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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The third takes off into the trees beyond, and Athessa continues to struggle with the Stalker. She's out of her weight class by about half, but Athessa has a death grip on the wrist wielding the dagger that sliced her clavicle, her other arm raised to push back against the other mid-stab toward her face.

When Edgard whistles, she ducks her head aside and lets the dagger plunge into the tree behind her and drives the heel of her hand up against the Stalker's elbow with a sickening crunch. The Venatori howls in pain, and Athessa uses her momentary distraction to wrench the weapon from her other hand, using the woman's weight against her.

From Edgard's perspective, there's a commotion in the brush surrounding the campfire, followed by the muscular Venatori woman's form being thrown face-first into the fire. Then, Athessa steps into the light and drives a serpentine dagger into the Venatori's back.

She whistles, and gestures in the direction the Third had gone.

Edgard looks at the dead Venatori and back to Athessa, grinning widely. He runs in the direction she indicated and hollers back.

"Nicely done!" He passes a tree and considers for a moment climbing it. But, he's moving too fast and there isn't time. He pulls his knife out of his belt and spins it around once in his hand. "Haven't thrown a knife in awhile." He says. "I think tonight's the night!"

He nearly skips under another tree, laughing, when he hears the trees rustle and a body flies down onto him wielding an enormous axe. Edgard, on the ground, rolls out of the way of the axe's direction and kicks at the Venatori Brute's legs successfully tripping him up a little. A rustle of grass behind them indicates there's another coming towards them.

"I'll handle this. Go!" He yells at Athessa.

"Stop fucking yelling!"

She's grinning too, though, unable to resist with the thrill of action coursing through her veins. The pain and slow trickle of hot blood over her skin doesn't register quite yet, and doesn't need to, superficial as it is. The trees whip past as she takes off at a full clip after the Venatori that had scarpered, covering far more ground than he could hope to in his armor.

The Venatori's dagger is in her hand. Had she taken it out of the body, or out of the tree? Details to sort out later. Athessa hops atop a fallen tree, launches herself off of it, and plants her heels into the fleeing warrior's back. The dagger finds a home in his neck, struck through the back, the front, and into the dirt below him, pinning him to the earth.

From above, the snap of some piece of a branch being stepped on. How many does that make now? Five? Six? About as many as they were told, it seems. One more won't make a world of difference.

Athessa crouches behind a tree, taking the absence of further movement to mean she hasn't been spotted. It's far enough from the fire that only another elf would be able to pick her out from the underbrush. And how fucked would that be? An elven Venatori? Yikes. Her thoughts return to Alaric, and the souvenir he'd sliced into her face.

It's not Alaric. It doesn't seem to be anyone that she can see, yet.

Edgard might be occupied with the Venatori Brute, but he’s never too occupied to sass. While his target is regaining his footing, he gives an enormous strangled yell specifically in Athessa’s direction. Would this time have been better used to gain the upper hand with his opponent? Probably.

Edgard, back on his feet now, ducks as the axe swings just missing him. While he’s ducking, he kicks his opponent in the groin who drops the axe. As the weapon falls, it grazes his shoulder breaking the skin, but not substantially. He hardly notices heaving the axe up and bringing it down on the Venatori’s head.

Blood spattered and exhilarated, Edgard runs after Athessa continuing to yell wildly.

Bastard's gonna get us both killed!

It's not hard to spot Edgard, or hear him coming. Judging by the movement in the treetops, the last Venatori hears him, too. Athessa darts out from where she's crouching, running as quickly and quietly as she can until she can leap and collide with the yowling Orlesian, much in the same way she'd dispatched the fleeing warrior. Minus the dagger through the neck, of course.

She clamps a hand over his mouth to stay his yelling and more to drive home a point than to actually pin him down, digs her knees into his shoulders. At the same moment, the telltale whistle of an arrow streaks just overhead. Paff is the sound it makes when it buries itself in the dirt less than two meters to their left.

"Shhhhh," Athessa doesn't bother with gesturing for silence. He's unlikely to see one anyway. Instead, she looks at the arrow, following its angle in the ground upwards with her eyes to find where it was loosed from.

Edgard is extremely surprised by his companion suddenly turning on him and tackling him. The hard hit to the ground and her knees on his shoulders shocks him into silence. He hears the sound of the arrow and his eyes widen.

A quick heavy shove shakes off one of Athessa's knees and she hangs half off him. His free arm grabs the knife in his belt. (The axe fell somewhere in the grass when he was tackled) He can't see in the darkness, so he flings the knife in the direction he heard the arrow come from.

It makes a comical whooshing noise as it assuredly does not hit its target.

He might not be able to see Athessa dragging a hand down over her face, but surely he can hear her exasperation huffed out in a breath.

She gets off of him, though she keeps near enough that he can see the reflection of moonlight off her eyes as she scans the treetops. He'd thrown the knife admirably, for a blind man, but it lived out its trajectory without hitting a mark. It's probably in the underbrush several meters away, so good luck finding that. But the reason it didn't hit anything is: there's nothing to hit. There should be an archer where his knife flew, judging by the angle of the arrow in the dirt, but there's nothing.

"Throw something," Her voice is barely a whisper, barely more than mouthing the words in the dark. The invisible archer doesn't hear it, but will Edgard?

Edgard hears her. He scrabbles around in the grass near him for something to throw and the first thing his hand grasps is the gigantic axe. He takes it in two hands and heaves it in an arc like an oversized arrow, so that it will miss the Athessa near him, but hit beyond them.

The axe comes down with a sickening crash and a loud thunk to indicate it hit something (someone?). Edgard still can't see, so he whispers to Athessa.

"Did we get it?"

