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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This far into the day, after a fight? The voice didn't quite click as to who it was, even when she looked up the helmet seemed- well. Unfamiliar. Charger armor, one of Bull's, Tevinter by accent and honestly? Any other time that would be enough. But with a lyrium headache roiling at her temples and Compassion snapping to attention from the blood, it took a beat, two, perhaps three before the name came to mind and her eyes narrowed.

"All this armor, Remi, and you're struck by an arrow? What is all of that for if you are going to be hit all the same? You- close the flaps. This requires privacy." Nevermind that 'you' was some random passerby- Adelaide pulled her lantern into the tent and knotted the flaps on the inside.

Loosely, but knotted enough to keep anyone from stumbling in on accident. Given force of panic or desperation? They probably would give way but the lack of a lantern would prove her to be otherwise occupied. "Where are the buckles for your armor? Do not move your arm."

"It's not my armor's fault," Krem replies, using one hand to lift his helmet, letting it fall to one side with a clatter, showing the parts of his face that had caught backsplatter from smashing the dead back to death. He pushes his hair back out of his face as it falls over his brow, then reaches under the injured arm to pull at the buckles there and loosen them enough to wriggle out of his chestplate. He groans as he slips it off, then starts to feel for the buckles of his leathers. He stops though, glancing toward the tentflap that had been tied closed, jaw setting.

"Mamman, promise me you can be fast about this," he murmurs, unwilling to be out here where there's so much bustling and the tent was almost certain to be barged into before long.

"A lucky shot. If I had been there sooner-" A wall, a barrier, something- no. She puts that from her mind as she helps him unstrap and unbuckle what armor remained that yet covered the bleeding joint. She'd rarely seen him out of it- the loss of mass made him seem that much more young. The amount of blood he has lost is truly concerning- without looking she reaches behind her to pluck up a potion and press it into Krem's good hand. "Drink. I need to remove the arrowhead. Do not worry about the crowd, the last one that stomped in when my lantern was down has told enough people to not. Apparently he did not care for being paralyzed."

She stills for a moment while she peers at the pierced leathers, eyes flicking up to Krem's, hand slipping to cradle his cheek. "It will not take long."

Without the armor he is a lot less bulky, but his muscles are still nothing to be scoffed at, filling out his leathers well, until they're removed. Krem hisses as the broken wood shaft of the arrow is bumped and tugged by the removal of the top of his leathers, leaving him in a close-fitting undershirt and, under that, the finely-crafted, buckled leather that helped him maintain his identity as a soldier. The potion is taken and downed in a couple of gulps, and the relief is fairly quick in coming, making all of this a lot more tolerable, at least where the physical pain is concerned. He swallows hard as he eases the blood-soaked shirt off, then reaches for the clasps that held the outer layer of his binder on.

Sitting there in the tight-fitting, slightly damaged and more than slightly exposing black elastic fabric that, for the moment, is all that's concealing his chest from the cold air, Krem finally looks down at the wound, still slightly bulging with the rotting wood of the corpse's bolt protruding from it. There are other scars on him here and there, the most prominent of which is another arrow scar nestled under his clavicle.

"Eurgh...that'll probably get infected," he mutters, making a sour face.

"I'm offended you think I cannot do something to prevent that." Spirit healer, Krem, which is made all the more obvious by the blue tint to her hands as she examines the injury in greater depth, feeling the extent of the ache out with Compassion's light. All day she's been tending to the injured but this? Is Krem. Precision and speed are required more than anything but yanking the arrow free will not work. A tap of her fingers against the wooden haft freezes it, giving her something more solid to hold onto. "This will hurt."

There is no way around it. She must remove the arrowhead and it is stuck fast- one hand pressed around the wound to hold his shoulder still glowed blue and radiated warmth, the other held a lingering chill as she grasped the haft. "Breathe deep. I will pull on three."

She is not going to pull on three. A count is offered but the moment she says "One-" She pulls back in a swift, sharp jerk, freeing the arrowhead from Krem's shoulder. "Two, three."

