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 14-21: Spring Cleaning

[faderifting]

After the Attack of the Statues, it's smoother sailing. There's still a lot of work to do. The veil is still too thin in the fortress, with small rips forming in the courtyard, library, and dungeons. Mages will be asked to feel out those weak points, and those with anchors will be able to strengthen the veil there—but only by ripping it open and dealing with a few demons first. The herb gardens tucked into the courtyards have been growing unchecked for years and have sprouted an excessive amount of felandaris, which will need to be harvested so that the rest can be re-sown with more useful varietals.

The Gallows have been unoccupied since the uprising and Annulment, and its rooms are dusty at best, housing skeletons, debris, and mementos of the dead at worst. There's a great deal of cleaning and repair work to do--though nothing on the scale of Skyhold's gaping-holes-in-the-walls. Deciding what to do with the belongings left behind by the mages and Templars who vacated the Gallows is left to the team clearing the fortress. So is the choice of what to do with the bronze slave statues strewn throughout the courtyard or still hanging from walls. Melting them down and casting them in new forms is an option, as long as everyone is ready to back whatever message those new forms send to Kirkwall and Thedas as a whole.

Slowly but surely, the Gallows become livable. Not pretty, yet, and not overly pleasant. But by the last week of Cloudreach, when the remainder of those assigned to Kirkwall begin to arrive, it's possible to stay there without dying. That's progress.

Down at the docks, the work of restoring the burned-out warehouses has progressed into converting them for actual use. There are barracks to outfit and warehouses to fill, and in the absence of much of the indoor servant staff, everyone will be expected to lend a hand with things like cleaning and cooking. The compound's defenses need to be refortified, the quays shored up, and so on, and so forth. For the most part it's fairly standard construction and maintenance efforts, but there are a few surprises to be found: the occasional qunari home unscathed by the fire and abruptly abandoned, the odd cache of supplies, and perhaps most troubling, a growing crowd of city natives congregating outside the compound gates wanting to know what's going on, why the Inquisition is here, and wait, they're moving in where?

Talking to the Natives - Discovering Caches

[tallasaking]

This trip had gone exactly as Tyrion thought it would. In other words, it had gone badly. The Gallows were haunted, which was more than enough for Tyrion to take his wife and head for the docks. Yes, it was harder physical labor - but he didn't know the Qunari. He just knew ghosts -- they clung to him at every step. He'd rather make a home down here then try to deal with spirits clinging to his skin, thank you, and he knew Sansa would feel the same.

The dead followed them both, right on their heels...

So he would go through, trying to use his shard to help. There were gifts with shards - and he had yet to manage them - but if there were Rifts here then he and Sansa could work together on closing them. He also had no problems dragging things from here to there, just took him a bit longer. All his reading in Kirkwall made him perfect for the point person on going to squeeze more supplies out of the merchants, so he'd take a few hours of his day to to go charm the locals.

The Qunari homes helped with that - there were a few things he kept. Scrolls on the Qun, weapons, gold, that sort of thing, but most of it he sold to curious passer-bys to buy more supplies. Use and re-use. He thought Lady Montilyet would appreciate that. It wouldn't be hard to find him going through, cleaning up, and parsing through what he had found. Then following him as he went off to make trades.

Which was why, of course, when the crowd got to a reasonably disturbing size, he was one of the first out there. He had gotten to know quite a few people in his time here, bought them all a few drinks, smiled and charmed and now -- he talked.

"Good morning, everyone! Little early to be gathered about. If you're looking for work - I'll glad you pay you in trade for goods we find here." Is his cheery and pleasant answer, as he puts himself smack dab in front of the crowd.

[crowncitizen]

Prompto is a man on a mission: in hunt of a crossbow. When he sees Tyrion selling wares, he hurries up to him. He digs through his pockets, trying to scrounge up as much money as possible.

"You wouldn't happen to have a crossbow to sell, would you?"

[kartereo]

Crowdwatching was only a recent hobby. Waver had taken it up because he needed the space away from helping with the ghosts and cleaning up the Gallows to both clear his head and to try and get to grips with yet another new part of the world he needed to inhabit. Isolation did no one any good, and Waver was prone to it.

