faderift | MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

WHO: Everyone!
WHAT: Assisting with the aftermath of occupation
WHEN: August through Kingsway
WHERE: Field of Ghislain
NOTES: OOC post. Please use appropriate content warnings in your comment subject lines as needed.

The Fields of Ghislain are, as the name suggests, broad open plains, more flat than not, more grass than trees. There are famous orchards around Arlesans at the southern end, but they fade into grassland and farm land, wide fields of wheat and corn separating quiet farming villages and the occasional bustling market town, the even more occasional country estate.

High summer here has always meant long hot days, dusty roads, and preparations for the harvest. Now it also means recovery from the sudden end to the area's year-and-a-half of occupation by the forces of Corypheus. On first glance, the area appears to have escaped relatively unscathed. There are a few burnt villages here and there, a few new rifts, and the scarred valley where the Battle of Ghislain took place, but there are also crops growing strong in the fields and markets open for business, people going about their lives.

On closer inspection, there's more work to be done. The immediate threats are obvious: an unusual number of rifts and the general thinning of the Veil they signal, small bands of enemies—including bands of darkspawn with red lyrium growths—still marauding through the region, isolated patches of red lyrium to be destroyed and Blight to be contained.

Most places have at least one building that's been destroyed by fire or force, some practically essential—a grain store, an infirmary, a watch tower—some invaluable in other ways—a chantry, a mayor's office, a monument to heroic ancestors. Some places showed more resistance than others, and there whole neighborhoods or even entire villages have been gutted by fire and the ruins shoved over like block towers. Some survivors fled and now return to pick through the debris, while others remained, living in shanties in the ashes waiting for a chance to rebuild. Despite the crops ripening in the fields there are signs of malnutrition in many places as well, stories of crops confiscated to feed the invading troops and only meager rations returned, worse off even than those affected by shortages elsewhere in Orlais.

And it's not just the material that the enemy has taken or destroyed. Every decent-sized village has its missing, people who were arrested and taken away in wagons or simply vanished one day out of the blue. Where there was resistance there were executions to discourage it, and while the inhabitants have already taken down and buried the displayed bodies, there are a few places where there is no one left to do so, or where magic placed remains out of reach but always in sight.

There are opportunities too: the enemy lived and worked here for 18 months. They did their best to cover their tracks when they left, but it was a hasty and unexpected withdrawal, and there is a wealth of information to collect and work through. There are houses they occupied that haven't been entirely cleaned out, papers only half-burned in an abandoned office, a storeroom in an outpost basement they forgot to empty. And there are the people who have been forced to live and work alongside them all this time to be spoken with, the names they've learned and the conversations they've overheard, the training exercises held on their village greens, all to be teased out and taken down.

One abandoned operation commands particular attention: the site that Riftwatch—then the Inquisition—observed on the eve of the Battle might be a shrine to the Old God Dumat. At the time this was a newly-discovered ruin and little could be discerned for certain, but during their occupation the Venatori have undertaken massive excavations. They've uncovered not just a shrine but a significant temple complex, much of it underground. Exploration of the lowest levels will be handled by a particular team, but there is more to see and do besides. The warren of ruins and the remains of the camp outside them must be searched for clues as to the Venatori's purpose here, and a preliminary study made of the site's contents. There are also the slaves who did the back-breaking labor of digging out the complex and now need assistance. Many are locals, who simply need a ride back to their homes. Others the Venatori brought with them from Tevinter, and they will need to be interviewed and local communities persuaded to take them in.

It is an unimaginable amount of work, but Riftwatch isn't doing it alone. The Inquisition still has a large number of noncombatants, many of whom have been sent to help with outreach and rebuilding in particular. The Exalted March, too, has plenty of volunteers that aren't exactly fit for the front lines. There is enough ground to cover for everyone, but there will be times when Riftwatch agents will be working with—or at least alongside—those from the Inquisition and the Exalted March, and orders are clear that they are to maintain good working relations and not start any trouble.

