faderift | Momma sed like the rain - SINS OF THE FATHER [CLOSED]

It was a day or two's ride to Crestwood, with the team and a few NPCs to support the camp coming along. A few characters had been approached by Raylan, the rest volunteered or ordered by the Inquisition. The team arrived in the afternoon and spent the evening split among the few social places of the town, listening and asking a few questions. By morning, they had a list of names to talk to.

[Basically use this for anything that doesn't fit under the other two.]

The morning of the second day is spent speaking to the mayor and exploring the town -- nothing much comes of it. In the afternoon, the team splits up in different directions to go talk to all the names on the list.

On the morning of day three, the team splits again, this time into twos and threes, to gather evidence. Some search hard, some barely at all, but the criminals haven't been too careful, and there's plenty to find. At noon, the team meets back up at camp and agrees there's more than enough evidence to move forward with a raid.

But one team doesn't make it back. Kif, Bruce, and Lex went off to search together, and they never make it to the rendezvous. There are reports of three strangers being frogmarched away by some men who were trying not to be noticed. Seems the time frame on that raid just got moved up.

Emerging from his farmhouse on the edge of town, this man is squinting very hard at you, rubbing clean a pair of glasses on his dirty shirt. He’s got the build of someone who can pull a plow, middle-aged with a bit of a gut and graying hair, and dirt stuck everywhere a person could get dirt stuck, it seems.

“Well, hi there,” he says, putting his glasses back on. “You must be one of them Inquisition folks! I say so because I ain’t seen you around, and you don’t look like no courier.” He shuts the door behind him and sits down in a chair nearby, picking up a wet cloth from a bucket nearby and starting to wash his hands and face. “Don’t know how much help I’m gonna be, but I can sure try!”

To ask if he’s seen anything odd, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask how his farm is doing, put a 2.

This woman invites you in quickly, then gets back to stirring a pot over the fire. She’s too pretty to be stuck inside this house, with blonde hair falling down her back and delicate features, as if she’s some noble slumming it. Her accent gives it away, though, she’s from here and always has been.

“I’d offer you somethin’, but I’m afraid we ain’t got as much as we used to,” she says apologetically. “This about Bowman and his daddy? Well, I’ll tell you right now, I’ll help in any way I can, but I don’t know much.”

To ask about Bowman, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask about her, put a 2.

You have to wait a few minutes before the Chantry sister has time for you. Pretty in a plain way, a lock of light brown hair falls out of her headdress, and she looks tired. She takes a good breath and gives you a small smile, hands folded in front of her.

“May the Maker’s light shine upon you,” she says with a little bow of the head. “I am Sister Winifred. I will assist the Inquisition in any way I can.”

To ask about problems in the area, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask about the town in general, put a 2.

This boy is big and tall, with a beer gut and the kind of loose, lumbering strength that speaks of no particular training, but the ability to take you down without blinking anytime he feels like. With blond hair cropped close and pink skin, he looks you over carefully as you approach him outside his little shack, an intelligence behind icy blue eyes that belies the backwoods hick accent he has when he speaks.

“You with that Inquisition group?” he asks. “Mm. Hope y’all can get whatchu came for and split. Be a damn shame if somethin’ happened on this here road.”

To ask about the town, put a 1 in the subject line.
To respond to the threat, put a 2.

A man with short, snowy-white hair sits at the bar, deliberately not looking at you as you approach. He looks down into his glass and then pushes it across the bar, calling to the barmaid for a refill. She makes some crack about whether he’s going to pay for this one, but thinks better of it when he looks at her, pouring liquor without further complaint. Up close, there are similarities between him and Raylan: same height and lanky build, same straight nose, same jaw.

“So you’re with that Inquisition, eh?” His manner of speech is slow, his tone forcedly light, like he’s going for affable and not quite getting there. “I’m afraid I’m just an old man. You’re wastin’ your time, talkin’ to me.”

To buy him a drink, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask him a question, put a 2.

The man before you is a scrawny, squirrelly little shit. He’s got a piece of wood and a knife, sitting on a stool outside his door, and is attempting to whittle…a bat? Or possibly a tiger of some kind? It’s not that he hasn’t done much to it, he’s just really, really bad at it. He doesn’t notice you until you’re right there, and then he jumps, nearly taking his own thumb off in the process. He’s quick to try and feign calm.

“You that lady from the Inquisition, then, are ya?” he asks. “I’m Dewey.” He looks somewhat wary.

To ask what he’s whittling, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask something about himself, put a 2.

No doubt about it: this boy is mean as shit.

He doesn’t look at you so much as glare, with beady eyes under a mop of lank, dark hair. He’s short, but strong, the kind of build seen on farmers. He doesn’t squint in the sun, emerging from the shed he was in.

“You can get right the fuck on outta here,” he tells you, with no preamble. “Ain’t nothing for you here.”

To ask about the shed, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask about the town, put a 2.

The barkeep is, unsurprisingly, behind the bar, tall with a ropy build and hair going silver. He’s wiping out a mug as he sizes you up, ignoring the sparse afternoon crowd he’s got milling around. These look like the types of people who rarely leave the bar.

