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

Mr. Bright Side

[el_tybs]

'Oh! Hey, I can sort of see some stars up there!'

It's not terribly loud, but enough so that it grabs Sam's attention from where he's eating his own meal. He's often told that he's ridiculously optimistic at times, but this guy certainly had him beat. He seemed honestly cheerful about things, and not just passing the time with humor to lighten the mood.

Intrigued, feeling that being by a fire would be good, and needing something to keep his mind off of the things he saw for the day, Sam ventures over to the fire. Coming closer he can actually see that the man has horns, but it's definitely not a face that he's familiar with.

"Mind if I join you?"

[savethecat]

Gorse shifted his attention to Sam as the human approached him. He didn't recognize Sam, but it was a big Inquisition and getting bigger every day.

So Gorse smiled bright and friendly and scooted over to make room on the log that served as a bench.

"The more the merrier, my name is Gorse, nice to meet you."

[el_tybs]

Seeing someone smiling in such a way is refreshing considering most people seemed to have a perminent frown on their face since showing up in the bog. "A pleasure Gorse." Mindful of his food, Sam takes the seat offered.

"Samouel, though probably easier to just call me Sam."

[savethecat]

Gorse feels much the same, though a frown is just an opportunity to help a person find their smile. It's still nice to have a bit of company with someone likeminded regarding looking on the brighter side.

"Sam it is then. You from Ferelden too?" it's the accent. Though a lot of the Inquisition is, there's a fair amount from all over.

[el_tybs]

"I am. From the north though - I grew up in the Coastlands. I've never been this far south before. The wet and cold is familiar, but everything else is new."

There is indeed quite a few from Ferelden, but this might be the first time in a while since he's gotten to talk about where he's from. "What part of Ferelden are you from?"

[savethecat]

Gorse nodded as Sam described his home, the northern part of Ferelden closer to the Free Marches. Gwaren was up there, if Gorse remembered the maps he'd seen. He hadn't been that far north before.

"Honest? Couple days walk south-east from here. Higher ground though, much dryer unless it's rainy season."

[el_tybs]

"Well guess that explains why we're having a bit easier time dealing with the cold and wet," he chuckles, taking a bite of his bread before it goes bad.

Even just sitting next to Gorse, Sam can tell the Qunari is taller than him by a decent amount. Man, if people complained to him about being tall, how did Gorse and the others take it? "Any idea what you're going to be doing out here, Gorse?"

[savethecat]

The funny thing was Gorse didn't particularly think of himself as tall. He had to remember he was compared to all the other people around here, but there was at least one Tal-Vashoth taller than he was and he was relatively average among his own family.

It just made it easier to reach high shelves for people and help cats out of trees.

"Even if I ain't live here I've been through the area before, so I'm helping the scouts out that way, along with gettin' the plants and stuff we need. Just between you and me I don't think some of the people here can even tell the difference between a blood lotus and a dawn lotus though they do try so you gotta give 'em that."

[el_tybs]

That is a bit disconcerting to hear. Not that it was dangerous if they got a bit mixed up, but not being able to tell the difference? Well he supposed it was similar to how he couldn't tell wines much apart, but his excuse was that wine looked the same at least.

"So you're part of the scouting party then? How's that faring?"