faderift | everybody loves the HINTERLANDS!

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everybody loves the HINTERLANDS!

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: A brief detour through Ferelden prior to the Kirkwall move
WHEN: Late Drakonis/early Cloudreach
WHERE: The Hinterlands & Redcliffe
NOTES: A lot of people were interested in stopping by the Hinterlands, so that's what this is! Everyone who might be assigned or would volunteer to go work here is welcome. Treat it like an open plot log. Just without a plot. (Also please note that the dragon mentioned here can't actually be found or hunted.)

They say that no one can take Ferelden without first taking Redcliffe, whose eponymous castle guards the mouth of the largest pass through the Frostbacks to Orlais. Maybe that's why the Inquisition is still here, well over a year after the last skirmish between rebel mages and renegade Templars. Making sure it doesn't fall again. (Or that if it does fall, more skeptical locals whisper, to make sure it falls to them.)

Whatever the cause, the green, hilly country around the village remains dotted with manned Inquisition camps, and there's plenty of work to justify a trip down out of the Frostbacks. The Hinterlands are overflowing with elfroot and other useful herbs, which is good, since the healers never seem to have enough. Hunting spring game serves the dual purpose of feeding the locals and supplying the Inquisition with leather for armor and weapons. For a different kind of hunting, there are still bandits and highwaymen taking advantage of travelers on the King's Road and in need of periodic reminders that the rule of law has been restored, sort of, mostly. And for all the progress that's been made toward rebuilding homes and replanting fields, there are still some locals struggling to regain why the war took from them—which isn't at all helped by a dragon that's taken up residence nearby, stealing livestock and scorching fields.

Not glamorous work, any of it. But on the upside, it's an opportunity to thaw out. The flowers are in bloom. The skies are clear. The water flowing through the rivers and creeks into Lake Calenhad is brisk, not too icy, and when the sun is out it's warm enough to swim. And the village sports a tavern and a number of merchants—many of whom are just there to sell fish, but not all of them. Not only fish.

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I. CAMP

Every Inquisition camp has a few large tents, but Alistair winds up with his own—smaller, less sturdy, but that's fine. Half the time he's in it with his head poking out, regardless, so he can look up at the stars and feel the wind and—

He's not homesick. Shut up.

And he doesn't intend to wake anyone up, now that he's finally sleeping sound and quiet enough to sleep near other people in the first place, but in the middle of the night, if someone's awake or tossing in a way that means they might be, he might still whisper, "Look, it's Draconis," or, "Did you hear that?"

II. LAKE CALENHAD

Alistair avoids the village (see below), but not the lake. He knows the cliffs and the rivers, still, and most importantly he knows where the water beneath the waterfalls is deep enough to allow for a diver. Or cannonballer, as it may be.

So: "It's safe. Swear to Andraste," he says, probably to more than one person on more than one day, bundle of elfroot dropped on the rocky top of a short cliff overlooking the lake. "I mean—you can swim, right?"

III. DRAGON

The subtitle is misleading. The dragon is gone, or at least on its way out, the heavy beat of her wings and sad bleating of her breakfast ram still audible but quickly being drowned out by both distance and the increasingly loud crackle of the fire she set to the field and barn in the process.

And Alistair is swearing, quietly, and abandoning whatever task had previously been at hand to jog and then slide on his hip down the steep hillside above the burning farm, whose owners and their children have started scurrying around the fire like mice. Mice whose whole livelihood is at risk.

"—hate those blasted things," he says at the bottom of the hill, to cap off his stream of disgruntled blasphemy, and belatedly looks to see if his company is coming along to help.

IV. REDCLIFFE

Call him paranoid, but Alistair doesn't visit the village during the day. Never mind that he's the slightly-darker spitting image of two different kings; even people who knew Maric or Cailan overlook that all the time. But there are people here who would recognize him as himself, as a boy they used to know—who might be happy to see him, too, and want him to sit down for a drink or tell them where he's been, but he knows these people. Horrid gossips, the lot of them. And he doesn't want to be... whatevered. Arrested. Double-exiled.

So he doesn't join any visits to the Gull & Lantern, and if he needs anything from the merchants he asks someone else to pick it up on his behalf. But the evening before he's due to leave, to catch up with those migrating north to Kirkwall, he finally stops procrastinating; he stands up from beside the fire he's been tending to at the camp, and sighs, and stretches his arms above his head.