Krem's teeth grit and he braces even before she starts counting, and is grateful for it when she pulls. Dirty trick, one that he'd pulled on his own men a time or two. There's a short, strangled sound, not quite a shout as the chilled arrowhead is removed.

"Tricky, Lady LeBlanc," he grunts, giving her something between a grimace and a grin, leaning forward with his weight on one hand, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. "Last time this happened the jackass that pulled the damned thing out left a splinter in and it got nasty." Not mentioning that he was the jackass that had yanked the arrow out.

"Which is why this next bit is going to be a little uncomfortable." But she can work while offering him some comfort, sitting in front of Krem and squeezing his hand while threads of blue light spill from her fingertips to delve into the wound proper. Flesh and bone and blood may remain, but wood or steel or sickness may not. That this is Krem, that this is someone dear and hurting leaves Compassion close to her skin, seeping into her eyes and voice as she works on the wound. When she speaks there is a faint undertone, a resonance, another voice without gender murmuring along with Adelaide.

"Would you like a scar or no? It is your skin and therefore your choice." One she will not take from him, even if she thinks keeping one may be foolish.

Well, that is more than a little uncomfortable. Krem can't help watching with vague interest as the splinters and other nastiness oozes out of the wound, pushed by the magic in Adelaide's hands.

"That's disgusting," he comments casually, momentarily having forgotten the cold, damp air hitting his skin. At the question he makes a bit of a face. "Honestly, I've got enough scars as I am. And it's not like I'll be showing this one off anyway."

"None it is." Once they are certain that there is nothing left in the wound but Krem's own flesh and blood that same blue light pours into it, mending what was torn. Replacing blood that was lost- that can only truly be done with time. But skin and muscle and tendon, all this she can and does pour Compassion's light to and sees mended.

It had taken a while, but he had waited until Sam - damn that was going to get confusing fast around here - had been taken care of. Once the Rifter seemed a bit more at ease he had left to see about a certain mercenary.

The rift had already been closed from the looks and sounds of it, so for a time Sam patiently waited, watching as their troops returned to the camp. Krem wasn't among them though, which was rather unsettling. Asking around though informed him that the Lieutenant had already returned and had last been seen heading towards the healers. He probably had just missed him.

Even at the tents it took Sam a while of looking around before he found someone who had seen the Charger, pointing to a tent near the end. The spot was familiar and Sam raised a brow. Isn't this Lady LeBlanc's tent? But the flap was closed and the lantern was inside, usually a sign of telling people to stay out. Which he would have done if he hadn't picked up Krem's voice inside.

"Lady LeBlanc? Krem?" Sliding a hand along the top of the flap to undo the tie there he peered in.

When it's done, Krem runs his hand over the spot, smearing a little bit of blood and the nastiness still there on his skin with his palm. "Remind me and I'll send a couple of our healers your way," he comments thoughtfully. He tugs some on his elastic with his nose wrinkled already trying to figure if he has the supplies to be able to mend it on hand. Probably not. He would have to have his leathers repaired where the arrow had pierced them, too. It was all a lot more hassle than he was in the mood to deal with.

When Sam pokes his head in, it takes everything Krem has not to either dive into hiding, or else yell at Sam until he leaves and has to deal with whatever the hell had just happened. So he sits frozen, feeling around the ground without taking his eyes off of Sam until he can pick up his chest plate and hold it against his chest like a shield, almost glaring up at the mage.

"Sam, what do you want?" He demands, perhaps a little more harshly than he might have done in virtually any other situation.

"I would appreciate it." Skin smooth- as much power as they poured in? It is as though Krem was never shot in the first place. Well. Save for the loss of blood. Adealide shakes off compassion and reaches for her pack, she was bound to have a shirt or something that Krem could wear- and then the flap slips open.

Without thought she snaps a hand out and down, light flaring in a glyph of paralysis at the beginning of the tent. Eyes narrow and voice sharp she snaps. "Do you see a lantern? No lantern, no entry. How many times must I-"

Sam.

Ah.

"...shit."

He's not sure which one he's more surprised by. The glare and the harsh words, or being snapped at and being paralyzed on the spot. Regardless of which one it was he currently cannot react at all, except stare wide eyed at the two of them for a series of seconds as that's how it had caught him.

