could be found. She may be able to sleep a bit easier at night to know that her father was no longer in any immediate danger. Probably not, all things accounted for, but it would be at least some semblance of peace of mind, for one thing at least.
As it was her father who had sent the letter, she had accompanied the rest of the Inquisition into the field. Not only accompany, but she took point as they approached the battlefield. She wished that their pace was quicker, but was intelligent enough to know the value of patience. Still, that did not help with the knowledge that her father was somewhere out there, fighting against demons. Beside her, Michaël rode and she knew he was worried as well. For her father, yes, but by the many glances he'd given her during the journey, he was worried about her as well.
"I am fine, Micky," she said after the latest glance, perhaps a little more tersely than she meant to. He grunted in answer, something she took as him not entirely believing her.
Ser Leonhardt, riding a bit behind but still within earshot, glanced towards the horizon. Or at least it seemed like he did; it was hard to say for sure when he wore the helmet. “We shouldn't be much further out," he said, voice slightly muffled and slightly echoing. He was still easily audible, however.
A scout emerged from behind one of the hills on their right, one of the Inquisition's. He signaled with a low whistle, and waved an all clear. That was their cue to lead the horses off the main road, and they did so quickly, picking up the pace a bit to urge their mounts over the incline. They descended down a slope after that, following the scout into a patch of dry ravines, with pathways forming naturally between high rock walls. A few bridges attempted to span them, but most had been destroyed, either by time or by the more recent fighting. In either case, going into the shadow of the cliffs led them to the scout camp.
Lia was waiting for them, bow in hand. She looked on edge. By the looks of things, the scouts were dealing with several wounded, though none of them looked seriously injured. She waved a half-hearted greeting and met them at the edge of the camp.
"Lady Marceline. Commander. Glad you guys could make it in one piece. This place is a mess, worse than the Hinterlands ever were. You didn't encounter any trouble on the way in I hope?"
Marceline shook her head, "We met only a few demons, stragglers I believe. Nothing that we could not sufficiently deal with ourselves," Lady Marceline answered. She glanced behind her, toward Asala, but it seemed as if the young woman did not need to be asked, as she was already off of her horse and heading toward the injured scouts. Instead, she nodded and turned back toward Lia. "Was it them that did this?" Marceline asked.
"Bandits, actually," Lia replied grimly. "Or rebels, or whatever. Scum. We've encountered a group called Freemen of the Dales here. Recent, mostly deserters from one side or the other. Which means they're better trained than average highwaymen. Took us by surprise while we were dealing with some demons. We managed to get clear, though." A scout groaned from the camp behind her, prompting Lia to turn her head and look on in concern for a moment, but she shook it off. "I'm not sure if they're based somewhere here, or if they've got larger operations elsewhere. Oh, uh." She glanced around the head of one of the horses, trying to find Khari's eyes. "I spotted a Dalish clan across the Plains. Staying clear of the fighting, I think. I couldn't spare anyone to find out what clan, though."
“Yeah... I think I know who that is." Khari nodded to Lia, an expression of thanks, it seemed. “Probably won't be an issue, though. They'd prefer not to get involved if possible."
"Makes sense." Lia looked back to Marceline. "Gaspard's forces are the closest, or at least a portion of them. They're holding the ramparts north of here against the demons. Can't say how well they're doing, and we don't have the manpower to assist. Well, now we do."
Romulus nodded. "I'll do what I can for the rifts."
"Cool. I can take you out of the ravines, but I'll need to come back here after that. Bit too busy managing my people to come along. We've got our hands full here."
"Any word of my father?" Marceline added tentatively. She tried to wash the worry out of her voice before she spoke, but she was afraid she was not able to get it all, judging by the comforting hand Michaël placed on her back.
"No," Lia answered, in a carefully measured tone. "I'm sorry. Trying to break through to either side was too great a risk, and I've got wounded to take care of already." She glanced sideways for a moment, and then gestured. "Let me just get my horse, and we'll head out now."
