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

[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."

[coeurdulyon]

"That is some comfort, I suppose." Though it isn't the life he'd wished to save, it is better to make way for new life than fixate on the lost. But still. "I shall count it a blessing that we are not forced to destroy stained glass. I would not be able to keep from weeping."

It's a little bit of a joke, but under the present circumstances? Also a little bit true. Looking out over the barren streets, the burned and hollowed out husks of houses, he wonders about the people who lived here and their lives. Were they happy? Certainly not during occupation, but before that, surely.

"Are the bodies safe to be moved?"