faderift | OPEN: Halamshiral

OPEN: Halamshiral

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: The Inquisition Does Orlais, Pt. 1: Masks, Charity, and Tension
WHEN: Solace 15 onward
WHERE: Halamshiral
NOTES: Please note that your character's conduct and actions in this log or in other private logs set in Orlais, if observable by the public, may influence local opinion of the Inquisition and/or the balance of power among Celene, Gaspard, and the elves.

It is a smaller force that the Inquisition sends to Halamshiral than has been sent in the past; not yet able to interfere directly in the civil war, and still attempting to determine what is happening in the Anderfels, the organization is moving in not as a military force but as a stabilizing one, with cautious cooperation from the Chantry and endorsements from several among the nobility who were suitably impressed by Madame de Fer's soiree in Skyhold, to assist with the local unrest while better assessing the political situation. What is known is that a leaderless and unstable Orlais is part of Corypheus' grand scheme. What is not known is… everything else.

I. THE ESTATE

Duc Hugues Pelletier is not himself in residence when the Inquisition arrives. He was here only yesterday, they will be told, but left on urgent business, leaving behind his welcome and best wishes for helping restore the Maker's peace to Orlais. (He fled on news of their approach, gossipy staff members will later reveal, overcome with nerves at the notion of residing under the same roof as the incomparable Seeker Pentaghast.)

The Inquisition has free use of the mansion--under the watchful eyes of the duke's house staff, who will step in to politely prevent any destruction of his property or excessive raiding of his wine cellar--with his library available as a work space for those who require desks, books, and quiet, and his study serving as a makeshift office for the Inquisition's highest ranking officers. The cook does his best to feed everyone. That still means porridge and stew for most (something he offers his apologies for, as well as his personal disdain, but with this number of mouths to feed it's a matter of practicality, surely you understand) but those who seem important or are particularly good at sucking up to him might be given something special.

Day use aside, there's not room in the building to house everyone. Only the high-ranking (which the duke's housekeeper interprets to mean leaders of the Inquisition, Orlesian nobles, and non-Fereldan nobles, in that order, and absolutely no non-humans) will be allowed guest rooms in the chateau itself, while the majority will still need to pitch tents on the expansive and well-manicured grounds to sleep in. But all are welcome in the chapel, the largest and most ornate wing of the house.

II. HIGH QUARTER

Dear Inquisition, imagine music--alive and market placey--and violins taking a break up in the air with non-threatening amblings and a wreath of tambourine just lightly jangled… Imagine the shuffle of slippers on well-kept cobblestones and the pleasant murmur of voices as servants negotiate prices for their masters, who stare opulent and bored stares over the wares spread out for their perusal and consideration. Deals are struck, coins exchange hands, wares are wrapped in crisp paper or bleach-white linen for transport, and taken away to their new homes.

Have you the coin to spend in this place? Then by all means: select a souvenir. Make sure you can actually pay, for the shopkeeps and stallhands do not take kindly to a deal broken, once it has been made. And do not even think about stealing. Looking is free, but hang around too long and someone might begin to get suspicious.

The polite thing to do is to wear a mask. A supply of simple ones is made available to the Inquisition, carved over one eye with the symbol--not enough for everyone to have one to keep as a souvenir, but plenty enough for anyone to borrow before venturing into the High Quarter.

It is inadvisable for elves or Qunari to wander the High Quarter alone, period, but particularly inadvisable for them to do so out of Inquisition armor or without human company, and orders to this effect will have been passed through the ranks. The Inquisition is not here to start any riots or revolutions, and prefers its agents intact and un-arrested. Should any venture there alone and in plainclothes despite this warning, they will find themselves at the very best the subject of points and stares and rude remarks, and denied service by any local merchants or taverns.

III. ELVEN DISTRICTS

Orlesian cities do not easily come by their reputation for opulence. At some point, streets must be cleaned, bricks must be brushed, marble must be buffed, and flowers must be tended. In fact, Comte Pierre has hinted that the Inquisition's generous offer of assistance might be of use in the elven district. Unique among major cities in Thedas, Halamshiral doesn't have an alienage--or, rather, most of the city is the alienage, populated by elves and elf-blooded humans who are kept out of the High Quarter rather than kept in their shabbier streets. There are taverns and shops and a market here, too--one with fewer silks and more bruises on the apples, but cheaper and kinder to those without rounded ears--and in many ways, in most places, it looks to provide a better and freer life for its inhabitants, who are not packed in quite so tightly or watched quite so constantly.

During the day, at least. There's still a curfew--one inapplicable to members of the Inquisition, if they're wearing their armor, but at night the streets empty save for the occasional dart of someone trying to make it home undetected by guards or Chevaliers. And at all hours there's an odd tension in the air, a combination of simmering resentment and pervasive defeat, the kind of feeling best encapsulated by quick, sullen glances up from an obediently bowed head.

If one needs evidence of the root of that tension, it isn't difficult to find. A large, unmissable area of the city, once the center of life there, has been burned down.

This is the area where the Inquisition's help is needed, according to Comte Pierre, who loves Halamshiral itself more than he cares for Celene, Gaspard, or the feelings of the local elves. It isn’t anything a lot of elbow grease can’t fix, but the state of these city streets is sorry indeed. Everything is streaked with ash that's been blown about and rained on but never cleaned. The few trees in the streets have been burnt black, and their bare limbs twist up toward the sky like desperate claws. The houses, the little market stall tucked into the corner of the main square--even the grass growing up between the cobblestones--everything has been burned. The bodies were collected, but you may still find a fingerbone or teeth knocked loose in the battle among the cobblestones or old rust-brown blood stains on wood. Gaunt windows stare down at you, watching your every move.