Marceline frowned and nodded, "I understand, thank you Lia."
They waited for Lia to get mounted, and the followed her through the ravine. The air as the rode proved to be oppressive, at least, it had for Marceline. It felt as if a demon or these Freeman Lia spoke of could ambush them at any moment. Marceline kept her eyes to their flanks, hoping to catch them before that could happen. The smell of blood and death soon pervaded the air, and Marceline figured that meant that they were getting close. Soon enough, she was proven correct, as they soon caught sight of the ramparts over the next bend.
A squad of Chevaliers were posted near what she could tell was the entrance-- a wooden bridge over a moat. Inside was a series of wooden barricades and a number of trenches. "Those are Gaspard's men alright," Michaël noted, and Marceline agreed. They wore the Grand Duke's color, red, accented with a bronze hued armor. Michaël sighed deeply beside her and shook his head, "I remember fighting in ramparts like those... trench warfare is never easy," he said sounding rather tired himself. Marceline glanced at him and placed a hand over his own, and gave it a comforting squeeze. He was pulled from a battlefield just like this one to serve with the Inquisition with her. Seeing it again... couldn't have been easy.
"Good luck. I hope your search goes well," Lia said, wheeling her horse about. She took off back for the scout camp.
As they drew closer, it was easier to see that the trenches themselves were filled with fog or mist; it smelled vaguely rancid as well. That was unsurprising; oftentimes, all there was time for in situations like this was burning the bodies, if that, and the demons were no doubt further complicating matters.
Their horses' hooves almost crunched over dried, yellow-brown grass; the hasty grey-wood construction of the ramparts was hardly a nicer sight to look upon. The bridge over to the main portion of the holdings was occupied by two chevaliers, one of them wearing an armband that suggested at least some officer rank or other. They were both immediately cautious of the approaching band of mounted soldiers, drawing their weapons and holding them ready.
"Who goes?" demanded the officer. The other looked ready to give a signal to the rest of the squad at any moment.
"The Inquisition, ser," Marceline answered. She was a bit on edge as she spoke, as she did not know how well the Chevaliers would react to meeting both Michaël and herself. He was once an enemy chevalier, and she herself was the daughter of the Marshall of the opposition's forces. However, their stance seemed to relax once she introduced themselves as the Inquisition, though they still kept their weapons in their hands.
The guards exchanged glances between each other before they looked back to her and the one spoke again, "You are here... about the demons, yes." There was a hopeful tone in his voice.
Lady Marceline nodded in the affirmative. "Yes, ser. We are," she said, glancing at Romulus. "This is our Inquisitor, Romulus," She said, introducing him to the soldier.
A flash of recognition crossed the Chevalier's face and he placed a hand over his heart in a salute. "Oh, good," the one soldier answered, deeply exhaling. "Well met Inquisitor," he added. "We have been trying to retake the ramparts from the dead... They rise here, somewhere within the trenches," she said, tossing a wary glance over his shoulder and into the trenches in question. Marceline also noticed Michaël wincing when the soldier spoke of the trenches.
"Have you..." Marceline began, "Have you heard any news of Marshall Lucas Lécuyer?"
The soldier then squinted at her and then nodded his head, "You are his daughter, yes? We had heard that the Inquisition employed her--you. No milady, I am afraid I have not," he answered, seeming rather apologetic about it. The gesture did manage to relax Marceline a little, but still. "Communications have been difficult, since the demons. Perhaps our commander, Marshall Bastien Proulx would know, but we have retreated to Fort Revasan. He has ordered it locked down until we have cleared the ramparts of the demons. It has been going... poorly," the soldier said, shaking his head.
“Where do you need reinforcements?" Ser Leonhardt asked, stepping forward slightly to make himself more visible, perhaps, though that was hardly an issue. “Is there a rift nearby here causing the trouble, or some location they seem to be dispersing from?"