“Inquisition, right?” he asks. “Well, I’ll tell you right now, I don’t know about anything important enough to bring you folks our way, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

To ask about current events, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask about him, put a 2.

The man before you is big and imposing. He’s clearly seen some prosperous times, because he’s tall and fat, with white, balding hair and a full salt-and-pepper beard. He’s standing and talking with someone quietly, but when he spots you, he says a word and his companion slinks off, presumably to finish this discussion later.

“Well well, you must be Inquisition,” he says, with a smile that feels more like a sneer. Or a snarl. “You boys and girls must have taken one hell of a wrong turn to end up in our sleepy little town.”

To ask about him, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask about his companion, put a 2.

Anyone who'd like to thread sharing the information they gathered can do so here.

“Well, well, well.” An older woman emerged from the house with a hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun, smiling like she couldn’t quite believe it. “Raymond Gibbs, as I live and breathe.”

“Aunt Helen.” Raylan approached her with a squinty-eyed smile.

"Been a year since you all got freed and you never once thought to visit your father."

Well, that didn't last long, Raylan thought. "Can't free someone from their home. That's called forcing out."

"Funny. I could say something much like that about you and this place."

"Crestwood was never my home, Helen."

"Well, I suppose you ought to tell me what you're here for now," she said, going back in the house and picking up a rag. She was washing something in a basin, and went back to it as Raylan took a seat at the table. "Heard about that whole team you got with you. Settin' up camp outside the town as if you're not gonna stay with your family."

"I'm not gonna stay with you and Arlo," Raylan pointed out. He deliberately avoided her wording -- Helen was his family, but Arlo didn't deserve that title.

"You see your father yet?"

"Helen, I ain't here to see my father. I'm here about the letter I got, sent by you."

Helen stiffened, and glanced over her shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about." She turned back to her work quickly.

"All right, that's fair," Raylan said, raising his hands. He wouldn't push her to admit anything she might have good reason not to admit. He doubted Arlo had ever hit her -- he'd done so to his first wife and son, sure, but Raylan had noticed that Arlo stopped the first time he saw Raylan push a plow on his own. The man was a coward, afraid of getting his ass handed back to him by his scrawny teenage son, and Helen was both mentally more aggressive and physically stronger than her older sister had ever been.

But, Arlo still might go running to whoever was in charge with tales of his wife's big mouth. That the danger wouldn't come from Arlo didn't mean it wouldn't come, so Raylan dropped the subject and made a note to speak to Lady Nightingale, letting her know they needed to preserve Helen's anonymity.

"Still, we got a letter," he continued. "Sayin' there's someone up to no good here in Crestwood, and that people are going missin'. We confirmed it from sources elsewhere, packed up and sent a team. That's me and the people I'm with."

"So something shady's going down in Crestwood and you just assume your father's got something to do with it."

Raylan rolled his eyes to the sky. "Now I gotta pretend like we don't both know it's a good guess?" he asked. "What was that scam he had goin' when I left? Tellin' everyone mama was sick, sendin' notes through couriers beggin' nobles for help?"

"If those people were stupid enough to fall for it, they didn't deserve their money," Helen said archly.

"Took one or two for damn near everything they had, didn't he?" Raylan shot back. "Nearly got himself, mama, and me all killed."

"If it had worked, he'd have had enough to take you and your mother outta this damp shithole," Helen said, her voice making it sound like an accusation.

Raylan couldn't take it anymore, pounding his fist on the table as he stood up. "No, if it had worked, he'd have pissed it all away on booze and I still woulda gone to the fucking Circle!" he shouted.

Helen was startled by her nephew's outburst, and had stopped what she was doing. Raylan sat back down, taking a deep breath.

"I don't understand, Helen," he said, quieter now. "You never woulda defended him when I was younger. What the fuck happened?"

Helen was silent, both hands planted on the table before her. The space of several heartbeats passed before she was able to speak. "I'm old, Raylan." Slowly, she turned around to look at him. "And you don't need my protection anymore."

It pierced something in him, but she was right. Raylan hadn't needed anyone's protection for a long time now. Thinking of it made him miss it.

Helen sniffed and wiped her hands off on a towel. "I don't know anything about what Arlo's up to," she said slowly. "And that's the truth. I don't let him tell me, cause then I can't tell anyone."

Raylan closed his eyes and shook his head. "Maker, Helen..."

"Now," she said, as if he hadn't spoken. "Arlo won't be home for dinner, and you're welcome to stay. I imagine, bein' on official business, you won't have much chance to visit with your stepmother once you leave today."

Raylan flinched a little, but he was chuckling. "I prefer to think of you as Aunt Helen."

Edited 2016-10-01 21:47 (UTC)

Stepping into the place there's really not much about it that can tell Bruce anything. By all accounts it looks like a very normal place, but considering what they were here for...

"It's alright," he returns with a small smile on his face. "Though before that - I hope you're alright? It must have been a rough few weeks, from what I've heard."