In between all of this there will be long rides by horse or cart from this village to that one over dirt tracks with cicadas buzzing in the sun, sweltering afternoons broken up by sudden, drenching thunderstorms, warm evenings playing pétanque on the green with the locals over a pint of cider. There will be as many wary as grateful, but hopefully by the end of the summer Riftwatch can tip that balance a little bit.

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( snacks )

The baker and his helpers are very kind, and very interested in the pair of them. They're all very free with their baked goods, but the trade off seems to be that while they eat they are subject to an endless flow of questions.

Theoretically, Ellis shouldn't be too unequipped to handle it. He does spend most of his free time with Wysteria Poppell, after all. But still.

It's been a long day. Ellis is still damp from the bath, and while the thought of simply stretching out to sleep is tempting, he should eat something. After a long moment of consideration, he knocks three times on Maud's door, only opens after he hears her call back to him.

"I missed dinner," Ellis says. "And I need someone to back me up if I'm going into the kitchen."

It's dangerous to go alone, Maud.

( trampling )

Maud brings her maid along for this trip. Ellis hadn't thought very much of it until the moment when the baker proudly shows them up the narrow stairs to two bedrooms, and Ellis realizes just how little room they actually have.

He gives up his bed. It's the right thing to do, and Maud's maid is kind enough to let him store his pack in the corner, and let him use the spare blanket as a pillow when he stretches out in the hallway to sleep. He rises before either of them. The arrangement will suit them all well enough for a few weeks.

Or it does, up until he's woken up by a foot planting directly into his stomach at some ungodly hour of the morning. It's still dark, and the baker has not yet risen to clatter around in the kitchen, and Maud didn't fall down the stairs, so the only casualty is Ellis' stomach.

"What are you doing?" is the first thing he says, as if Maud's the one who should be explaining.

There was the faint sound of voices hissed low just before Maud called out, but she is nearly in reach of opening the door herself by the time it opens, stepping through the narrow space between bed and dressing table. Behind her, Gerda the maid is just snapping shut a case, her expression set in what seems to be a perpetual scowl.

Maud slides quickly past Ellis and into the hall. "Too right," she says, shutting the door behind her, "Madame Fournier nearly cornered you over that clafoutis yesterday. And I was too rushed to stop this morning, so she may be especially hungry."

There's a moment where Ellis considers the quickly shut case, Gerda's scowl, before deciding it is simply not his problem.

"If that was an intrusion, I'm sorry for it," is all Ellis really has to say on the matter, before wearily considering what waits for them at the bottom of the stairs.

"I know we should be grateful for the food and lodging," says Ellis, who has been sleeping on the hallway floor, "But I can't decide whether questions about the war or questions about our opinions on the Inquisition and the March are more tiresome."

Particularly because both felt like some sort of trap, even if that trap was just knowing their opinions would be gossiped through town before the next mealtime.

"Not at all," Maud assures, polite deferral only as convincing as it needs to be. She's quick to move on, blowing out a breath of sympathetic uncertainty.

"It is hard to say. But be careful not to jinx it, I'm sure she could find even a worse subject if she set her mind to it. She seems quite tenacious. Perhaps we could negotiate a set price of questions per day, or per roll."

"They'd begin making smaller rolls," Ellis surmises. "They have the upper hand and they know it."

He has to respect them for it though. As eager as they are to share their wares, they're even more eager for company. Ellis has to wonder if they treat all their lodgers similarly.

"I repaired a well today. They'll have to content themselves with that, unless you have something more riveting."

"True." Unfortunately. There are worse things, certainly, but if this is going to continue to be a regular daily occurrence they are going to need a new strategy.

"I helped take inventory of supplies before they're sent on to various projects in the area," Maud replies, with a definite note of apology. "Did you have to go into the well?"

"I did."

He tests the bottom step, assesses the ominous creak and considers whether or not it's better to just repair it himself before they leave.

