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

[ombranera]

"A roof to repair, yes. Mind your step around the hole, I do not want you falling down and breaking your handsome face." Zev rocks back on his heels and walks to where the lumber and hardware had been set on the roof, covered with a tarp to keep out most of the damp. It should not be so difficult.

Should it?

[salvatore_underfoot]

Sal's grin just grows that much wider. "You flatter me." He creeps up on the supplies, because he would also like to not break his face. Pulling back the tarp, he sees what they have to work with. It should be simple.

Right?

"One of us can hold the board while the other nails it in. Which do you want?" Sal has never hammered a nail into anything. Maybe Zev has more experience nailing things and will volunteer.

[ombranera]

"Considering your performance with the ladder? I shall handle the hammering." He would rather not lose his fingers if it is all the same to Salvatore. "...There seems to be some rot yet- did they leave a saw? We should make the cuts clean so the patching isn't quite so haphazard and prone to collapse."

Were this a tiled roof of Antiva City? Zevran would know what to do. As it stands he's...making it up as they go.

[salvatore_underfoot]

"I got up onto the roof, didn't I?" We can't all be flashy little acrobats. He pokes around and pulls out a blade with a serrate edge. "A little worse for wear, but still usable. Do you not want me to handle this either?"

For someone making it up as he goes, Zevran sure sounds like he knows what he's doing. Were this any other roof, Sal would be just as lost.

[ombranera]

"That you did. I am very proud." He pats Salvatore's shoulder and takes the saw before either of them can get hurt. Cut away the rot, replace with good wood, paint on pitch. THAT last step he'll let Salvatore handle.

[salvatore_underfoot]

"That warms my heart." He's beginning to feel a little insulted here. But he's not going to fight for the right to saw rot off the roof. "Neither of us are handymen. What are you when you're not tasked with fixing roofs in miserable bogs?"

[ombranera]

"Killing the undead or killing others for profit, as assassins tend to do. Though for the time being I have lent my services to the Inquisition and do whatever they ask." Which for the moment was...rebuilding a roof.

[salvatore_underfoot]

"An assassin?" He gives Zevran a long look to determine if he's being played with, then shrugs with a half smile. "Does that keep you busy?"

[ombranera]

"There are a great many people that are willing to pay a great deal of coin to see their fellows dead- so yes." Rotted wood, be gone! Little by little he trims the rot from what was yet salvagable.

[salvatore_underfoot]

Impressive work! Salvatore feels useless so he lines nails up in a nice row. "Has it taken you many places?"

[ombranera]

"All over Thedas. Most of my work lately has been in Orlais but I have traveled far and wide over the past decade- mm." He finishes the trimming and leans back, peering at the hole. "Have we wood enough?"

[salvatore_underfoot]

"I'm jealous." He leans forward to measure up the size of the hole, then gauges how much wood they've got to work with. "I think we'll be alright."

[ombranera]

"It is not often mages get to travel about so freely, this is true- unless there is some manner of war or calamity that shifts priorities. In which case, my friend? You are in luck." He drags the first of the slabs of wood and fits it in place, taking the nail that Salvatore lined up. "I will need you to hold this for me while I swing, yes? You have my word I will not miss."

[salvatore_underfoot]

"Despite the circumstances, I've enjoyed much of my experiences outside the tower so far. Even this dump." He steadies his hands on the board and nail and raises a brow. "I'll hold you to that. I like my hands undamaged."

[ombranera]

"It would be a shame to harm such lovely fingers." He grins, taking careful aim before tapping away at the nail. Once it is set properly into the wood? He takes one of Salvatore's hands from where it rests and lifts it, kissing the back. "I can handle it from here until it is time for the next."

[salvatore_underfoot]

The gesture has Sal blinking, and then cracking the kind of lopsided smile that means he's definitely okay with this. And also amused. But also... He takes his hand back with a sigh. "Is that to make up for you're not letting me handle any of the tools?"

[ombranera]

"Perhaps." Zevran offers a wink and a grin. "Perhaps it is simply because I find you handsome."

Which is equally true and terribly distracting as far as work companions go.

[salvatore_underfoot]

The smile grows a bit. "Ah. There you go with the flattery again." Sal can afford to be distracted, seeing as he has so little to do. He picks up the next board and balances it on his knees while he waits. "Thank you, by the way. You are quite handsome yourself."

[ombranera]

"Is it flattery if I find it to be true?" Another nail, another round of hammering, so on and so forth. Punctuating banter with the rapping of wood would take a little time to become accustomed to. "Why thank you. I do have a certain charm, or so I have been told."

[salvatore_underfoot]

"I think it still qualifies, yes." He can be patient, with his board balancing, wobbling it like a see-saw. "Mm. Must be the accent. Hard to resist."

[ombranera]

"There is something to be said for an Antivan Accent. Not quite as stuffy as the Orlesian and far more romantic than the Fereldan." Another few nails and this board was finished. Hurrah.

[salvatore_underfoot]

"Ah-hah. There's the word for it. Romantic." Hurrah indeed. He slides the next board over and fishes for a nail. So helpful. Rinse and repeat. "I don't know, Orlesian has a nice tilt to it." Or maybe he just likes the way one particular person speaks.

[ombranera]

"It depends on which area of Orlais the accent comes from. Most that I have heard from Val Royeaux have been terribly- posh? Stuffy. But some of the lowland or north eastern accents are quite lovely, this is true." Credit where credit is due.

[salvatore_underfoot]

"In that ... I am completely ignorant." Towers and all. "I have only met a few from Orlais so far. I like them. Though, I tend to like most people."

[ombranera]

"Then you are better humored than most in Skyhold. Always the judging and the harsh glares so early in the morning. It is as though they've not slept well." Which doesn't surprise him seeing as there aren't enough beds to go around.