faderift | THE FALLOW MIRE

THE FALLOW MIRE

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: The Inquisition sends forces to the Fallow Mire to deal with undead, plague, and missing scouts.
WHEN: Firstfall
WHERE: The Fallow Mire: Inquisition camps, Fisher's End, The Tavern, etc.
NOTES: For more information about the setting and RP opportunities in it, check out the OOC Post.

The trip down the mountains from Skyhold is no walk in the park, and south of the Hinterlands the land turns wet and miserable, subject to seemingly endless storms. Villagers have tried to carve out a meagre existence in the Fallow Mire, but their lives are under constant threat by a tidal wave of undead rising from the murky waters flooding much of the region.

The Inquisition has sent a sizeable force, and travel back and forth between the Mire and Skyhold happens as often and as quickly as conditions allow. The camp is a neat patch of tents on the largest bit of dry land to be found. "Dry" is relative; everything's still pretty muddy. There are several clusters of tents, tucked between rock outcroppings and abandoned buildings, the least leaky of which are being used to store what supplies the Inquisition has managed to haul in over the difficult terrain. Campfires are numerous and fill the area with a constant smouldering glow and low-hanging cloud of smoke that mingles with the morning and evening fogs. It's lovely, really.

Fisher's End barely even counts as a village-- just a haphazard handful of ramshackle buildings perched on the edge of the swamp-- but it does have a single tavern. It's a dreary-looking wooden shack like every other structure in the area, distinguishable only by the lamp still lit above the door and the sign that swings creakily in the breeze. Whatever was painted on it has long since worn away and been molded over. The place is just known as "the tavern" because it is literally the only tavern for miles and miles around.

Inside is dim and smoky from peat-burning fires in the two grates. There are a half-dozen tables with benches, none of which ever seem quite level on the uneven floor. The bar is tended by Thorolf, a grizzled bearded fellow with a local accent so thick he's almost unintelligible. No matter the time of day he serves a simple fisherman's meal of hard bread, salted fish, and a hunk of strong cheese. His cellar is stocked with exactly three varieties of alcohol: one ale, one wine, and one spirit, all of which are strong and dark. There aren't many locals left, but there are usually a few hunched over a mug or huddled around the fire.

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The Inquisition Camp - Zombie Attack!

There's no real telltale difference between the day and night here in this miserable stinking swamp. The Chantry often comments on how the Maker's gaze is averted away from Thedas but this is the first time Alayre truly believed such a bold claim. A faint slither of fear passes through his usually stoic gaze once he hears a sound in-between the endless rainfall. Nearly soaked to the bone and quite on edge, Alayre briefly tells his men to keep close watch of the camp as he surveys up ahead. The muffled shuffling of the ghouls that lurk nearby deny the Knight-Commander of any peace this evening as he tries to navigate through this mud soaked land upon horseback.

His white steed, Durandal, couldn't look any more miserable as it trudges through all the grime and muck. Eventually the horse refuses vehemently to go any further and Alayre is forced to disembark. He climbs down the saddle carefully as he tries to find his footing along this slippery path. A grunt of annoyance escapes the Knight-Commander as he takes a moment to survey the land. The brooding darkness that clings to Fallow Mire truly puts the Templar on edge.

"One would find very little to call 'home' in such a putrid den of muck and pestilence." He grumbles bitterly as he wanders just a little further. With his hands firmly placed upon the hilt of his swords, Alayre pauses once a sickly groan reaches his ears.

"TO ARMS!"

Miserable stinking swamp was right. The gloominess of the Mire was even getting Sam down, finding himself smiling a bit less and more easily tired. He certainly was glad to be out of Skyhold again, but Fallow Mire certainly was not at the top of his list. The Storm Coast would have been much preferred, even with all the rain it often had. That he could deal with, that reminded him of home.

The yell "TO ARMS" does get him jumping to his feet though, dashing away from the fire they had at the camp towards the direction of the yell. Stopping just short of the water, Sam draws his staff, eyes searching for the Knight-Commander. Where was he?

