WAR TABLE MISSION: Mushroom for Interpretation

[katabasis]

WHO: Edgard, Jone, Ellis, Richard & Isaac
WHAT: Riftwatch has been tasked with investigating strange phenomena in an Orlesian marsh currently scaring nearby residents off from their livelihoods.
WHEN: Firstfall
WHERE: Orlais, the Nahashin Marshes
NOTES: OOC Information; warnings: spooOOooky content. The plan is two have three headers with successive reveals as characters progress farther into the marsh.

It's possible that the cluster of villages which border the northern edge of the Nahashin Marshes would seem less grim and drab during some other season. But here, in the desaturated depths of autumn and populated by extraordinarily common people who have seen a great deal of their industry (and strapping local lads) sucked away in order to support Orlais' many war efforts, there is really no other apt description.

A few days spent collecting information from the locals regarding the strange happenings in the marshes will yield a number of accounts which vary in detail but are consistent in tone. Theories abound - there is a great rift at the marsh's center, someone argues (Has anyone actually seen this rift? No; not since the one in the hills to the north was closed a few years back). There is a horrible Fade-touched beast which roams in the dark. Witches of the Korcari Wilds have grown tired of eating Fereldan children and have come here to try their teeth on more delicate meat. Cateline's sister's husband's youngest brother, Fernand (who had always been such a brave, bright boy, and who might have been troubled since his brother died in the war but who would never be one to be lost or drown), had disappeared into the marsh and all that the search parties had found before they were driven back again was one of the boy's empty shoes.

And so on. While the accounts may not be crystal clear, what is abundantly evident is that without access to the marsh's resources it will be difficult for the villages to make enough of a living to support themselves through the approaching winter.

Comments

[poleaxed]

Jone decides she likes both of these blokes; one's got fight in him, and the other one's funny. (They're both funny; they're mages.)

"I'm the hasty type, be hasty, go," she says to the ginger one, and then, to the Orlesian, "playing successfully?"

She does, in fact, let go of both of them. Kind of you, cooperating.

[nonvenomous]

Richard is not hasty, and he does not like the idea of anyone or anything quiet and dedicated enough to have not only surrounded them in the night, but to have left extensive artistic evidence of their cavorting. He initially stays right where he is upon his release, stepping towards the nearest trunk slowly, and only once Isaac has ruled nothing active. Left foot...........right foot. Eventually left again, when nothing snatches him away into the tree cover.

He peers into carved wood, reaching to flake at the bark with a blunt nail.

After a long moment, he switches to peering down at the earth outside of the circle, also silently.

“Do we have anyone who can build a snare?”

[muckspout]

"A trap, you mean? I can do that."

Edgard strolls over and looks at the trees they've been muttering over. He scrunches up his face. This isn't really his area, but it makes him nervous all the same.

"Looks bad. Not very nice to the trees either." He adds.

[wythersake]

"It looks bad," He echoes, stepping aside for Edgard. "That's success."

Of a kind. If he doesn't share Richard's specific caution, that hardly means it's unwise: Someone has fixed onto them. There were five dolls in that cage.

(Yesterday he did the math - the best way out is through. Jone and Ellis will make a fine distraction if need be, but running from the Marsh seems a short path to single, floating shoes.)

"This must have taken numbers," It takes several hands to carve a copse of trees, to seed the clearing in symbols. "But we've received a great deal of warning."

If anyone expects a fight, they must expect it to cost them. It doesn't rule out an apostate - the imitation runes a shot of courage, set dressing. It probably rules out a band of them.

[poleaxed]

"What bloody snare can catch whatever did this? Bugger has to be of a size."

She gestures to the nearby everything, which is bad, if you're of a mood to react to such things, which is weak.

"Only way to figure out more is to go looking." Leaning toward the ginger mage, she pats his shoulder, a tad cloying, "don't worry, I'll protect you."

Edgard, she assumes, will come along happily, and doesn't need to be asked. The Orlesian mage may be cultural overkill, but she wouldn't say no.

[nonvenomous]

Richard is patted, and can’t quite stifle the slow press of a sigh. He has his journal to occupy himself with, and gets to it, with the spine balanced firm across the splinted lock of his thumb.

“We have rope,” he says, “and you,” to Jone.

“It -- or they -- are drawn to us in the night. We could make ready and lie in wait.”

[wythersake]

"We were surrounded last night," Isn't a no, stop. Ideation. "And they — or it — know this marsh better than we do. If you mean to draw them into a trap, we may require a choke point."

Unless they're building like, so many snares that it's impossible to step otherwise.

"And bait."