Once the spell wears off though he is quick to narrow his eyes and pout, obviously hurt by the dual attack. He pulls back to let the tent flap close again, staring at the outside of the tent. What did he want? "I was worried..." Guess his concern was not wanted.

That 'shit' is echoed by Krem in the same second Sam pulls back outside of the tent, and he looks back at Adelaide before staring around the tent and snatching the nearest thing he can find that will cover him up, a thin blanket only just wide enough to wrap around himself if it's clutched tight enough. He scrambles to his feet, still somewhat unsteady but keeping himself upright with a hand on the healer's shoulder. He gives her a deeply distressed look before ducking outside, reaching out and snatching Sam's wrist.

He wants to apologize, but in that moment, he can't even bring himself to speak, his voice stuck in his throat like a piece of apple down the wrong pipe. He nods back into the tent, then simply drags the other man back inside, taking a moment to tie the flap closed again, knotting it tightly.

"For the love of-" Migraine. Exhausted. More Rifters. And now this?

If she wasn't out of wine Adelaide would be digging for a bottle, but no. Tea. She puts the kettle on the coals in the corner of her tent and starts cutting up hunks of somewhat dry bread. Mostly. It wasn't moldy yet, that's what matters. She won't be working until this is sorted and they all can use something, most likely.

"Sam the lantern inside the tent means I have a patient in here that needs their privacy. Krem could have been naked with a very unfortunate injury to his ass. I understand how distressing it is to know someone you care for is injured, but-" Words. She motions for them both to sit, dragging stools out from under stands of poultices and potions. Seats. Tea. Blankets. "Discretion. Speak before entering in the future, please. I apologize for the glyph- the last man that barged in was half drunk and bleeding all over. The one before that- let me simply say you are the fifth today and I had hoped the lesson took."

Though hurt by the actions and words, Sam hadn't planned on actually leaving. Maybe walk around to find something to sit on, but he planned on waiting outside until they were done since that seemed like what they wanted. At least that was what he had planned on doing until Krem came bolting out of the tent and grabbing his wrist, surprising him yet again.

At the tug he's a bit hesitant, but the look on Krem's face has him giving a small sigh and ultimately letting himself being dragged back in. Thankfully no paralyzing spells this time. Though he is greeted by some reasonable, but harsh words from his mentor. Sam winces at that, rubbing the back of his head and turning his eyes to the ground. "Sorry," he mutters to the two of them, "that was... unprofessional of me."

After a moment he looks back up at Lady LeBlanc. "I just... I was there when it happened and I couldn't do anything. I-" he cuts himself off, feeling that he was ranting a bit. He had to leave when he could have helped, and that had bothered him greatly.

Settling down at Sam's side, Krem keeps his grip on his blanket, frowning down at the ground in front of him.

"Sam, it's ok," he sighs at the admission, then slowly lets up and allows part of the blanket to fall away, showing where the wound had been, now no more than a clean patch of skin in the middle of the dirt and blood "I've taken hits a hell of a lot worse than that, without access to healers to begin with."

It doesn't look to him like Sam has realized that anything is amiss in the midst of the chaos, and part of him wants to just leave it that way, hide in his blanket until he knows he can put everything back on and go about his business as usual, but...there is still the talk that he needs to have with Sam. Adelaide had encouraged him to do so, and he trusts her judgment enough to take it to heart. Not to mention a talk he'd had with the damned Antivan.

"Would you mind staying?" he asks finally, not quite able to look up at Sam as he tries to piece together what he wants to say, how to say it so that it doesn't end up backfiring.

"Ah. Something we have not yet covered, I think. Divorcing yourself as you are normally from yourself as a healer. When you are in battle or in the tents afterward tending to the wounded you must be able to step back from the situation so you might focus on the work. Becoming too distressed or upset can effect the quality of your healing, Sam, and the quality of the care you offer. It is no easy thing. It takes practice." She reaches out to squeeze Sam's hand, too tired to be light and darting about it, actually hanging on for a few moments more than she would normally. "You meant well. But you cannot hold such things against yourself. Not when there is work to be done. Regrets must come afterward, if at all."