So he did it on every third or fourth day in the morning, picking different spots where other members of the group might be in order to avoid situations that could get dicey quickly.

Watching Tyrion was particularly interesting. The man had the kind of charisma that others would kill for. Waver kept to himself until it looked like there was a break in the crowd, feeling compelled to pay the compliment.

"I'm envious of your ability to manage such a crowd."

finding a house

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa had stayed close to Tyrion while moving to Kirkwall. She had grown comfortable in Skyhold, naturally, but this was a new place and Tyrion was one of the few people she trusted with every single part of her. She wants to have a place where they can have a little bit of privacy, if only because she wants to see if she can find it in herself to be more intimate with him than she's been before and to do that, she needs to know that no one else will hear them.

Such thoughts shouldn't be in her head now, though, not when Tyrion is busy bartering trade goods for work. "Tell them I can sew, Tyrion," she reminds him gently. "People always need clothes."

The Docks

[gatheringstorm]

Despite Korrin's lack of affinity with the chill of the Frostback Mountains, she's not actually among the first to leave. Almost anywhere else, she would happily uproot herself, but Kirkwall...well, Kirkwall has a history and not one that's friendly to her kind, whether mage or qunari. She'll still arrive in time to be of some assistance, though, finding the work an excellent distraction to mulling over the potential hostility of the populace. Said work remains at the docks; she avoids the Gallows as much as physically possible, focusing on aiding construction and maintenance at the docks through energizing walkways or whatever else is needed. For long stretches at a time, she'll keep herself useful with no complaint, helping whoever seems to need it.

Well. Except with the crowd at the compound gates. Sensing that this is not the best time to play the part of the 'scary qunari', Korrin will sensibly keep her distance. Someone without horns can smooth things over much more easily.

[universal_charm]

"Don't exhaust yourself," Kirk said, coming up to Korrin when she had finished a particular bit of energizing. He held out a cloth wrapped around bits of bread and meat and cheese to her. It was simple fare, but it kept well, and traveled better. It was about as luxurious as one could get around here without spending half a year's savings, it seemed.

"I certainly can't drag you back to the ships if you collapse," he said, trying for levity with a little crook of a smile.

Dealing with Rifts and Cleaning

[crowncitizen]

A. Rifts

Prompto is out of his element here, but when he hears about the Rifts, he knows he's found something to really occupy himself with. It's not like every person has a shard on their hand to open and close these things, and with so much to do, he has no idea if the other Rifters will get to these.

So, despite his own reservations, he volunteers. This time he's armed with a dagger he found laying around. It's... not much, but it's something. Iggy used them well enough!

...Gods he is so screwed. He needs to make some money and get a damn crossbow.

But that's for later. He gestures to the Rift before looking behind him. At least he isn't doing this alone.

"You ready?"

B. Cleaning

Once he's had his share of killing demons, Prompto takes to cleaning. He used to take care of his family's home pretty much by himself for years. This is nothing new to him.

Well, besides the sheer amount of effort that's going to be involved to get this place even remotely livable.

Prompto's been assigned to help clean out what look like dormitories. There are bunk beds stacked up, though many look like they had been pushed or knocked over. Clearly there had been fighting here, though the dust that settled over everything indicated that it had been years since blood was spilled. He tries not to think about it too hard as he sweeps and wipes down the furniture, coughing as plumes of dust kick up in his wake.

But as he cleans, he comes across a journal, hastily discarded under pooled blankets. He sits down on the bed and opens it, feeling a little guilty about going through someone's private thoughts. But the more he reads, the guilt gives way to horror, and sadness.

He's a little paler when he finally sets it aside, and he's left with his head in his hands as he comes to one conclusion: this place is fucking awful.

B~

[alankazam]

"Are you alright?"

A sudden, pale face at the door; eyes unblinking. It’s a moment before Alan steps within, casts a glance first to the toppled furniture, then back to Prompto. His voice isn’t gentle, isn't wary — isn’t really much of anything but quiet.

"It’s all a lot, isn’t it."

He might call it surreal, if he had the word to call upon.

A

[wontforgetyou]

"Aye, I'm ready."