Where is here? Well just look for the incoming legion of zombies trudging through all the mud and yuck. Alayre is a little further away from the campsite, a good few sixty yalms northeast to be exact. The Knight-Commander wanted to get a better look of the land in hopes of spotting their missing scouts. Instead of find them, Alayre finds himself facing off against scores of shambling corpses.

This swampy land provides nothing in the form of stability. It's uneven footing here which makes combat quite difficult when you're slipping and sliding. However, Alayre seems to make due well enough to run this one ghoulish fiend through the skull with his blades. The zombie's screeching cries eventually cease once its blackened blood dribbles down its bloated face. The Templar struggles briefly to free his swords but eventually he manages.

There's a clear look of disgust upon his face that Sam will undoubtedly notice as Alayre makes quick work of another zombie. "The Maker himself cares not for this hellish den." Alayre grumbles as he streaks down another corpse.

"This is nothing short of a nightmare." Take a guess as of who has a fear of zombies? The complaints will cease once this accursed mission is over.

"Idiot," he mutters under his breath. He means it as nicely as possible since he like Alayre, but he obviously had a death warrant for wandering out of camp on his own. Knight-Commander or not, this terrain was terrible for anyone to fight in, especially by the undead.

Alayre seems to be holding his own for the most part, but from over here Sam can see that the Templar is being surrounded, the water and uneven ground doing little to hinder the corpses. At this range Sam could probably shoot a few of them, but the distance and slight bit of fog it was a bit harder to take a clear shot and not hit the Templar. "Maker..."

There is little choice but to close the distance, and Sam tries his best to stick to higher ground so that he can move quicker. Once in range, Sam throws out his hand, sending up a barrier around Alayre as he continues to attack. He's not sure how the Templar feels about having magic cast on him, but they could argue about it later.

Well, that yell was loud enough to be heard all across this godforsaken patch of dirt and muck. It was enough to draw Beleth from where she'd been scouting, trying to redraw the maps to be a little more accurate, and less ramshackle. She watches Alayre briefly, and thinks that it's a good thing that zombies aren't very smart, or there might be an issue of him drawing them with his shouting.

That said, the sight of him charging down what were already there, dressed in armor, on a white steed, waving his sword around, made Beleth wonder if the Knight-Commander wasn't just some figure out of a child's storybook that had the poor fortune of falling into this miserable world.

But she didn't wonder for long, and while she did nothing like shouting to draw attention, Alayre would soon figure out he was being aided. Arrows zipped at some of the zombies, picking out ones that were at an awkward angle for him to get to, or had gotten behind him. She'd learned, working with others who weren't archers, that they rarely enjoyed swinging their sword at an enemy only for the enemy to be dead with an arrow in its eye before they could even connect.

It was foolish of Alayre to wander off like this so far from camp but without decent scouts, someone desperately needed to take up the task. The ground here is too slippery for him to take up his usual stances. His swordsmanship is usually close to perfection but his movements here in this swamp are a tad off due to the wet terrain. The Knight-Commander is having trouble keeping the horde at bay until a magical paling suddenly engulfs him.

Surprise lingers within Alayre's gaze as he quickly turns to see none other than dear Sam there. The feel of having magic cast upon you is quite similar to feeling the warmth of a fire. It's oddly comforting despite how peculiar it feels against him. There's a hint of shock there, as if lightning struck him and buzzed through his body. Barely given the time to revel in this phenomenon, Alayre paused once saw a few zombies get struck down by arrows. A confident smirk appears briefly as he turns to the direction of the archer.

"How good of both of you to join the fray." He welcomes them before turning his attention hastily towards a zombie trying to lunge at him.

"You're lucky!" Sam shouts back to Alayre, wanting to be a bit upset, but instead simply smiles, knowing he had gotten there in time. Beleth too, now that he looks to his right, seeing the woman notching another arrow. "You know normally one has a bit more self preservation in these kinds of situations."

