No Meeran or Athenril for these

Posted on 22 Nov 2020 @ 5:36pm by Mage Kalian Winter & Warrior Martin Josceran & Rogue Cainan Sauvage & Rogue Elinowy Ursulas

2,598 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Lore's Labour's Lost
Location: Refugee Camp
Timeline: Cloudreach 16th - morning

OOC: Continued from post 'Zoinks, look for clues'

Kalian pushed the constabulary door opened and stepped out, followed closely enough by his companions that there was no need to hold the door open this time. Kalian turned east at once to walk along the road toward the footpath that crossed the river to the alienage and the refugee camp.

Martin followed, moving his shoulders uncomfortably in his civilian clothing. Going into the refugee camp dressed as a guard would be asking for trouble, especially when he was off-duty, but without the authority of his rank he felt oddly vulnerable. He hadn't gone so far as to leave his sword behind though, and it hung comfortingly at his hip. The refugee camp had started out as a refuge for the downtrodden but over the years had grown increasingly cut-throat, and even in plain day light the guard rarely ventured so far out. In truth, most of these refugees had no legal existence at all in Orlais, which made them ideal victims for any unsavoury schemes.

In addition to that there had been problems before, when guard patrols had been beaten up and forced to leave the area, and they had been lucky to make it out alive. This was another reason why no one was willing to look into these disappearances. They saw the refugees a little more than an inconvenience, and many would be happy to see them disappear altogether.

Cainan had made a point of not spending a huge amount of time in the areas surrounding the refugee camp, and saw nothing in its nature now that made him regret this decision. It wasn't the obvious lack of any rule of law, or the predatory eyes that watched the group as they passed, or even the obvious organised crime that operated in broad daylight; no, it was the desperation that pervaded the camp as if a bad smell, or a fog. Cainan liked his wine, his women and his zest for life, and he appreciated a good mix of all three at any one time. This place... drained the contentment from his life whenever he thought about it. He looked over to Elinowy, but as expected she seemed unaffected by the setting; a chantry sister must, after all, be a champion of the needy and the dispossessed; and these people were certainly needy and lacking in possessions.

"How long has this been here now?" Cainan mused as they walked.

"Since the beginning of the blight in Ferelden," said Kalian, looking sideways at the nobleman. "About four years."

Jaslyn hid in the shadows of a building across from the guardhouse with her hood up and observed the four humans emerge. Kalian Winter, she'd managed to recall while waiting, was one of two children born to a cousin of Hahren Liriel - an elf who'd actually married a human. Not that she personally didn't enjoy bedding the occasional human, but to purposely give birth to human children was appalling. Not that she could have children, with the taint in her blood. The Chantry sister was still with Sauvage, her quarry. Strange, because Jaslyn hadn't pegged the nobleman as the religious sort. And they were now accompanied by another human man, a city guard, apparently. Jaslyn decided to wait until the foursome were well ahead of her – the Sister, in her scarlet robes was hard to lose – then follow.

Kalian asked Elinowy, "Are you planning to minister to the refugees, sister? Back when Fereldans began to arrive at the beginning of the blight, they found housing at the workhouse at the edge of town - the Chantry oversees it. But soon, the workhouse was overwhelmed and a camp grew around it. Your presence will be a great comfort, I'm sure, but you should know it's also a dangerous place for the unwary."

Elinowy kindly tapped Kalian's arm. "While I do appreciate your concern, I trust the Maker as my shield and strength from those that would do me harm. The downtrodden require compassion and generosity. I will give what I can, and if something comes up, the Maker will provide." The smile on her face was serene like one walking through a mountain meadow, not strolling into the filth and desperation of a refugee camp. Her optimism could be infectious, hopefully more so than the camp that would soon surround them.

"Even so," Martin put in, "it wouldn't hurt to use caution. After all, the Maker provides to those who provide for themselves. I recommend that any overt show of wealth be avoided. Also limit eye contact and stay close together. If you have a purse, I suggest hiding it inside your clothes rather than hanging it at your belt. If you see beggars, do not stop or even slow down. Usually it is just a ploy to see whether you have any money." He was looking more particularly at Elinowy as he spoke. "Sister, while I respect your drive for compassion, there is a time and place for that."