The shard in Jamie's hand spits and sparks even as he says it, but that - and the faint pain that comes along with it - is an old and familiar sensation, something he's gotten used to in the year and a half he's been here. But he's also used to fighting the demons that come out of the rifts, and when he sees how Prompto's armed, a faint frown winds up crossing his face.

"Sure you are, though? A dirk'll not do much against some of those beasties that'll be coming through." His eyes flick down to the sword in his hand, considering the weapon for a moment before turning it around hilt first and offering it to the other man. "How are you with one of these?"

rifts;

[foxsays]

Araceli had gone to Kirkwall early for three reasons: Korrin was going, Sina was going, and a bard would be a useful thing to have in Kirkwall when that bard had lived in a nation of sailors and knew how to talk to them. Rifts hadn't really entered into any of the decision making (haven't been a thing she's thought about much since Craintellier) but she gets her rapiers out when she hears about them because it's about making a good impression.

Kirkwall had been set ablaze once and then again, it hardly needs demons to prowl through it once again when they can show that those present can successfully put a stop to it.

Swearing under her breath, she gets a rapier in one hand, silkdart in the other. "¿De veras?" That's more about the rift than anything but she raises an eyebrow at him then her other weapons. "Rapier or throwing knives?"

Bones, Battles, and Bad Beer - oh my!

[meds4sale]

a. them dry bones

There was a slippery crunch underfoot as the Medicine Seller stepped into the dusty room. There were several rat carcasses in varying stages of decay littered across the floor. The room was higher up and thus had been spared the red lyrium growths that had taken over the lower levels. He suspected the rats must have fled here to take refuge from the growths below and starved to death. The room had gotten little more than a perfunctory check for glowing red clusters before being left in largely the state it was, which was frankly an unsanitary mess.

But despite the scattered dead vermin, the mess of moldering books and scrolls and the overpowering stench of death and decay, the room had its advantages. It was spacious as these rooms went, probably an office once as there was a desk and several shelves and cabinets. The desk was beyond repair - something had smashed it. But the shelves were intact and had some useful looking bits and bobs that he could salvage.

"It is a wonder a Gashadokuro has not appeared," he said softly, sparing the crunched carcass a pitying glance, before continuing his exploration.

He found the bodies behind a bookcase - a templar and a mage if the rusted armour and tattered robes were anything to go by. They were slumped down, huddled together under the safety of the book cases, and their bodies picked clean of flesh by hungry rats. The Medicine Seller knelt down, inspecting the skeletons - both women judging by the jawline - and one of them still held an open vial. Picking it up, he gave it a sniff.

Hemlock and wolfsbane. Or something similar. It would seem they'd poisoned themselves, opting to die together rather than on opposing sides.

"A lovers' suicide," he mused, perhaps to himself, perhaps to the sword tucked neatly in the sash around his middle.


b. rift them a new one

The Medicine Seller was not given to hard labour. The best that could be said about him was that he'd cleaned out the room he'd picked for himself and didn't protest too greatly if he got roped into helping others with their own cleaning.

But the rifts - he made himself more than a little useful there. The scales that seemed to measure distance rather than weight were particularly handy in pointing the way to nearby, active rifts. And his own abilities seemed tailor made for dealing with demons. He was incredibly skilled at blocking their way with his paper talismans or hindering their movements with some unseen yet powerful force - leaving them ripe for the picking to more offensive-minded combatants.

It probably seem strange that he carried a sword then. He certainly never unsheathed it, though he'd used it once or twice to block a blow from a particularly obstinate terror demon. It was a odd thing, short and thin, almost more a dagger than a sword. It seemed more decorative than functional but then again, so did the Medicine Seller, and he was quite at home in a supernatural scuffle. The sheath and handle were polished wood, stained red and inlaid with gold and gems. There was a strange, goblin-like head with eyes of amber on the handle. To the keen observer, the face seemed to subtly change expressions and sometimes its mouth was open, other times closed. Or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

One could not really say for certain


c. city living

Kirkwall was a mess. It was a tangle of poverty, prejudice, and dark secrets and forbidden things. Of course, that just so happened to be the kind of mess the Medicine Seller liked.

When he wasn't helping with the effort at the Gallows or volunteering for rift closings, he took to wandering. While the shard in his hand kept him on the same short leash as before, there was now so much more to explore.

