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

[dalishious]

Merrick's fingers knot in Pel's shirt, wringing it, clawing at it in agony. He lets out a raw, pained noise.

"She saw," he tells her. "She fucking saw."

[mythalenaste]

Pel shushes him gently, fingers winding in his hair. "Who saw? Korrin?"

[dalishious]

"Ellana."

The name is spoken like a curse, ground out through his teeth, his voice cracking in the middle of it. Korrin saw too, yes, and he'll have to deal with that as well. Korrin probably thinks he's crazy. Everyone thinks he's crazy. Now Ellana too.

[mythalenaste]

Oh. Oh no wonder he's upset. She holds him tighter.

"I see you, my love." Her voice is serene. She is conditioned to get calmer and calmer the worse things are. "I have you. Just. Breathe."

[dalishious]

It's hard to fight it. He's so weak, his limbs like lead and his head pounding, and he's freezing. He curls close as her voice pours into him slowly, a safe space closing around him.

"I never wanted her to know," he says softly and so, so quietly. "Not about any of it. I tried so damn hard."

[mythalenaste]

"I know, ma vhenan. But Ellana loves you. That will never change. She knows you're so much more than that."

[dalishious]

It's useless to talk right now. Merrick finds no more words in his throat, just howls of pain, which he buries in Pel's shirt until they dwindle into soft whimpers.

It comes then, the part when nothing else is there but Pel--her voice, her arms, the smell of her hair. Her embrace becomes everything, a safe net around him in which he can breathe, and he clutches her as if clinging for his very life.

[mythalenaste]

When Merrick is finally quiet, Pel starts singing softly, for his ears alone. She doesn't want the silence to start speaking to him, drowning it out with familiar words and melodies.