The softness of her voice is punctuated by the bubbling of the kettle on the coals; Adelaide leaves the two of them to sit and speak while she prepares to steep some hot, soothing tea for the three of them.

Sam makes a face as if he wants to make a retort or argue back, but instead he just gives a sigh and nods his head. He's learned that sometimes you just have to listen and nod when someone is giving you advice, even when you already know it. He had done everything she had just explained, leaving to take care of the new Rifter instead of staying like he wanted, because the job came first right? He knows that Adelaide is tired and just looking out for him, and he gives a light smile at her squeezing his hand.

He sits quietly a moment, watching as LeBlanc walks away to take care of the kettle, before turning to Krem. At the offer of seeing where the wound was he tilts his head, nodding a bit at seeing no sign of it ever being there save for the dried blood and dirt. The mercenary's words make him give an amused snort, but he's not exactly smiling. "I know you can take care of yourself, Krem. That doesn't change that I worry, especially if I'm there to see it and can't do anything about it."

Krem asking him to stay does actually make him smile, thinking it was kind of cute how he was looking away while saying it. Was he embarrassed to be asking? That's when Sam finally notices the blanket, raising a brow. Krem had been fighting in the wet and cold and it wasn't like there was a fire in here. "Should I go get some blankets first? That doesn't exactly look like it's warm enough."

Krem might have argued that no, he was absolutely not cute, Sam you are drunk, nevermind the lack of alcohol. But he is cold, so he nods, crossing his arms and glancing up at Adelaide. It's good of her to give them time to themselves. He doesn't even really think to point out that he still doesn't care for tea.

"I get that you're worried, I would be too in your position, but I'm not so reckless to just forget that we've got some of the most skilled healers in Thedas here with us," Krem points out, pulling his blanket around his shoulders until Sam returns with the larger ones, looking forward to the warmth.

The nod is all he needs for Sam to get to his feet though not heading to the tent flap just yet. "Whatever you say, Krem, I'm still going to worry about you. Even if we have healers, doesn't change that I would prefer you didn't get hurt." Shaking his head a bit Sam reaches over and brushes Krem's hair back further out of his face, giving him a small smile before heading to the flap. Of course Krem would tie the damn things tight, which makes it a chore to get them open so that he can leave and get more blankets.

Some time passes before Sam returns, and when he does he makes sure to say their names and wait for permission to enter. When he gets it he ducks in quickly so that the flap isn't open more than it needs to be, arms full with several blankets and a bottle. The blankets are quickly dumped on to of Krem - he might be chuckling at that - and Sam takes a moment to catch Adelaide's attention before putting the bottle down near her foot. Once his arms are free he goes back to tie up the tent.

Krem waves off the hand in his hair, wrinkling his nose at Sam but letting him do as he pleases. He sits in silence after Sam manages to get the tent open again, keeping his back to the entrance until suddenly, the world goes dark as a pile of blankets is dropped right on top of him. He squawks feebly, clawing his way back out out them, his head poking out of the heap with his hair tossed back over his forehead.

"Smartass," he huffs, shoving at Sam's leg as he passes to close the tent up again. Once they've all settled back down though, he pulls one of the blankets over his shoulders in the original one's place, unbuckling the last of his armor to lay aside with the rest of it. It all needed to be washed down, as did his leathers. Maybe it would rain soon and wash the mud off of the armor for him...

He shoves that train of thought aside and looks back at Sam, reaching over and nudging him with a bare foot, his sodden socks having been removed some time between when the man left and when he'd returned.

"Think we can talk now?" Before he lost his nerve, at least.

Sam gives an amused huff in return, stumbling a bit from the shove. It had been well worth it, hearing Krem make that noise and fighting his way out of a pile of blankets. He makes quick work of the ties, not making them as tight as before, but just as secure since it seemed that Krem and LeBlanc were worried about people coming in.

Settling back down into his seat, he tilts his head at the pile of armor next to Krem, raising a brow when another piece is tossed out from under Krem's blanket and in with the rest. Taking his armor off does sound rather nice, but seeing as he'd be going back to his tent at some point- it was probably better not to mess up LeBlanc's tent and then having to carry everything through the camp.