There was a good number of merchants around the docks, and the Medicine Seller found he could make quite a pretty penny selling 'Old Dalish Remedies' and 'Mysterious Elven Artifacts' (their words, not his. He just wasn't above rolling with other's assumptions if it made his life little easier. And richer.)

He spent an obscenely large amount of time shopping for fish - one would think that in a port city it wouldn't be so much a feat to acquire them fresh, but apparently that just wasn't the case. Still, he managed, even if his keen nose had been thrown off a number of times by the overwhelming fish smell. He may have to invest in a pole and bait and simply catch his own - it seemed less effort.

Each day was a new adventure though. New sights, new sounds, new smells. He'd even ventured into the Hanged Man. He didn't buy a drink, however, because he was fairly certain that the beer being served, while whatever it was made of had certainly been fermented and distilled, it wasn't any grain he could tell.

a

[limier]

It’s not a pleasant scene. If it was, they wouldn’t need to be here.

Little bones splinter underfoot to announce her; she doesn’t bother to look to the rats below. She’s had word there’s a Rifter on this level — a strange one, but aren’t they all — making his way through the halls. Some sort of foreign mage, an elf.

That’s well enough. They need what help they can get. Still, she can’t shake the impression that it’ll help a bit more if they all know what to look for. Wren tugs down the cloth tied around her face. Comments, softly:

"A waste."

Perhaps that’s callous. She stoops to run a hand over the armor; a desiccated twin to her own. Rust's bitten deep, they might be able to grind down enough to salvage a piece or two. The rest is a loss.

(There's nothing here that isn't.)

"The wheelcart is broken again. They will be up here a while."

Cleaning and gardening

[kartereo]

I - Cleaning and sorting

Going room by room meant that there were items left over to sort through and make decisions about. What furniture could be reused with just a little elbow grease versus what could be broken down for kindling. Waver liked to do it for each and every room he cleaned out - move everything into the corridor, and divide things into piles. There were usually three. Throw out, keep, and unsure.

The unsure pile was always the hardest to deal with. Scraps of paper that belonged to old residents, books that were falling apart but still might have some use, furniture that needed more work but wasn't something to throw away. A chest that could be used for clothing storage, but had a rusted lock, or a missing lid. He was always careful with those, and in the end, the unsure pile ended up mostly going into the trash. Then the kept items would be moved back into the now clean room, to be used or moved around as needed. Each room had a list too that let everyone know what was in there and that the room had been cleaned.

Today, Waver was sitting down in front of a locked chest, a few metal tools to his right. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was trying to pick the lock.

It also didn't take a genius to figure out that it wasn't going as planned.

"Goddamn piece of rusted shit! Would you just open?!"


II - Gardening

Waver was not good at heavy lifting. It meant he was assigned other duties instead, which included fighting with the overgrown gardens. He was perfectly comfortable using a sharp blade to hack away at the greenery that had long since gotten out of control.

Getting down into the roots of it all though, Waver was elbows deep in old dirt, and his attempt to remove the deeper roots had only one result: the dirt went flying everywhere. There was precious little trying to warn anyone about the incoming bomb of dirt, only the apology that came with it.

"Sorry! I thought it was a smaller root cluster."

It was never, ever a smaller root cluster.

III - Wildcard
[Missing something? Go for it.]

I

[limier]

The faint clatter of metal announces her. It’s efficient, well-organized work, she’s pleased to find someone at it —

If she hasn’t quite expected the head behind it to be quite so eloquent. Maker knows he's not the only one to shed a curse or two today, though. Wren stoops to a crouch, offers out a mailed hand.

"May I?"

She doesn't think it's enchanted. Probably no harm in just bashing the damn thing open; a lock they can't open isn't much use to anyone.

II

[gatheringstorm]

"...this is revenge for me putting the grenade classes on hold, isn't it." Passing by and paying attention to little but the to-do list forming in her head, Korrin comes to an abrupt halt as her chest and thighs end up sprayed in dirt. Looking over the mess, she sighs but doesn't raise her voice, as she brushes herself off. "Eh, it just gives me one more reason to head back to the docks soon."

