OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

[faderifting]

WHO: Many People
WHAT: Cleaning up Kirkwall
WHEN: Cloudreach 1-21
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: This log post is for characters who go early to Kirkwall to assist in preparing it for the rest of those assigned there. We strongly encourage IC discussion of things left to character discretion—someone should definitely do a crystal post to discuss what to do with the personal belongings left behind in the Gallows or what new form the statues should take!

Kirkwall once lived on the edge of the Tevinter Imperium and was home to nearly a million slaves. Stolen from elven lands or shipped from across the sea, all slaves fed the Imperium's unquenchable thirst for expansion. They worked in massive quarries and sweltering foundries that produced stone and steel for the Empire.

The city's complicated past is not easy to forget, history having earmarked many corners of the stone city. A ship approaching the harbor spots the city's namesake: an imposing black wall. It is visible for miles, and carved into the cliff side are a pantheon of vile guardians representing the Old Gods. Over the years, the Chantry has effaced many of these profane sentinels, but it will take many more years to erase them all.

Also carved into the cliff is a channel that permits ships into the city's interior. Flanking the channel are two massive bronze statues—the Twins of Kirkwall. The statues have a practical use. Kirkwall sits next to the narrowest point of the Waking Sea, and a massive chain net can be erected between the statues and the lighthouse, closing off the only narrow navigable lane. This stranglehold on sea traffic is jealously guarded by the ever-changing rulers of the city as the net trolls taxes, tolls, and extortions in from the sea.

—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi

---

Establishing a presence in Kirkwall is a delicate matter. First, there's Provisional Viscount Bran Cavin—a man so used to batting back friendly offers of entirely harmless occupation of the battered city-state that his first three responses to the Inquisition's leadership appeared to be slightly personalized form letters. Proving that the Inquisition is here to work and not to conquer will be a process. The first step in that process is the second reason the move is delicate: the only building the Provisional Viscount is willing to part with is the Gallows, left quarantined and unoccupied since Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard's famous crystallization into red lyrium in the courtyard. The Gallows have since overgrown with red lyrium. If anyone is going to live and work there, there's a lot of work to do.

↠ Cloudreach 1-3: The Journey There
↠ Cloudreach 3-4: Arrival
↠ Cloudreach 4-14: Haunted
↠ Cloudreach 14-21: Spring Cleaning

Comments

CLOUDREACH 4-14: Haunted

[faderifting]

Staying in the Gallows isn't safe. Not yet. The courtyard and lowest levels of the Gallows' three towers are overgrown with red lyrium; no one has lived there since the uprising and annulment. Though Meredith Stannard's lyrium-crystallized corpse has vanished, the crumbled statues that once came to life to fight on her behalf remain strewn where they fell.

So the plan is as follows: those tasked with working in the Gallows will do so in shifts, half a day at a time at the most, and be checked for side effects every time they return. Those with lyrium resistance—including a team of hired dwarves—can do the up-close work, while mages are advised to stand back and pummel it from a distance. Altogether, it should be quick work to tear the lyrium off the fortress' stone structure to be burned. Much simpler than tearing it out of the dirt in the wild. And in each place the red lyrium is cleared, enchanters can follow behind, layering the Inquisition's newly-discovered cleansing runes directly into the floor and walls to ward off its return.

For the most part, things go as planned. But the plan didn't account for the lesser-known effects of red lyrium: haunting. The veil is too thin. Tools float in midair. Doors slam and lock. There might be movement in the corner of your eye, darting figures vanishing, voices or laughter or screams that are just too quiet to be understood. One night the lines anchoring the ship are untied while everyone sleeps. When the ship recovers and re-anchors, it does so a little bit further away.

Despite the interference, removal stubbornly progresses. After ten days, the lyrium is nearly gone—but it puts up one last desperate fight, wrenching a few of the remaining statues of slaves from the walls to attack the workers. They're spindle-limbed and totter as they walk, but are larger than life, cast of solid bronze, and wail in constant despair at a pitch that threatens to pierce eardrums. The only way to truly stop them is to finish removing the last of the red lyrium, so they'll need to be held off while the workers race to complete their task.

Attack of the Statues

[circleprodigy]

The steady removal of red lyrium hasn't been the easiest or most relaxing process, to put it mildly. Well-aware of the toll the substance can take, and the additional vulnerability of mages, Inessa is content to aid from a distance, spending long hours aiding the removal process. In between shifts, she'll also assist with the future griffon roost, wanting Potato and the others as comfortable as possible when they arrive. But the majority of her attention must be on the removal of that unholy substance, and she attends to it with grim determination.