"There was a moment where it looked as if one of the villagers assisting was going to drop me, but—"

A shrug, gesturing at himself. He's not soaked, so clearly he escaped unscathed. Voices drift from behind the closed door to the kitchen and preparation area and Ellis sighs.

"Don't let them know that though. Maybe it'll be more riveting if I had to be fished out."

"You might have dried out earlier," Maud offers, "Or perhaps it was a very near thing, but you managed to catch hold of the wall and dangle by your fingertips just above the water a while before marshaling your strength and climbing back out." She catches herself and looks slightly bashful for a second, before brushing it off with a shrug: "Depending how much you wish to exaggerate."

As for her own contribution, brows furrow. "I'm not sure how I might make inventory exciting."

"Maybe you discovered something unexpected," Ellis suggests. "It's not unlikely to have unearthed some kind of forgotten relic or valuable."

On the tail end of that statement, he steps aside to prop the door open for her so Maud can enter the kitchen ahead of him.

It's gentlemanly, but also a little bit about self-preservation.

Whatever musing Maud might have done about forgotten relics is forestalled by the door being swung open for her. Her head tilts, casting a Look Ellis's way that says quite plainly that she sees what he is doing there. But any exasperation is an act, and there's amusement wrinkling the corners of her mouth as she rolls her eyes and, straightening both dress and expression, turns to step into the kitchen ahead of him.

Madame Fournier and her sister are both at work shaping elaborate braided loaves, dough slapping against the table as they weave strands together. Both look up as the door opens and smile, launching immediately into the usual opening barrage of questions: how are they, how were their days, what did they get up to, did they hear about the goose that got into the Chantry, were they involved in the incident in the village of Biles, did they eat lunch, did they eat dinner, are they partial to roasted goose because there is some leftover she can make them a plate, sit down, sit down, it's bad for the digestion not to eat sitting down over a conversation, and anyway, they've been wondering whether it's possible for animals to become darkspawn?

Maud bears up under this deluge as well as may be expected, now that they've had a few days to become accustomed, slipping in a quick 'yes' or 'no' where possible, and takes a seat on a flour-dusted stool at the table.

In many ways, Tony and Wysteria have prepared Ellis very well for his stay above the baker's shop. The endless flow of enthusiastic conversation isn't so difficult to weather, the trouble tends to be the points where he's expected to contribute and when he tries to extricate himself from the room.

But for the moment, in between the passing of plates and a few imitations of a Chantry Mother, Ellis is consulted for his expertise. (A Warden would know best, yes?) He is no scientist, but also fears to direct these women towards any of Riftwatch's unorthodox researchers, so his noncommittal hum is broken up by him passing half his bread and the choicer cut of goose towards Maud with a loudly delivered compliment to the cook.

It is ignored, but it does save him from meditation on animals and darkspawn before the conversation veers wildly back to the rumor of a spate of ghosts making their way across the countryside, and has Riftwatch heard anything of it?

Ellis' eyebrows raise, mouth momentarily full. Looking to Maud as he chews, the squint clearly states: Have we heard of ghosts in the countryside?

Maud accepts the food with a grateful smile to Ellis and another round of compliments to their hosts, filling a little more airtime before they have to start making any substantive contributions. When the subject of ghosts is raised, her head tilts, eyebrows quirking in unintentional mirror of her companion's expression.

She finishes chewing a moment or so before him, and though plainly tempted to defer by taking another bite, lets her fork rest. "I've heard nothing of ghosts, mistress, but then I wouldn't be one sent after them, of course. It may be that Riftwatch has it in hand already. But perhaps you can tell us all you've heard, in detail, and then we can report it back to our superiors, just to be sure?"

Which ought, she hopes, buy them at least five or ten minutes more of just listening. As the ghost tale begins, she sneaks a look back at Ellis, eyes briefly widened as if to say, that was close.

Edited 2020-10-09 23:39 (UTC)

"What on earth--" is Maud's whispered exclamation as she startles back with a jerk that puts her back to the wall, not that that's far in the narrow hall. Shock is a powerful promoter of alertness, but it still takes her a minute to resolve the voice and shape she's found. "Warden Ellis? What are you doing?"