Seriously, Korrin takes any reason whatsoever to spend as much time as she can away from the Gallows. It's not laziness, when she'll be just as busy over there, but some things need only a mage's touch, so she counts the minutes until time in Circle mage hell is over. "Wait and leave the larger roots to Sina? Keeper magic involves plants, so maybe she might have better luck removing it."

the docks + cooking

[foxsays]

Araceli is generally busy. Running around the docks to start the long process of trying to get in good with the sailors because she knows how sailors work and it's why it was heavily hinted to her that perhaps she might wish to feel the sea breeze again. That letter is tucked firmly away high in the cracked brickwork of Skyhold for the wind or an enterprising raven to tug free, or for someone to come across one day. Manual labour isn't her strong suit anyway unless it's the cleaning or taking care of rifts and she's happy to get away from that even if it's more work.

Papers tucked under her arm and in her coat pockets or somewhere on her bodice if it's one of the days she's wearing a dress (best foot forward and look, she had a very fine line of credit left for her, it wasn't going to go to waste now was it?) she's out and about. Somewhere. Smiling politely even when it feels like her jaw is going to crack from the strain of it sometimes or when the urge to sink her nails into her palm after she's explained things for the hundredth fucking time start to wear.

At least her work gets to involve gambling. Honest. So if you need to come find her for whatever reason she's around. She's one of the first to volunteer to cook in absence of doing the heavy lifting, ready to enlist someone else to help her out or to stop and chat while she works and they eat if it's not mobbed.

[gatheringstorm]

Given her size, strength and energizing abilities, Korrin doesn't really get to dodge out of manual labor very often. That suits her just fine, since the intense focus required keeps her from dwelling on the fact that she's in Kirkwall of all places. She's glad for Araceli's sake that they've moved to a place which will suit her kadan better, but given Kirkwall's history, Korrin feels as though she'll be walking on eggshells for a while. At least no anti-qunari/mage mobs have formed...yet.

During one of her construction/cleaning breaks, Korrin heads over to see how Araceli's doing in whatever passes for a kitchen at the moment. Yes, she made sure to wash her hands before entering, and the dampness of her hair at least attests to tossing a bucket's worth of water over her head before throwing on fresh clothes. "Need any help, kadan? I'm yours for the next hour or so, while they're giving mages a break."

Cooking

[kartereo]

For lack of being good at things like heavy lifting, mucking about with the herb gardens had become one of Waver's new jobs. Most days it meant playing in dirt and removing things, but for the past two or three days it has meant putting things in ground.

There were, now, a few plants that had no space available to them in the beds. Culinary herbs rather than ones used for potions, which had given him an idea on where a new home for them might be found. Carefully putting the four stragglers into a small crate to make it easier to carry them about, he headed towards where most of the cooking was happening for the group.

"I have a stupid question that requires an answer."

[motherfucking_ghost]

Church is not a super big fan of the dungeons. But there are those tears that need ripped open before they can be properly closed, and other people got to the nicer areas first. And dungeons are nasty here. They can't be cleaned out properly before the rifts are closed, so the dead bodies and skeletons and blood and rats and chains and all that good stuff is just going to have to wait.

Until these demons are dead and he uses his pain lasers to close up the rift. Great. Awesome. Cool. At least he's had a lot of practice fighting these demons by now, but it's an enclosed space with not a lot of room to maneuver, and while cells at first seem like a good place to hide, it's easy to get trapped in one. Church has his sword and the shield he can form from his anchor (pain shield) to help, and he's getting not-awful at fighting, but someone a lot better at this please come shank some demons thanks.

After it's said and done, he sits on a dusty box to rest, shaking out his sharded hand. "Fucking every time," he mutters to himself. Now it's time to clear out the awful shit in the dungeon. Awesome...

Party at the Docks

[eolasemah]

Being an herbalist, it took Sina exactly one trip into the Gallows to help with the Felandaris before her anchor spurted and laid her out for a day and a half, so for the safety of everyone involved she's at the Docks instead.
She hates the stone under her feet, the constant smell of smoke and metal and sulfur, the salty air, the sounds of rending and building and hammering: but she's never been one to sit by while others get the work done, so Sina has been doing what she can to offer comfort to the laborers, mending minor wounds and ailments through herbs and trace amounts of magic.

