faderift | [CLOSED] OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

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[CLOSED] OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

WHO: Marcus, Julius, Tsenka, Silver, Matthias
WHAT: Hunting apostates
WHEN: Sometime in Harvestmere
WHERE: Somewhere in Wildervale
NOTES: OOC Info

Despite what the words 'isolationist mages' might imply, it's difficult for any group of people to completely fall off the map—particularly, when they've arranged to leave behind a forwarding address. Returning to the abandoned homestead the group once occupied reveals a concealed cipher, a message written in some old field code from the days of the Mage-Templar war, which points them roughly in the right direction. With that context in mind, little rumors picked up on the road or in public houses while moving in it take on new life.

A woman traveling with children who neither look like her or one another could be refugees from anywhere, or it could be a mage passing through with a number of young charges. A stranger who owns no land appears with a set of tools for repair, stays for two days until the job is done, and then disappears again. A ghost story about screams heard coming out of some dark wood, recounted in a tiny tavern by a shepherd fresh from fields which lie at the edge of the trees, might be a particularly over-embellished tale of an animal's wail or it might be someone's clever idea of discouraging anyone from traveling certain wooded paths.

Indeed, given a few hours travel through that dark wood during daylight hours and the group will eventually catch sight of a cluster of scraggly buildings in various states of salvage through the trees.

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But before they can break the tree line, they are stopped. A woman and a man, both wielding staves, neither of them recognisable to Marcus or Tsenka. He offers them his name, however, and there's a look passed between them. Cautious entry granted.

The tension only drains (and not completely) once they enter the settlement proper and familiarity is established. A woman in simply spun clothing is summoned from one of the houses, her black hair bound into a thick braid, bearing a stern looking countenance that rearranges itself into an open expression of surprise and delight and relief. To Marcus, first, she runs over, arms up to receive his dismount from his horse directly into an embrace. Tsenka likewise greeted, her face held in her hands, forehead kissed.

Marcella, Landon, Neiv, Gabriel, Alma, Corin. It is not all of them, the ones he knows, and it is both more and less than Marcus had expected to find. Marcus asks after the rest, asks after a person named Sima, and Neiv reports that the group split after being unable to decide between remaining in the Free Marches, or falling back to Ferelden. It was part of the reason they'd tried to summon him, months and months ago. This group who chose to remain, they don't make up the majority of whatever this place is.

And whatever this place is called Greenhollow, a new village built upon the bones of the old. A handful of cottages house several people, with some communal lodgings for the younger members of the settlement, a schoolhouse, a dining lodge, a stable. Marcella describes the farming land that lies between the forest and the Vimmark foothills which have provided well for the winter, and this place has already seen a couple of those. The composition of the group is mainly former rebel mages from various Circles across the Free Marches, some from Ferelden, and a few lifelong apostates who sought out community.

It is all very humble, but not impoverished. Not today, anyway.

And of course, full of mages. A fair amount of children, a few so young as to have been born after the rebellion, all the way through to Matthias' age. There is a lesson being held outside under the heavy grey sky, as there had been an unfortunate fire that had damaged the schoolhouse and had yet to be repaired. Magic use is rampant, lighting hearths and chilling water and summoning floating objects through the air, mages sending scores of dancing motes of light into the air to see by, or even imbuing the earth with life to grow their gardens, rapidly blooming leaves and tendrils curling up around the arms of a mage kneeling in the earth.

Marcella asks if they are intending to stay for any length of time, and over dinner—generous, heavily vegetable-based but fortified with some stewed rabbit and goat—there is some silent friction. One of the more vocal leaders of Greenhollow, an apostate man named Kalt puts up some resistance, that the village should not host mere visitors. It's Marcella that refutes him, offers her own lodgings, and appears to get her way.

Something left unsaid. But after a day of rest, they are welcomed for the evening, at least.

Greenhollow has a number of horses, an expensive investment that nevertheless allows them some freedom to travel, and in an emergency, sell or slaughter. For a time, in the late afternoon, Marcus leans against the wooden fencing to watch a few of them get put through paces, and later a lesson for a young girl who perches in the saddle nervously, seriously considering her tutor, who could well be an older sister. He finds himself stood with Kalt for a time, and they appear to speak on the subject of these animals. But even from a distance, it's clear that the conversation turns elsewhere.