“Who, me?” Ava asks. “Oh no, I’m not involved. Not that Bowman would even let me if I wanted to be,” she adds, with a touch of resentment. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I wanna be involved in whatever illegal shit they’re doin’ now, but Bowman was always talkin’ about how he was gonna take me outta this place, become a famous bard and buy me all kinds a’ nice things. But he didn’t have the goods, so it’s my fault that he never made it. Fact his singin’ voice sounds like a druffalo ain’t got nothin’ to do with it, apparently.”

She shakes her head and sprinkles something into the pot. “Sorry. I don’t get a chance to talk to strangers much,” she says, turning and giving you a smile like you brought the sun in with you.

To ask about Bowman again, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask about Bo, put a 2.

"Thank you," she says in return, though Christine means the latter part of what the Sister said. "The Inquisition hopes to reach out and offer aid wherever we are able." She speaks gently, knowing that as a mage and an Orlesian, others may be wary of her.

"How does the town fare? There must be a good deal of trade here, yes?"

“We’re not terribly interesting, I’m afraid,” she says apologetically. “The community is mostly farmers, but we get a steady flow of money from being right on the Imperial Highway. A lot of couriers, travelers, and caravans come through, often stop for the night. Less so, given the current troubles.” She moves over to a desk with papers on it, shuffling through them. “Is there something specific that brings you to Crestwood, or just checking on us?”

To tell her about the mission, put a 1 in the subject line.
To say you’re just checking, put a 2.

Raylan had twitched a little when Adelaide had volunteered to speak to Arlo. Raylan had specifically begged off, claiming Arlo's wife, Raylan's Aunt Helen, instead. He didn't go out of his way to seek Adelaide out, and hoped she hadn't noticed his reaction, but if he ended up sitting next to her as they ate dinner, well, that was just a nice coincidence, wasn't it?

"Either get him mad or get him to like you," Raylan said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. He hadn't looked up from his food, but it was directed at Adelaide. "Either'll loosen his tongue. Make him more likely to talk."

"I think in the current climate, being not terribly interesting could be a good thing. The less eyes are on you, the more you can be left alone to live your lives." Christine gives a soft smile, though her mind drifts briefly to the civil war in Orlais and the lives being lost across the country.

She shakes herself from it soon enough, inclining her head a little in acknowledgment.

"Speaking of those current troubles, that is why we have come. The Inquisition wishes to offer aid to those who might need it. Can you tell me if any trouble has specifically come to Crestwood as of late?"

She looks pensive, continuing to sort through papers, putting them into piles. "Well, the Croppers are up to something big, that's for certain. There have been disappearances. Orphans, widows, homeless, travelers. Anyone who might not be missed immediately. I tried to bring my concerns to the guard, but we just had a dragon take roost nearby, so they've been dismissed as victims. No one wants to get close enough to look for remains."

To ask where the dragon is, put a 1 in the subject line.
To ask what the Croppers might be doing, put a 2.

"A dragon? How terrible." While it seems like Sister Winifred believes the Croppers are responsible for the disappearances, Christine doesn't wish to discount the dragon either. Even if the dragon has nothing to do with it, Christine thinks she should know where it is so she can alert the rest of the group.

"Whereabouts is this dragon?"

“Hm? Oh, yes, in the fens,” she says, gesturing in a vague direction. “The Black Fens. No one really goes there anyway. It’s not on the main road and all that’s been there in recent years is trees and a ruined bit of the keep, maybe some wild druffalo. A few farmers have had to harvest early and abandon their fields until someone comes and drives it off, but fortunately most of them still got enough to get through the winter.”

To ask about other locations, put a 1 in the subject line.
To offer assistance with the dragon, put a 2.

This makes Christine wonder if these victims of disappearances could have all randomly crossed the dragon's path in the Black Fens if no one tends to go there. Perhaps the lead with the Croppers will bear more fruit.

Besides, Christine can't make an offer on behalf of the Inquisition to take down the dragon until she talks to the others first. They aren't exactly prepared to deal with one at the moment.

"And the other areas around Crestwood? Have these disappearances occurred in one certain area or all over?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. If you need maps of the area to search with, you can ask Conall. He's a farmer, lives up near Three Trout Pond. He has the best maps I'm aware of, they show all the caves and hills in the area. I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

She looks up from her work to face you. "Now, is there anything else the Inquisition needed from us? I'm afraid I'm quite busy."

You're done with Sister Winifred! You learned that people are going missing, and that Conall might have maps of the hills. You also have the option of sticking around and helping Winifred with her work. This may affect how the quest turns out.

Momma sed like the rain - SINS OF THE FATHER [CLOSED]

PROLOGUE

INTERROGATIONS

EVIDENCE GATHERING

Conall - for Leliana

Ava - for Bruce

Sister Winifred - for Christine

Daryl - for Lex

Arlo - for Adelaide

Dewey - for Pam

Cutter - for Kaisa

Johnny - for Yngvi

Bo - for Kif

DISCUSSION

Helen and Raylan

2 lol i hope this makes sense

hard same friend

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Raylan and Adelaide - closed

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