"I have an errand to run in the village," he announces to whoever is around. "If I'm not back by dawn, uh..."

There's no end to that sentence. Look for him, obviously. Probably start with bear bellies. He shrugs, grinning, and shoulders a mostly-empty pack.

OOC | One thread for Redcliffe please, if more than one person is even interested. Other things I can do repeats for but am also happy to have as group threads.

Edited 2017-04-11 18:56 (UTC)

Teren has enjoyed the journey for its potential to travel alone but with company, and she's had a similar inclination to sleep alone and keep to herself. But she's never far from Alistair, surreptitiously bringing up the rear to watch his blind spot, reclining in her tent within earshot, hearing him comment to himself and smirking privately. There are nights she'll lie half out of her tent, long braid coiled beside her head as she stargazes silently with him.
There's a comfortable nostalgia to it, as it evokes the days after the Fifth Blight: Alistair drunk and disgraced, Teren freshly out of prison and completely desolate. The memories aren't positive ones, but the peace they found between them is. They've come so far since then, and she still finds, in spite of her pride and her resolve to protect him, that she feels a little safer when they're together.

She is inconspicuously nearby when the dragon goes overhead, and is the first to meet Alistair on the hilltop, furrowing her brow down at the farmhouse before she begins to descend toward it. "It's likely too late to save the house," she mutters, "but the barn may yet stand."

There's absolutely no way Alistair is fooling anyone, and Teren looks up at him from her needlework with raised eyebrows.
"Quite an errand," she remarks, "will you manage on your own?" The way she says it is disinterested, ready to let him go do whatever tedious thing she doesn't need to be part of. But she meets his eyes when she speaks, her meaning plain: if he needs support, all he need do is say so.

Lake Calenhad

Know what the best thing is? Getting out of gravity when you're in your third trimester. For once, that kid isn't pressing on her organs quite so hard. Pel almost feels thin again.

She swims in the lake, pale with the cold, red at her nose and fingertips and eartips, but wearing a blissful smile as she back-paddles through the water, wearing only an unbleached linen undertunic--not white, thankfully, but a dull taupe. Her hair is unbound and floats around her like seaweed.

She turns around to her front, feeling the weight of the child carried away from her as she does so. That's also when she spots you, and stops just short of turning this water into shards of ice flying at your face.

Redcliffe Village

She likes the village. It has an almost camp-like atmosphere, with the sight and scent of woodsmoke in the bright light of day and primitive sales stalls easily torn down and reassembled. Fishing. Canoes. Elves not having to duck their heads and turn their eyes when a human passes by--although they are still wary. Pel is here for one thing, aside from the comfortable atmosphere: books. Not the same old stuff you can get in Val Royeaux or Jader or Halamshiral, but unique finds, things travelling merchants carry without selling for years but keep nonetheless because they don't want to throw away money. Ferelden doesn't have quite the book trade that Orlais does, so some old and forgotten gems can still be found where they haven't been trashed for more mass-produced bestsellers.

Ice or no, Alistair freezes where he stands, both hands in the air, one foot in the water and the other on land—shirtless, with said shirt tossed carelessly on a low scrubby brush behind him, but still in his trousers, you're welcome.

"Don't kill me," he says, as if she might. "I have a family."

"Water," Alistair answers, pausing his hurry toward the flames to look around while they still have the high ground to do so. Where's a mage when you actually genuinely need one, honestly—there is no mage, at the moment, and the river winds through nearby but too far to do much good running back and forth with a bucket, if the family even has one.

That leaves dirt. Not ideal, but if it's what they have, it's what they have. He only shakes his head and starts jogging again.

"Somehow," Alistair sighs, as if carrying a very heavy burden, "if I work hard and keep my wits—"

He can't sustain the act. He returns to grinning. He might also wink at her, unless that's too much, in which case it was definitely just the firelight playing tricks with the shadows on his face.

"My uncle has some things that belong to me," he says, "the scoundrel." Teagan is a scoundrel the same way Teagan is Alistair's uncle: not at all. He only has his things because Alistair left them here, in the period of mild chaos and uncertainty following the Blight, before maybe you ought to go to Orlais acquired an and never come back. But it isn't a secret. It also isn't a big deal. It will only become a big deal if anyone else notices him. "It shouldn't take long. Maybe I'll bring you something. How do you feel about paintings of dogs?"