The affects of a too-thin Veil are ignored as much as possible; she reacts to floating objects and phantom screams alike with unshakable patience, at least in public. Garahel remains close, though, very protective and growling at things others can't see. When she tries to usher him somewhere less stressful, though, he refuses.

And then in those last days, the slave statues come to life. Inessa's eyes widen the sudden manifestation, one that can't be ignored with the workers' safety at stake. Quickly, she moves forward to encompass as many as she can in a Barrier spell before casting Pull of the Abyss, trying to draw as many of them as she can together and away from the workers. Garahel stands guard, ready to attack any statues not caught in her magic that approach.

"I could use a little help over here!"

Re: Attack of the Statues

[judgemewhole]

"... I really hate this place." James muttered as he grabbed his shield and sword, both immediately icing over as his enchanted rings took over. At his side, Interceptor growled as they both charged in to help their friends, both dog and human, and while James gestures Interceptor into the barrier, he moves to the fore, just out of the barrier's influence so he doesn't take it down when he does a Purge on the statues to weaken them.

"Well, here we are again, Inessa!" He shouts over the din and screams, then yells to his men, "Templars, on me!"

[meds4sale]

Help did, indeed, arrive.

The Medicine Seller took immediate advantage of Inessa using her magic to drag the statues together. A wall of paper talismans went up, going from blank to strange red markings appearing all over their surface, a blazing red eye opening at each of their centers. It was a powerful barricade, enclosing the statues into a narrow battlefield, along with their opponents. But the statues were big and awkward, lumbering things now tangled together in tight quarters.

"Do not allow them to get their bearings," he hissed, his focus now on holding up the barrier. One of the statues was already clawing at it. His power wasn't infinite - and things could go from bad to terrible if those things got any kind of maneuverability.

[crowncitizen]

"Oh, COME ON."

Prompto barely skirts out of the way before a statue tries to stomp on him. Luckily, before the statue can get much further, it's suddenly sucked into Inessa's Pull. He hears her call for help and runs over, though admittedly:

"What do you need? I... only have a dagger. I don't know how you'd even fight one of those things. They're solid rock!"

[not_the_question]

The Doctor was less than pleased to be assigned to do this sort of labour. After all he was a Time Lord and well, he didn't perform manual labour. That was, until he realised that he could take this opportunity to really study the Red Lyrium, from a scientific perspective. Sure they talked about the runes protecting the area, but since no one had a better explanation beyond "magic", he was less than convinced. He would keep to science, thanks.

He remained on the boat throughout the process. Mostly because so many others took to staying in the city that it meant he could find one or two corners to keep to himself.

He wanted to find a way to contain the lyrium in a box, or something so that he could keep some for further study. Currently he had a small jewellery box lined with Limspathoid - a mineral that was similar to a cross between lead and diamond. Only much, much stronger. Maybe as much as a hundred times. The box sealed completely, keeping everything inside of it - inside. It was a box he had used to transport Dawsine, which was 50 times more powerful than Uranium, so he figured it would be strong enough. No way to know without testing it, though.

While he didn't know much about red lyrium, he had already discovered that when inside of this box, he couldn't hear the singing at all. Not that he could hear it all that well before. Not without focusing on it. It was the blessing of having so many screams raging through his mind all the time. Finally, there was some good coming of that.

The real test would be if any of the natives could hear it. So he presented to the box to various people (not dwarfs) with a simple question. "Can you sense anything about this small box?"

[meds4sale]

It wasn't the first time the Medicine Seller had something shoved under his nose accompanied by an odd question. Given that he was hungry, and feeling drained from helping to maintain barriers over the last few days, it was astonishing to him how patient his reply came.

"I do not recognize the metal's scent," he said, unable to avoid something resembling a genuine analysis of the box.

"...Is there food inside?"

Did he get the food if he guessed it right?

Christine Delacroix

[aceso]

When Seeker Pentaghast made her announcement that some among their number would be moving to Kirkwall, Christine's heart had plummeted. There was simply no way that the head of red lyrium research wouldn't be required to go, and she did her best to stay calm and practical about the move. But seeing the Gallows and knowing what had happened there set her stomach turning, and now a few days into her stay in Kirkwall, she feels even worse about this situation.

