faderift | 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

Korrin laughs at that, though not unkindly. "Fair enough! Sometime when we're back in Skyhold or another place with decent brew, I'll buy you a round or few in exchange for some of your stories. I was curious anyway, but it sounds like you have some exciting ones."

And she has some of her own, so it's an even trade. It's not going to happen in the mire, though. Between the constant danger and gloom and terrible tavern swill, she knows her mood won't improve enough for it here.

Telling stories he didn't mind. Even though a part of him thought she'd likely think him mad after a few of those, the idea of decent ale is enough all by itself to get him to agree quite readily, and he gives her a quick but emphatic nod.

"Deal. Although I may be wanting to do the same, fair warning."

He almost wishes they could go and do that now, if he was being honest. But he's been to what they call the tavern around here, and the drinks there are awful enough that even if they weren't running the risk of undead or demons popping up at any moment he wouldn't pick it as a place to go and swap tales. And there were still plenty of demons and undead to deal with, the thought of which got him to grimace faintly even as he pulled out a cloth to clean his sword off with. The damp around here was bad enough as it was. He didn't need to make things worse by not keeping the blade clean.

"Think that'll be awhile yet, though. So what's the plan, then? Back to camp or do we follow this trail and see if we can find more beacons?"

Jamie's right, of course, and Korrin sighs even as she knows there's nothing to do about it but be patient. Tavern time will come; for now, they have Inquisition work to do. She's not about to shirk her duties just because it's not in her to complete them stoically. If she has to be in the mire, it's only fair that she get to complain, just like everyone else.

"If you're up for it, I want to keep going. The more we clear now, the less we'll have to do later. And perhaps even the sooner we can leave this wretched place. Maybe. If the Maker is kind, though looking at this place, I have my doubts."

Complaining is totally fair, as far as Jamie's concerned. More than fair, really, given what this place is like. He doesn't blame Korrin for grousing about being stuck here for the foreseeable future - and given the chance, he'll happily complain about it as well. Okay, so maybe not so happily, but complaining seems to be just about right to him.

"Aye, same here. Feels like we'll be stuck in this place forever, doesn't it? Probably be raining on us the entire time as well, with our luck."

He lets his glance flick upward for a moment to rest on the clouds, his mouth tugging off to one side at them. The rain hadn't stopped so far - at least, as far as he could tell - and it didn't look like that was going to change any time soon. Maybe Korrin had a point, though. If they clear enough places out, maybe they'd be able to head back that much sooner. It was worth a try, anyway, and after a moment he glances back at her instead.

"I'm up for it, though. Besides, if we take care of the demons now, it'll make traveling easier for everyone else. Any particular way you want to go?"

"I don't care about rain as much, but if I have to commission this armor again just to have a set without swamp-smell ingrained into it, I'll be very annoyed. This didn't come cheaply, you know." It's less bragging and more worried that what she poured her savings into will be wasted. But the scent of the swamp is nauseating enough without carrying it with her everywhere she goes.

Staring ahead, she indicates one of the paths. "Northeast. From what I heard the other scouts say, there hasn't been much of an Inquisition presence there, yet. We can begin clearing the way for others, at least."

"No, I'd imagine it wouldn't have."

He's been here long enough to get an idea of how much the armor costs, and given how tall Korrin is, likely hers cost a bit extra. Having to replace it because of the swamp-smell would take a considerable chunk out of whatever coin she did have. At least with his kilt he could wash it until the smell went away.

"Makes me glad I've the kilt. But...maybe with luck the smell won't stick around. And with luck we'll not have to make our way through a lot of bog while we're looking for these beacons, aye?"

At least the first part of the path looked dry enough, and he nodded once to himself before tucking his cleaning cloth away and shifting his grip on the sword so he could walk with it out. There was no way he was going to go through this place without having it at the ready.

"Right, let's go, then."

THE FALLOW MIRE

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