faderift | [closed] the smith of ferelden

WHO: Barrow, John Silver, Kostos, Ilias
WHAT: Mages, Templars and Swords - oh my!
WHEN: Vaguely Drakonis
WHERE: Ferelden
NOTES: OOC Post

It's said that the forge at Farrow's Crossing has been burning uninterrupted since the Steel Age. While that is almost certainly a fairy tale proudly perpetuated by Bann Egan, what is undeniable is that Farrow's Crossing is home to some of Ferelden's finest smiths. Weapons and armor crafted here are renowned for their quality, the production of which is fed by the mines located in the nearby hills.

--Which is probably what drew a band of still-rebelling mages there. Doing anything to interrupt the flow of raw material from the mines to the forges could deal a real blow to the Bannorn's economic stability (never mind its pride and reputation), and so Bann Egan has offered a significant trade deal on arms from his forges to anyone who can root out the apostates and either send them packing or deal with them a little more permanently. He's not particular about where they go, but they can't stay here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For what should be a bustling trade hub in Southern Ferelden, the first glimpse of Farrow's Crossing is strangely still - empty shop fronts and vacated yards, goats left bleating on their tethers and tools set aside on their workbenches. It's only once Riftwatch's delegation has made it farther into the town that it becomes clear why the town is so quiet: evidently, the bulk of the population is here at the gate before the stone longhouse which the town surrounds. They are in the midst of being dispersed by a pair of minor members of the Egan household, both armed with fine swords and clearly put out about having to chase people off their familial doorstep.

Popular gossip is happy to report that three days ago, a contingent of three Templars and a Chantry Brother arrived in Farrow's Crossing, after which they promptly set off into the foothills after the apostates rumored to be there. Exactly five minutes ago, they returned here in the company of five mages.

Two dead, one of the Farrow's Crossing children cheerfully reports.

Which is an exaggeration, but not by much. Evidently one of the mages has been killed (the body is there under a blanket in the courtyard), and the general chaos and splattered blood inside the house suggests that only moments ago confirms that a wounded Templar passed through here only moments ago.

The narrow faced head steward of the house greets Riftwatch's party with a long look, and the withering assessment of, "You're late."

Surprise: someone beat you all to the punch.

(i.) THE WOUNDED TEMPLAR can be found one of the immediately adjacent rooms in the company of a young herbalist from the Bann's house and a distressed Chantry Brother. She is being treated for severe burns, her armor stripped as the herbalist does their best to make her comfortable. Meanwhile, the Chantry Brother is all but hopping from one foot to the other just inside the doorway.

(ii.) THE MAGES - or what remains of them - have been dosed with magebane and chucked into one of the stables big box stalls until the whole issue can be resolved. The two remaining Templars are posted in the yard, though they'd clearly prefer to be overseeing their colleague's treatment. It's possible one or both will jump at the chance to trade off guard duty with someone who seems halfway interested in the concept.

Trying to talk to scared mages seems like a bad idea at the best of times, and even if he hasn't broadcast to the world outside Riftwatch that he's a defected Templar, Barrow figures he'll have a better time talking to the wounded member of his own former order and just prays he doesn't know her.

"Hullo," he chirps as he strolls in, casting an odd look at the Chantry brother, but his smile is reserved for the bedridden woman.

"Oh for the love of-- You." This from the herbalist at the wounded Templar's bedside; it is not directed at Barrow, but rather at the fretting Chantry Brother. "I can't work like this. Take yourself and your friend out of this room at once."

And that bit does seem to include the newcomer. The Chantry Brother blinks - he opens his mouth to protest even and then seems to rethink it at the herbalist's murderous look. However it isn't until the burned Templar croaks something nonsensical from her place in the bed that the young man sharpens up, looks to Barrow and makes a decision: "Yes, well. Come along then. Nothing either of us can do, I suppose."

He leads the way back out of the room and into the hall.

At the word 'you', Barrow points innocently at himself, then shifts it toward the Chantry Brother, pleased that he's not already in trouble before he's said anything past a greeting.

"Righto," he agrees, and moves to follow the Brother without complaint.

The sight of templars clangs against every single instinct John has. Should he not turn and leave? What in the world propels him forward? He knows, but there is always a moment of doubt, of incredulous disbelief as he reminds himself of his allegiances.

Not for the first time, he feels the full weight of what he's involved himself in and feels tired.

It helps to have a lifetime of deception to fall back on as he looks from one templar to the other, then tips his chin towards the door.

"Are they taking visitors?"

As if this is a social call.

There's no conversation to interrupt; it's clear neither Templar (in their full armor, sweat plastering down their hair despite the bitter weather and mud splashed up boots and over greaves) has quite wound down to the point of discussion. The pivot of their attention from the main house to here, to the stable yard, to John is very sharp indeed.

"Who are you meant to be?" asks the older of the two men. There's a small cut on his brow, a dark crease of dried blood.

Riftwatch is put up in one of the out buildings adjacent to the main house. What's been made abundantly clearly from the day's proceedings is that the Templars intend to take the mages from Farrow's Crossing. To what end? They haven't said. Meanwhile, the mages are officially more than happy to leave Ferelden under escort, but they'd much rather have it done under Riftwatch's supervision, thank you very much.

The Chantrys representatives have offered to cut Riftwatch a fair percentage of the arms that Bann Egan is willing to provide so long as they keep quiet with respect to what's happened here in Farrow's Crossing - they don't want any more unnecessary dramatics if they can help it, and someone might kick up a fuss if word of this were to get back to Fiona or the rebel mages of the Inquisition. Meanwhile, should Riftwach intervene on the mages' behalf, they'll miss out on the Bann's offer and find themselves responsible for seeing nearly a half dozen mages ready to talk shit to… anywhere else.

"This is going to be difficult," John says, leaning back slightly in his chair. He's rested a hand on the table, but hasn't reached for either the simple far on his plate or the cup sat beside it. "We can't give up the mages, nor can we afford to lose the Bann's support, and I assume the Chantry Brother is aware of the latter, which weakens us."

Is he stating the obvious? He hopes he is, but if not, then all the more reason to make the parameters of their situation clear.

"And I would like to know how the Chantry knew to send those templars. As far as we know, the Bann didn't seek their aide."

But there's the trouble: as far as they know is not very far at all, and they have little time to try and find out anything further. Before they leave, certainly, but before they need to present some sort of decision? Unlikely.

"So," John says, finally lifting the hunk of bread from his plate and tearing off a piece. "Let's hear some ideas."

[closed] the smith of ferelden

FARROW'S CROSSING;

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THE GREAT DEBATE;

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