"Deeper inside," the soldier answered, pointing toward the center of the ramparts. "There is a pit filled with corpses, and a... strange glowing light resting above it," He explained.
"The rift," Marceline stated, "That is the source of these demons, and the corpse pit may be the reason for all of the undead," she continued, glancing at Leon.
"Yes, there is another rampart, closer to the fort with the same affliction. We were given horns and orders to sound them once they have been cleared, to let the fort know they have been dealt with," the soldier said. "You will be able to gain entry afterward."
“Rift, huh?" Khari shrugged, glancing at Romulus for a moment. “Think we've got that covered. Let's get to it." She seemed, if anything, a little excited by the prospect, but it was subdued when compared with her usual expressions of the same.
Romulus did not look as excited, reaching into a pouch on his belt and extracting a small vial from it. He'd pulled the cork and downed its contents as quickly as it appeared, shaking his head briefly at the strength of it and blinking rapidly for a few seconds. His blade and shield in hand, he dismounted, starting forward.
Zahra wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Her mouth formed a hard line. Unlike Khari, she hadn’t looked all that excited since they’d arrived in the Exalted Plains. Perhaps, it was the exertion of swinging on and off their horses, taking care of the straggler-demons Marcy had talked about. Exhausting work. She, too, dismounted but held the horses reins, as if she didn’t truly want to walk any further. She exhaled softly through her nose, “More Undead. Great.”
The Exalted Plains, a region of the Dales in Orlais had recently played host to a front in the Orlesian civil war, or the War of the Lions as it was also known. The place had been beautiful, once, before it was ravaged by war and blood. Lady Marceline and the rest of the Inquisition had received a missive from her father, Marshall of the Loyalist forces. The letter was not unusual, Marceline often received them from her father, and they had always comforted her with the knowledge that he was still okay, and the war had not yet taken him. However, his most recent letter did anything but.
This time, he had written to request her, and the Inquisition's aid. Demons had infested the Plains, and forced the armies to turn their attentions away from each other and on them. From the tone of the letter, it sounded as if the situation was dire, and that both sides were losing ground to the demons. It worried her, to hear that her father was now facing a force of demons, with no real way to get rid of them short of an Inquisitor.
While they could not interfere in the civil war of a nation, they could deal with the rifts and rid the Plains of demons. As valiantly as the Chevaliers fought, they could not hope to defeat what must seem like a limitless force of demons. At the very least, Marceline had hoped that once the demons were gone, that both sides could come to a ceasefire--at least until a time in which a more permanent solution could be found. She may be able to sleep a bit easier at night to know that her father was no longer in any immediate danger. Probably not, all things accounted for, but it would be at least some semblance of peace of mind, for one thing at least.
As it was her father who had sent the letter, she had accompanied the rest of the Inquisition into the field. Not only accompany, but she took point as they approached the battlefield. She wished that their pace was quicker, but was intelligent enough to know the value of patience. Still, that did not help with the knowledge that her father was somewhere out there, fighting against demons. Beside her, Michaël rode and she knew he was worried as well. For her father, yes, but by the many glances he'd given her during the journey, he was worried about her as well.
"I am fine, Micky," she said after the latest glance, perhaps a little more tersely than she meant to. He grunted in answer, something she took as him not entirely believing her.
Ser Leonhardt, riding a bit behind but still within earshot, glanced towards the horizon. Or at least it seemed like he did; it was hard to say for sure when he wore the helmet. “We shouldn't be much further out," he said, voice slightly muffled and slightly echoing. He was still easily audible, however.
A scout emerged from behind one of the hills on their right, one of the Inquisition's. He signaled with a low whistle, and waved an all clear. That was their cue to lead the horses off the main road, and they did so quickly, picking up the pace a bit to urge their mounts over the incline. They descended down a slope after that, following the scout into a patch of dry ravines, with pathways forming naturally between high rock walls. A few bridges attempted to span them, but most had been destroyed, either by time or by the more recent fighting. In either case, going into the shadow of the cliffs led them to the scout camp.
