MOD PLOT | CHAMPROVENT.

[heorte]

WHO: Teren, Ellis, Edgard, Lucien, and Vance
WHAT: Assisting with the cleansing of Champrovent and ensuring the taint doesn't spread beyond the village.
WHEN: August through Kingsway
WHERE: Champrovent
NOTES: ooc info + warnings for infection, discussion of murder, death, general unpleasantness.

Comments

clean up crew.

[heorte]

Champrovent was once a very picturesque town, butting up against some of Arlesans' famous orchards—the most northern reaches of which have now been corrupted along with the village, leaving blackened trees with withered black apples filled with something the consistency of pus. The village itself shows signs of attempts to hold back the spread of the taint: some homes have barred doors and windows and are marked with the traditional yellow circles, indicating their inhabitants were infected. Some of those homes now host corpses, but a few might have still-living, staggering ghouls whose minds are long gone. Many of the village's colorful little houses now have tendrils of moldy black taint spidering over their walls, occasionally threaded with veins of what appears to be red lyrium. It's thickest around the Chantry, where careful exploration will reveal that the darkspawn—who have since moved on—tunneled through the Chantry's cellar into the earth below.

There are a few signs of violence, as well, from when the darkspawn who overran the town killed several locals outright and set some homes on fire, but the villagers burned their neighbors bodies before the taint began to overtake them, so no one is dead in the street. It's just corrupted and empty, with the uneasy silence occasionally punctuated by the groan or wail of someone or something locked in one of the homes.

Actually removing the taint is, of course, impossible. The team's job is to burn what they can, paying particular attention to try to prevent any Blight-touched rats from escaping burning buildings to potentially carry the taint elsewhere, and to establish a marked perimeter around the village to ensure travelers don't come close enough to become tainted.

ellis | open.

[heorte]

( chantry. )

At some point, Ellis had thought: It would be easier to set fire to it all now.

That urge had receded as they'd begin taking stock of the situation, but he still feels it beating under his skin. Whoever had come before them had done what they could, but the signs of the taint remain.

"We'll need to look closer at this," Ellis points out, indicating the Chantry with grim resignation, marking the spreading black curls climbing the stone. It's thriving, more so than many of the houses they'd passed. "Or at least, set fire to it."

There's possibly some terrible symbolism here. If Ellis had come across it in a book he might have passed it along to Wysteria to see what she thought of it, but this not a book, and Ellis doesn't want to invoke this anywhere near—

"Do you see anything to make a torch?" he asks, a little abrupt as he turns away from the rotting building.

( perimeter )

Circling the town will take some time.

But sectioning it off, lifting the abandoned paint to mark off the signs for infection and setting to work is the only way forward. It's easier work than trying to kill escaping rats.

"Hand me the hammer," Ellis says, balancing a board against the newly set post. "This should be the last one for this section."

But then, you know. There's the rest of the sections.

( wildcard )

[ whatever miserable hijink your heart desires ]

chantry.

[coeurdulyon]

It is an awful thing, to see the Maker's house of worship so affected. It warrants a soft swear of Maker preserve us in Orlesian before Lucien casts about for the materials needed.

"It is perhaps too optimistic, hein, to think there might be survivors within?" The handles from a broken wheelbarrow will work as the base of the torches, and a burlap sack found in the street is fetched up and methodically cut into strips with Lucien's knife.

"We will need oil for these."

[heorte]

The Maker has turned a blind eye for years, Ellis thinks. If the Maker were watching, none of this would have happened.

But he does not say as much. It helps no one to inflict his disillusioned views on others, especially not here, when they're wading through the worst Thedas has to offer.

"If there's someone in there, all we could offer them is a swift death," Ellis says, crouching to open his sack. There's enough oil, if they're judicious with it. "We're going to need to petition one of the neighboring villages for some more supplies."

And it's a toss up as to how that would go. Surely a little oil shouldn't be so much to spare, but people are strange about the taint, and mistrustful of Wardens.

"Maybe that's a job for you."

A shade of humor colors his tone. The handsome chevalier posing a polite request, who would refuse him?

[coeurdulyon]

"Perhaps it is," he agrees. Once the cart handles have been tipped with the burlap, he hands them to Ellis to douse the fabric in the oil. Now, where did he put that flint?

"I shall have to think of a better way to phrase it than excuse me, but we are preparing to raze the next town over, might you spare some supplies to that end?."

[heorte]

There's a pause in reply, as Ellis carefully applies the oil to each. He suspects Lucien could ask any way he pleased and still get some results. The kind of caution Ellis has had to use in the past isn't going to be necessary. They're worlds from each other. Chevaliers aren't regarded in the same way Wardens are.