There are supplies waiting. But the work is mostly conducted alone. The elves, what little are still hanging around, keep to themselves as they pass by. Some may even look to resent the progress being made there, though they know better than to say why. The upstanding citizens of Halamshiral don’t seem inclined to come down this way, or even make casual use of the nearby alleyways.

A woman, selling worn steel scrap some streets over, is happy to tell you why, whether or not you ask her. The elves deserve what they got. They should have kept their heads down, just like everyone else. Even before the fire, she says, no one much wanted to hang around down there, on account of the crime. A notorious band of thieves were hidden among the elves of the alienage, a group of rough elves known for stealing anything from anybody. She’ll warn you to keep any valuables close while you’re working down there: “Poor souls need the help, but you can’t let yourself be robbed while you’re fixing their problems.”

It’s hard, perhaps, to imagine what she means. The destroyed blocks, as you work them, will be largely deserted. An eerie calm hangs over the place, almost as if the secluded wreck has become unmoored from the city proper and drifted away across a still and dead river.

IV. THE COUNTRYSIDE

All the wealth of Orlais can’t save them from some of the more common problems around these days. Even in the country, the tension of the city is palpable, like a current that runs through the air.

Of these tensions and worries, first and foremost are the rifts, a threat that plagues the outskirts of Hamalamadingdong far worse than the central spaces. Demons of varying strength can be found wandering and unless they are stopped, they will become a worse threat.

Whatever your political leanings, you have been asked to protect the people of Orlais. One small cluster of homes in particular has been complaining most bitterly about this threat. Worried and harried by demons, they have finally made themselves heard enough, and the Inquisition has dispatched aid. But as you arrive, you and your party will find the homes to be quiet. A little… too quiet.

The roar of a demon soon puts an end to that, and a chorus of screams follows.

Elsewhere, you may notice part of Orlais’ defensive problem: there are no brave young men to step in and fight off demons. In the High Quarter, a few callow young noblemen lounge around sipping from goblets of wine and laughing at their own jokes, but every able-bodied soldier who's not found some way out (or publicly refused to care, at their own risk) is presently occupied with the War of the Lions. Of those who remain, the young are very young and the old are very old.

Even among the gentle country gentlemen and their ladies, elves and Qunari will find themselves to be points of interest. No attacks are likely, but expect to weather gossip, whispered comments, and frank open stares. No one is foolish enough to turn down aid, but they can still be wary of these… others among them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I. The Estate

He's rarely here, but when he is, he's just outside one of the tents with a book borrowed from the library, stew cooling nearby with Purrelden more than likely sticking nose or paw into it. What he can glean from these texts he's not sure, but this may be his only chance to read here and he's going to take it.

Most of the texts are political in nature; he needs a crash course in them, as much as he can get. And most of the expressions on his face are frowns as he tries to follow names and history. Anders could most definitely use a hand.

II. High Quarter

He doesn't have much in the way of coin, which means his browsing is cursory. All the same, it's satisfying to be able to browse with a staff on his back and know he's not going to be turned away because he's a mage. That doesn't mean he's stupid. Every time he leaves the estate, he has one of the half-masks on.

Still, despite his lack of funds, Anders does stop to touch a few of the finer coats and prettier hats. From time to time he'll even ask about price, or the make of something, but as he's fairly certain few people want to exchange healing potions for their merchandise, Anders moves on before too long.

III. Elven Districts

His movements here are stiff, stilted, despite how thoroughly he works his magic into the ground to smooth the cobblestones and level the road. Anders is angry. Purrelden, playing with some of the burnt grass, doesn't help. His people are free and getting their tiny chance to prove themselves, but still another group is expected to keep their heads down? And then there's the guilt. If he hadn't carried Justice for so long, would he even care? How much of this is him, and how much is residual?

He doesn't know, and that frustration only helps to make his expression severe. This is where about half of his time is spent, working on road and structures, kneeling every now and then to patiently try urging something half-dead back to life. All he can do is hope that the restoration of the area gives the elves hope. For what, he doesn't know.

IV. The Countryside

"Oh. Of course." It's not going to be an easy job of cleaning up a few demons and healing people. No, of course they're late. Are there even any survivors? Anders might be starting to understand why people hate Orlais.

"Right." He drops off his horse and puts barriers up, already looking for the source of the roar. "Someone play the big strong muscle so I can hide behind you and keep the both of us intact while we take that thing down?"

V. Wildcard

[[ooc: hit me up on plurk or Discord, suggest something, and let's play!]]

The horror of what has happened here hits Kallian deeply, and though she says very little about her thoughts, her anger and outrage is etched through her posture, her movements. She works diligently, but quietly.

Wiping a bit of grime from her face, she turns to Anders.
"Can you help me move this?" she asks, indicating a chunk of stone that will later be used for paving work.

He looks over at her, a little startled. It's not like he'd forgotten she was there, but he'd been so lost in his thoughts... Anders nods, glancing over to make sure Purrelden is still fine before coming over.

"Of course. We can cast together to start rolling it to the right place? Or are you asking for help actually lifting it? We might need someone twice my size for that."

She hesitates.
"Do you think it's safe to use magic? Maybe... maybe just a little air cushion under it to slide it into the correct place..." she muses.

"Careful, Purrelden. You don't want to be too close. I wouldn't want your tail or paws in the way," she says, gently nudging the cat to the side.

Anders | OTA

Elven Districts

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High Quarter

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III

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I. Estate

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iv countryside

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I The Estate

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III

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High Quarter

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