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

[ombranera]

"Which is part of why you must dial it back. Dwarves are canny bastards and Qunari find us strange but are too observant for their own good- Orzammar dwarves know less of us but have their own games of one upmanship so a slip can be covered easily. Surface dwarves tend to be twice as canny due to the merchant's guild and their shenanigans. We shall cover them all, I assure you." There was a whole, wide world to fool and many masks to take. He could walk her though the basics a little each day until she had the bones of it.

[arlathvhen]

She nods, listening as he explains. There really was a lot that she didn't know--That she wouldn't have learned, staying with the Dalish. There might have been no cause to learn it, if she never did leave the Dalish, but here she was. Outside of the clan, and her comfort zone. She'd be able to return to it once this was all over, but in the mean time...

She held out her hand, face intent.

"Alright. I'll do this with you...Ghil-Dirthalen, I think, would suit you. Hahren, if you were older."

[ombranera]

"That one is new- what does it mean?" Elvish wasn't something Crows picked up. They couldn't pretend to be Dalish- too much of the city about them and every attempt at stealing Dalish Children ended in quite a bit of death. Brava to the Dalish of Antiva.

[arlathvhen]

"Someone who guides another down the path of knowledge." Beleth explained, shrugging her shoulders. Well, now Zevran had a genuine Dalish--several, in fact--who he could groom to become powerful assassins. "That's what you're doing. Teaching us." Another shrug for good measure, as she pulled her legs closer to herself.

"I can teach you more Elven, if you want. More stuff about the Dalish. I think...elves should have access to that knowledge. No matter what. Although, Pel knows more than I do. She's the smartest one of us here, I think. Which makes sense, she's the Keeper's First. And favorite." She twisted her lips slightly at that. Thanks, mom, for making sure Beleth always knew where she was on that list.

[ombranera]

"I suppose I could make it official." Gather resources, walk all that would learn through the art of being roguish and not getting killed. How to fight, how to taunt, how to sneak, how to survive. It could be done. He would probably be of greater use to the Inquisition if he could do so. The trick would be finding the time and the space. The stables had been working well enough but- they would make do.

With winter upon them to lessen the brunt of the falls, it could work.

"To be honest I am less curious about the traditions of the Dalish than most- but the language? That I can have some use for." Another code to work in, another way to hide directions and commands from those that did not know and did not care. That twist of Beleths lips took his mind from the practical lesson at hand and he reached out, catching her chin in his. "Well, you are my favorite fledgling, Bella. We will give you wings yet. And when we are through? Oh how you shall soar."

[arlathvhen]

"Zevran's school for would-be assassins? 'Learn how to maim, mollify, and murder. Must bring own daggers, Zevran's school is not responsible for any deaths incurred during lessons.'" Then, because her terrible joke wasn't terrible enough, she laughed at it herself, just in case Zevran wasn't already beginning to question his decision to take her on.

But she stops when he grabs her chin, and switches for staring at him in some mixture of surprise and reverence. He's getting those big doe eyes again, but this time, it's sincere, as she tries to sort through the disbelief at what he said. His favorite. She's never been anyone's favorite...anything. An afterthought at best.

She knows that it's probably stupid to get so worked up about it, when she's pretty sure the only other contender is...Merrick. But it's also that he seems convinced that she is going to be good at this. Confidence in her, even when she might not have it herself. All she can really do, after trying to force herself into addressing him, is quietly mumble.

"Ah--Sure. Whatever you want, Zevran."

[ombranera]

"For rogues. Assassin skills would be taught later provided they've the mind and temperament for it." Still- it will have merit. It could be worth doing. For that alone he tucks the notion away for further perusal upon arriving at Skyohld. He would need space and some tools but- another time. For now there is the student and the matter at hand.

There it is. There's Beleth under the wry lips and the half painted masks. How could no one she knew see what she was below her protestations? A girl that simply wished to be liked. To have approval.

It is a dangerous thing to be- all too easily manipulated. It wouldn't take much for Zevran to take advantage but she needs to learn to master her masks. To hide that spark that would be her undoing. Above all else, that is why he has chosen to train her. "I want what you want. And you want to be better skilled, yes? And so you shall fly and fly well."

[arlathvhen]

"Good point. I don't know if I'd really be cut out to be an assassin..." She pauses, glancing to the side thoughtfully. If Zevran could drill the skills into her, maybe. The killing wouldn't be hard--Beleth has killed people before, she'd kill people again. Humans, she could probably kill for less reasons than 'do it or you'll die'. Hadn't they been killing the Dalish for arbitrary reasons for centuries?

But Zevran's assessment was right. Beleth has led a lucky life to this point--with her brother and her clanmates to protect her, she'd never been at the mercy of anyone trying to take advantage of just how badly she wanted to feel...wanted. Approved of, accepted. And it seemed that good luck would continue. She nodded at Zevran's words, trying to make herself look more neutral--though she's still startled, when he tells her that he wants what she wants.

She does want to be more skilled. She's got one foot in, one foot out, in this world of deception. Taking both feet out wasn't an option, so if Zevran helped her get all the way in? She'd do it. "Yes, that's what I want--Thank you. Again."

[ombranera]

"You aren't. And there is no shame in that." He pats her cheek before sitting back, hand dropping away. "You are better served a little further back from all that stealth and death. But I can teach you to mind yourself and your masks, to perfect them for your own benefit and that of those around you."

[arlathvhen]

"I'm not some--I mean, I'm not afraid to kill people." She told him, feeling more like a pouting child than an adult trying to assure someone she was assassin material. "I have killed people. Not just corpses--real people." It's not even that she wants to be an assassin--she just doesn't want someone like Zevran to think that she's weak. That she would grow faint at the idea of taking a life. For the most part, someone viewing Beleth as such a delicate creature served her well, but Zevran was different. She wanted him to know that she was capable.

But his offer was still kind, still almost overwhelming. Beleth hesitated for a moment, then moved, crossing the small space in the tent to plant her lips on Zevran's cheek, if he would allow it. A token of her feelings for someone who was willing to help her, and make her even better than she was.

For someone who believed that she was worth something.

"Thank you, again. I don't know how I'll ever repay you for this."

[ombranera]

"There is a difference between fighting and killing- and honing your every skill to the singular task of murdering your fellow man." She didn't have that mentality and that? Was for the better. He could not think her incapable, not in the slightest. Anyone was capable.

Enjoying it, now. The work was bloody and the means cold. Beleth did not seem the sort to him.

Especially when she kissed his cheek. It was sweet- kind. Reverent, perhaps, and his mind skittered away from that possibility. He was no hero, he was no one worth revering. She was glad for the attention and the instruction. Nothing more.

"By not getting yourself killed, ideally."