Edited 2017-04-11 20:34 (UTC)

Though now isn't the time to say so, Teren has burned a building or two in her day. She knows how to light them such that they'll have already done irreparable damage before they're even discovered, a thorough if cruel form of sabotage.
But this is just a dragon's breath. The high dragon wasn't out to destroy a livelihood, she was just... well, doing whatever dragons do for whatever reason. Destructive though they are, Teren finds it hard to hate them.

While Alistair seeks out a stifling agent, Teren jogs over to the family, circling around them once like a sheepdog to wrangle them all into one small and addressable space. "Is anyone still inside," she demands, adding "the house is lost, focus on the barn."

In response to 'did you hear that', Inessa rouses a little from her spot by the campfire, using her slumbering mabari as a pillow. She'd just been intending to savor a moment of quiet, but dozed off before she could reach her bedroll. Trying to cover a yawn, she sits up a little straighter.

"Hear what? Garahel's snoring?" It's not as bad as it could be, but for anyone sensitive to the slightest sound, it might make a difference.

Lake Calenhad

Anders taught her how to swim when they were in Tevinter, but Inessa isn't heavily invested in trying out the comparatively frigid waters of the lake. She'll remain garbed in her Warden attire or simple robes while walking along the shore, preferring to remain dry and warm. With that in mind, she'll veer away from anyone who seems about to canonball or otherwise make a mess. This includes her own dog, who she keeps in line of sight but otherwise is happy to remain several paces away from his running and splashing. If they encounter anyone, it's a fair bet he'll try to get them to join in if they're not in the water already.

Hinterlands

As a parting gift of sorts, Inessa remains proactive as she roams the Hinterlands past the village, gathering elfroot and other herbs for the medics, as well as refilling supply caches. There are other items to retrieve as well, personal ones. For all the rebuilding, there are still far too many ruins of cabins and huts with personal items strewn about. Any letter or heirloom or otherwise significant item left by those now gone will be returned to the proper people, if nearby, or passed on for farther-ranging agents to handle.

And while she isn't going out of her way in terms of bandit-hunting, if any cross her path...well, the sounds of shattering ice and a growling dog are likely to clue others in to her presence.

Dragon

More death and destruction. The dragon may have moved onward, but evidence of its passing stings Inessa's eyes and provokes fits of coughing as she nears another farm with scorched field and the smeared blood of livestock taken or eaten right then and there. With blasts of ice, she's busy putting out fires as best she can, before they spread further and endanger the lives of more than livestock.

Redcliffe Village

The village mostly sees her in the late afternoon or evenings, after she's had her fill of productivity elsewhere. A chance to sit and watch the boats while she eats in peace is definitely welcome, or relax at the tavern with some tea while her mabari hogs the spot in front of the fireplace. Despite contentment with her situation as it is, she seems open to socializing and will smile and beckon to those who seem to want company.

After an extended period of absence Fiona and a few of her assistants are finally winding their way back to Skyhold and while she would rather avoid the Hinterlands altogether it was rather unavoidable. The path was more direct and those who had decided to join her on her diplomatic missions were exhausted, so she wouldn't belabor their route for the sake of comfort.

What she had not expected to run into on the way were Grey Wardens, not quite so many anyway. Naturally her unavailability meant that she wasn't entirely current on the happenings at Skyhold and therefore she did not know of the great move to Kirkwall. Not that she would oppose it of course, but it would mean traveling a long way for...reasons. One of those reasons in particular stood out to her like a sore thumb, perhaps it was because she attended to that particular reason more than any other.

Bidding her attendants to stay she approached Alistair, not altogether certain what she was going to say or why she was even doing it, especially since they had very little opportunity to talk after their last conversation. It was intense, "I can swim, but I cannot be certain I would want to swim in these waters."

She was under the impression that mages dumped their reject potions into these waters, that made her somewhat more...dubious, even if it was probably safe now.

Kain examines the damage left behind closely. He tries to follow its path as much as he can manage, but even that seems to be a futile task. Though there are some few clues left behind that he can see.