And another moment before she realizes precisely what he's doing and why her question is not just stupid, but rather rude and distinctly ungrateful. She rakes a hand through dark hair, loose around her shoulders instead of the usual tightly demure chignon, as she sinks into a low crouch. She folds arms between her knees, hands loosely knit. (They're bare for the first time, and there is no green anchor glow between her palms.) "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize."

Edited 2020-09-10 21:18 (UTC)

Winded, Ellis stays prone for a moment before hauling himself up into a seated position. His eyes rest on her hands for a moment before he clearly decides not to pursue the obvious question.

"There's nothing to apologize for. You didn't do any real damage."

Or, wait—

"Unless you mean this?"

A brief gesture at the hallway, his pack serving as a make-shift pillow. That doesn't need much of an apology either, as far as Ellis is concerned.

"I do. Well, all of it," she replies, gesturing a hand wider as he had and then wringing fingers back together. "I am very sorry for stepping on you, of course. But I meant that you are sleeping on the hall floor."

She wraps arms about her knees, oblivious for the moment to his brief scrutiny and the general impropriety of the situation. "I foolishly had it in my head that you'd found somewhere else in the house suitable for sleeping, maybe even somewhere that was not like an oven at all hours. But this is terribly unfair. I shall put my foot down and tell Gerda she must go back to Kirkwall in the morning."

Edited 2020-09-14 15:47 (UTC)

There's a few different protests that come to mind. Ellis shifts, rolls his shoulders back with a sigh before he settles on a course of action.

"Do you need Gerda here with you?"

Which is really what all of this comes down to for Ellis. He doesn't care very much about sleeping on the floor. If Maud takes from comfort from having her maid in attendance, what does a few nights on the floor really matter? He's certainly slept in less comfortable circumstances.

"No." Immediate, emphatic. Too much, enough that fingers tighten and Maud repeats, more quietly, "No, I can manage. I never had a maid of my own, growing up. And we're hardly going about in high society here. And you've been a perfect gentleman. I'll tell her she must."

A pause, a frown. She bites her lip, thinking, then shakes her head. "I'll see it done. It's not as if she's helping with our work here."

Edited 2020-09-21 18:50 (UTC)

"Do you want her with you at all?"

An easier question to pose than to mention the absence of green light from Maud's hands. He can't pretend to know very much about society, despite Wysteria's best efforts, but he can clock something notable in Maud's response.

She ought to lie, and it's plain that her first instinct is to do so, the way her mouth opens and jaw tilts, knuckles flexed white. "I-- no." It comes out quick on a guilty sigh, and she frees a hand to run through hair again, pushing it back from her crown and over a shoulder, baring the back of her neck for any scrap of cooler breeze that might be found in the oven-like apartments.

"It's nothing dramatic. She works for my--family." She stumbles over the word, and mouth quirks sour for a second before she corrects it. "In-laws. They sent her with me for propriety's sake, but it just makes me seem like a prig." A pause, and then fingers flex toward him, a gesture aborted before it begins. "I'm sorry, I'm keeping you awake. Please don't trouble yourself further, I'll take care of everything in the morning."

Almost on instinct, Ellis catches her hand as she draws indecisively back. There's some minor concern in his face as he shakes his head, dismissing the apology.

"You're alright. This isn't any trouble," he tells her. "And I don't think you're a prig."

As if Ellis is so discerning, but still, maybe that's of some reassurance to her.

"I don't mean to pry, so forgive the question, but does your husband worry for you here?"

He catches her by surprise with the reach and the reassurance both, but she smiles, with a self-deprecating slant. "Thank you." Ellis's choice of friends and what they say about his judgment is left unexamined.

As for her husband. "Riftwatch is full of all sorts of dangerously unsavory elements," she informs him dryly, "My being here at all threatens the Van Klerks' good name."

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MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

closed to maud.

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