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

How do you know?

[ As much as she loves Matthias, she can't exactly see him running any long cons or operating with much in the way of subtlety. ]

Don't talk to me like that, like you know--

[He wrenches his wrist and his hand free and points, again, toward the farmer's wife.]

Because of that! Her! How long is your way going to take, a hundred years? We haven't got a hundred years. Look, I'm not you, and I've not lived your life and I don't know everything, but people've been shit to me enough times for me to know that being subtle and patient gets fuck all! How many sweet letters've been written to the Chantry, and if they had half a chance they'd still lock up anyone what disagrees with them!

Fuck the Chantry! The Chantry's not gonna give a shit about anybody until we outnumber them, until their fear of us is strong enough to cow them.

[ She crouches where she stands, a lower center of gravity on the unfinished roof and an intense look of determination on her face. ]

I'm talking about convincing people by exposing them to the good side of elves and mages. [ Because it's about both, even if this moment isn't. ] I'm talking about drowning out the fucking tripe the Chantry espouses with what's real and true, that people like you and me can be fucking heroes.

But it doesn't happen by shouting down one dirt-farmer's wife, it starts with dumping propaganda on the crowds gathering in Val Royeaux, in the major cities, anywhere there's droves of people just minding their own fucking business. The more regular folk hear and read about heroes that look like me and can do what you can, the more they start to question what the fucking Chantry has been selling since they burned Andraste and the elf she called brother beside her.

[His eyes narrow suspiciously, first. But he doesn't interrupt her, an act that borders on the miraculous.]

And in the meantime we do, what. Bloody nothing? We wait? For regular folk to read and question and start to think? How long does that take?

I dunno who's been at you, but tell them to stay clear of me.

[ Athessa sighs. She hates being right sometimes. ]

You asked that already.

[ So she'll just head for the ladder again, heading down to toss more thatch onto the courses she's already got in place, then pick up a bundle of spars. ]

[Matthias stares after her, speechless a moment. Then he throws himself to his feet, his balance unsteady--but he's hardly paying any mind, and heedless, he goes stomping off to the ladder, to follow her down--]

Yeah, well-- [and halfway down the ladder, he jumps, lands heavy and ungainly and glares at her,] maybe I'd have aught to say if you weren't talking like a bloody pamphlet! What the hell happened to you? Why are you acting like this?

Like what?

[ She glares back, challenging. ]

Huh? Like what, Matthias?

Like--

[He throws his hands out with a little noise of frustration.]

Like I'm your enemy! Like you swallowed a sodding book! Like I don't understand anything and you've got to talk to me like I'm some stupid dullard--when I'm not! All right, so I shouldn't have shouted at that woman, but since when are you so bloody above it all that you're telling me off?

If I were treating you like an enemy you'd fucking know it!

[ They're cleaning up after enemy occupation, if he were an enemy one of them would be dead. ]

And I'm telling you off because it's fucking insulting. Like you're trying to show me that I must'a been doing something wrong all the times I fought back and didn't change anyone's mind about fuck-all! I must'a just been waiting for you to show up to fight for me, huh?!

[ She throws down the spars because fuck this cottage. Now it's her turn to drag her hands through her hair, wanting to wheel around and punch the stupid wall beside them but remembering Colin pleading her not to do that anymore. ]

I'm telling you off because you made me feel fucking useless!

I didn't say that! And I don't think that, and-- and besides, you're doing the same to me! Like everything I did before this and everything I'm going to do after is bloody useless! I came from a war and I reckon it was worth fighting and I'm not changing that no matter what! So--

[So, what else is there to say, and abruptly Matthias turns and starts back the way that he came. There's a stone in the center of the road and he gives it a vicious kick. It scuds a couple yards ahead and comes to a stop.]

So, whatever! Fine! Do it your way!

I didn’t say the war wasn’t—

[ This is miserable. It’s like they’re talking about completely different things. Yelling at the space between them and being hurt and confused when the daggers fly past that space.

Athessa stands there for a second, struggling against her own stubborn urge to turn and walk away, leave it at this for however long he’ll be sore for— however long she’ll be sore. She even turns, halfway to seeing that urge through. ]

Matthias! [ She follows after him, fists clenched at her sides. ] Matthias stop, stop walking away from me!

Why!

[He yells it back at her--at first without turning around or stopping, but then he changes his mind, and he does stop--because he changed his mind, of course, and no other reason--]

What else have we got to say, we're not about to agree on it--and I don't want to be fighting about it--

That's exactly why!

[ She's yelling as he's turning, but she doesn't stop until she practically barrels into him and hugs him. ]

I don't want to fight about it either, and I don't even think we're fighting about the same thing. [ She tightens her hold on him, maybe for emphasis, maybe just to make sure he doesn't break away yet. ] Thank you. For standing up for me. Even if I didn't want you to.

Don't, [is how he starts, trying to fight away from her, with an effort that is increasingly half-hearted,] don't, [because he wants to stay angry, it's less complicated to be angry, but her arms are tight around him and he gives in, then--or at least he lets her hug him, too rigid and wound-up to hug back, at least for the moment--]

It's all shit. That's what I mean. People--they're all shit.

I know.

[ She knows that feeling well, knows the way stoking that anger burns a hole and then when the fire goes out and a breeze gasps through you, you wonder why you feel so empty. ]

They are such utter shit.

[Matthias stares past her shoulder, back at the burnt cottages and the half-finished roof, the stupid little village in stupid bloody Orlais full of stupid bloody Orlesians that won't learn or know, ever, not the way that they ought.

After a moment, he puts his arms around Athessa so he's hugging her back. He stops himself from staring off and buries himself against her instead. Still angry, but not at her. Not the way that he was.

(And if there's something eating at the back of his brain, something that says, she doesn't get it, either, she thinks you're a numpty, you're a know-nothing, you haven't lived by half, you're a stupid child, well, it's very quiet and it's easy to put away. Because he doesn't want to be angry at Athessa. He loves her.)]

[ She exhales when he hugs her back, relief that he's not going to fight her, and that when he does leave, it won't be in anger. Her hold on him loosens enough that it's just a hug, not a restraint.

One hand moves up to cradle the back of his head when he curls into her, and she rests her chin on his shoulder, looking out at nothing, then at her wrist. Forget-me-nots. They've both come a long way, haven't they? ]

[It feels nice, that pressure, something from a different time. Matthias gives himself a moment to appreciate it.

Eventually he pulls away, rubs at his eyes with his wrist, then shoves his fingers through his hair, with a sharp inhale and exhale. Not a sniffle at all. He rubs at his eyes again.]

Sorry. I'm-- [No, he decides, just shut up.] Sorry. That's all. Erm, I'll help, still. With the thatch and all. If you want.

[ Athessa looks back at the cottage over her shoulder, considering it. Then she waves it off. ]

Nah, fuck that cottage, it can wait 'til tomorrow. I'm hungry, anyways.

[He gives a quick little smile, a flicker of amusement.]

Yeah. I've got some apples, if you like. Found 'em on a tree.

On a tree, really?

[ She smirks at him. ]

Were they left there, or growing on it?

[He tries to hold a serious face, but a little smirk cracks the corner of his mouth all too quickly. At least he manages to keep his voice cool:]

Growing on a tree's same as being left, innit. When you think about it.

[ Oh, he wants to argue semantics now? ]

Only if you mean left as in left alone. Could be someone left — as in put — them there.

What, left 'em on the tree? Just fixed 'em on there?

[ She laughs. ]

Just put 'em there for safekeeping.

MOD PLOT ↠ A THOUSAND WRONGS

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