The past, the present, the future. What a place like Greenhollow could be, what the Free Marches might afford mages if they were to come together and claim their territory. How many towns and even cities have risen in these lands, over time, so long as there was will enough to defend it? Marcus is mostly quiet, pensive, and stays behind once the conversation wears itself out.

If he is pleased to see all of this, it's evident in his exploration, his patient conversations and inquiries, his seeming gladness that his friends have found a home. If he has reservations, well—it's all in these gestures too.

After dinner, there is a fire—several fires, in fact, little knots of gathering once the younger of the children have been put to bed. They are barely tamed, these fires, ringed in with rock and allowed to burn deeply and hotly, with columns of smoke and flecks of ember. There is a gap in conversations—catching up, introductions—where Marcus finds himself, for a moment, alone, and he turns his cigarette case in hand without helping himself yet.

He's observing something, though. Two people emerging from the forest, from the south. Two more passing them, disappearing into the woods. It causes a twinge in him, the knowledge that maybe there is something here he doesn't understand, which is when he draws a cigarette out with his teeth and lights up in an effort to relax.

The reservations that Tsenka holds— she thinks, at first, that they are only of a piece with the griefs and frustrations of her own lost time. To be glad to greet old friends, and grieve the ways that the world moved on without her. Unfair, and to be tucked against her heart and dealt with later, privately. Not for her to object to a thing that she—

wants? Maybe? The shape of the future she might have outside the Circles is hazier, now, than it once was. Made moreso by the time she has now spent outside of them, the things that she's seen. Is this what she would want?

But the hours pass, and she thinks about Kalt expecting them to, what? To pitch tents outside the village's edge? And the conversation that didn't happen in front of them about how long they might stay, and whether she thinks it didn't happen after, out of their earshot. She draws her pipe out, bumping her shoulder into Marcus, and says, “Designated fuck tree?”

which is a hell of a conversation starter, and not really what she thinks is passing in and out of the woods.

Well. It makes him laugh.

More of a snort, a change in breathing, but definitely: mirth happens, in spite of a diminished mood. It brings with it a small twinge of guilt, which is such a strange thing to feel in the moment that Marcus sits with it quiet for a time as Tsenka sees to her pipe and the wood crackles under the weight of the fire.

Eventually, he says, "I've a mind to ask," and then, with a tapping of ash from cigarette, "but it doesn't feel like a welcome question."

Not that this has ever stopped him, but it's strange to consider, when welcome was expected. At least, of a more open kind than this.

“You noticed,” is an agreement, delivered as she lights the end of her pipe and breathes out, deeply. Not that she expects it, necessarily, to stop him any more than she's used to it doing; she's never thought Marcus oblivious, only purposeful. His own purpose.

On the other hand, there's questions and then there are questions, and if they actually want an answer...

Maybe asking isn't the way to get it.

“Marcella might speak on it,” eventually. Marcella wants them here. What does that mean?

"She might."

And she might not. They are promised one evening, welcome as guests, and her hospitality could have its limits too, generous though they have been with their food and their time. In exchange, Marcus is sure, of gossip and intelligence—news of the war, of the conclave in Cumberland, of the business of far away lands. Of Riftwatch's happenings, the amount that Marcus is comfortable in giving them, which is possibly slightly more than most others would be.

But he'd noticed. "Sima and I had a house together, at the first settlement. And it felt like every day I was trying to fix something that was wrong with it, but I knew even less about how we'd go about building a new one completely than only trying to keep it dry. I tried to imagine what she would have suggested we do about it."

Not that the Tranquil are totally incapable of opinion, but even while perfectly logical, their logic could be imperfect. The absence of sentiment does not always mean the presence of objectivity.

"About any of it," he adds.

Edited 2022-10-23 06:44 (UTC)

The roaming pairs have not escaped John's notice.

For the moment, John is still very much misplaced. Unknown to members of their own company, unidentified to the members of this village, he is existing on the edges of this entire venture. Whether that will be permitted to continue depends on circumstance, and while John doesn't necessarily forsee anything that will force his hand, he is aware of Marcus sitting alone, aware that what has caught John's attention must have registered to him as well.

Marcus might not know everyone here, but his people are among them. That changes things.

"How are you finding all of it?" is perhaps a more familiar question than John is allowed.

If it's familiar, this question, it's also deceptively complex, and it's this latter thing that has Marcus pause over it. There's a short answer, like, 'good', which is the kind of answer he's given to some of the strangers who had come to him, asking after his comfort, his opinion. it's not a falsehood, only reductive. These citizens of Greenhollow are not clamouring for his approval, exactly, but—

Well, perhaps they are, and not just from him. He can sense it, that shared determination to make a thing work. Has felt it before. This isn't a thing he can articulate, exactly.