"She had quite a feast here. At some point she does seem to have had her fill, though, at least for now. And I can see roughly where she'd have taken off again..." Directing his gaze skyward, Kain eagerly scans for any sign of the dragon. What he wouldn't give for a proper battle against a high dragon. He's tangled with all the other sorts, the less rare kinds and the young, but facing one of the pinnacle of their species... he wants this so much...

"No," Alistair whispers, a little sharply—he knows what a dog snore sounds like, he was raised by them—"listen."

There's the wind; it's slipping between trees and through rocks, here, in a way that occasionally sounds like crying, the sort of persistent sound that gives rise to stories about woods being haunted. But other than that, and other than the campfire's crackle, and other than Garahel's snoring, there's an intermittent animal grunt or snap of a twig.

It's always worth relaxing at the end of the day, even Fenris can see the value in that. He's easing back into the way things had been while he was in Kirkwall, being somewhat more settled. Certainly more settled than he'd ever been. He's still not sure what to make of the impending return back there...

But for now, he heads in to the tavern, intent on getting a drink. When he sees Inessa, he at least makes an acknowledgement, a nod and then approaching only after she beckons him over. He doesn't want to intrude or anything, after all.

"How are you and Garahel faring? Does he enjoy the warmth?" Though who knows, mabari are so sturdy that he may well actually like the snows back in Skyhold.

"I assume so, since he's practically a canine puddle by this point. Aren't you, Garahel?" The mabari in question raises his head and wags his tail, pleased at the attention but also not wanting to move right now. He's too comfy for that.

Leaning back in her chair a little, she sips at her tea. "As for myself, I'm well. I suppose this is a last hurrah before we leave Ferelden for the Free Marches." For Kirkwall. It's strange to think about, moving to such a notorious place. "What are your thoughts on the move?"

"I certainly hope she's had her fill, given how recent the evidence." They don't need her picking off more to sate her appetite. Inessa pauses to cough as Garahel sniffs around, grunting whenever he's found something he thinks they should see. Though really, it's all variations on a theme at this point; clawed ground, smeared blood, and so on.

"Let me finish quenching the fires around here and we can move to the next on her trail of destruction. However, I should note that we might not be able to pursue her, Kain. She has a significant head start." And Inessa is not prepared for a dragon-battle, nor is Garahel.

Snapping to alertness -shedding sleep quickly has long been ingrained, thanks to life among the Grey Wardens- Inessa moves to stand. A small frown tugs at her lips as she listens. The grunting gets her attention and she moves quietly, just a little bit closer. She pitches her voice low, not wanting to draw attention. "You're right, there's...something...." Hopefully her elven vision will pay off while she can still keep her distance.

Garahel stirs and yawns as Inessa's no longer leaning against him, a questioning grunt as he gets to his feet. Spotting Inessa, he heads over to her side, sniffing at the air and alert for any trouble. It's not going to reach her without going through him first.

The sound of her voice makes Alistair startle and turn back to look at her, then beyond her—he'd fairly obviously assumed the footsteps he heard belonged to someone else, but whoever that might have been is now nowhere to be seen. Instead it's Fiona.

It isn't that he hadn't expected to see her again. It's more that he hadn't let himself think about it long enough to form any expectation at all. He'd barely had time to get used to the thought of her before she was gone again. Not her fault, of course, just like the first time wasn't her fault, it's never really anyone's fault—

He'd been about to pull his shirt off, arm bent back to grab the collar. He lets it go and grins at her, a little bit too late for it to be automatic or natural, and shrugs.

"I grew up in them," he says, "and once we cut off the third arm I sprouted, I turned out just fine."

"It seems that way. Some of these are really picked apart, barely anything left... but over here it seems like she left more behind..." He sighs. If she did satisfy her appetite, then it's unlikely she'll be back around for more anytime soon. That's too bad in Kain's way of seeing it.

But he peers toward the sky again, as if he can stubbornly will the dragon to show up yet again.

"She does, but that doesn't mean it's impossible... Perhaps we ought to have approached this from the air ourselves..." If they'd taken Potato and gotten on the trail sooner, maybe they'd have been able to catch the dragon. As it is... it seems unlikely now. Kain looks toward Garahel. "Let's keep exploring while she finishes dealing with those fires."

"The Inquisition has made its choice. Like all good soldiers, everyone will follow through with it. I expect before long it'll be more of the same thing in a different setting." There is that note of skepticism in his tone, because he really doesn't know at this point either way if this will be for the better. It may not worsen things, either, but that remains to be seen. He's not so attached to the Inquisition itself that it'd matter, though the Inqusition's goals on the other hand, certain ones, are kind of vital.