{ haunted }
Each day she instructs her fellow mages on what's required to cleanse the walls and floors of the Gallows. It's the culmination of a year's research into red lyrium and its effects, and in light of the news of the dark future, she wants to ensure that this vile stuff is completely removed and barred from regrowing. At first she keeps herself busy so she doesn't have to face where she is and its history, but history, it seems, wants her to acknowledge it. It's when she's in one of the former enchanter's rooms placing a rune on the wall that the door slams shut behind her and the lock clicks into place from the outside. Such a thing would be bad enough on its own, but this is a woman raised in a Circle, who saw it as a prison and has been ruminating over the poor mages that dwelt here too. Were they locked into their rooms at night like they were little prison cells? Christine runs to the door and shakes the handle, but it doesn't open. She bangs her fist on the door before stepping back and raising her staff to throw any forceful spell she can at the door, willing to shatter it to escape. The first few hits do nothing and she begins to panic. Once she escaped the Circle, she decided to never go back again, and yet here she is, trapped; being punished for what she is.

"Let me out! Please!" she shouts, tears springing to her eyes. "Please, please, please!"

{ fighting statues }
Christine feels she can do more in holding off the statues than stripping away the last vestiges of red lyrium. Those with pickaxes and hammers can make faster work of it than she can with her staff, but what she can do is keep these gruesome enemies occupied. What spells do the most damage against bronze statues? Well, she's about to find out. A shrill wail pierces the air and she winces before sending down a lightning bolt into one of the statues and charging her spirit blade at the same time. A few more spells and she'll launch forward to slash at the statue's legs.

"Augh! That sound is so terrible!" Perhaps they can fill their ears with cotton-- no. There's no time to stop for such frivolities. They will just have to endure it.

Haunted

[circleprodigy]

As with Christine, Inessa has found her greatest source of comfort in keeping herself as busy as possible. The dark history -and present- of the Gallows is not anything she wants to dwell on for long, save with a removed perspective. It's bad enough that Garahel's on edge, the mabari staying protectively close and growling objects and doors that aren't supposed to move on their own.

When the door slams shut, the pair are near enough to hear it. Promptly ignoring her own cleanup efforts, Inessa's pace quickens when she hears the shouting. "Christine? What--" Garahel immediately takes a run at the door, the huge muscular dog attempting to knock it down all by himself before his mistress can stop him.

[inagutterson]

Growing up in Kirkwall means you grow up knowing that you live in a place that's extra. Yngvi's used to shrugging off plenty that would have some of the rest of the Boneflayers staring at him and Gunnar on long marches to wherever they were going, over pints in a tavern or round a campfire. Clomping along looking for some of the crew he'd been 'asked' (translation: told to round up and put to work thanks to that good old dwarven lyrium resistance) to get sorted, he doesn't immediately react to a shout.

Look, if you did that in Kirkwall you'd strain something. Give yourself a nervous twitch. So he listens for a while and taps his fingers along the wall as some of his nugs snuffle around because nugs literally don't give a shit, just watch, they'll crawl all over that red lyrium without batting their beady black soulless eyes.

The shouts don't stop and he knows that voice enough to make his way there even if he still hangs back a little way away to conduct some serious pocket inventory. "Serah? Some funny business going on in there?" He calls out in his most serious Kirkwall tones.

[el_tybs]

Rubbing some sweat off his brow, Sam turns around to see the progress of the others. Everything seems to be going smoothly, or as smoothly as possible, up until he notices that they're missing one. "Where's Christine?" he asks one of the others who just gives him a shrug. Another woman speaks up that she had seen the other spirit healer go down the corridor, and Sam is quick to head out down it.

"Chrisitine?" He knows that being here has been especially rough on her so of course he's concerned that she's wandered off without a word. "Chris-" The words fall away when he hears pounding on a door, followed by screaming.

"Christine?!" he yells louder, now running until he's in front of the room where the noise is coming from. All he can hear is 'please' and tries for the handle- It won't budge.

Helping With the Ghosties

[meds4sale]

The moment the Medicine Seller had stepped off the boat, the rattling in his pack had grown more insistent and he couldn't be more pleased about it. He didn't need the constant rattle of his sword to tell him that something was deeply, profoundly wrong with this city. It was the sort of sensation you tasted in the back of your throat, a sharp coppery thing, like blood and bile.

This was what he existed for.

He wasn't much use with eradicating the red lyrium. He was even less use in construction.

What he was good for, however, was helping to keep the ghoulies at bay so that people could do their jobs.

