faderift | [CLOSED] For the world's more full of weeping,

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[CLOSED] For the world's more full of weeping,

WHO: Sina, Kit, Myr; later: Yngvi, Herian, Kaisa, Nari
WHAT: Something's not right about a warehouse down by the docks...
WHEN: Mid-Kingsway, while the rest of the Inquisition's off playing Hello Kitty Island Adventure
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Warnings for child abuse and abandonment, implied violent death.

There's a warehouse down near the Kirkwall docks with a mystery crouched inside it.

Myr had smelled it first on passing by the place: Decomposing meat, spilled bowels, rotting corpse. Something wrong, even in the bad parts of Kirkwall; something that demands investigation.

He'd left a glyph nearby to remind him of the place, returned the following evening to hunt around for the source of the smell. It wasn't so hard to isolate it to the one particular warehouse, not with the mephitic funk of recent death oozing from the back windows. Lingering long enough to place another marker, he caught the faintest high-pitched wail--and had to flee back to the road to evade the warehouse's inattentive guardian before he could make certain of what he'd heard.

Quiet inquiries made of passers-by didn't serve to unravel the mystery. Not many of them were inclined to speak to an elf--but the scraps he could garner were food for suspicion. It was empty; someone's cousin-or-other had heard it was up for sale; the single guard's posted to keep away squatters; no one knows or cares what had been stored there before.

A tidy story. A dull story. A story that doesn't explain the stench or the sound. Someone needs to dig further into it; how convenient that someone's here to dig.

It isn't the first time Myr's acted on mad impulse since coming to Kirkwall; it is the first time he's hesitated long enough to question if it's safe for him to do this alone. Elves are disappearing from the city and none of the authorities care. What's one more killed for nosing around somewhere he doesn't belong, even if--especially if--he's a mage? It wouldn't be hard to walk away from this. No matter the itching sense of urgency in the back of his head, he could walk back to the docks and hand this over to the Inquisition guard there. It would be the safe option.

The wind shifts, bringing with it the scent of rot. You don't have that kind of time. He clasps the sending crystal at his neck, awakening the enchantment and thinking of Kit and Sina.

"Have you two got time to come to the docks? I've turned up something down here I don't like." His description of his find is quick and to the point and doesn't neglect that heart-chilling, half-imagined cry.

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Kit makes a call.

With that done, he does what he can to help Sina and Myr remove the rest of the children--babies, they truly are just babies--out of the cage they've been confined to like livestock, his heart seizing so powerfully in his chest at the sight of their abuse and neglect that he doesn't trust himself to speak. Once they're free, the risks touching the blanket that was stowed away with them and uses that to cover the fallen body of the slave.

It feels wrong, somehow, to leave him without saying something over his body. "Atrast nal tunsha." May you always find your way in the dark.

"I'm going to wait outside for the others," he says to Myr and Sina, looking between them with undisguised worry on his face. "Will you two be all right?"

Generally Yngvi never takes long to get anywhere in Kirkwall unless taking long to get there is the done thing to be doing but he bowls over more than a few folk clattering his way out of the gallows with as many pelts possible stuffed into the keg nugs once drew from Orlais to Skyhold.

Tonight Yngvi drags it behind him with a length of rope because that'll do, the backs of his legs battered enough they'll bruise come the day after but he pays no heed to that.

Of course it's the docks, he should've-- He missed something didn't he? And his heart pounding isn't entirely from the desperate flight here, the haphazard packing, the lurching out of lazing with a book in his hand and nugs nosing around him but that sickening panic that he can smell on himself, sour as three day old sweat when there isn't even a stream for miles.

So an odd sight racing through Kirkwall to get to Kit and the rest (only knowing Kit but he would've come, some things you don't care about the faces asking you after all) screeching to a halt right outside, chest heaving like a bellows.

No one would accuse Kaisa of being particularly fast, but she's big and she's wearing heavy armor, so she manages to make a decent pace through Kirkwall in the same way a steamroller might. People who're smart get out of the way when they see a grimly determined Grey Warden warrior moving like a woman on a mission. People who aren't smart are forcibly relocated.

She's no elf, but she has them in her blood all the same. A childhood spent making trips to the alienage, a career of defending the weak started by rumbling with human kids who liked picking on kids smaller than them. This is different, worse, but Kaisa's still here, and still helping. She doesn't bring a lot with her besides her gear, just a handful of food, and...candy. Probably stupid, but sometimes a little bit of sweetness can make things a little brighter. It certainly sounds like it can't get much worse.

And so she shows up to the front of the warehouse, looking as gloomy and serious as Wardens are supposed to look. She takes a moment to glance at the dwarf already there--she's seen him before, hasn't she? Asher's crew--and gives him a quick nod. She'd usually be a lot chattier, but--not a lot to say, right now.

And here's Herian, all dark robes and that strange mix of restraint and wildness that seems to infiltrate how she moves all the more when there is urgency to it.