He shrugs. "As for living there? It's more or less what you'd expect."

"Let's not subject Potato to the wrath of a high dragon, Kain. That would never end any way other than poorly." Yes, Potato is skilled, but still. High dragon versus a griffon? The griffon would lose, even if it's just an attempt to track it, the dragon in question could take that personally.

As she summons more ice, Garahel trots over to Kain and licks his hand, ready to investigate alongside him. "Don't go too far; I won't be occupied very long." Hopefully, though it depresses her a little that even with the firefighting, there isn't much worth saving in the area.

"...which is to say, it will doubtless an 'interesting' experience." Inessa sighs and takes another sip of her tea, frowning a little in thought afterward. "During my one brief visit to Kirkwall, I was disturbed by the thinness of the Veil. I don't enjoy thinking about the effect that has on those living within it full-time." Specifically mages, which hardly needs to be said but as a responsible mage, it's something always on her mind. "Varric has written about the city, but I want to separate truth from fiction. You don't share the same need to add flair, as far as I've noticed, so I would hear the truth without it."

It was no one's fault, probably true, but Fiona had to square with herself that, perhaps, some things were her fault. She was young and impulsive, her thoughts about what would have been best for Alistair had been based on her own experiences...and maybe...maybe that wasn't very fair of her. It might be something to talk about if they had enough time for it, if there was ever an inclination.

"Well now, that's just a shame! I've often wondered what it might be like to have a third arm...maybe a fourth arm. I'd either be very productive or in my own way," well alright, if it was good enough for him it was good enough for her. Not that she intended to go swimming, but she did approach the edge of the lake, squatting at its edge, eyes fixed on a point in the distance. She didn't look much like a former grand enchanter, "it's the history that I appreciate...or the myths...maybe the two are not entirely divorced from one another."

"I mean more for tracking purposes, but your point is well taken. Still, the problem remains... we cannot possibly chase a dragon from the ground." And trying to figure out the whereabouts of her lair may take a long time, time which they probably don't have. Kain would love to spend his time hunting down a dragon, but the Wardens are his priority, and the Inquisition after that. There's too much that must be done.

Kain gives Garahel some head scratches in return for the lick, and nods. "All right... we'll just see whether there's much to be found... any hint whatsoever will be useful right now." Not that he's too hopeful. It's not as if the dragon is about to scratch our a map in the ground with its claws, noting its next destination. Sigh.

Inessa nods and moves further off, looking away every time evidence of the dragon's meal is passed, in favor of snuffing those flames that might spread. Once the field is practically covered in ice, she'll head back in their direction, stifling a sigh. Her hair is going to carry the scent of smoke and roasted ram until she has a chance to wash it out.

"I've done what I can, it shouldn't spread from here. But that doesn't mean that there isn't danger from the trail it's left us. We should move onward, unless you've found something...?"

Kain is bent over some of the charred remains, studying them intently, looking at the way in which the grass was bent in places where the dragon very clearly touched ground. It's easy enough to piece together where she'd landed, where she'd simply blasted the area... but none of this helps for tracking.

"Nothing. I can follow her movements more or less for when she was here, but once she took to the sky... at that point, she becomes untraceable." It's a serious let down for sure. "I wish we could track her further... over a larger area, perhaps more clues about her hunting patters would reveal themselves... clues that would lead to her lair."

"She had nesting grounds not far from the village, or at least I was told such. But given the passage of time, she's likely to have moved on from that particular spot." A very good thing, since an Inquisition camp was also nearby and Inessa didn't want to think about casualties, civilian or otherwise.

"We'll gather what clues we can and pass them on the scouts before we leave the area. I know it doesn't seem like much, but it will aid in the long run."

"Very likely. Unfortunately. Well... no, not unfortunately. It's good she's gone from this area, it takes the threat away. It's just unfortunate for tracking purposes." He'd hoped a little that there would be a dragon fight to come of this. They probably would have needed another extra person or two on hand, of course, but it would have been worth it.

He sighs but nods. "There's only so much to be found here, but perhaps the scouts will learn more and give us a better lead."