He set down the scales - tiny, delicate looking things, white as snow and inlaid with precious gems. They were made to look like birds taking wing, and tiny golden bells dropped from the trays. They were laid out in small rows on the floor - far too many to fit in the single drawer they came from - and they swayed gently to and fro like weather vanes on their pointed stands. They would seem somewhat sentient, occasionally hopping out of the way and floating off to settle elsewhere if they were in a spot someone needed to work. When something unseen turned up to get a bit frisky, they would tilt in its direction, their tiny bells chiming, and the Medicine Seller would know where to send his paper talismans flying, blocking the malevolent spirits at each turn.

The talismans plastered the walls of the Gallows as the clean up team moved from room to room. When the coast was clear, they seemed only blank rectangles of paper. But when something drew near, strange black writing appeared, and then warped into some odd runic symbols, at the center of which a blazing red eye stared out.

He used these, like the scales to track the movements of the demons, though the talismans had the added benefit of acting as a protective barrier. ...At least when the Medicine Seller was around they did, anyway. And powerful as the protection was, it was not indefinite. After a few hours, or at the constant barrage of the more insistent demons, they tended to erode and he had to set up new wards. It was very tedious, but it helped to keep ghost-related accidents to a minimum.

Though for all his experience and constant vigilance, even the Medicine Seller hadn't escaped having a pot lobbed at his head by a spectre that happened to get in a lucky shot.

As discussed~

[kartereo]

Ghosts were not remotely within the realm of Waver's specialization. He could yammer theory and history for hours on end, puffing away at cigar after cigar, but that was all to do with magi and contemporary magic and technology. Ghosts, spirits, any and all of it were decidedly Not His Game.

Which was actually why he wanted to go. Active spirits were a chance to learn about something he was unsure of, and to see what kind of magic would work against them. He took careful mental notes when he could assist, and made notes of when and where movements occurred in order to track the progress of removing the spirits that remained.

But beyond that, Waver wanted to be practical. So when he knew people that were doing the work, he made a point to ask if he could help in some way or shape.

Even if it just meant looking down in his notebook and dryly stating, "I think there's about fifteen minutes left before the barrier starts to fade."

[arlathvhen]

Beleth has no fear of magic, in usual circumstances. While she is no mage, she grew up surrounded by them, without the taboos carried by the shemlen. But the magic utilized by the strange Rifter was...odd. Eerie, almost. It was a magic she didn't know, and it seemed to utilize forces she was unfamiliar with.

It was, in short, otherworldly.

Which is why, when Beleth opened the door to see if it needed cleaning, and discovered the Medicine Seller, with his strange scales, and the bits of paper that he plastered to the wall (that would surely need to be cleaned up by someone, again) that Beleth deemed it best to simply back out and continue on her way. However, before she'd even got back to the doorway, she spotted a rogue flying pot heading for the Rifter. Strange or not, he certainly didn't deserve to get brained by a large piece of metal.

"Watch ou--!" Fortunately, Beleth has respectable reflexes, enough for her to hurry into the room and grab for the pot. But she had forgotten about the scales, and hadn't gotten the memo that they were pretty apt at not getting stepped on. Her fingers close around the pot, but with her momentum, and her belated attempts to try to avoid the scales, she stumbles, and falls over. Smooth.

At least the scales had managed to avoid getting squashed.

There's a long pause as Beleth's brain slowly processes the actions that just took place, but once it clicks, she looks up at the Medicine Seller, and holds up the pot like a trophy.

"It was going to hit you."

[thehiddenking]

He stays as far from the Dwarves as he can manage. Thingol knows how easily the race riles his temper and they have more important work to do. He keeps Aranrúth drawn, ready to combat though he is not experienced with magic in the slightest. What gifts his Elven heritage has granted him - and been retained - will have to suffice.

The hauntings disturb him more than their tangible foes. He glowers at the tools that float, cursing in Doriathrin as he knocks them aside. Each door that slams before or behind him is given much the same treatment.

"What are these games?!" he has the utmost respect for the dead. Usually. But these spirits seem to be nothing more than imps to him! "Get thee back to the Halls, you wretch! This is not your land." his voice radiates power.

If only the spirits had ears to listen.

[alankazam]

Silence, a beat, before something slips up from the shadows: A small presence at once human, where moments before there'd been only black and the scuttling of claws.

