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

[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..."

[paladingus]

Simon's never been one to shy away from jokes about Ferelden being the dog shit capital of the world, but he's awfully fond of dogs when his Marcher patriotism isn't on the line. Perhaps the poodle can't get rid of the creepy lyrium voices, but haunting is at least partly a frame of mind, and she is a welcome distraction from it. He reaches down to scritch her ears, murmuring some baby talk in greeting, which he promptly cuts off as Malcolm comes into view.

"Lost?" His tone is ever so slightly shorter than it ought to be, but he's still new enough to the Inquisition that he often relies on visible signs of rank to know whom he's meant to defer to, and without his armor, Malcolm doesn't immediately register. "I lived in this dump for years; I should hope I know better than to get lost in it."

It certainly doesn't look a thing like it did back then, of course, but he still knows where in it he is, his fit of ghost-provoked pique notwithstanding. He rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish hand. "Suppose I wasn't being quite fair to the others. It's nothing to do with them. But I could swear my things keep getting moved around..."

[tactical_alert]

She is happiest when she's got attention from new people, or any people, but all business when given orders. Kind of like her master! Except that he doesn't generally get super happy with a lot of attention. Anyway.

There are too many people to fully keep track of in the Inquisition aside from names, and generally that's for the sake of those whose job it is to dole out payments or assignments. His expression softens just a fraction. "Ah." He at least knows better than to ask any stupid questions about his time in Kirkwall, re: was he there when the Champion was, what did he see, etc. "My apologies. Plenty of people who haven't been here before are getting lost or turned around, or getting that way due to hauntings."

In another universe, he would've scoffed or said the word with some disdain. But ghosts and unruly spirits where the veil is thin are known, a real thing. Not always common, but documented in their own way. "Could be someone unsettled moving your things. I wouldn't generally recommend going anyone on ones own."

He says, alone but for a dog.

[paladingus]

Beneficial though it might be for his street cred, Simon is grateful never to have crossed paths with the Champion, if only because it would have necessitated being there for the events that made her the Champion. It's just as well, really, that he was in Ansburg for it all. He'd feel a bit like an impostor if Malcolm did ask him the sort of questions a real veteran of Kirkwall's troubles should be answering, but still, his relatively brief tenure in the Gallows had been disturbing enough.

And the ghosts don't intend to let him forget it, either. Simon likes to think of himself as a practical man, but it has never occurred to him to disbelieve in the existence of ghosts--or if not ghosts exactly, then certainly malevolent insubstantial entities capable of doing some hardcore haunting when they're pissed off. It's easier than blaming it on humans, to him.

"I'd rather it be people than ghosts," he says, "but who here is as unsettled as all that? I know we're a bit of a motley bunch at the moment, but I haven't met anyone yet who'd go in for stupid pranks."

[tactical_alert]

To be fair, he'd at least been around in the aftermath, and by aftermath meaning following Cassandra around on her quest to interrogate everyone even remotely connected find the Champion and the Warden. It had been even less pretty then, and while Kirkwall is never the kind of city you would ever catch anyone using the adjective 'pretty' for, it's at least better now. Improved. Somewhat.

"You'd be surprised," Malcolm drawls with a knowing look. There are definitely pranksters among the Inquisition's motley bunch. "Best to assume ghosts for the moment, for safety's sake. Nobody but the foolish have probably been down here in years. We can keep you company and help out if you'd like." Not 'if you need', because he doesn't know what kind of pride this man holds yet, but the offer is there.

[paladingus]

Simon would rather not be surprised by Inquisition pranksters, if it's all the same, because he is mortally allergic to fun in all its forms, which is why he will probably be the first to get pelted with cookies when the revolution comes, but that is neither here nor there.

"No, really, that's--" The refusal is reflexive, because he is usually far too prideful for his own good. But the wiser, quieter voice in the back of his mind points out that the ghostly voices have faded since Malcolm and the dog arrived, and if their presence can keep it that way, it's worth a little bit of a blow to his ego. And even if the spirits do return--well, at least he'll know he isn't crazy.

"--well, maybe." He casts another glance at the rust bleeding down the walls, and suppresses a shudder. "It'll go faster with two, after all. Or three, depending on what your lass here can do." He gives the poodle a little smile. Not that he'd actually want to inflict red lyrium on an innocent pooch, of course, but he's trying to be better at the humor thing.

[tactical_alert]

Simon might still be crazy, but it won't be because of hearing voices, anyway. "Milady here can do quite a bit. I don't know if she'd fare well in a fight against spirits, but we can always give it a go if push comes to shove, can't we?" Doggy dogger needs a petting yes she does.

"In the meantime, I'd be happy to help." He looks about to get to it, then rolls his eyes heavenward. "One day I'll learn to not be so mindlessly rude and perhaps introduce myself first. Malcolm Reed," he finally greets properly with an extended hand. "Seeker," he adds. Because it's...worth knowing, especially for a Templar.

[paladingus]

Yes, yes indeed it is. Mortification blossoms slowly on Simon's face, as he straightens his spine and erases any lingering traces of insolence from his features. What a first impression to make on someone he's got to answer to--all right, maybe he couldn't have known, without any visible signs of rank, but he might have asked.

He shakes the proffered hand with a firm, contrite grip. "Ser Simon Ashlock, late of Ansburg. There's, ah, nothing to apologize for." It'll teach Simon to think harder before he snaps, anyway, but he'd rather not acknowledge that aloud. "So you're--you work with Lady Pentaghast, then?" The title he appends to her name is a commoner's unconscious reflex. His hero-admiration of Seeker-kind in general is entirely sincere.

[tactical_alert]

It's honestly kind of funny, but he keeps that amusement private. Sure, relations with Templars in general tend to be strained, but he doesn't actually seek to harm them in any way. "Quite. Seeker Aleron Darton should be around somewhere as well, though he is, of late, busy with personal matters." If he has any objection to the use of 'Lady' for someone he fucks up and calls 'Lady Seeker' so often, he certainly doesn't say.

(Who knows if any of the rest of them are even still alive? And if they are, they've defected. She might as well be their leader, though she'll have none of it.)

"You needn't be so embarrassed, Ser Ashlock. I see little reason to wear my symbol around when so hard at work with the rest of the people. We are all Inquisition here. Even Cassandra." Perhaps that's a mild bit of pride poking through, the idea of 'I can say her first name because we work together and are friends', though that isn't the whole intent.