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

[nonvenomous]

Typical muscle. Richard bites back whatever default objection to the idea of going up against a dragon with the motley crew they have assembled, preferring to lean into the remote hope of hyperbole.

“This is my first time into this particular cursed wood,” is what he does say, re: recognition, as he tucks the sketchbook into his satchel. Having seen her success with haunted doll #1, he reaches through splayed ribs and picks up #2 to give it a hearty sniff with his beak of a nose.

There’s been no protest for the pat, but the bone and muscle beneath his cloak is wound as tightly as she might expect.

[poleaxed]

"Cheeky, ain't you," she says, wiggling one finger on the hand that isn't grasping a poleaxe. "Jone, I am. Bit new, on account of the green shite in my arm."

She holds out a hand for a shake, though it and the arm being hidden behind a thick glove and metal plate hides any greenish glow as well.

[nonvenomous]

“Richard.”

Let this one figure out what his last name is in her own time. Dick Dickerson passes the doll from his right hand into the splinted claw of his left, and matches her shake with the deft not-quite-formality of a man better suited to wielding a clipboard in a dry office than a cursed poppet in a rain-matted fur.

He knows it too, half a smile crooked at her as he tips the doll back into his bony bed.

“Welcome to Riftwatch.”

[poleaxed]

"Thank you kindly, luv."

She looks around the wood, then at them within it. It doesn't fit. Something in this picture doesn't fit. But mysteries don't scratch at her; they're part of life. You can't know everything.

"You ever seen anything the like?" Gesturing to... everything... but settling for the dolls on the bones. "That's a shite sense of humor, it is."