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 steps forward, because she figures if someone's going to get stabbed, she's the one with the most work experience.

"Believe me, luv, less you know about this magic, the better," she bluffs. "And believe me, you definitely know the least about using that knife right, out of every cunt here."

This, she believes, is the truth.

[katabasis]

The mud-streaked woman with her pinioned legs doesn't stab her. She does however trade the knife, lighting quick, into her other hand and slashes from the unexpected side with it toward whatever part of Jone seems most amenable to cutting - aiming for discouragement more than she cares to spill the sort of blood which might warrant a pile on from all the giant poleaxe wielding Fereldan's backup.

[poleaxed]

Jone, a consummate expert at bleeding, flinches a little.

"Would you like an award for that one, luv?"

[muckspout]

Edgard releases a string of curses in anger the second Jone stars bleeding. He looses an arrow that purposefully whistles over her head. It's a warning.

"Next one will hit it's mark. Tell us who you are and what that is."

That being the thing of many legs.

[nonvenomous]

Helpfully, Richard says to Edgard in mild aside:

“Aim down at the head.”

He thinks to clarify a beat later: “The creature’s head.”

[katabasis]

Those seem to be a kind of magic words. The hobbled woman stiffens, her attention flicking to Richard and then to Edgard and then--

"Call off your dog. I'm not saying anything so long as she's within arm's reach of me. I mean it. You'll kill me first and then have no answers at all."

Has a ring of tough talk about it, but--

"I'll say as much as you like then."

[heorte]

"Richard," is the first, quieter aside, to the disappointed tune of Don't encourage that before Ellis steps forward and purposefully puts himself between the sights of Edgard's crossbow and this woman.

"If you can tell us what you're doing here, and why you're scaring off the villagers, that'll be a start."

[muckspout]

Edgard lowers his bow, but doesn't unarm it or put it over his shoulder. He's ready to snap it back up the second this goes sour. He spits on the ground.

"Not a dog." He mutters under his breath.

[nonvenomous]

Dick winks to Ellis’ disapproval, and places a hand to Edgard’s elbow, nudging to lead him back to the fire.

“I’m certain she’s referring to Jone,” he assures him. Speaking of, he adds for her sake:

“I’d say the slaying of this beast calls for a drink at the fire, unless you’re suddenly very interested in diplomacy.”

[muckspout]

Edgard sees the wink. He only makes him more frustrated. He's not an idiot.

"will stay, thank you. Very interested in an angry woman who comes out of a creature, yes. Aren't you?"

His hands remain on his weapon, but again facing the ground.

"Happy to drink later, though."

[poleaxed]

Still bleeding, Jone grins triumphantly. "I prefer dog lord, personally. You lot, talk. Let me know if you need things ended."

Surely withstanding a wound with barely a flinch buys her some intimidation credit, here.

She goes to stand next to Edgard, elbowing him companionably.

[wythersake]

Isaac has been lingering above.

Not only for that brief flash of knife (okay, a little for it) — one thing in the trees doesn't rule out more. All of that theatre up front, and a man's back begins to itch. The trouble is that standing by yourself in the middle of a dark forest, well. The rest of you gets itchy too.

Tramped back:

"Dog lady," He taps Jone's shoulder. Does some mental math of how much blood is too much, comes up short. It's fine. "Where are her friends?"

There's some joke in there, of horse's mouths, of asses; but he comes up short there too. Isaac advances, staff in hand, eyeing the head for all the world like a child with something to poke —

"Don't tell me that I've missed the introductions. There is a fire," He adds, glancing between woman — Ellis — Richard — "If someone will help Mlle out of her anklet."

Thanks. He just really, really needs to poke that head.