"Maybe it's enough to tell them you're serving the Inquisition," Ellis says, handing one handle back to Lucien after capping the flask of oil. "You can try first, then we'll send Edgar if it doesn't work out."

That's the nice thing about having two Orlesians on hand.

"We're going to need to break some of those windows so we can throw these inside," he continues briskly, as if it will minimize the effect of that statement.

[coeurdulyon]

It's true enough that Lucien, even without his yellow feather marking him as such could simply wield the authority of a Chevalier and order the townsfolk to hand over the supplies. He's known a fair few of his brothers in arms to do so, not even sparing a thought to how the donation of their livelihoods would affect them.

"I am certain I can appeal to their sensibilities, if nothing else. Edgard...I am not so sure his comportment would aid us in such endeavors."

The man has hardly conducted himself with discretion of forethought, thus far. Lucien slides the flint from his satchel on the blade of his knife, creating sparks that catch on the oiled burlap. A few more strikes and they have two lit torches, and Lucien looks up at the Chantry.

"I did not wish to see this ever again," he says quietly. Then, with more determination: "How is your aim, Warden Ellis?"

[heorte]

There's a flicker of faint amusement on Ellis' face, gone as quickly as it came. No, maybe not Edgard, even if Ellis had wondered if someone familiar with the land would be able to better reach the people still stubbornly making their homes here.

"Passable," Ellis says, eyes on the ground. "Hold the torches for a moment, would you?"

It takes one well-placed throw to shatter a window. Ellis' face is creased, apologetic, as he winds up for a second throw.

"We're lucky to have gotten here so early," is what Ellis comes up with to distract from the moment. It feels profane to do this in front of Lucien. "The land might recover after we burn what we can."

perimeter

[muckspout]

Edgard hands over the hammer and Ellis sets to work.

"I was here once, before." He speaks in a low register. "It was beautiful. The people were kind to my brothers." Edgard looks up at his surroundings. Shades of its beauty still linger, chilling him.

Before Ellis has completed his task, a rat edges its way out of a hole. "Careful!" Edgard yells, hands on Ellis' shoulders, yanking him away from the animal.

[heorte]

The hammer clatters to the ground, board swinging down at a crooked angle as Ellis is hauled back a step. It nearly ends with him overbalancing and knocking them bother over, likely avoided only because Ellis' mace is on the ground beside them rather than strapped to a hip.

"Peace," is the first, vaguely breathless assertion. "It's for the best. We'll need to kill it regardless."

Whatever apology or question Ellis had been about to pose is lost as he straightens up again.

"Are you alright?"

The rat has fled, but Ellis moves to mark the hole itself with a discarded post as he poses the question.

[muckspout]

Edgard is not alright. Everything here could be a danger, everything. Even one rat could spell disaster. Edgard is out his breath and his heart pumps wildly. He leans down to hide his alarm and grabs the hammer while he's down there. When he rises, he's calm again.

"Of course. It didn't touch you, did it?"

He places the hammer back in Ellis' hand.

"Be careful. I'll do the next one."

[heorte]

The concern is misplaced. Ellis doesn't quite know how to say that in a way that will completely dispel Edgard's anxiety. (I am already a dead man, so you needn't worry isn't going to cut it.) Instead, Ellis accepts the hammer, gestures Edgard towards the post.

"I have done all this before," Ellis says, as he lifts the board again. "It's my duty."

And with it comes a certain amount of risk. (More feature than bug, where Ellis is concerned.) He eyes the symbols signifying infection painted on the board critically, then lines it up on the post.

"There is no shame if you would rather step away from all of this."

[muckspout]

Edgard steps back like he’s been slapped. He barely knows him, but already Ellis has pegged him as too weak to be of use. He absorbs the verbal blow and pushes forward.

“No! ” he says louder than he intends and then continues at a lower volume. “I’m here to help.”

Edgard straightens up his face hard with no fear now and steps toward Ellis. “Isn’t it all our duty? Weren’t we all told the same thing? I will do the next one.”

This time it’s a statement, not a suggestion.

before the Group House Problem

[doneisdone]

Teren tries not to make a habit of talking to Ellis, but they're on a mission together, and that means they have to be, at least mostly, on the same team.

Several houses containing ghouls have already been found and dealt with, the line on Teren's forehead growing deeper and straighter with each mercy killing and each burning. But one such ghoul almost wasn't; they were almost a person still, barely forming words as they begged for death.

She stares down at their crumpled body, wiping the blade of her knife on her pant leg.
"If we find any more lucid than this," she mutters, "I'll need you to find some blood." Darkspawn blood is the implied specification, but there's always a chance someone overhears them.

