MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

[extortionate]

[ He does not like this windmill.

Hasn't said it, not out loud — but faces say a lot, don't they? Getting your shoulders stuck halfway through the door and having to edge in sideways, banging your head on the bunk; legs rammed half to your chest so they don't go dangling near that monstrous rumble,

That all says a thing or two. His flop-sweat would say more, if it weren't already so damn hot. ]

Rocks, [ Lazar repeats, dumbly. Takes a second to process: Focus up. ] You bring any?

[degenere]

Of course not. I would not travel with rocks, unless I was bringing them home to make a more thorough study. I would rather devote that allotment of weight to something more useful.

[In case this is a disappointment, he adds--]

But we could find rocks, easily. The quality of the soil is very poor here. And I think that there is a breeze outside.

[extortionate]

Yeah,

[ Lazar agrees with such relieved speed that sitting up, he slams his head again on the edge of the bed frame. A pause, fist curled, for the world to stop spinning and the stars to disappear.

There. Good enough. ]

Yeah, let’s find you some rocks. [ The blankets he’s dragged after him are probably not intended for rock collection. Contorting through the door is a circus trick: Fuck darkspawn, and bandits, and — mostly, mostly fuck windmills. Is that why he's so dizzy? The spinning of the blades? ] Orlesian rocks, oughta be quality.

[degenere]

[Val is, of course, much more graceful in his dismount from the bed. He had manged a wince in sympathy as Lazar broke open his head upon the bed frame--the poor devil!--but now he is all briskness and joviality once more as he maneuvers through their narrow bedchamber and out the narrow door and into the still-narrow-but-slightly-wider central structure of the windmill. He's the kid at the sleepover that never seems to need to sleep.]

There are no finer rocks in the world! [--All sincerity. The narrow staircase that will take them to the ground level is so steeply pitched it is more of a ladder; he takes it with ease, as he does everything.] If you have not taken the time to admire them, you should now. They make the finest projectiles, and I say this with great expertise. You are lucky to be seeing them.

[extortionate]

[ The staircase is a bit of a stumble, tumble, call it what you will but they all make it out intact; more than a man might expect fleeing his death like that. Then air. Sweet, blessed — smelling of cow shit and ash. Lazar unfolds one limb, then another. His blanket sweeps after on a cape's unsteady balance. He staggers to prop a hand against the wall.

All's well. Just gonna lean there for a bit. ]

What’ve you been chucking rocks for? [ Winded, but in better humour: ] Thought you just looked at dragons.