No sooner had he said that, Sam sees three of the corpses turn. Two start heading his way and the other making a bee-line towards Beleth. "Can't get a break out here..." Oh traveling in the bog had been tons of fun. The corpses were bad enough, but they had a particular liking to him and Lady LeBlanc and anyone else that worked closely with spirits.

With another thump of his staff a ring of paralysis roots the two corpses heading his way, all the while making sure to keep his concentration up on the barrier. "Beleth! Make sure to keep an eye on your six!"

As Beleth had been wandering by herself as well, she doesn't feel like she has much of a right to join Sam in criticizing the Alayre in his self-preservation techniques, or lack thereof. Although...she was much harder for enemies to spot, wearing dull blue armor, with dull-colored...everything else, really. She certainly wasn't running around in full plate armor and a horse.

"My six what...?" Beleth called out to Sam, a look of confusion on her face, even as she shot an arrow at the zombie harrying Alayre. "Are there six corpses--?" Rather alarmed at that idea, she spun around to look for the six potential enemies, only to find a single one bearing down on her. Not fun, but better than six.

She lets out a low hiss, and reaches to her belt, pulling out a green vial, and popping it open with her thumb. It was full of a liquid that hissed as Beleth poured it on her arrows--clearly some kind of poison. It was with these arrows that she started firing at the one approaching her. "You should watch out for, um. Your two, Sam."

Sam's comment wins a chuckle from Alayre as the Templar cleaves his swords through the torso of a zombie. He swings the Iceblade towards another undead and instantly freezes it on contact. There's some perks to having an ice enchanted blade. With his left sword, Alayre shatters the zombie completely in chunks of ice and rotten flesh. It's then that the Knight-Commander replies.

"You act as if I was looking for trouble!" Alayre says before looking towards were he thinks the archer could be. "You have my thanks! Archery is probably the best method of offense here." He turns his gaze towards Sam again.

"Let us put an end of this horde!" If they try to retreat now, these zombies will eventually strike the camp. There's too many lives at stake for them to potentially drive this horde there.

Even with the horde of corpses, Sam cannot help but give an amused huff at how adorable that was of Beleth. Guess she wasn't aware of the terminology. "I just meant- never mind. Just make sure you watch your back." Also, thanks Beleth. He was aware of his two.

The water made using some fire spells useless, but the force of a fireball was effective enough to blast the corpses to bits before falling into the water, motionless. If Sam looked like he was in a bit of a rush to get this over with, they would be right. Even though he wasn't as talented as Lady LeBlanc he still found that the waking corpses were attracted to his presence, more so when he was casting. Last thing he wanted was to attract even more to the area. "Let's just get it done quickly before more decide to show up!" he calls back to Alayre.

"I find that archery is a pretty good method of offense, overall." Beleth informed Alayre with a small smile. Not that she's biased or anything--and archery definitely had its drawbacks. But it had worked for her since she was a child. "Of course, if I had my preference, I'd be up in a tree shooting these things...but there aren't any trees here. Not any that'd take my weight, at least--but yes, I think you're right, ser. These zombies need to be stopped, and quickly."

She turned to Sam, blinking at him as he stopped what he was saying. She must have assumed what 'watch your six' meant incorrectly. Dang. She let out a little sigh, turning back to the corpses. Having taken out the one on her, she turned to the ones after Sam, but he appears to have a handle on his situation. So, back to Alayre, and firing at the zombies trying to come after him.

"How many can there be...? This town had a small population, surely. There must be a limit."

The faster they're done with this horde the better. Alayre wouldn't be surprised if the telltale sounds of combat alerted more zombies to their location. The Undead are known to have otherworldly hearing and some impeccable eyesight. Alayre had the misfortune of battling such ghouls before but clearly not out here in the middle of this foul swamp.

