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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"Deal," He agreed easily. "Are you going to give me a lecture this time? Because I should tell you, I've had a few already, you might want to wait until the next time I fuck up and then you can get in first."

Korrin crosses her arms and shrugs. "Nah, I'm too tired for that. Besides, if others have gotten to it then I don't feel the need. Whatever happened, and you don't have to tell me, you're spared yelling on my end this time. Though if you make me worry later, all bets are off. Just telling you now."

He laughed, rubbing a hand sheepishly through his own hair.

"Alright, duly noted. I appreciate the rain check, at least."

"'Rain check', funny. That's so hilarious I'd toss you into the mire, if I had the energy for it, you know." Well, maybe. Korrin's not sure she wants to deal with more muck and undead than she must, but both as a constant seem inevitable at this point.

Gavin grinned. "Are you tired?" He asked instead. "Sore? I could give you a massage, you know." Massages were good to keep people from throwing him in a bog, as much as he half wanted to experience it. It was less the throwing and more the undead that kept him from telling her to try.

"Such bribery is...really tempting, don't offer unless you mean it." Korrin's increasingly less worried about the scent when everything here is awful enough to kill her sense of smell for the most part. Whether he can truly rid her of that relentless soreness is another issue but hey, it's the thought that counts.

"Absolutely one hundred percent meant," He said, the grin widening. "I'll even wash my hands, first! You're not likely to find as magnanimous an offer this side of the mire."

"So generous! Alright, fine. Have it your way, Gavin." Korrin certainly wasn't expecting any pampering at all in the mire, but shirking it when it's offered? Nah, she can't bring herself to do that. Her lips twitch. "If you can get me to forget how horrible this place is for a few seconds, I'd be in your debt. That doesn't mean you can fall on me again, though." Ribbing him about that is never going to get old.

"Ooh, to be owed a favour by a Vashoth," Gavin cooed, offering a grin as he stepped over to where he had a bucket of water on hand. He washed his hands and arms quickly, but thoroughly, and motioned for Korrin to take a seat.

"Save using you as a cushion again. Got it. I think I can remember that." He rolled up his sleeves. "Maybe I can even manage two favours, out of this..."

Korrin takes a seat, flashing him a smile. "Oh, you can use me as a qunari pillow if you want. Just please avoid the landing part, if you would. And what would you even do with two favors, hm?

...that's not enough for me to take your place in latrine duty, just so we're clear."

He stood behind her, taking her shoulders in his hands and slowly began to press his thumbs in against the fabric. Wow, but Qunari were... well... built. The difference in musculature was very, very evident as he began to massage her shoulders.

"No? Alas... Probably something magic related, I'm sure. I can muddle my way through most things, but magic is not one of them."

Korrin's not even the very best example of qunari musculature, though she's seen more physical training than most mages and it shows. Slowly, she begins to relax under his touch, as much as anyone can when in such surroundings. Every bit helps, though, and it's appreciated.

"Fair enough, and that I can do, at least if it's battle magic. I'm not a healer, you know. I should probably learn how to do that some day, but there always seems to be something else I want to learn first."

"Fire and killing things. Got it," Gavin replied, his tongue poking out from his lips a little as he concentrated on working his thumbs and the butt of his palms into her shoulders and upper back. She was tense, but of course she was. They all were. Who wouldn't be, in this god forsaken place?

"What about food? Do you cook at all?"

There's a soft contented sigh from Korrin as Gavin's efforts begin to pay off, bit by bit. Perhaps she'll even be able to relax enough to get some decent rest tonight. Maybe.

"...eh, I'm better at hunting things than cooking them. As a mercenary, you either learn to cook or live with stuff that can travel well. I mostly lean on the latter, though I make a pretty good spiced wine. My grandmother makes the best banana bread ever, though. Next time I get a care package, you're welcome to try some for yourself."

"Mmm, banana bread and mulled wine..." Gavin murmurs, almost drooling at the thought, but he keeps up the massage. "Deal. Those. Those are good favours. I'll make some stew to go with it, and we'll have ourselves a good decent meal," He decided.

"Bend over a bit, let me get your lower back."

"Between you and Araceli, I might actually have an appetite when I leave this wretched place. That's quite an achievement, after rations and terrible tavern food."

But she stops talking long enough to do as he asks, making it easier for Gavin to help her out. That lower back could use some attention.

"I would think that the rations and the terrible food would be the thing to give you an appetite when we leave. Creators know I'm going to eat the Skyhold out of house and home," Gavin teased, before bending over himself. Her back had more than a few knots in it, and he didn't treat her too gently - it was more important to get the muscles to relax than it was to worry about minor aches in the meantime.

He was just happy that this particular set of skills was getting use.

"Let me know if anything hurts, by the way."

"When all you can expect are even more rations and terrible food for a while, your stomach shuts down in protest. Or at least mine did. But I'll be joining you in Skyhold, so watch out for some competition." It'll be interesting to see who can pack away more, the skinny elf or the amazonian qunari. Korrin won't underestimate him, though, not when decent meals are at stake.

Not holding back is definitely appreciated, given that sigh. Korrin can take some pressure if it means undoing some of those knots. "Not really, no. At least not in a way that I'd want you to stop. It's been like that for so long that I've forgotten anything different."

"That's seeming like a running theme," Gavin teased, working his thumbs in hard, growing circles into her back.

"You're welcome to come for a massage whenever you like," He offered. "I don't mind at all. I mind even less if you come bearing alcohol or foodstuffs that aren't rations."

Thanks to those motions, Korrin's eyelids drift shut. Not for long, though. She reminds herself that it's a bad idea to shut out their surroundings completely in a disgusting, dangerous swamp.

"You might regret offering if you knew how often I'd take you up on that, you know. But I'd definitely provide compensation, whether I make it or not. If I don't get a 'care package' soon, I might miss some things enough to try making them myself. You can be my test nug."

Gavin grinned, and once he felt that she had loosened up a bit, released her shoulders and then settled down beside her, grinning.

"Test nug for suspicious home-brewed vashoth alcohol? Obviously I'm in."

"Just leave a note for your next of kin so they know you went to your doom of your own free will." Korrin tries a joking tone but she just ends up sighing once his work is done and slips an arm companionably around his shoulders. "Thanks for that, Gavin. I mean it."

"Anytime," He replied, meaning it just as much, and leaning in against her happily. Give him an inch and he'll take a mile, Korrin, as well as rest his head on your shoulder.

"Just glad that I can help. I think everyone's a little over-wound, here in the Mire. Can't really blame anyone - this place is, forgive the language, a shit hole."

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THE FALLOW MIRE

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