Lia was waiting for them, bow in hand. She looked on edge. By the looks of things, the scouts were dealing with several wounded, though none of them looked seriously injured. She waved a half-hearted greeting and met them at the edge of the camp.
"Lady Marceline. Commander. Glad you guys could make it in one piece. This place is a mess, worse than the Hinterlands ever were. You didn't encounter any trouble on the way in I hope?"
Marceline shook her head, "We met only a few demons, stragglers I believe. Nothing that we could not sufficiently deal with ourselves," Lady Marceline answered. She glanced behind her, toward Asala, but it seemed as if the young woman did not need to be asked, as she was already off of her horse and heading toward the injured scouts. Instead, she nodded and turned back toward Lia. "Was it them that did this?" Marceline asked.
"Bandits, actually," Lia replied grimly. "Or rebels, or whatever. Scum. We've encountered a group called Freemen of the Dales here. Recent, mostly deserters from one side or the other. Which means they're better trained than average highwaymen. Took us by surprise while we were dealing with some demons. We managed to get clear, though." A scout groaned from the camp behind her, prompting Lia to turn her head and look on in concern for a moment, but she shook it off. "I'm not sure if they're based somewhere here, or if they've got larger operations elsewhere. Oh, uh." She glanced around the head of one of the horses, trying to find Khari's eyes. "I spotted a Dalish clan across the Plains. Staying clear of the fighting, I think. I couldn't spare anyone to find out what clan, though."
“Yeah... I think I know who that is." Khari nodded to Lia, an expression of thanks, it seemed. “Probably won't be an issue, though. They'd prefer not to get involved if possible."
"Makes sense." Lia looked back to Marceline. "Gaspard's forces are the closest, or at least a portion of them. They're holding the ramparts north of here against the demons. Can't say how well they're doing, and we don't have the manpower to assist. Well, now we do."
Romulus nodded. "I'll do what I can for the rifts."
"Cool. I can take you out of the ravines, but I'll need to come back here after that. Bit too busy managing my people to come along. We've got our hands full here."
"Any word of my father?" Marceline added tentatively. She tried to wash the worry out of her voice before she spoke, but she was afraid she was not able to get it all, judging by the comforting hand Michaël placed on her back.
"No," Lia answered, in a carefully measured tone. "I'm sorry. Trying to break through to either side was too great a risk, and I've got wounded to take care of already." She glanced sideways for a moment, and then gestured. "Let me just get my horse, and we'll head out now."
Marceline frowned and nodded, "I understand, thank you Lia."
They waited for Lia to get mounted, and the followed her through the ravine. The air as the rode proved to be oppressive, at least, it had for Marceline. It felt as if a demon or these Freeman Lia spoke of could ambush them at any moment. Marceline kept her eyes to their flanks, hoping to catch them before that could happen. The smell of blood and death soon pervaded the air, and Marceline figured that meant that they were getting close. Soon enough, she was proven correct, as they soon caught sight of the ramparts over the next bend.
A squad of Chevaliers were posted near what she could tell was the entrance-- a wooden bridge over a moat. Inside was a series of wooden barricades and a number of trenches. "Those are Gaspard's men alright," Michaël noted, and Marceline agreed. They wore the Grand Duke's color, red, accented with a bronze hued armor. Michaël sighed deeply beside her and shook his head, "I remember fighting in ramparts like those... trench warfare is never easy," he said sounding rather tired himself. Marceline glanced at him and placed a hand over his own, and gave it a comforting squeeze. He was pulled from a battlefield just like this one to serve with the Inquisition with her. Seeing it again... couldn't have been easy.
"Good luck. I hope your search goes well," Lia said, wheeling her horse about. She took off back for the scout camp.