"You have so much to look forward to," he says dryly. "It's true that Varric exaggerates in part, but some things aren't wrong. There are sections best avoided... Darktown reeks of disease and filth, and is a breeding ground for crime. Lowtown is a step up, but barely, and then there's the alienage... I wouldn't recommend visiting it." Yet, after a pause, he shrugs. "But there's something about the city that's liberating despite all of its bleaker qualities. I didn't mind living there, at the time. You should visit the Hanged Man if you get a chance."

Strangely enough, he now feels an odd sort of attachment to that place, even if he'd taken every chance to put it down back when he and the others would go there. There's this stray thought about whether or not Isabela might show up when he gets there... but... that remains to be seen. It's weird to him going back after all this time away.

"I have no reason to visit an alienage, especially one that is not my own." Inessa shrugs, though privately has some mild curiosity as to their vhenadahl. Still, she's going to be extremely busy and there's no real time or motivation to venture that far from Inquisition territory.

"The Hanged Man...I suppose it would be worthwhile to see the heart of Lowtown, and all those stories. Perhaps we can accompany you when you visit." Inessa would rather have the company of a native, or someone as close to it as possible, when she goes and inevitably stands out. Attention is not something she wants to gain a great deal of, not in a Lowtown tavern.

"We might learn more at the next Inquisition camp, though I make no promises." When Garahel returns to her side, Inessa strokes him soothingly. "There will be dragons in the Free Marches as well, I assure you. Ferelden doesn't claim them all, nor would we want that."

"I hope so. On both those accounts. That we learn more, especially as our time here is limited... and that we also find what dragons are lurking to the north." He's disappointed he didn't have more opportunities lately to encounter any, though who knows? Perhaps that really will change.

"I... really wouldn't recommend it." He'd been, a few times with Merrill, and he was... unimpressed. It also really hadn't felt like a place he ought to belong to. The Dalish are not his people, but he doesn't feel any special kinship with southern city elves either. At least Inessa would understand that.

He nods. "You would be welcome at the Hanged Man, any time I'm there... and I would be willing to take you through Lowtown itself as well." He gets it, Kirkwall is easy to get lost in when you're unfamiliar. It's probably better to have someone around who knows it, to avoid accidentally stepping into unsafe areas.

Inessa's demeanor because a bit more subdued as she nods in agreement to that. "I cannot say I'm looking forward to Kirkwall itself, but the Free Marches at large are relatively unknown to me. I should look forward to the opportunity to learn and explore."

This probably isn't the right time or place to unload her misgivings about the move, even if all signs point to the dragon not returning. Nor does she want to spread discontent, when she has every intention of bucking up and dealing with it. But the thought of being a mage in such a place has her inwardly nervous, and it's difficult to explain to one not connected to the Fade as she. "...right, let's continue. The situation isn't going to resolve itself here."

"It's safe enough during the day, isn't it? I would like to inspect the market for any supplies the Inquisition cannot bring, due to space limits." Inessa isn't too worried about pickpockets, though. She has a large, canine deterrent right next to her, after all. He isn't helping his image what with rolling onto his back for belly rubs, but Garahel can change moods in a heartbeat, especially when his mistress is threatened.

Kain nods agreement. "I've visited there long ago, but I haven't really been back since I've been a Warden. I'm also less familiar with it." It's a little daunting heading to a place unknown. But like initially leaving Orlais more long-term, he'll deal with it. "I can't wait to see more of the mountains up there, I've not had a chance to really explore those."

He nods agreement. "I'm sure we'll be fine. The Inquisition wouldn't have made this decision if it were that overly dangerous." There's danger everywhere, they just have to deal. Kain is never one to dwell on that regard. "Let's just hope we find something..."

"More or less, and the market is usually bustling with people trading and selling their goods. You'll undoubtedly find what you need." Of course, Fenris is still glad to pet Garahel and give him those belly rubs he's after. Such good animals, mabari. "It may be a large adjustment for some. Skyhold is... isolated. Kirkwall is a port city, a major place for trade. There will be more people to deal with, good and bad."

"We go where we're needed, whether Warden or Inquisition. Whatever the conditions, we'll adapt. At least we can explore together." Garahel huffs and leans into Inessa before bumping up against Kain and then pausing, expecting them to follow. "...if nothing else, this will give him quite the exercise. He might even forgo being a bottomless pit in favor of napping when we reach the camp."

