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

[laurenande]

Lying down for the sake of it was strange, but Galadriel did as Ellana bade her and was, immediately, more comfortable for having done it. The bedroll was thick enough that the soft earth beneath the tent did not dig into her hip or shoulder, the pillow was plush, and apart from the chill of the mire, it was comfortable. The tent, perhaps, she found the most comfort in. Without the black landscape stretching out before her, it was easier to forget where she was.

Easier but not entirely possible.

It worried her, this location and the thinness of the veil. She knew little about sleep and dreaming, save that those with magic were at greater risk of danger. She was not strong enough to defend herself should that come to bare and, for all the promise sleep held, she felt a thread of fear about it.

"I should simply close my eyes, then, and be done with it?" Galadriel asked, a note of hesitation in her voice.

[serannas]

"Yes. Your exhaustion should mean sleep comes soon. I will stay right here and watch over you." It being Galadriel's first attempt, Ellana can picture it not going well, or leaving her with a lot of questions when she wakes up, so she wants to stay close by to reassure her that it's all right. Sleep is usually such a natural thing, but she tries to picture herself attempting something new and unknown that everyone else claims is natural. It would be a daunting task. At least with sleep, it's the absence of doing anything that allows sleep to come.

[laurenande]

"Thank you," Galadriel replied earnestly. It was irrational, she should not have expected that Ellana would remain, nor that she would be able to defend her from whatever might come to pass, but the idea that she would not be left alone was deeply comforting.

After a moment's pause, Galadriel tried to relax her head against Ellana's pillow and, finally, she let the weight of her eyes overcome her. Her lids closed heavily. Despite her concerns, she was asleep barely a moment later.

She drifted on the edge of the Fade for some time before her dreams coalesced and, whether for good or ill, when they did they were beautiful. Images of long lost places and the faces of those she longed for greeted her, soft songs from a different world cheered her spirit, and everything was awash in rosy nostalgia. Unfortunately, for as bright and golden as they were, there was a quiet threat amidst her dreams. There were many spirits in the Fallow Mire and Galadriel's slumber opened a well of emotion with the depth of the ocean. Her sleep was destined to be fitful at best.

[serannas]

Ellana sat cross-legged beside her, allowing her thoughts to drift to anything and everything. Yet being in the presence of a beautiful, tall elf had her thinking of the elves of Galadriel's world, and of their gods. She wondered what it would be like if she suddenly found herself among them. Would they think her to be a shadow of themselves, or would they be kind like Galadriel? She wished there was more than ancient ruins of Elvhenan and the Dales scattered around to show to her friend. All they could preserve were stories, crafts, and a bit of language.

She didn't spend her time staring at Galadriel as she slept, mostly staring down at her hands in her lap inside. But every so often, she raised her head to see how her friend was getting on. Her breathing suggested she was fast asleep, but her face wasn't at ease. Ellana hoped she wasn't having nightmares.