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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Mhavos lets out a sigh. "I suppose you will, then. Try not to get stabbed until I'm back, at least. I need the material, as your publishing agent."

Or would that be Bastien? For all Mhavos reads of books, he knows very little of the financial processes involved in their creation. It doesn't matter anyway; it's a silly joke, barely funny. It's just nice to joke.

The endeavor with the village headman goes as expected-- he jealously checks the content of the box, claims it's been rifled through, is mollified when Mhavos offers to renege on their 'deal' of giving RiftWatch ten percent, and tells Mhavos to get the hell out. Ten percent of a town of peasant's savings is nothing Mhavos cares for, anyway. These people live hand to mouth; they'll need everything they can get to survive, even if they're mostly rude arseholes.

Though the fact that Mhavos emerges unmolested is a sign that they're kinder than most.

Athessa is still outside when he emerges, leaning against the wall and humming softly to herself while she waits. No specific tune, just idle musicality.

"All good?" She asks. He seems to be all in one piece, in any case, and she hadn't heard a scuffle within the building in the time he'd been there. Was she listening for her cue to step in if the villagers decided to make life difficult for Mhavos? Maybe.

"Whereabouts are you staying?"

Mhavos appreciates her staying in a wordless sort of way-- he figured she would, because there's strength in numbers. A few of the towns here have elves, but the majority of them are entirely human. Elves can't own land, anymore. Better to live in a city.

Mhavos wonders if that was what his parent's reasoning.

He greets her with a nod, and continues walking, vaguely in the direction of a campsite he's been staying at. "Generally in the supply tents. I've been keeping track of ledgers, supplies that sort of thing."

"Makes sense," she says, regardless of whether or not it does, and walks alongside him. "Some of us have been put up as boarders. Sister Sara and Richard are over in the monastery, Colin is in some kind of attic space. Me n' Julius are in an old geezer's haunted guest wing. It's a mixed bag."

There's too much to catch up on, it seems. Athessa wants to tell him everything, but he's said so little about his own time away that she's reticent to take over the conversation. A new experience for her. Probably for him in relation to her, as well.

"Remind me, do you smoke?"

Mhavos shakes his head. "I try to have as few conspicuous hobbies as possible."

It's a joke and the truth-- Mhavos just likes to blend in as much as possible for an elf. He's thinking about it, now; this is something Athessa wants to pursue as well, in her own way. A spy, a thief, or just someone who can hide from trouble, he doesn't know, but melting into a crowd is a good skill for any elf.

"You know, I'm not familiar with any of those people. This place has certainly changed." He can't fault that, either. "Tell me, what do you make of its direction? When I heard you were here... I wasn't surprised, certainly. Things seem to be coming to a head. Or perhaps that's the bias of the observer."

She's retrieved a joint from a pouch on her belt, along with a match and a dagger that she uses to split it in twain. Even after purchasing plenty of matches for her use, she still tries to make them last as long as possible, shortages being as they are.

"If I were to answer with what direction," she says, wryly, "it'd probably tell you enough about what I make of it."

The match strikes against her bracer and she lights the end of the joint, rotating it through the flame for an even burn, then shaking out both it and the match. Her next words are breathed out on a cloud of smoke, angled away from Mhavos.

"It hasn't changed much, really. Just the roster."

"So, a rudderless cacophony, but in Orlais." Mhavos sighs. "I imagine the Chantry's proclamation has shaken up all... four? Five of its elves?"

Tellingly, Mhavos doesn't count Thranduil in his mental calculation.

Athessa counts them on her fingers: You, me, Sabine, Fifi...? She hasn't met Florent, and despite his upbringing Mado doesn't count.

But more importantly: "Wait, what proclamation?"

"The Chantry-- conscriptions?"

Considering everything going on, it's both easy and hard to miss. Mhavos being in Orlais at the time, in bloody Val Royeaux, means he had a front row seat to elven conscription lines, and all the mayhem that brought.

"I...havent heard about those, but I was under cover most of last month, and stuck in the Donnarks before that..."

Mhavos quirks a brow, "you must tell me of that later. But, yes, the Chantry; they have decreed that any elf or mage who joins the war effort will be allowed to own land."

Mhavos sighs, weary with the idea. Sarcastically, he grumbles, "after all, you know how good they are about granting land."

Scoff. "What, you mean we didn't get to keep the Dales? And they didn't give us Ostwick, either? Goodness, how unlike them!"

But the news clearly doesn't sit well, drawing a furrow between her brows and tugging at the corners of her mouth. Just like making mages come to the Grand Cathedral to retrieve their phylacteries, it feels too close to a trap to trust.

"Have many taken them up on that, do you know?"

Mhavos lets out a laugh. Yes, it's good to be in good company, isn't it? How stupid he is, to discover so at twenty-five.

"Enough to make lines curling around the block. Try as I might, I can't blame them. Many were servants escaping bad contracts, terrible masters, the like. The Chantry is depressingly clever, to exploit the need for hope."

"Exploitation is their forte," She agrees. "I wish Riftwatch had the weight to throw around in order to make sure the Chantry keeps its word."

With a flick of her thumb she ashes her joint, then brings it back to her lips for another drag. It gives her time to think, and slows her nerves down enough to facilitate that, even if she's never fully without the need to fidget.

"Would you want a house of your own someday?"

Mhavos considers it. "I am a creature of cities. A flat seems an extravagant desire. But to truly own something..." He considers the idea, before shrugging. "While on the subject, let us all wish for immodest amounts of wealth, ubiquitous peace and everlasting liberty.

Athessa shrugs.

"I mean that's the nature of hypotheticals, innit?" She breathes smoke through her nostrils and has to pinch her nose after because no matter what, that always feels weird. "I don't think I'd wanna live in a house by myself, but it'd be nice to have someplace to come back to when I get tired of wandering."

Mhavos considers that, and he considers Athessa. Do the Dalish wish for a home? Perhaps not all, but it must be a common desire, considering everything they've known. It's the first time Mhavos has seriously thought about the needs of the Dalish as a whole, and the thought makes him feel momentarily hollow.

He recovers quickly enough. "I think I'd prefer a business. Indespensibility."

If he thought to ask, Athessa likely wouldn't have an answer. She's referred to many places as home, and still does. The Gallows, the forest, Rivain. Never Kirkwall. Someday she'll find the answer to the unasked question of what home is.

"Sounds about right. A very Mhavos answer. Maybe you could have a flat above the shop, if it's that sort of business."

"I wouldn't mind that. I've lived in grand mansions. The emptiness of the corridors was often chilling. If I'm to have a home, it ought to be busy. Warm."

A lonely home isn't a home at all.

"Definitely. I would want at least—" How many would she want? Her clan consisted of twenty-five, when she was younger. Perhaps in an estate she would want that many, but in a house... "—five others, depending on the size of the place, but I'd have to be able to come and go as I pleased. And any house of mine would need a garden."

Mhavos nods, considering it. "Grow your own food-- very clever. And give local elves a place to live, where they wouldn't be dependent on the whims of a human."

While they're building castles in the sky, they may as well go the whole way.

"Start with a house, work up to a city, maybe?"

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MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

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