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

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."

Edgard grits his teeth in reaction to this information.

“Or yell.” He says making a weak attempt at a joke. “I suppose I’m lucky you know these things.”

He watches the blade heat up, feeling suddenly nervous.

“Can I help?”

She'd like to say no, but as it is...she'll probably need his help. The cut isn't easy for her to see, and she doesn't want to burn herself only to find she's missed it entirely.

"Uhh, yeah, actually," she says, nodding for him to come take the knife. "Soon as the blade is glowing red, press the flat of it to the wound. And make sure you cover it, too, 'cos I don't wanna have to do this twice."

Edgard’s eyes widen, but he nods casually like this is no big deal. He does not relish in hurting Athessa nor also attempting this for the first time. He knows what it is to hurt people who don’t deserve it, even for the right reasons. But, as always he doesn’t hesitate.

He takes the knife in hand and watches it closely until it gleams red. He meets Athessa’s eyes.

“Ready? On three: one, two, THREE!”

Edgard holds the blade on Athessa’s wound covering it completely. He grimaces at her reaction. Success.

To her credit, she doesn't scream, or yell, or whimper or make much of any sound at all in response to being burned. She hisses a breath in through gritted teeth, balls her fist into the fabric of her trousers, and stomps. Once, twice, three times until it's over. Then, and only then does she exhale and say:

"Fuck."

Cauterizing wounds hurts like a biiiiiitch. She breathes to steady herself, knowing first-hand how easy it is to black out from the shock of such treatment if one isn't careful, then pats Edgard's dagger-bearing arm by way of thanks.

"Gods I hate that bit," she puffs out her cheeks on the next breath and gestures for the knife back even as she starts to dig through the pouches on her belt. Ever since Churneau and that horrible business with her comrades being tortured — with the burns that Derrica suffered — she's taken to carrying a pre-made elfroot salve for just this kind of occasion.

Edgard exhales the breath he didn't know he was holding. He turns to Athessa watching her apply the salve to her wound.

"Have you had to do that often?" he asks incredulously. And then, "I'm glad you're alright, but please don't make me do that ever again." He shakes his head. "You don't deserve it and I don't like doing it."

He stares back into the fire, frowning.

"Don't deserve it?" She echoes, just as incredulous. "I didn't deserve to get cut by that Venatori, either, but I still gotta deal with it."

Athessa finishes applying the salve and conducts the cumbersome task of bandaging a clavicle wound. (It's probably the same as bandaging a shoulder, which means wrapping around a lotta different ways.) With that done and so thoroughly described, she shrugs back into her sleeve and field leathers.

"But yes, I've had to do that often. Just not recently."

Edgard doesn’t know how to express what he means, but doesn’t elaborate. It seems best to just try to agree with Athessa right now.

“You’re right, life can be shit.” He huffs out air. “Hope you don’t have to do it again either.”

With that, he takes a swig of water and throws a stick into the fire.

She sighs and tucks the bandages away, and starts to stow the salve but stops herself, remembering the scratch he'd covered.

"Usually don't need to, since we've got mage healers around," she says. "How's your arm?"

Edgard looks at the scratch, frowning a little.

"It's bleeding a little, but it will stop." His eyes widen at a thought. "All the knives don't have poison in them, do they?" He glances at the fire nervously.

"Depends on the Venatori," she says with a shrug. "Most of 'em do, though."

Edgard feels a sickening thud in his stomach. He lets out a litany of curses in Orlesian and then turns to Athessa.

"Looks like I'm gunna have to ask you to return the favor."

He pulls up the blood soaked sleeve of his shirt, hissing a little when he does. It is still bleeding a lot.

"Right, sit down."

The process is much the same; clean away any excess blood while the blade heats in the fire, then press the red-hot steel to the wound to cauterize it. Before Athessa removes the blade from the fire, however, considering what a big baby this walking mudpuddle is, she finds a sturdy twig about the same thickness as Edgard's thumb and wraps one of the Venatori belts around it.

"Here. You can bite down on one of these if you like," Then, she reaches for the knife. "You ready?"

If Athessa didn't need something to bite down on, Edgard certainly isn't going to accept it. He shakes his head in refusal and holds out his arm. He takes a deep shaky breath, looks Athessa in the eye and says,

"Do it."

"Alright. On three. One—"

She presses the blade to the cut and holds it there for the rest of the three-count, then takes it away. Sets it on a rock ringing the fire, then fetches the container of salve to apply to the freshly burned skin.

Edgard lets out a shriek that sounds like it cannot possibly come from a man. A donkey, maybe, or a lion or something darker and more mysterious still. The noise reverberates around the trees and birds fly away. It is truly something fearsome to behold.

Once he has stopped screaming, Edgard breathes heavily for a few moments and then becomes very quiet.

And by the time he's stopped screaming, she's applied the salve and has just started wrapping a bandage around his arm.

"Big fuckin' baby, that's what you are."

Tying off the bandage, she gives his shoulder a pat. It's almost a good job but more of a there, there.

It takes a few minutes, but Edgard finally recovers. He smiles weakly at Athessa's pat.

"Thank you." He says and then remains very quiet and stares into the trees.

MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)