(no subject)

[da3pt5mod]

It's been chaos in Ferelden for months now. The mage/templar war was only the start of it all, sending refugees spilling out into the wild, easy picking for bandits and overzealous templars. And now the sky itself has begun to tear, unleashing all manner of spirits and demons on the vulnerable masses.

Some say it's the end of the world. Perhaps they're right.

There's word of a group that can help. The Inquisition, a controversial rival organization to the Chantry, to hear some tell it, led by the supposed Herald of Andraste, rumored to be able to seal the rifts. But whether or not the Inquisition is all it claims to be, they are currently far, far away from Southern Ferelden.

The Tevinters, unfortunately, are not. You may have heard the rumors about the events at Redcliffe, strange whispers of the fates of the rebel mages holed up within. The Tevinters are supposed to have been driven out of Redcliffe. Unfortunately, some, at least, came here.

Some seem to have kept to themselves, holed up in strange, ancient ruins in the outskirts of the Wilds. Whatever they're doing, it can't be good. But at least they're not as bad as the slavers.

You're not really sure when they grabbed you. You must have fought, certainly, but sitting here all you can remember is vague flashes of color and light, and then silence.

The cell you wake up in is dark and cramped, and you can feel the press of others around you. There must be at least six of you in here, manacled together. A heavy locked door lies in one of the walls, a small slit below it open just enough to peer through if you'd like.

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Branwen

[phoenixofborg.livejournal.com]

Branwen awakes to the sound and smell of too many people in too small a space, still air and stone walls, and for a moment she is back in Circle dormitories, before wakefulness brings sense and memory with it. Not enough, perhaps, because her first action is to roll over and reach for the bow that should beside her, before shackles and deep ache in her left arm stop the motion.

Resettling on her back, she inhales deeply, taking stock. Five other people in the room with her. Only the haziest memory how she got here, without the headache that would explain that level of vagueness. No idea where her horse and weapon had got to. She recalls indignant whinnying when she'd been attacked, but couldn't say whether Brute had been taken by her captors or killed -- she knows he wouldn't have ran. Branwen hopes her surly stupid horse hasn't been turned into dogmeat for kicking some thug's head in.

She sits, drawing up her feet so she can loop the chain between her manacles around her feet. Pushing out with her legs and pulling back with her arms, she exerts all the force she can muster on the restraints, but the links are solid enough work and fail to part. She does not truly expect them to; her fellow captives range from much larger to much smaller than her, and it seems unlikely they'd have shackles to fit all of them and then skimp on the chains themselves. She eyes the door. It's out of her reach unless she climbs over her new companions, but it looks similarly disinclined to give way to a good kick. The slit was promising. You could do a lot with rats -- clever, dexterous creatures no one looked too askance at. She could do more with rats if she'd been tied with rope, but she'll take what luck she can get.

Having exhausted the short list of things she could do herself at this moment, Branwen gives the person nearest her a gentle nudge with her elbow.

[nevarranknife]

Knife roused slowly into wakefulness, by the jostling of other nearby bodies. Having been lain on their right hand side, the elf could neither make out the sounds or the request made by their current companions. Pressed in against a wall by a much larger body, and unable to move, Knife instead became very quickly aware of the press of cold iron at their wrists and ankles. A dull sensation that this had not been the first time they had been in this situation washed over them with some dull long forgotten familiarity. A familiarly, which brought the smallest amount of fear. Rankling the chains in frustration, a disgruntled grumble slipping through their lips along with a Nevarran curse.

Even with their hands in front of them, and the chains clear for them to see they could not percieve a single weakness in the chains, or even if these chains were even made of iron! A voice which sounded decidedly like the Old Gelter (the Smith), chagrined them for not paying more attention to his lessons about chain smithing.

Unable to do much else, they instead elbowed the large body behind them, in some attempt to make some space. Because Maker dammit, if they were stuck like this then they were at least going to make themselves comfortable.

[nevarranknife]

The low loud boom from the adjoining room caused Knife to stiffen with dread. Even if they had not been able to hear it, with their ear pressed to the floor, they could feel it. Whatever it was, It couldn’t be good. So when the mass that had kept them pinned to the wall released them, they were very quick to jump to their feet. They were getting out of here and that was that. Now stood up, they could see the mass of bodies that filled the room, connected in sequence by chains. Thankfully they were near the front, and even in the low light could easily pick out the door.
Well if no-one else was going to make an attempt to find out where they were and get of here, then they would have to. Rolling their shoulder to ease the knots out of their shoulders from the awkward sleeping arrangement, the elf climbed on and over, the mass who they assumed was a Qunari, all the while not being too kind about where they were standing. For someone so small, knife foots steps were heavy and sure.

Momentarily regarding the door, Knife considered attempting to kick the door loose from its hinges. As fun as it would be, it wasn’t exactly a bright idea to run head long into a fight still chained up. Awkwardly dropping to the floor, Knife silently glanced beneath the door. From what they could make out the room looked empty. There was what looked to be a table, but aside from that there appeared to be nothing else there. Okay so they’re day was definitely getting better. That was until they noticed a pair of giant steel boots.

Okay so the room wasn’t empty.

[sergolem]

Okay. Let's take this slowly. It's just like riding a horse. Except... you are the horse. And you're made of steel. It's just like being a steel horse.

Adventure's joints creaked loudly, likely articulated for the first time in ages. It was still unwieldy to walk around, but he was confident he'd get the hang of it eventually.

Mobility achieved! Now, where the blazes am I?