"I will keep aware of my surroundings should the situation deteriorate, but I am certain the Maker will not place me into a situation that we cannot overcome." she answered confidently.

Martin turned to Cainan next. "Are you sure you want to come along, Monsieur ? I do not mean to frighten you but it's quite obvious that you are well-off, and over there that will make you a target. There may be real danger for you, perhaps more so than for Sister Elinowy. I cannot order you to stay behind, but I do recommend it strongly. I can't guarantee your protection out there."

"I appreciate the concern, but I do not frighten easily. Besides, I'm curious to see where this all leads, and if I have one failing, I would say it was my curiosity..."

At least Martin wasn't too worried for Kalian. Cainan's wealth and Sister Elinowy's cloth made them targets, and his own status as a guard did not help either ; Kalian was perhaps the best suited to the task at hand. His skin colour showed his Rivaini origins, and the refugees would relate to that more than to Orlesian features, even if Kalian's family had lived in Jader for generations. He was not rich, if not poor either, so he would be less tempting a target. He was perhaps the safest out of all of them.

"Kalian, I think you should do the talking," Martin said. "I'll just loom behind you and try to look dangerous."

"Try?" Crossing the footbridge, Kalian flashed his new friend a cheerful smirk. Even without his uniform, Martin looked like the kind of man who would help the vulnerable. "You definitely look dangerous. I doubt anyone will mess with you, or with any of us while we're together." Also, he wouldn't need to use his magic.

As they passed the alienage Kalian said, "I don't mind talking to the refugees." That was the reason they were going to the camp. "They are just people after all. If we treat them with respect, show them we care about their situation, then…"

Kalian's speech came to an abrupt stop as the workhouse loomed into view, surrounded by the ragged tent settlement that had grown around it like mushrooms. It had been a while since he visited the refugee camp as a human, instead of flying overhead. The refugee camp did look dangerous.

The poverty of the camp was very apparent. Elinowy had to admit to herself that she really had nothing beyond her prayers to help these people. Venturing into places like this was much simpler with a full mission of Sisters at her side and of course Templars making themselves very obvious at the gates. But her journey was to be based in humility and reliance upon the providence of the Maker through others. She did say a quick prayer as they entered the camp.

It had been a couple of months since Martin had set foot in the camp - last time it had been to look into the fencing of stolen goods after a streak of robberies in the wealthier districts of town - and it looked the same, if not worse than before. Access to clean drinking water was always an issue, as proven by the pervasive smell that surrounded the camp like a halo of misery. Some of the stronger children and women made a living hoisting buckets of water from the river for a modest fee, and some people bathed in the sea, but there was definitely no bathing house in the camp.

There were a lot of apparently idle people about. Some children dressed in rags played in the street with a ball. A few men and women lounged in front of their huts, made of wood, mud and whatever odds and end they could get their hands on. The most fortunate were lodged in the workhouse but that could not be more than a hundred, and even that many would be stretching the local Chantry's resources. Most of these people had just fallen on hard times and now found it nearly impossible to get a job - no one would hire a Fereldan from the camp - but there were also more than a few thieves and murderers in the lot, as Martin was well aware. He kept his hand close to his sword and his eyes on their surroundings, assessing each man and woman as a potential threat before moving on to the next one.

Cainan walked as he always did, with confidence and authority, one hand on his rapier and a lack of concern that either discouraged challenge from those who knew that had not the skill to match him, or invited challenge from those with the mistaken belief that they did. There were a couple of obvious tails on their group, watching them from a safe distance, but none that seemed willing to engage the confident fencer, or the rough-looking bruiser that was Martin in civilian clothing.

Jaslyn had followed at a distance, listening to their conversation with her keen elven hearing, and paused at the gates to the alienage. It seemed her quarry planned to visit the camp. She decided to wait until they began to mingle with the refugees, then saunter in as though she had business there herself.