"It's not yours either, is it?" Mildly. Alan tips his head to side, brushes past a floating set of nails (suspended in the air like little silvery teeth) to draw closer. A small nod to Thingol, hello again, "There's something wrong here."

The words are dreamy, distant — but it would be a mistake to assume that's born of calm. Alan's eyes cut warily through the dim, shoulders held at tense angle.

Somewhere in the distance, a soft voice begins to sing.

[sistertohermen]

Being a dwarf, with the Inquisition, in Kirkwall, meant that before she could go and form connections or run off and get in trouble, or whatever she would normally do, she had to help with red lyrium.

Several of the hired dwarves don't say much to her, but a few of them punch her shoulder like a comrade and suggest drinks afterward. They've no quarrel with dusters, but some are more wary of those who come from Orzammar. Or they're just dicks who want to do a job, get paid, and move on. She can respect that.

She hasn't dealt with the stuff much herself. It's warm. And it gives her an unsettled feeling, something that looks like lyrium but very much is not, some corrupted version thereof. Something Stone-forsaken. She says this, just once, to one of her fellow dwarves, and one of the ones who doesn't say more than two words to her scoffs in her face. Aren't they all Stone-forsaken? The tone implies he finds it foolish or childish to even bring up the Stone, and she starts to wonder if she's going to have an issue with surface dwarves.

So she doesn't tell any of them when she spies something that might be of value and tucks it in a pocket or in her cleavage. Rachette has no compunctions against looting from the dead. The dead don't need it anymore, while she could use the money that selling it off might get her. So long as the checks after shifts don't find her loot, or require her to explain said loot, then everything should go fine.

Except for hauntings. Holy shit, fuck that noise completely and entirely, ghosts are not okay.

[inagutterson]

The reason Yngvi's in Kirkwall this early is two-fold but technically one-fold: dwarves. He's a dwarf from the Carta so he can deal with red lyrium but he can also get hold of more dwarves to deal with red lyrium. Never stood a chance. It makes him twitchy. The jokes that felt safe in Skyhold are closer to the bone here when there are people that give a shit about them and can tease apart all the threads of them to get at the truth.

They might know Yngvi but they know on what side their bread is buttered.

He can't say he knows Rachette well but he's been keeping an eye out the way he does because he doesn't trust his connections in general so after that Stone comment he makes his way over. Later. Can't make it look obvious.

"Watch where you walk, easy to get tangled up yeah?" D'you get him Rachette? Him and his tired eyes under the usual smirk. Helpfully he's sorting out the nugs so they can cart off more bones in the keg because he's dedicated to the bit so no one's going to look over more than they ever do at Yngvi being Yngvi.

Whistle While You Work

[el_tybs]

{Lyrium Cleanup}
Stripping away and disposing of red lyrium was dangerous work. Too much exposure and people started hearing things, not properly handled it could cause physical damage, and it particularly deadly to any mage who didn't keep their distance. So while Sam took time to help with removal, a lot of his efforts were put to aiding/supporting anyone who was feeling sick, needed urgent care, or needed to be removed from the Gallows. It was a slow process because no one could stay for extended periods, but it was getting done.

Every once in a while when he got some relief, Sam spent time outside the walls, taking in the sea air, trying his best not to overly think about where they were.

{Haunting and Statues}
The Gallows reminded him of the Fallow Mire sometimes with the constant whispers and screams of those not quite there. Instead of possessed corpses and skeletons though they had animated bronze statues that wailed and odd... going-ons.

There were a number of times that a tool, a rock, or something else of smallish size would come floating around near him before dropping suddenly and giving him a start. Course there were a couple of close calls when something when flying towards his head and thankfully dodged either from someone yelling out or Fortitude buzzing in the back of his head. He's also had some trouble with getting locked in a room for short periods of time, and easily getting distracted to look over his shoulder when he thought he saw something - most of the time it ended up being Fortitude.

The statues were certainly a delight. And by delight he really meant they were terrible. It was easy enough to push them back, or find ways to block their progress, but the wailing, no one could listen to that for too long, and far more distracting then the voices you barely could make out. Everyone was sure to have ringing ears later and probably talking a bit louder.

"WHAT-?!" You're going to have to speak up over the noise.

Statues

[kartereo]

"I said," Waver replied, increasing his volume over among the cacophony. "There's a covered alcove to your right, I suggest you duck under it!"

This whole thing was a bad horror film, especially the statues themselves. Then again given the history of the place, it would be far more shocking if it wasn't haunted, but none of this straight forward thinking made the place any easier to deal with.