[heorte]

They cannot begrudge whoever found this place. This is a Warden's duty, so it is unfair to resent being left to it. But still, it is hard to spend a day tending corpses and burning rot. The scourge has moved on, and this can all be required of them again soon.

It has been almost a year with Riftwatch. A year away from this duty. It is hard to weigh that time against this village and deem it well-spent.

There is at least, some solace in not having to do this work alone. Or to consider decisions such as Teren is posing on his own. His mace swings at his side, gore-stained, as Ellis regards the corpse.

"In front of the Orlesians?"

There would be questions. Alistair's reassurances haven't done much to dispel Ellis' unease with skirting along the lines of long-secret tradition.

[doneisdone]

"No."

She lets that be her answer for the moment, gathering the wherewithal to lean down and grab the corpse by the arms so they can start conveying it to the pyre.

"I'll need to get them out of my hair while I prepare the ritual, if it comes to that. They can be set to work burning the tainted buildings and whatnot."

She heaves upward with a grunt, not exactly built for carrying people.

[heorte]

"They'll argue," Ellis says, before he amends, "The chevalier may not, but the other..."

It will not be so simple to dispense with them, Ellis thinks. He trails off, letting the assessment sit as he straps his mace back onto his belt. They are both good men, which is likely all the more reason why they should not be here at all.

He takes a step forward, touches Teren's shoulder carefully.

"Teren, let me."

Between them, Ellis is the one suited for lifting. He doesn't much expect the offer to be accepted, but it still has to be made.

[doneisdone]

"Let them," she snaps with the gruff confidence of one who is not only used to arguing, she expects to win. "Their misplaced scruples are none of my concern."

Bristling when Ellis steps forward, she looks like she might tell him to fuck off, but just pauses, then nudges her head down at the corpse.
"Get his legs." That's the heavy bit anyway.

pyre time;

[coeurdulyon]

Construction of the pyre takes some time, but nowhere near as much as it does to travel to a neighboring town to petition for supplies. As Ellis predicted, the townsfolk were plenty willing to spare what they could at the behest of a Chevalier, and as Lucien himself predicted, they anticipated far less reasonable requests than "only what you can spare."

Now, with the sun long since set and the bodies anointed with flammable oil, Lucien sets a torch to the four corners of the pyre.

And so the dead give life to the fire, illuminating the center of the town and casting harsh shadows over the burnt husks of buildings, the charred Chantry, the drawn faces of anyone in attendance.

Lucien watches in silence until it becomes too much to bear. He draws his sword and pierces the earth, and falls to his knees. One hand covering the pommel, the other gripping the haft, he bows his head and prays. To the Maker. To Andraste. For these lost souls. For forgiveness.

lucien | open.

[coeurdulyon]

( pyres for the dead )

For the most part during their incursion into the town, Lucien will be silent, observing and helping where he can, and heeding any and all warnings given about where not to step, what not to touch, what must be burned and what must be left alone altogether.

But as they press on, with the quiet wailing and moaning of ghouls in the houses, distress settles itself in the furrow of his brow. These people deserve better.

"Is it safe to move the bodies?" Is what he asks the nearest Warden, his attention focused through a window at the blighted corpses within. A husband and wife, perhaps. A father and daughter. A mother and her son.

( wildcard )

[ let's get mis'rable, mis'rable ]

pyres for the dead

[muckspout]

The question was not directed toward Edgard, but he answers nearly shouting, "No! Don't touch them!"

His hands are shaking, he balls them into a fist. He lowers his head in apology at the shouting. "If we are not certain, we can't take a single risk."

[coeurdulyon]

The question was not directed at Edgard, but the slow turn and brief flicker of outrage on Lucien's face is. But it is merely a flicker, a remnant of self-importance that is quickly replaced with something softer, more understanding. The Chevalier shows his hands, empty as they are, in a placating gesture.

"That is why I asked first," he explains. "I would see that these souls be laid to rest properly, if we are able."

[muckspout]

Edgard sees the momentary irritation in Lucien's face and does his best not to return it. (He is moderately successful) Lucien means well after all. Edgard sighs.

"Maybe there's a way to move them without touching them? Do we have blankets?"

[coeurdulyon]

"One of these houses may have some we can use," he muses, then nods in the direction of their horses. "I'd rather not sacrifice our saddle blankets to that end."

[muckspout]

Edgard nods and then steps towards the house Lucien was looking in. He tries the door, locked, and then heaves all his weight into the door with his shoulder. The door creaks open.

"We can check, but if no blankets, we shouldn't touch them."