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]

"...That is a sexy weapon. Where might I find one like it?" Some manner of sorcery was at work there and that probably played into the whole 'not being from this world' thing but-

Shapeshifting. Weapon.

He wanted it. He wanted it badly.

But for now he contented himself with hanging on tight to Dante and riding him, and the chain, to dry ground.

"Seriously, that is a sexy weapon and I want one."

[thedevilson]

"Sorry Rebellion's one of a kind, but if you ever need a moment alone...just don't get attached, she'll break your heart," Dante teased in return as he eased Zevran back down so that his feet were now on solid ground. Wet ground, but solid nonetheless, "where're you trying to go anyway? We can help cut the time in half if you have a specific destination in mind,"

[ombranera]

"Ah, I feared so. Alas our love can never be." He patted the haft of the weapon- were his hand to linger it would be fondling the weapon and that would be blatantly unkind to them both.

"I was attempting to head back to the main encampment but I seem to have gotten turned around." Between the fog and the undead, it is hard to say what is what.

[thedevilson]

"If your love was consummated I'd be your father-in-law, that would be a shitty picture," Dante snorted a laugh at the mental image he was drawing up in his own mind. Being the third wheel in a relationship between Zevran and Rebellion did not strike him as a good time, a threesome maybe, if it was played right.

"Well we have some options, we can keep looking for camp, or we can wait it out until morning. I don't have any camping equipment, but there are abandoned huts and bowers here and there," and quite frankly Dante's spent the night in worse situations.

[ombranera]

"So it is you I would ask for her hand in marriage?" He smirked as he peered along the horizon for some sign, some landmark and- ah. There. Far to the right. "I think that rock is familiar- I passed it on the way out."

Or when he circled back.

[thedevilson]

"And why is it that you make it sound weird and...accurate? Yeah, I guess I would be," and that made him sound like a parent and Dante couldn't imagine a scenario worse than that. Fortunately the spark of recognition from Zevran distracted from that mildly uncomfortable conversation, unfortunately it left him feeling skeptical all over, "you think that rock is familiar?...you know whenever someone says that rock, or that tree, or that piece of lint looks familiar...it's like a really bad omen."

But if Zevran thinks that rock looks familiar.

[ombranera]

"Well it was either the rock I perched on while shooting out the eyes of the undead or the rock I perched on to scout my way out here, either of those are on the way back to the main camp. So. While I THINK it is familiar, I know whichever it is? Leads away from here and closer to civilization." Bad omen- he could say so much of bad omens and instead focuses on the peculiar shape of that formation. If it was undead rock, they would go west afterward. If it was scout rock? North.