The Knight-Commander takes a deep breath before dashing into the fray once more. Unlike earlier, he's able to gain his footing within the thick slippery mud and easily stabs his swords into three zombies with unusual speed. Alayre then pierces the Iceblade through the torso of the fourth zombie instantly freezing it on contact. As he yanks his blade out, he swings his secondary sword through the skull of am incoming ghoul who attempted to strike him from behind. This deadly dance of swords suddenly comes to an abrupt halt once Alayre sets his sights upon the sixth zombie.

"Not even the children were spared..." He mutters to himself as the shambling corpse of a young girl slowly trudges through the mud. No younger than seven or eight when she passed, the little zombie makes its way towards Alayre with the grace of a newborn duckling. It's sad and pathetic to watch but serves as a dark reminder that the Maker is truly blind to Thedas.

Beleth watches the child's corpse for a moment, lips pressed together. Then she shakes her head, and draws her bow. Even a small corpse like that could prove a risk--particularly one infected with the plague. And she doesn't want Alayre to have to be the one to make the kill. He's the kind of person that such a thing would weigh on, she's pretty sure.

Not that it's particularly fun for Beleth.

"That's not a child," She says, as much for herself as for her companions. "Not anymore. It's just...a demon. Taking a child's body." And the arrow flies through the air, hitting its mark. Beleth turns away as the small corpse falls back into the mud, face a grimace. "But plagues and demons don't care about children." After all, plenty of children had died when a plague had spread through her clan. But those children were buried, and their bodies rested with the earth, now.

Not shambling about like this.

Sam doesn't have the leisure of stopping in what he's doing to give the child corpse a second thought. Keeping a barrier up on Alayre takes up most of his concentration and then shooting down any walking dead heading in his direction. At one point he even has to utilize the blade on his staff, not noticing one coming up from behind almost too late.

The waters seem like they're starting to quiet down, and while he wants to give Beleth and Alayre time to mourn for the deceased child, they had to get going. "We should head back to camp before any more decide to show up."

'The Maker has turned his gaze from Thedas.'

Alayre cannot stop himself from flinching once the arrow makes it's mark. The child collaspes into the mud lifelessly like a ruined doll. For a moment, Alayre couldn't tear his gaze away from the grim sight. A part of him vehemently hates the Maker and Andraste both from allowing such horrors to unfold. This child shouldn't have suffered like this, the same goes for the rest of the inhabitants of Fallow Mire. No one should suffer as they had and yet here they are.

Silently questioning the very depths of his faith, Alayre could barely make out his companions voices when they called to him. His somber gaze lingered on the poor child's bruised and battered face as he speaks. "Is there no justice in this world?" Alayre asks once he finally glances towards them. "Surely the Maker seeks to right the wrongs done. Surely." His grey gaze drifts from Beleth to Sam as if searching for an answer from them both.

Eventually, Alayre gives up searching for answers in favor of taking his leave of this miserable marsh. "Sam is right, we must...hurry."

Beleth has not, in truth, spent much time mourning over the child. She turned away so that she didn't have to watch what had once been a child fall to her arrow, a moment to pause, and then she was back to business. She started picking off the zombies that were getting close to Sam--did they seem to favor him?--silent in her work. Even after they had finished the grisly task, and Sam suggested they had to camp, she stayed her tongue, simply nodding.

It wasn't until Alayre voiced his troubles with his faith, that Beleth's head turned, and she spoke. Her words were quiet, barely audible even in the dim mire. "I think you would find more meaningful answers if you spoke to one of the women who serve your god." There's another pause, then she added on: "When I was young, a plague like this hit our clan. Over half of us are orphans, now." She had learned at an early age that terrible things happened, that death came, and claimed children, mothers, fathers. Anyone it could. The Dalish knew what lack of justice there was in this world. "...Not me. I was lucky." She was quick to amend, lest they begin thinking that she was an orphan, and pitying her. That wouldn't do at all.

Of course, she did have one parent dead, but...that was his own fault. Idiot.

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THE FALLOW MIRE

Alayre Sauveterre

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