He looks to John, a subtle acknowledgment for company.

"Ambitious," he offers. "In its way. You?"

Ambitious is a good descriptor.

Is it not so different than what he and Flint imagined once? Nascere, whole and unfettered. Governing itself while they wrought change from its shores.

"I'm trying to decide if it's sustainable," John says, which is a roundabout answer. "But I don't see a way of asking them without insulting someone in the process."

Tsenka and Marcus are welcomed, and Matthias is very clearly a mage, but John comes to them as a normal man. A cripple, even. There is a way to ask questions, surely, but he'd need more time to garner good will in the process. To be clear that he asks out of genuine interest, and not out of some manner of suspicion or accusation.

But Marcus, for better or worse, knows John well enough to see the reasoning behind the question.

Julius is, at first, inclined to hold back. If nothing else, it's smart to let Marcus run point on this particular mission. He's also more inclined to observe at first. But eventually, his natural friendliness and curiosity wins out. He's clearly intrigued by the open-air lesson for the children, and catches the adult who was teaching it after to ask some good-natured questions.

Before dinner he wanders a bit, to the edge of the village. He's not so far that he's out of earshot, or even hard to spot, but it's clear he wants to take a moment before going in. That said, if he sees one of his Riftwatch companions look his way, he gestures them over without hesitation.

After dinner, he settles himself at one of the fires, and it's easy to catch him in conversation. He's drawn toward the people who signal they're more receptive, making conversation, perhaps asking good-naturedly about their friendships without Marcus or Tsenka here and there. If he's keeping an eye out for trouble, it's impossible to say from the outside, but he's certainly keeping an eye out for opportunities to draw those less deft at making conversation into the circle.

And it doesn't take much to redirect John, who has been keeping to the fringes of this entire affair. Observing, yes, but being careful about how much room he takes up in the process.

It doesn't take much to extricate himself from the trio of teenagers who had been peppering John with questions about life at sea. There will be a seat saved for him at dinner, at a decent vantage point from which to participate in the evening's conversation. That's enough of a certainty that he can break from them, drift into Julius' sphere.

"This is who Marcus was intending to see, when that whole business happened on the road?" is the first question John poses.

"I think so," was mostly confirmation. "Or if not exactly, there's some overlap." He glances back at the makeshift village. "I wasn't quite picturing something like this, when we set out, I grant you."

"What were you envisioning?"

Is an interesting question, isn't it? Considering Julius' background. Where he had come from, and all the distance he'd covered to arrive at his present opinions.

What had Julius thought of, when they'd set out?

He weighs his answer. "Something less established," he settles on, finally. "More temporary. This place is simple, but it's a proper settlement, at least as established as some other small towns in the Free Marches or Ferelden. It's vulnerable, yes, but they can be self-sustaining a long while unless they get hit with exceptionally bad luck."

A pause, then: "It makes one wonder how many other places like this there are, in the suspension of the Mage-Templar war. How many groups have started carving someplace independent and sustainable."

Isn't exceptional bad luck a given in Thedas?

But John takes the point. Refrains from the glancing observation that mages in particular seem to have poor luck wherever they go.

"It would benefit us to find an answer to that," John agrees. "But I'm not sure how we'd go about it."

Scouring Thedas on giffons would be counterproductive.

"Word of mouth will only take us so far."

"It would be simpler if they were at least in touch with one another, I grant you. We've only so many veterans in Riftwatch who can draw on personal connections." Himself not included, as he's been particularly aware ever since they arrived. "But I agree, finding more places like this would be useful. Perhaps something to put to Scouting, if not as an independent priority, then at least as something worth keeping an ear out for while they do their other work."

"We should be selective with which members of Scouting we set to the task," is a mild suggestion. "It's not information we can afford to be careless with."

And John doesn't presume Yseult's opinions, much less those of her entire division.

What damage could be done with the locations of these mage enclaves? How quickly could they be turned into leverage, or traded to the Chantry? It only took one indiscretion to bring everything built tumbling down.

"Point taken. But there's also the danger of giving the perception of sneaking, especially with leadership. It can be a calculated risk to act as if of course an ally won't disappoint you. Granted, that's a strategy we'd need to discuss; I can't make the call for everyone."

