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

[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.

[salvatore_underfoot]

"Do you think so?" He takes it as a compliment, and he lights up like a candle. "One should try to have a positive outlook, especially in times like these."

[ombranera]

"The sky is opening and there are demons falling out at odd intervals. Anyone that can remain optimistic in times such as this is either foolish or certain of their own fate." Which is not so terrible a thing.

[salvatore_underfoot]

"Nothing is certain." He chuckles. "But the first I've been accused of plenty! Here, are you ready for another board?"

[ombranera]

"I am at that." He sits back on his heels to give Salvatore the room to lay it down. "One more, I think, and it will be ready for the pitch."

[salvatore_underfoot]

"Pitch. Right." He still doesn't know what pitch is. Whatever is in that bucket? He slides the last board into place and readies the nail. "I think it's looking quite ... functional."

[ombranera]

"Tar. You lay it over boards to seal them from the damp." Obviously they were not coated quite so well for them to rot. The last board slats into place and he begins hammering away.

[salvatore_underfoot]

"Tar. Yes. Of course." He bites his lip. He's not stupid. Usually. Just sheltered. Why would he ever need to know about pitch before now? He draws the tar closer to have a peek at it, getting a good whiff of the stuff. He comes away with a cough. "Am I banned from this as well?"

[ombranera]

"It's a practice unique to the south, particularly to Ferelden due to all the rain and the damp. In Antiva it is humid but we seal our roves with a mixture of clay and ash before laying ceramic tiles. I think in Orlais they use a different mixture as sealant- at least Pitch is easier to wash out of clothing." He sits back on his heels, checking the joining of the wood. "No, no. By all means- but roll back your sleeves and work from the far and to yourself so you do not lean over it. Even if it is easier to get out than Orlesian sealants, it still is difficult to remove from most fabric and skin."

[salvatore_underfoot]

"You ... know a lot about this sort of thing." The sleeves are rolled quickly. It may not be as glamorous as hammering nails, but he's excited to finally get to do something. The first pass is a little slow and clumsy, but as he gets used to it, it goes much more smoothly.

[ombranera]

"Assassins spend a great deal of time on rooftops. The more you know? The less likely you are to jump onto a rotted portion and find yourself with broken legs." Or a broken neck. "There you go. One layer and we shall let it dry and see how it looks, yes?"

[salvatore_underfoot]

"Good point. I hadn't thought of it that way." Look at him learning things today. He sits back to wait. "How long do you suppose that will take?" Not Zev isn't pleasant company, but, you know...