As they drew closer, it was easier to see that the trenches themselves were filled with fog or mist; it smelled vaguely rancid as well. That was unsurprising; oftentimes, all there was time for in situations like this was burning the bodies, if that, and the demons were no doubt further complicating matters.
Their horses' hooves almost crunched over dried, yellow-brown grass; the hasty grey-wood construction of the ramparts was hardly a nicer sight to look upon. The bridge over to the main portion of the holdings was occupied by two chevaliers, one of them wearing an armband that suggested at least some officer rank or other. They were both immediately cautious of the approaching band of mounted soldiers, drawing their weapons and holding them ready.
"Who goes?" demanded the officer. The other looked ready to give a signal to the rest of the squad at any moment.
"The Inquisition, ser," Marceline answered. She was a bit on edge as she spoke, as she did not know how well the Chevaliers would react to meeting both Michaël and herself. He was once an enemy chevalier, and she herself was the daughter of the Marshall of the opposition's forces. However, their stance seemed to relax once she introduced themselves as the Inquisition, though they still kept their weapons in their hands.
The guards exchanged glances between each other before they looked back to her and the one spoke again, "You are here... about the demons, yes." There was a hopeful tone in his voice.
Lady Marceline nodded in the affirmative. "Yes, ser. We are," she said, glancing at Romulus. "This is our Inquisitor, Romulus," She said, introducing him to the soldier.
A flash of recognition crossed the Chevalier's face and he placed a hand over his heart in a salute. "Oh, good," the one soldier answered, deeply exhaling. "Well met Inquisitor," he added. "We have been trying to retake the ramparts from the dead... They rise here, somewhere within the trenches," she said, tossing a wary glance over his shoulder and into the trenches in question. Marceline also noticed Michaël wincing when the soldier spoke of the trenches.
"Have you..." Marceline began, "Have you heard any news of Marshall Lucas Lécuyer?"
The soldier then squinted at her and then nodded his head, "You are his daughter, yes? We had heard that the Inquisition employed her--you. No milady, I am afraid I have not," he answered, seeming rather apologetic about it. The gesture did manage to relax Marceline a little, but still. "Communications have been difficult, since the demons. Perhaps our commander, Marshall Bastien Proulx would know, but we have retreated to Fort Revasan. He has ordered it locked down until we have cleared the ramparts of the demons. It has been going... poorly," the soldier said, shaking his head.
“Where do you need reinforcements?" Ser Leonhardt asked, stepping forward slightly to make himself more visible, perhaps, though that was hardly an issue. “Is there a rift nearby here causing the trouble, or some location they seem to be dispersing from?"
"Deeper inside," the soldier answered, pointing toward the center of the ramparts. "There is a pit filled with corpses, and a... strange glowing light resting above it," He explained.
"The rift," Marceline stated, "That is the source of these demons, and the corpse pit may be the reason for all of the undead," she continued, glancing at Leon.
"Yes, there is another rampart, closer to the fort with the same affliction. We were given horns and orders to sound them once they have been cleared, to let the fort know they have been dealt with," the soldier said. "You will be able to gain entry afterward."
“Rift, huh?" Khari shrugged, glancing at Romulus for a moment. “Think we've got that covered. Let's get to it." She seemed, if anything, a little excited by the prospect, but it was subdued when compared with her usual expressions of the same.
Romulus did not look as excited, reaching into a pouch on his belt and extracting a small vial from it. He'd pulled the cork and downed its contents as quickly as it appeared, shaking his head briefly at the strength of it and blinking rapidly for a few seconds. His blade and shield in hand, he dismounted, starting forward.
Zahra wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Her mouth formed a hard line. Unlike Khari, she hadn’t looked all that excited since they’d arrived in the Exalted Plains. Perhaps, it was the exertion of swinging on and off their horses, taking care of the straggler-demons Marcy had talked about. Exhausting work. She, too, dismounted but held the horses reins, as if she didn’t truly want to walk any further. She exhaled softly through her nose, “More Undead. Great.”