She has not summoned her Spirit Blade, but the hilt is close to hand, and her staff is at her back. Not for the first time, she feels a knot in her gut that she is all damage and no healing. All manner of memories come to mind: that possessed child and the red lyrium experiments in Emprise du Lion, the camp with Pel and Sina, the Dalish who had taken her father, the burned remains of the alienage in Halamshiral, the dust and collapse and death in the Spire. Her stomach twists, but she remains as controlled as always. They've all of them seen terrible things, there surely was not a single person in the Inquisition untouched, and perhaps not the Free Marches or Orlais or Thedas entire, but Maker she wishes that it did not so often involve children.

A respectful nod to each of them. She cannot think that she has worked with any of them before, but she was away a long while.
"Who else do we wait upon?" Her voice is quiet, but clear.

"Go; we'll--" The words be all right stick in Myr's throat--and how could they not when he's got a baby in his arms that's little more than bones and a thready pulse? "--we'll manage here."

He's hardly the one who needs worrying about, anyway, though he's sick at heart and shivering from the cold. (It seemed a far better use of his cloak to give it to Sina and the other children.) That's nothing; that's forgettable.

"Don't think they'll be long, at least," he adds, in a murmur. Maker grant them haste; Andraste clear their way.

An elf-shaped shadow detaches itself from a darker place along the docks moving with a fluid ground-eating stride. Nahariel is all business, raising a hand briefly in greeting to the others assembled as she gets close enough to discern, an extra nod for Kit. She has a sturdy pack over one shoulder with a blanket rolled and bound beneath it, and her green eyes shimmer oddly in the low-light as elven eyes are wont to do.

"Sina?" she queries, her tone asking for direction.

"Who else do we wait upon?"

"You're it." The dwarf that waits for them outside the warehouse is standing slightly off to the side of the mouth of a dark alleyway, his eyes turned down it with a strange look on his face. Slumped to the ground is a guard, who is bound and gagged and unconscious. "He was guarding them," he explains to the others once they've arrived, and turns to look from face to face at last. Whatever he saw inside the warehouse, it's deeply affected him.

"Sina?" Nari asks.

"She's still inside," Kit replies. Then, as though to brace them all for what they're about to see, he says, "They're all still inside. The children, the--" A pause. "--The body."

Sina is indeed inside, with the four remaining children that couldn't be carried by Myr, already holding one, and Kit, who had the guard. Not wanting to move them without giving them somewhere to go, Sina has curled among them inside the cage, sitting with the two smallest bundled together in her shawl and pressed against her chest for warmth. The other two lean against her, one feebly gripping her tunic and the other simply sitting, staring, with no drive for self-preservation. All the children are skin and bone, horrid-looking little creatures that seem to embody every cruelty acted upon them.

Sina doesn't move from where she sits when everyone enters, though she is visibly relieved by the sight of Nari and, surprisingly, Herian. She says nothing as they approach, all out of voice or energy to do anything but exist and hold the little ones. It's too much.

Edited 2017-09-21 06:52 (UTC)

Last time he'd been in the keg, everything had fitted in fine but he'd been packing carefully instead of what he'd had to do so there's a lot of rummaging to haul them out which generally ends with him tossing pelts roughly in the direction of the rest. If they want one for wrapping around small bodies they can have one but clearing room is more important. Maybe he should've brought one of the nugs, something small and warm to hold, reassuring in that way only the most harmless of things can be.

Kaisa he recognises well enough too and she should know Asher's handiwork when she sees it.

"I was down here," he says quietly, creeping in and the wheels of the keg-chariot don't screech fortunately. "We pad this out we can fit some in here and tuck them in all snug, bitter for little'uns?" They're all taller than him, it's a lot of craning up to check in, see what they think about getting one or two in at least because at least they might be warm and together, he remembers that much from his own childhood.

If it were a more cheerful occasion, she might have snorted at the pelts, recalling those goofy slankets that she liked so much. But right now, it's just another reminder of the terrible state of the world, that takes things that have no right leaving. Her gaze dwells on the pelts, but she tears her eyes away to look at the others, and then Kit.

"I still don't like that there's only one guard." She voices the worry that she told Kit in the crystal conversation. "But I'll keep an eye out." Truthfully, she almost wishes that more guards appear, just enough that Kaisa can take out some of the anger curdling like old milk in her stomach.

"What's the body? Is it an enemy, or--" She can't finish the sentence. She's seen children's bodies before, it's not like the darkspawn care who they kill. But it's something you never get used to. It's something Kaisa never wants to get used to.

Herian doesn't speak much, just listens - she nods at the suggestion regarding the little keg, offers a faint smile that is all the fainter for the circumstances and her being Herian, but perhaps it still offers some encouragement and approval for the proposed idea, and tosses a pelt over her shoulder. Who knows the state of the children, exactly, but it might help.

Kaisa raises an excellent point.
"Wise words, Warden." It does seem suspicious, but all told, Herian is a better fighter than tactician.

"Have there been any traps? We must move the children out with all haste," she doubts there's anyone here who'd disagree, "but if there are any clues for the Inquisition, perhaps one or two of us might linger after to find what we can."