She can generally be found scurrying between workers, carrying water, cleaning a scrape, or just sitting collapsed and exhausted against an open wall, her little chest heaving with the effort of parsing all this extra stimulation. Her lungs aren't happy for it, that's for sure.

The Docks... Cleaning and Healing

[theexile]

Cleaning

Kattrin had basically let herself settle in to work at the docks since arriving. It had been a hard journey but she was Avvar and hard was something she was actually rather used to. It didn't bother her in the slightest to be helping to clean various locations. Particularly places that people of the Inquisition could live in. Since she'd heard more would be arriving she wanted to be sure that there would be space for them. Of course there were times when she got strange looks for being the Avvar woman to have suddenly arrived among the Inquisition so she didn't bother to speak with the natives. She doubted they would approve of anything she had to say anyway.

And as she worked a little fennec was following her around. He seemed to be curious about everything she did but would dodge out of the way before he could be stepped on. Or perhaps caught if someone thought he was going to be food. He wasn't, thank you very much.

She did notice when someone joined her in her work though and looked up with a tilt of her head to see if she was getting help or being told to move away.

Healing

Whether it was from the statues not that long ago or some incident while cleaning, there were probably some people who had been injured. She was there to offer some healing. For those not comfortable with her Avvar healing magic, she had plenty of herbs and potions that she'd created to help tend to injuries. It possibly helped that she didn't really ask questions about where an injury came from as well. She was there to help rather than to judge someone for how they ended up getting hurt.

And so it was easy enough to find her since it wasn't like people could help themselves about talking about the Avvar woman healing at the docks. Rumors spread fast, especially with how busy things were currently. Of course what also helped was the fact that plenty were sure to mention her pet fennec as well.

Though should anyone call the fennec with her a pet then she had words for them...

Anders | OTA

[justice_is_blond]

1. Herb gardens

Despite the location feeling that it's pressing in on him, working in the herb gardens is peaceful enough. Here he can pick and plant, and he almost looks calm. Almost. From time to time he sits up on his heels and looks around with a rather bleak expression, but thankfully Hero of Purrelden is nearby pouncing on things.

...and going after the bootlaces of unsuspecting passers-by. People joining him get a greeting, and anyone who looks lost get an offer to help figure out which plants need to be pulled out and which simply pruned.

2. Belongings

He's reverent here, as he goes through the rooms where mages were held. Anders has a notebook in hand as he searches for identifying info on the things, writing it down as he finds it. For a couple, he seems a little relieved and pleased. Others, far more, stressed. And once, just once, he freezes, grip tight around what he's found before he's tucked it into the pouch that Purrelden doesn't stay in.

3. Docks, manual labor

"If you could not stand there, I'm about to bring up a wall of earth."

He's on the edge of the dock, looking at gaps which need to be strengthened.

"The ground could tip a little and you really don't want to go into the water here. There's a few different bitey things."

For Teren:

After getting the letter, Anders had taken his time figuring out what he thinks and feels. She clearly doesn't expect him to want to continue their friendship, and after her last words to him, he'd had a few doubts. What she'd done... But she'd done something brave in writing the letter, and he can give her another chance.

Anders sets out to find her and after a bit of searching (no one seemed to know where she'd been hanging out,) takes a seat next to her.

"I've your letter," he says, "and I've a little patience left, I find. I also find a great many don't think me a decent person so you've company there. But there is one thing I need to be clear. If you ever use Nate to hurt me again, that is the final straw. If you can avoid that, we've still a shot at friendship, if you want it."

For Nate

Their assigned section of the dock warehouse is... workable. More or less. There's a bed, a chest for belongings, a chair, and a small box for sand for the cat. Anders really isn't enjoying communal living again, but at least there aren't ghosts, literal or figurative.

He's grabbed two plates and brought them to their corner, waiting for Nate to get back from a meeting with some city official. It probably hasn't been fun. Politics rarely are.

5. Wildcard

[Feel free to toss something up! If you want to run it by me first, I'm in Discord at Nadat#4647, or I'm on plurk at Nadat.]

