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]

"...There is a story to that bruise, I take it?" Clan Ashara. For what will not be the last time he's quite glad he wasn't raised Dalish. It seemed quite stifling at times and frustrating at others if not layers more complicated than being raised by whores.

[slipshot]

He raised his hand to his face, touching the bruise delicately.

"Not Harding. That one - I got that one for making a girl cry. Again. I can't really say that I didn't deserve it because it has been made very clear to me that I did." As he pulled his hand away, a mark of dirt was left on his cheek, which only helped to darken the bruise. There was one on his stomach, to match, but at least that one he didn't have to explain to anybody.

[ombranera]

"Well that, I suppose, would depend on the girl, what you did to make her cry the first time, and who so chose to start swinging." Gossip, now. That he could get behind. Or at the very least poke into without feeling unduly involved or obligated on any particular count.

Of course the smudge vexed him enough to reach out, swipe at the dirt with a gloved hand. "Honestly, Gavin, what could have happened to make you think 'ah yes, I will take this punch as I have earned by being a terrible, terrible, person'?"

[slipshot]

The touch, even as slight as it was, was very welcome.

"Why not tell the story, now that everyone is going to know it anyway," Gavin sighed. "I ran, the first time, the day before I was supposed to be bonded to Pel." He delivered it with a vague sort of detached tone, and didn't meet Zevran's eye. "I didn't tell anyone. I just left. I didn't come back for moths. As you can imagine, it went over extremely well."

He sighed again, frowning. "I can't seem to stop running, if I'm honest. But here-- I thought I had something, here. I thought I had a chance. But then my past followed, right behind, and there's no where left to run. Pel saw Maxwell an I, and I tried to talk to her, but I made her cry... And then Merrick heard about it."

He looked up, meeting Zevran's gaze with a mildly sheepish expression. "I didn't see the point in fighting back. What does it do other than make things worse? So I left."

[ombranera]

"...And?" Left a woman at the altar, sure. That it was Pel explained quite a bit of her issues but whatever forced him to run was clearly the larger issue here. That Merrick decided to be violent comes at no surprise, he got angry, he started swinging. MAX being involved-

Well that seemed to explain some of the human's desire for emotional rather than physical intimacy, though what Pel saw could range from kissing to full on ravishing to anything in between knowing Gavin as he did, but he doubted it to be anything serious from what little he knew of Max. All in all- this was a fine mess but the running? That had to have a deeper cause.

Or perhaps it was a Dalish thing.

"You could...go somewhere else in Skyhold and wait there until they cooled down, and then kick him in the face?" That was always an option.

[slipshot]

"I'm not going to kick him in the face. He's just mad on Pel's behalf, and I can't blame him. Skyhold isn't big enough to avoid all of them Zevran, and even then--" He frowned slightly, and then made a vague motion with his hands. "The whole... walls... thing. I just wanted to make myself useful and be elsewhere at the same time."

He gave Zevran a wry, self-deprecating look. "Hence, toilets."

[ombranera]

"So you left a woman at the altar. So what? That happens every day in Antiva." Commoners did it, Nobles did it, a more opportune match is found and they marry them instead, someone dies of something or other and is assassinated so they marry someone safer, so on and so forth. It happened. When nobles and Crows were involved it happened more often.

"Then come stay with me." Zevran shrugged. "I am uninvolved and honestly, while this explains quite a bit it was some time ago, yes? What relevance does this have on the current state of things? Precious little. Next time take backup. Or you'll be the next wandering undead I have to set fire to and that will be quite unfortunate for Max, wouldn't you say?"

[slipshot]

Gavin paused, and blinked at him, before he had the decency to blush when Maxwell's name was mentioned. The urge to kiss him out of pure relief (because having someone understand and be kind was still, always, a relief) was strong - but he also was covered in mud, and smelled like a latrine.

"It shouldn't have anything to do with anything," Gavin agreed immediately. "And I - Thank you, Zevran, honestly. I'll try not to force you to set fire to me."

[ombranera]

Zevran patted Gavin's shoulder, that much seemed to not have the foul mud on him.

"A hint? When a woman departs your company while weeping in the future, if you are who made her cry? Usually it is not a good idea to follow her. Wait awhile and then talk. And by awhile I would say a day or so." At least in his experience. Space and time were vital when dealing with women. The rest, well. Not his place to say much of anything.

[slipshot]

"I'll try to keep it in mind," he said with a small, helpless smile. Normally, he just waited ten years before trying. And that had gone really well.

"But if we could talk about literally anything but me, I would appreciate it more than you could possibly know. What detail have they put you on, here? Have they heard anything about the scouts, yet?"

[ombranera]

"Well...I am to be repairing the roof of a grain silo when the rain lets up long enough to do so. And after that? Patrols. Endless patrols. Hurrah." Go team.

[slipshot]

He grins a bit - mostly at the shared misery - and uses his mostly-clean hand to clap Zevran's shoulder. "Well, I'm almost done my shift, if you want to get something absolutely terrible to eat and then I can try to teach you a song I wrote about corpses and mud over the last few days? And maybe see if we can find a bucket of clean water so that I don't have to use my tears to get all of this off of me."

[ombranera]

"I think there is a set up where people are boiling water to use for bathing somewhere in the camp. I will see what I can find for you and look sad enough at the handful of people that brought their own food to put together a proper meal, yes?" A little from here, a little from there? And he'd have more than enough to feed two.

[slipshot]

"You'll have my undying gratitude and affection," Gavin replied, the grin spreading, "which I'm sure will be more pleasant when I don't smell quite so foul. Give me ten minutes, maybe twenty, and I will join you in your quest, and we can try to make a decent evening out of this pit of misery."

[ombranera]

"I will be waiting outside the Fisher's end. Do not take too long or I'll wander off with someone busty and pretty." Mmm. Busts. Someone lonely for the night would be quite wonderful.

[slipshot]

"Who ever said you couldn't do both?" Gavin asked, teasingly. "Go and get your busts and bring them with you, and I can attempt to scare them off with my terrible singing. I won't be late, don't worry."

[ombranera]

"Seeking out a busty companion implies that I would like to keep them for the night, Gavin." Zevran flicked his nose before weaving his way to the tavern, head full of the busty maids that, sadly, would not be there.