As if to prove her point, the large mabari is a big, muscular streak as he darts along the rolling landscape, distracted by all sorts of scents and sights. As long as he doesn't raise the ire of wildlife or rift demons, though, she won't attempt to stop him. There are times when one has to choose their battles, and she's learned this long ago.

Smirking a little at Garahel's happy wiggling, she nods while turning her gaze back to Fenris. "It sounds similar to Denerim, at least. Granted, Ferelden's capital has a very different history, but the noise and crowds...well, I think we can manage. What about the land outside the city gates? Is it all just bandits or...?"

Varric's books certainly made it seem that way, but it's hard to imagine Kirkwall being the center of trade if bandits interfered with everything. Still, she knows enough not to go wandering on her own, mabari companion or not. That doesn't take a city-dweller's common sense to realize.

"There are the mountains, the mines... though the most bandit-filled area by far of Kirkwall's surroundings is along the Wounded Coast. Any stories you've heard about that area are undoubtedly true." Being a coastal area, it's just a natural place for all kinds of shady activity to happen, from all kinds of criminal sorts coming and going.

"If you keep your wits about you, though, you have no more to fear than you do while traveling through Ferelden. Just proceed with caution." Bandits are just part of life on the road, after all.

"The Wounded Coast...such a charming name." Inessa shakes her head as Garahel grumbles at mention of bandits. "What do you know of the mountain areas? I know some who are less than pleased with the thought of moving to such an urban area. A mountain retreat could prove vital."

While Inessa herself prefers the comforts of civilization, knowing that Kain or other friends so inclined have options would ease her mind.

"Right... no matter where they send us, we'll deal with it. We always did as Wardens." Kain nods agreement, before Garahel distracts him. He gives him a pat before the mabari runs off, enjoying his run through the scenery.

"You never heard this from an Orlesian, but I'm going to miss Ferelden." Many of its landscapes had really grown on him, over time, and well... the people too. Certain ones. "We'd best take Garahel's advice and make the most of it while we're here."

That particular comments gets a soft snort from Inessa. "Oh, really? Even if you won't admit to it in public, I can't allow you to forget it in private. It's my duty as a Fereldan, you know."

"I didn't spend a lot of time there, but only because the Vimmark Mountains are frequently overrun with all manner of creatures, whether animals or... more unpleasant things, such as darkspawn or wyverns. Still, I'm sure one could find a peaceful spot if they look. There are Warden structures out there as well. You may find that of interest." It's not really anything he cares about much, but he at least respects that it's one of her areas of expertise. "Have you heard much about Sundermount?"

Her lips curve in a slight smile as she reaches for her tea. "I read Varric's book, so I have that perspective. Flemeth and the Dalish...though neither are present there now, right? I hope that means it will be a little less eventful." She would rather keep her distance from both the Witch of the Wilds and elves who would call her flat-ear.

"I should have known you would never let me live this down..." Kain even manages a bit of an amused smirk for her. While he still even now has a strong sense of pride in his homeland, he isn't above such comments. Especially because he knows how much it would annoy the stuffier of the nobles. Ha. "I'm so glad you take this duty so seriously. Your country has the most remarkable landscapes, though... I'm partial to the mountains, of course."

At least there are mountains in the Free Marches, anyway. He has it in mind to go exploring there the moment he gets up there.

"I suppose we can make a slight detour on the return trip to Skyhold, if you wish to see more before we move northward? I can't guarantee what we'll find, but it could be a worthwhile venture nonetheless." For her part, she wouldn't mind some time to mentally prepare for the sudden shift to less-than-ideal surroundings. As she's leaving first, there isn't too much time to spare, but still....

"Good, then you're aware enough of what happened there." Without him having to go through the whole story, anyway. Flemeth's appearance, Merrill's clan, Merrill being unspeakably foolish, all of it. "I don't know what to expect there now, but I wouldn't count on things settling down completely. There's always some new threat, eager to move in when others are gone."

"I'd like that, of course. I enjoy this region a great deal, and I want to feel that I've made the most of my time here. It would be worth it to me." He knows that's how it goes often, the same in the Wardens... it's never worth getting too comfortable in any one location. But it's still easy to form attachments if you aren't careful.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

everybody loves the HINTERLANDS!

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Lake Calenhad

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What else??? DRAGON

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