With little fanfare, Nari acknowledged Kit's direction and strode inside to find Sina. Upon seeing the young First crouched on the ground, and with the whiff of death curling in her nostrils, her face cascades through a fierce protectiveness, relief at Sina's apparent safety, horror and rage as she identifies the pitiful bundle in Sina's arms, and finally shutters to a cold stone.

Which immediately cycles back to fierce protection as she sees the rest of the children.

"I brought a blanket," she says, crouching down next to Sina, "And some cheese and bread, but that's going to be far too much for them right now. Do you want me to stay and help you move them, or to run ahead to the healers and have them warm up some honeyed milk and broth?

"Oh, and--" she reaches into a pouch and produces a waxed cloth, unwrapping it to reveal a bar of oats, nuts, and dried fruit pressed together with honey. "--since you like overextending yourself," she says with a quick thin smile.

The work of removing the children from the cage and placing them in the chariot is gentle work; it's no less heartbreaking to see them in the state that they are in, but putting furs and blankets around them to keep them warm feels like it does something, however fleeting, to soothe the wounds that this is nevertheless inflicting on the rescuers as a group.

That still leaves the task of dealing with the guard and... seeing... to the remains of the slave, who still lays covered by a blanket inside the warehouse.

"Should we split up?" he suggests to the gathered group, looking from face to face. "Some of us focus on getting these kids somewhere safe--to the Gallows for now, I think, just temporarily. Until--" He's about to say, until their parents can be found, then thinks better of it.

"That might be best--Maker knows there's room enough to shelter them in the Gallows." Devoid of its usual undertone of cheer, Myr's voice is clinical and quiet. If he simply bundles up all the horror, all the outrage, for later... "And it's less conspicuous if we're not all together." Not that he knows much from experience--but he can infer that even in Lowtown, a group such as theirs might strike people as strange. Memorable.

And whoever did this is bound to come asking around, once it comes clear the warehouse has been raided. Thinking of which-- "Herian," he tips his face toward where he last marked the other mage standing, "I've a thought for the body I'd like your help with."

Edited 2017-09-29 02:13 (UTC)

Sina doesn't leave the cage until each of the children has been taken, then crawls out after to slump against Nari, weighed down by the sheer awfulness of it. She takes the bar, but can't bring herself to eat when that smell is still everywhere.
It's not until they're in the chariot that she nibbles at it, noting with desolation that, although she'd be happy to share, it's doubtful the children are even able to eat solid foods yet.
"We'll keep them safe," she whispers to Kit, her expression downcast. "I'll contact Saoirse about finding their families." She knows the alienage well.

Busying himself with making sure the keg isn't going to tip any of the small bodies out of it, a slow push to see how any of them react with one hand steadying the back of the littlest one when they startle, he knows he'll need someone to pull. If he's feeling guilty maybe the awfulness of it all hides it. That he feels like he's missed something. Missing elves. Children in cages. All of it involving the docks. He feels sick. Still, he tries smiling because kids pick up on stuff. He remembers things hazily from when he was little that he probably shouldn't.

Things not so far from this in flavour.

"Can someone pull the front end of this and I can push at the back, it's the only way we'll keep it steady. I've got an empty room at the Gallows for them to bed for now at least, I don't use it for more than the odd night," he offers as he straightens up again, still with a hand outstretched to the children. I'm not going anywhere, he hopes they get that.

Kaisa helps, though it's not as though they need her strength. They're so damn small, too small, too skinny, too light. But she helps anyway, and offers the children the little bit of candy she'd managed to grab in her rush to leave--mostly just bits of string dipped in various flavors, easy enough for even weak things like they are to chew on, she figures. Maybe it'll help. Maybe she's just trying to ease herself.

The two tasks are put on the table, and Kaisa's first instinct is to offer to help take care of the body. The others here have already seen too much of it, and she'd rather have to deal with it, than make them spend any more time around it. But then she looks at Yngvi's keg, and glances around at the others around her. The keg is lighter than it should be, but that doesn't mean it's light.

"I can help pull it," She offers. She's pretty sure that's the right decision, to help do something that'll be easier for her than the others.

She's operated much of the time in silence - fairly typical, really, though if it's possible for silence to somehow be amplified then that's the sort of silence that Herian is in. It is easier to allow others to discuss the tactics in this matter; she is still learning Kirkwall's ins and outs, and they are far better qualified to judge what course of action would be best taken, in this.

At Myr's request she pauses, almost does little else beside nodding, before she realises the error. "Of course, Myrobalan. I will do whatever I can."

Edited 2017-10-02 21:20 (UTC)

Seeing Sina's looks between the bar and the children, and Kaisa's willingness to pull the cart - which is a strength she's willing to trust, given that Kaisa's the kind of person who'd show up here, and for elves - Nari makes her choice.

"I'll go on ahead then. By the time you get back I'll have some milk with a touch of honey warmed up for them." She looks over at Yngvi, who'd volunteered his rooms. "Where should I meet you?"

Edited 2017-10-03 03:06 (UTC)

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[CLOSED] For the world's more full of weeping,

waiting for reinforcements

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skipping ahead a bit

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