He takes the moment to run in the grasses to feel around for his knife which he, by sheer luck, finds. He spins it around once in his hand and whispers,

"What do we do now? Are there more?"

Athessa stands, staring, dumbfounded. The axe hit the Venatori archer, somehow. It hit him squarely in the chest and when he fell from the branches, he landed face-down and drove it almost clear through his torso. Sternum cracked, ribs bowed inwards, blood pooling in the grass. To her eyes, it looks black enough to be the night sky itself.

There's three questions for her to answer, but rather than addressing them she says: "How the fuck have you survived this long?"

"With arrows, mostly. Or--things like arrows." He shrugs.

He considers her question as an answer to at least one of his questions. He takes a moment to wipe sweat from his brow and allow his breathing to settle. He notices the scrape on his arm and upon noticing it, it hurts a little.

"Are you hurt?" He asks Athessa. He still can't see at all. "Fuck, its dark."

"Nothing a couple'a stitches won't fix," she says, hissing softly when a cursory inspection with her fingers yields stinging pain from her collarbone.

"Fucking hell. Hey, next time someone tells you to stop yelling on mission, you should probably stop fucking yelling."

Edgard huffs.

"You were yelling too." He starts to say something else and stops himself. "I'm glad you're ok." And then another long pause. "You're a good fighter."

Silence reigns and then finally, "I just don't like being told what to do, alright? It's not personal, just generally I don't like it."

She resists the immediate insistence: was not! in favor of crouching and patting down the axed Venatori for anything useful.

“You’re gonna have to get used to it,” She says, yanking the battle axe out of the corpse’s back and tossing it aside so she can roll the man over and remove his belt. “Or else you’re just gonna get yourself —- or somebody else —- killed. Here, take this fucker’s belt back to the fire and see if he’s got anything good on him. I can see just fine, I’ll go get whatever the other guy had on him. Anything we can’t use can go to the villagers to help with rebuilding. Is that alright with you?”

She doesn’t actually care if it’s alright with him, she’s already tossing the belt to him, knowing full well he can’t see half as well as she can right now.

The words you’re gunna get somebody else killed smacks him hard in the face stinging a few seconds before the belt does.

He picks the belt off the ground wiping at his nose. He breathes in deep and sees corpses on his brothers on the ground. Out and it’s gone. He breathes in and sees a severed neck. Out and it’s gone. He grips the belt harder and—-

“I got the job done, didn’t I? You don’t have to be such an asshole.“

"You got the job done?" Athessa echoes, mildly incredulous. She's being completely rational, and not yelling, and not calling him a fucking idiot for his conduct, and apparently that makes her an asshole.

"No. We got the job done. You nearly took an arrow to the throat while you were running into the dark yelling like a fool, giving away your position to anyone with ears."

So she called him a fool. The other two list items still apply.

Edgard wants to scream in frustration, but does not. He grips the belt tighter.

“I was not saying that! I told you you fought well.” He manages to say calmly, but continues to breathe heavily.

Then he spits out bitterly, “I’m sorry for yelling, but I’m not sorry for my part of the job. I thought we were a decent team, but you must be right about my being a fool.”

She sighs and mutters some colorful words in elven as she starts off towards the other Venatori corpse. Seems like they could bicker about this all night and still not get anywhere.

"Team-mates follow orders." (Which is true, but maybe not the best way she could've worded it. They need to trust one another to be a team, and she doesn't trust him as far as she can throw him.)

Edgard is not having it. What is with these people and orders?

"No. Those with no rights or power follow orders. Those who think they are better or more worthy give orders. Team-mates work together. Which maybe I didn't do well. But, you won't see me giving anyone orders."

"We follow the orders we are given," she sighs, exasperated. "Not without question, not with blind faith, but because we are working towards a common goal and if we are not in control then we're fucking useless."

All of the dead Venatori does not seem the work of useless people to Edgard, but he bites back this comment. Instead--

"Well, good to hear you don't object to questioning things then. Control would be nice, sure, but doesn't seem very realistic to me. That's not how life tends to work." He sighs suddenly tired. "I'll go back to the fire."

He turns away.

She leaves it at that, then.

It doesn't take long for her to retrieve whatever the other Venatori had on him, just another pair of belts slung over her shoulder to carry back to the camp. Two bodies checked. Three more to go. That is, if Edgard hasn't already checked them.

No sense checking the one she threw on the fire, anyway.

When Athessa returns and deposits the belts of bags and daggers on the ground, she starts to remove enough of her field leathers to be able to pull her arm free of her sleeve and bare the wound on her collarbone.

"Are you injured?" She pours the contents of a waterskin over the injury, feeling the familiar sting of a poisoned blade. Welp. Guess she's getting another scar.

Edgard piles his own armful of bags and daggers next to hers and shrugs.

"Just a scrape." He presses his hand on his arm to stop the bleeding. It's not too bad, but it hurts more now that his blood has stopped pumping. He motions to their pile. "What happens to all this stuff?"

She glances at the pile and uses her sleeve to wipe away the mix of blood and water from her skin. Pulls the Qunari dagger from her own belt and leans forward to dip the blade into the flames.

"Use what we can, donate the rest, I guess. The people here have lost a lot and we don't have the resources that the Inquisition does."

He nods and watches her put the blade in the flames.

"That's good. The people should be able to defend themselves. What are you doing?" He asks referring to the dagger. "Does that clean it?"

Needless to say, Edgard is not well versed in cleaning anything, so its the best guess he has.

"What? No. It heats it," Duh. Athessa gives the sentient mud pie a bemused look and turns the blade to heat it more evenly.

"We don't have anything for stitching, and no healer, so I gotta cauterize this to stop it bleeding. Venatori Stalkers use a poison that makes it so you just keep bleeding until you're too weak to fight. Or walk. Or stand."

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