Gardening and Cleaning

[arlathvhen]

Gardening

Ugh, Felandris. Demon weed, the elves named it, and for good reason. It's overabundance is just another reminder of the problems that surround the Gallows, and getting rid of them will be another sign that this place is slowly being healed. With that in mind, and thick leather gloves, Beleth begins the slow, careful process of pulling up the whole lot of it. A small spade is utilized to break up the soil around the plants--it makes sure that she can get the roots, and replanting other herbs will be easier.

Some of the felandris is set aside for her personal stock, another portion for the Inquisition supplies--after all, while it's not a particularly pleasant plant, it's an ingredient in plenty of poisons. And it's always good to be prepared.The rest are chopped up and put into a crate. Next to the crates are bags of soil, and occasionally Beleth will cover the chopped up felandris with a layer of the soil, before starting yet another layer of the herb. Composting the felandris is a great way to get rid of it all, and provide fertilizer for the new plants. Highly symbolic as well, in its own way.

Off to the side is Kolgrim Jr, who does not appreciate symbolic gardening, but does appreciate the hot stones of the courtyard, and is currently splayed out across them, napping peacefully. Beleth is careful not to disturb him, casually ducking around any small blasts of fire from him as he snores. It's tempting to just sic him on the garden, but--she's not sure what felandris does when burned. And she doesn't want to find out.

Cleaning

It's better than Skyhold in some ways, worse in others. Beleth once again makes use of her limberness and climbing abilities to scramble around the nooks and crannies of the Gallows, scooting up into hard-to-reach places to retrieve old birds nests, and whatever else has collected up there.

But not all of it is simple, or fun. At one point, Beleth wrenches open a particularly difficult to open door, only to discover several skeletons scattered across the room, settled over with a thick layer of dust.

It should probably be expected, and Beleth isn't exactly surprised by the skeletons, but she's still take off guard. For a while, she hovers at the entrance of the door, peeking in, then stepping back out, looking around the hallway. How is she supposed to move them? They're going to be burnt, right? Should she just shove them in a bag or something?? Is that respectful to the dead???

bellamy || demon fighting, room cleaning || OTA

[nonsibi]

RIFTS.
Bellamy is no mage. He is good at cooperating with mages, and giving backup support when it's needed. That's exactly what got him this far in life, and will probably keep him around a little longer.

When the veil strengthening efforts get underway, Bellamy is naturally on hand to lend support. He's especially essential when demons break through. Anyone beset upon by numbers too great to handle might get his assistance as he moves from fight to fight, not attached enough to anyone to stick with them. There's only a few people in the Inquisition he cares about, but he can't just run past people in real need.

That's why when two particular hefty rage demon tears their way out into some lonely dead-end courtyard space, Bellamy is there to deal a crosscut to the front of one of the freaks. His worn shield and scrappy armor don't give him away as a Templar, and his fighting style is a little too loose for that designation too. Encouraging, he calls out to whoever he's found to fight with:

"Not as bad as they look!"

It's kind of a lie. Case and point: the rage demon he's just struck roars and rears back to whap at him.

CLEANING.
Set to the task of clearing out abandoned belongings from the living quarters, Bellamy is having some serious flashbacks to Kaiten after his demotion. This is grimmer work, and gives him a feeling somewhere between grave-robbing and looting, but he goes about it with focus and determination and as little emotion as possible. He didn't know any of these mages. It doesn't really matter.

The Gallows are large enough that he's given a whole hallway to work on, pretty much alone. Armorless, weaponless save for his dagger, Bellamy works as quickly as he can, opening cupboards and wardrobes, and throwing whatever he finds out into the hallway. Soon there's a long pile of miscellaneous belongings stretched down the corridor. From the end of the corridor, the sight is a little comical. Anyone approaching will have to dodge mateless socks and worn books. There are a few coins winking in amid the junk. Bellamy treats them just the same as the rest of it: not his, and meaningless.

When he's worked about halfway down the hallway, he steps out of the room he's just cleaned out to survey the pile, a frown on his face. After a beat, he crouches, and starts sifting through the stuff before he comes up with a dusty book. He scratches his thumbnail against the cover but he doesn't open it--or stand back up again to keep working.

WHATEVER.
(You write me something.)