"I'd also suggest turning back right now and bringing reinforcements, unless you believe that we really can barrel through this group."

[paladingus]

Simon's arrived early and been fiercely hard at work, as often as they'll let him be. If he were the sort of templar who could control himself around lyrium of any color, he'd be volunteering (stupidly) to work double shifts. He's not that sort of templar, of course; he'd narrowly escaped being the sort who got disciplined for sneaking extra from the stocks because the rations weren't enough anymore, but he'd managed to retain just enough dignity to keep from actually doing it. Small mercies. There's more than enough lingering shame in these walls without adding that on top of it.

Haunted
It doesn't immediately register as odd when he hears voices. They're too far away to comprehend at first, and he assumes he's just hearing other work crews talking amongst themselves. But they come closer, ever closer, until he can hear their eerie monotone.

"--belong to Ser Alrik now..."
"...knew you would never give up..."

The rust stains on the walls look like branded suns. Simon backs slowly away, stomach leaden, and trips over a toolbox he knows wasn't there ten minutes ago.

"Why am I the only one doing any work here?" he snarls, ears burning with wounded pride and a conscience that twinges even harder.

wwwildcard, just lmk if there's anything that needs changing!

[limier]

There are too few of them here to turn a blind eye.

Marcher, is the word — people do talk, particularly of newcomers the size and shape of the city walls. But there’s been little to talk of. Simon seems to have flown solidly under the radar. On a list that runs from Cade to Cullen (former templar her fucking ass), the absence of reputation is almost a pleasant surprise.

Almost.

"Ser Ashlock," She'll catch him on their way out, isn’t so dim as to corner any of them within the Gallows. "Your eagerness commends you."

All the more reason to keep ahead of this; eagerness of red lyrium will only serve them poorly. Wren slips into pace beside him without fanfare. Armor, the intent of purpose, they can do a little to disguise. They make it easier to smooth her expression still, to hide the slight limp in her step.

This has been a long day. There are longer yet in store.

[indocile]

Margaux regards this snappish human with a slightly jaundiced eye from where she's slowed to a stop near him. She's spending much of her time running between the work crews with this, that and the other thing; fetching and carrying, passing on messages, bringing water and food and delivering no really you're finished for the day orders where necessary. In other words, acquainting herself quite thoroughly with just how much work is being done and by whom--

But he's very big with his round ears and his moodiness, certainly in comparison to someone of her stature, and she tempers the many things she might have said.

"I don't know, ser, perhaps it's a shift change," she says, neutrally, holding up a waterskin as wordless offer.

[tactical_alert]

There's another voice that is much less monotone, though the words are too far away. And another noise, like that of a running animal. And...barking?

A poodle with curly fur the color not unlike an apricot comes barreling down the hallway, all but skidding to a stop by Simon, tail excited, and lets out another bark.

She seems friendly enough, though waiting for her master. Speaking of: "Ah, there you are." Malcolm doesn't bother to deck himself out in Seeker regalia when he's working. Too much dust and dirt, and he's not about to throw his weight around even superficially when it isn't needed. Save that for convincing the locals to spare some supplies and coin. Down the hall, Malcolm approaches the same way the dog came, and he makes a small hand gesture that brings her to his side.

"Did you get lost?" He eyes the hall up and down. "Or something else get you lost? I've heard more than a few stories lately..."

[quietblade]

Hauntings

Taas greatly disapproves of this haunting thing. Not only because it sets uncharacteristic paranoia in his brain every time he sees something in the corner of his eye, but he also worries that someone would end up getting possessed.

The veil was thin here, people said. The mages must be under some serious stress, and even he had nightmares. Well, as much a nightmare as a Qun-raised qunari could have - memories of lost comrades.

He's not in his best of moods thanks to this, but if you hear loud swearing now and then, he's probably not angry at you.

...just don't approach him from behind.

Statues

If there's something that's good about being deaf, it's the fact that Taas can't hear the wailing of the statues. Instead, the thing that alerts him to their presence (aside from other people) is the heavy vibrations of their movement. Stone floor dulled most things, but not heavy bronze feet.

"Well, shit." He could probably use his maul on these things, but he wasn't exactly a smith or a mage. Instead he mainly uses his force to hold them back, whacking at the spindly limbs to hinder their unsteady onslaught.

It's a little unnerving to smash something that doesn't bleed, and fuck if that isn't a twisted thought.