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

[muckspout]

Edgard glances at the man in front of him who is giving him a hard stare. He also notices the bucket. He pauses a moment and then eyes the entrance he came through. But then, he pulls his arm to him to look at the cut.

"It doesn't look like it. Most of the blood looks dry. Still hurts though."

[nonvenomous]

"Would you like me to kiss it for you?"

Dick drops his rag over the side of the bucket, plop, and squares around to be skeptical at Edgard more directly.

"Come back to me after you’ve had a bath, and I’ll be able to see if stitching is warranted."

[muckspout]

Edgard shifts. Maybe going to the infirmary was advice he shouldn't have taken. He's had enough criticism for one day. He responds lightly, friendly even.

"Nevermind. Sorry to bother you."

He heads toward the entrance, arm still stinging along with his pride.

[nonvenomous]

Richard sighs, aggrieved to his bones, and too much of a dead fish to roll his eyes, even with Edgard’s back turned. He mutters, instead, low and quiet to the ground between them.

And miracle of miracles, the fresh sting ebbs into a crustier ache, and any remnant glisten of split flesh dries dark, as if the wound is days old, rather than hours, or minutes. There is no fairy sparkle, no glitter, no flash to mark magic at work. It just feels a little better.

“Cautery won’t stop the wound from festering,” Dick warns by way of farewell, back to a more casually conversational volume.

“Wash yourself.”

[muckspout]

Edgard feels the sting disappear from his arm. He spins around.

He’s grateful, but also alarmed that this happened with his back turned.

“Thank you—-uh, I didn’t catch your name?” Edgard starts to offer his, but thinks better of it.

“I’ll keep an eye on it.” He says pointing his head slightly to his arm.

[nonvenomous]

Dick Dickerson -- a normal man in a normal fire-scorched temporary infirmary -- is quiet for a moment, in idle contrast with Edgard’s quick spin and stammering search for a name. His eyes are blue, polished clean and clear against the blood mottled on his shirt, and across his apron.

“Isaac,” he says.

“See that you do.”