it's like i've fallen out of bed

[aestivation]

WHO: Casimir, Kostos, Myr
WHAT: Having one (1) whole feeling
WHEN: Vaguely this month
WHERE: The Southeastern Fuckoff Murderforest
NOTES: Probably ~drama~

The Brecillian Forest is full of life.

It’s full of death, too, and little of that restful. The Veil here isn’t so much thin as it’s flimsy, a fragility familiar to Kirkwall, but shifted for it. Where civilization might have grown against its drape, there are only scattered villages, thick trees; the occasional sign of more transient habitation.

(And ruin, always ruin. Civilization grew here once too.)

They have excuses, they have intelligence to consider. The Southern scouts report the usual dangers — possessed branches, bandits, roving wildlife — but no sign of hostile Dalish. Small blessings.

The Rift is rippling, and persistent. All manner of minor spirits press at its edges, and the occasional greater horror climbs through. As they draw closer, there are scorch marks in trees, there’s a silence in the birds. Sometimes, there are bones.

The Inquisition knows it’s here, but there are too many Rifts, and too few able to close them. Remote and spirit-stricken as these woods are, they’ll need to wait. A boon for those who’d study it,

That they’re not here to study is a matter to be kept between them.