THE FALLOW MIRE

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

[ancarrow]

Eirlys is only a little way from the tent, finishing up frying the bacon for their breakfast. When she hears Alayre's grousing she shrinks into herself a little, mortified that she should have disturbed him this much, that he's already managed to garner such a low opinion of her. At least it was based on a perceived fragility rather than simply because she's an elf.

She admits that he does have a point, though. She's learning quickly that this sort of environment isn't in any way ideal for her. But she needs to be here, as long as there's a single victim of the plague that had swept across the Mire left for her to tend to.

"Over here, ser," she replies timidly. "I thought you might be as cold as I was in the night, so I've made you a nice hot breakfast."

That was the excuse she was going with, unless pressed. She wanted to save face as much as possible, didn't want to admit that it was an apology for being lumbered with her.

[savethecat]

Gorse was often an early riser, and apparently the only who had no trouble sleeping that night. He was used to uncomfortable situations by now, having opted to not try for one of the barracks while skyhold was in such a state of disrepair and space was at a premium.

Sure, he was worried about the Mire, about the people in it and the danger they faced, but worry would not fix the problem. He was one person, he couldn't carry the world entirely on his own shoulders.

Gorse woke early and went out for morning exercise, returning as Eirlys explains the 'reason' for the food.

"Did you make breakfast?" He asks, with none of Alayre's grump and all the bright sunny demeanor that is entirely out of place in a setting like this. "That's fantastic, thank you!"

Alayre got the full brunt of the bright smile next. "Good morning! Did you both sleep okay?"

He's only slightly tone deaf here. Sometimes the best way to improve a mood is to be the improved mood, yourself.

[equanimiti]

Alayre turns slowly once he hears the elf's reply. He frowns at her instantly in mild disapproval once she claims to have made breakfast for them. While the excuse suffices enough, Alayre isn't all too impressed. "There's no need for that." He says tersely without some of the earlier grumpiness in his tone. "Make certain not to wander off often like that. You're no one's servant here." Stern words but very true. The elf has no reason to be so subservient here. This is the Inquisition not some disgusting Alienage.

"Next time, I'll repay your kindness with a proper meal once we've returned to the hold." The Templar says before glaring grumpily at the overly sunny and overly loud qunari.

"Hmph." Alayre gives Gorse a look of prime disapproval. Just why in the Maker is this one so happy? They're in a disease infested swamp with zombies crawling about and enough mosquitoes to cause a pandemic. The Templar shakes his head. "Of course not but it matters little. Has anyone taken the time to survey the roads near here? I fear the constant rainfall submerged them in mud."

The Knight-Commander's foul mood will get better after breakfast. Right now, Alayre is just the most unhappiest man at the camp right now.

[ancarrow]

"I haven't slept outdoors like this before," she replies to Gorse, shivering a little at the memory of the wind whistling through the tent in the night. "I was scared that those walking corpses would tear straight through the tent and get us while we slept, but here we are. I think tonight will be better." If nothing else, at least she'll be exhausted from being awake all last night that she'll probably sleep like a log this time around.

It was difficult to remember that she was no one's servant when Alayre directly precedes that reminder with more or less an order. "I didn't leave camp. And besides, no one made me. But if you don't want hot bacon after such a cold night, I shan't argue."

[equanimiti]

"Now I never said that." Alayre quickly interjects. He's not missing out on breakfast. After dealing with the bitter chill of the night, he deserves a nice hot breakfast.

[savethecat]

"Are you sure because I could finish yours if you don't want it." Gorse offered, though he mostly was content to cross his arms and watch the exchange between Alayre and Eirlys like a tennis match.

[equanimiti]

The Knight-Commander turns to Gorse with a frown. "No, thank you. I much rather have breakfast than to roam about here starving as badly as the undead themselves." Alayre admits before giving Eirlys an apologetic glance. He's quite aware of how fussy he can be and he does plan to make it up to the poor elf.

[ancarrow]

She smiles, her confidence renewed a little, pushing the breakfast plates toward the two of them.

"Never know when you'll get to eat a hot meal again in a place like this."