The first group of people they encountered were day laborers, people who appeared reasonably clean, loitering near the workhouse gates and available for hire to anyone looking for cheap temporary labor. Beyond them were tents and lean-tos, some single, some in groups, and a few more sturdy cabins. The refugee camp was like a haphazard, run-down village, peppered by campfires. Conditions here were worse, by far, than the alienage. A few children clung to men and women who sent them furtive glances, but many of the very young refugees lived in the old workhouse, cared for by the Chantry.

Elinowy was acutely aware of the effect her robes had on the refugees around her. To their dismay, she was not accompanied by wagons or retainers bearing supplies, so most merely bowed their heads to the sister as she passed. She kept a pleasant and welcoming smile on her face. IF they passed close enough, she would reach out a hand to touch their shoulder. It was important for the downtrodden to feel human touch. When so many looked on them as undesirable, a simple gesture could help convey the Maker's love for his creation.

Well, it looked like the Sister's habit still granted her the respect of the masses, even in this downtrodden hole. At least for now, in plain daylight, while she was not alone. Matters would have been quite different at night, if she'd been venturing here alone. But she wasn't going to do that, or at least Martin fervently hoped so.

As they approached several of the men waiting approached hopefully. Having identified the sister and Monsieur Sauvage as the wealthier ones in the group, they focused their efforts on them.

"Muscle for hire, ser ?"

"Sister, can I do anything for you ?"

"Please pick me, I can read and I know my Chant !" As way of proof the man started singing the first verses of the canticle of Andraste.

Unfortunately he had been blessed with a voice better suited for the dissonant verses. Martin winced slightly. He had to respect the Sister's ability to keep her smile serene as the holiest of canticles was butchered in song in front of her.

"I'd pay him to stop singing," he whispered to Kalian.

Kalian nodded in fervent agreement with Martin. "That may be his main source of income."

Elinowy looked upon the man savagely butchering the sacred verses. She stepped away from her companions and walked up to the man, whose dress was as rough as his singing voice, stood directly in his way, and began to accompany him in the singing of the canticle. The sister's voice was significantly better, but she kept her pacing and rythm to match the wretched man. And as their two voices joined in unison, her's rose louder and the skill of a trained Chantress was very apparent. As if the robes were not enough, the song attracted the attention of those gathered around. Many of the devout joined their voices to the chant, and from the muddy streets and unsanitary odors grew something hauntingly beautiful and unprecedented. Elinowy turned to face the growing crowd, taking the shoulders of the man who had started the chant and turning him also towards the crowd and stepping back leaving him at the center of the eerie harmonies. She smiled serenely. The Maker wanted all of his creation to sing. For just a moment this little mud hole in Jader was a slice of paradise.

Kalian stared in open-mouth wonder as Elinowy transformed the small crowd with her beautiful singing. As the music grew, he nudged Martin, and whispered, "Now you know how persuasive she can be."

Martin finally remembered to close his mouth. Normally he'd have joined in the Chant but he'd been too surprised to utter a sound. For a brief moment he'd been transported back in the Chantry during prayers. He could almost smell the wood and incense, instead of the lingering stench of the camp.

"I guess music does soothe the savage breast," he whispered back.

"Sister Elinowy," said Kalian, "That was incredible. I don't think I've ever seen such a moving demonstration of the Chant of Light's power."

Elinowy spun herself about looking at the gathering of faithful. A proud smile crossed her face. "Give people the opportunity to help one another and make their lives better, and they tend to impress you."

OOC: Continued in post ''Found Cake'

Jaslyn had been weighing the possible ways she could get Sauvage's attention and draw him into a preferably private conversation. So far she had considered picking his pocket, challenging him to a duel, and propositioning him. But then, the Chantry sister instigated a singing distraction and an opportunity Jaslyn could not resist. The elf took advantage of the crowd to ease up close. She rested her hand on his arm and spoke in a low voice pitched only for his ears. "Pardon me, monsieur Sauvage, I need to speak with you." Without another word, she strode back toward the alienage and came to a stop, within sight of his companions, but well out of hearing range.

OOC: Continued in post 'Suspicious Distraction'

 

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