His thoughts are interrupted though when he feels Krem push on his leg, tilting his head when he sees a bare foot there and watching it disappear back under the blanket. "What did you want to talk about?"

Now that he's faced with actually going through with this, bringing it up seems a hell of a lot harder than it had. Krem is nervous, that much is obvious to anyone that's learned even a little about how to read his face, in spite of the insistent way he's looking Sam in the face. He wrinkles his nose some at the look Sam gives his bare foot, as if daring him to judge.

"Ok...Just. Don't say anything for a minute, alright?" He takes a breath, then starts to talk, slowly. He knows that Sam hasn't exactly had much worldly exposure until very recently, being raised in the Circle, so he has to start with the basics. His body doesn't match what he represents, or what he is. He looks over to Adelaide every now and then, trying to comfort himself with what she'd told him when he'd told all of this to her; if nothing else, Sam would be puzzled by the truth of the matter, but he would accept it.

The blanket is lifted aside briefly, to let Sam get a quick glimpse of what he was dealing with, the black elastic top that was keeping his chest only mostly flat before he could put the leather back on over it. It's hidden away again as the blanket is pulled around him again, hands gripping it closed around his shoulders. He wants to threaten to break Sam's nose if he doesn't accept it, but for the moment he just feels sick, coming out with all of this.

He had figured that what Krem wanted to talk about was serious, perhaps about the new wave of Rifters that had just appeared, or maybe something dealing with the Chargers even. That he would have expected. How Krem was looking at him right now though, it is obvious that the mercenary had something else to talk about. Rifts and fighting Krem dealt with a certain calm and confidence that Sam had gotten used to over the time. This look though, it was intense with a level of worry, as if Krem was expecting the ground to give out on them at any moment.

Being told not to say anything doesn't help ease the growing nervousness in his own head, but Sam simply nods and turns his chair a bit so he can look at Krem better, showing that he had his full attention.

The first thing Krem tells him has Sam narrowing his eyes in curious confusion, not quite sure how to make out the vague description he was given right off the bat. His body didn't match? He's aware of Krem looking over his shoulder at Lady LeBlanc around this time before he describes the situation with more detail. The reaction isn't instant, but Sam's eyes do widen a bit when things are made a bit clear.

Oh. Oh. Oooooooooh... Oh?

At seeing the black cloth and how Krem literally seems to curl in on himself a few things seem to fall into place for Sam. The way that both Krem and LeBlanc had reacted to him peeking into the tent made a bit more sense now (some of the arguments had seemed oddly stressed). How he never saw Krem without his armor, even when relaxing. Why joining the Trevinter army had been at the risk of his life and why they had chased him down.

When Krem is done talking, Sam takes in a deep breath then lets it out slowly. By the way Krem is looking at him now, hidden mostly by blanket, it's obvious he's waiting for him to respond in some way, which is a bit nerve wracking. It didn't help that Adelaide was probably watching his back and also waiting for a response. It wasn't something he could easily respond to, not like how he usually did.

For a few moments Sam just sits there, staring down at his hands, running his fingers over each other. The corner of his lip twitches towards a smile but never makes it as a few things go through his mind. The way Krem had talked to him when they first had met; professional and only a bit interested. How that had changed when Sam surprised him in the ring and proved he could be something. How Krem smirked whenever he would talk about sending the Mage to the ground. The way Krem ruffled his hair or had grabbed his shirt to pull him into a kiss that night. Confetti bombs. How the man had been a grounding presence with just grabbing his hand, both a big but simply gesture. About how not too long ago Krem had been shot and how worried he had been about it.

The tent is unusually quiet that breaking the silence makes him nervous. "I've actually never thought about what was under the armor. I was a bit too distracted by the actual person in it." Only once the words have come out does he glance up, curious to Krem's response.

How dare, how very dare

Stupid lucky dead dude.

DEAD dead dude, she hopes

Decidedly flat dead dude.

smashed like a pancake

RIP in pieces

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