Still... he's not against a more audacious gambit, especially now, while Corypheus is still there to unite them. There's a reason he was one of the leaders of the Inquisition mage strike, even when he was still describing himself as a loyalist.

With a grimace, he adds, "Then again, there's always the potential of those who aren't what they seem." Fitcher's true loyalties could have easily gotten Julius killed not long ago.

"There's individuals within our leadership who can be trusted."

One, specifically.

Can Rutyer? Can Yseult? Would Stark care? Two of these are uncertainties, one is all but assured.

"But whatever we find, if they are all similar to this settlement, they won't be equipped for the full force of the Chantry coming down on them."

They can't gamble, is the thing.

"I would be very shocked if the others are different in that regard," Julius said. "The Conclave was a vivid reminder that it's not a coincidence that many of the mages who have access to real resources see no particular problem with a continuation of the Circles."

He's not sure John knows his past well enough to know it's meant to be an inclusive remark, but it is. No one in Kinloch Hold, or possibly Ferelden, was rich by the standards of Nevarra or Orlais; still, he's seen enough of the world since to know that the offer of comfort is a quick way to starve a rebellion of some of its supporters.

"But," he adds, "they'll be more vulnerable fully isolated. Finding them, carefully, could give some of them more of a chance."

Many, if not all of them, had noted it: something past a tree line that apparently requires a dedicated rotation of infrequent patrols. Questions, so far, have been only adjacent, confirming information like, they had indeed seen all of Greenhollow thus far built, save for some of the farm buildings to the south; no, there were no other roads leading in save for the one they'd have travelled; and an inconsistency about the way they watch and defend their borders that had at first not included these pairings, and then did.

There's a world where they could choose to leave it well enough alone, but in that world, it doesn't matter that a community of southern mages are attempting to build themselves some small slice of society. Here, where the future of southern mages is as manipulable as clay, it very well might.

Knowing they'd need light to see by, it's early dawn when a few of their party break off out from the lodgings they'd been given, leaving quietly undetected. Even at this early hour, there'd been a couple of villagers in need of distraction, and so their focus was drawn into conversation with Marcus and Julius, speaking quietly over the remaining, maintained fire.

Dew clings to tall grass and bows leaves in the trees, a faint Harvestmere mist scattered around their ankles as Matthias, Silver, and Tsenka, cloaked in the deep shadows of a lingering night, make for that path they had spied.

The path—and it is a path, decently well traversed—is littered in fallen leaves, uneven beneath their feet, but easily navigable as Greenhollow disappears behind them. For a while, the sound of their passage is all they can hear, before another noise joins in.

Something like weeping. Keening, but human. And up ahead, the shape of a build, a modest-sized structure dark between the trees. Lamplight, a shadow, someone pacing, and likely not the source of these drifting, broken sobs.

Edited 2022-10-18 10:40 (UTC)

Where most buildings and structures remain dark at this hour, now hearth and candlelight press illumination against the drawn curtains and shutters of the homestead they'd been gifted for a day, its owner surrendering its use while she stays elsewhere, lending them privacy and the room necessary to contain them all. The kitchen is the best gathering point, a heavy table surrounded by stools and chairs, a lowlit stove in the corner, the smells of flour and grease and old smoke thick in the air.

Also thick in the air: this revelation, and the short silence that follows it. Marcus has posted himself in the corner of the room, but a prickle of sensation down the back of his neck is more akin to how he might feel if he were at its centre. Unease settled in his bones.

"They'll need our assurance," spoken up, first, "that we've no intention on informing."

This has not been expressly stated—little has, just the explanation of what is hidden in the forest—but Marcus takes it as a concrete given, his focus lifting towards Silver, first.

It isn't clear, even to Julius himself, if he's taking it differently because Marcus is present. It doesn't not matter, though the extent to which it shapes his reaction is hard to gauge.

Regardless, his expression is thin and tense. Though Marcus looks toward Silver first, Julius doesn't wait for him to speak before interjecting quietly, "So we're clear, what exactly are we talking about? Beyond not informing." Because they need to sort that, yes, but not only that, and Julius's first concern isn't the report.

"Any of it," John answers smoothly.

Because yes, it is a given, that John Silver will keep this secret. Even if only Julius and Marcus are fully aware of all the different layers there are to John's decision.

"What we've found, and what we do to manage it."

Manage.

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[CLOSED] OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

arrival.

marcus, ota.

after dinner.

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after dinner.

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julius, ota

before dinner.

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through the woods.

discussion.

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