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

[ancarrow]

"Is that what you did before you came here? Farming?" It's the first thing about those that came through the Fade that has sounded remotely familiar to her.

She glances at the roots and then back up at him, offering a rueful smile. "You got me there. I didn't want to give you the most unpleasant part of the task, when I can do it myself."

[wontforgetyou]

To be fair, there's a lot of about his life that would likely seem strange and unfamiliar to most people here - even the other rifters - but there was also a long period of time when things were much simpler, and that's what he's reminded of now.

"When I was back in Scotland? Aye. That along with some hunting, to help keep us fed. I've not done it so much the last few years, mind, but I still remember how it goes."

His fingers run through the roots, stripping off the mud without any worries about getting the smelly, viscous stuff on his fingers. Given what the Wardens had asked them to do, there was worse to come - and that part was the part he was more concerned with, at least in terms in trying to make things a little easier for her.

"Think what we've got to do is a bit more unpleasant than that, to tell you the truth. So, tell you what. I'll not try and steal those from you now, and when we go to get the teeth you can let me do more on that end instead."

[ancarrow]

She brightens on hearing that. Good, simple, useful professions - making the world, which had become so complex these last weeks, a little more simple and reassuring again.

"A wonderful profession. And you'll find plenty of work in both, once the Inquisition's work is done."

That's assuming that he wouldn't be sent back through the Fade, and that the Inquisition actually managed to close the holes in the sky, and that he wouldn't be hunted down as a demon. The possibilities for something to go wrong are endless, and it's difficult for Eirlys to stop worrying about them now she's started.

"I'm not squeamish of them," she assures him, though she's grateful for the offer. It's a very unpleasant task indeed, and though Eirlys is used to tending to the dead and dying, it's very different to the bones that are left after cremation. "It just doesn't feel right, somehow. As though we're robbing from the dead."

[wontforgetyou]

"Aye, well, if I'm still here then."

He's no more certain of that than she is, and for much the same reason. However, unlike Eirlys, he's not so worried about those possibilites - at least when it comes to himself. Other people he tends to worry about more, and he gives her a somewhat thoughtful look for a moment before nodding his head.

"I know what you mean, though. Did the Wardens say what they were planning on doing with the teeth, though? Could be they're planning on giving them back to the families so they have something to remember them by. It'd not be the same as still having them, but sometimes it's good to have something of your family to keep once they're gone."