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

James rubs the mabari's - Garahel's - ears with a good long scratch in between. He knew Interceptor liked that, so might as well try it on another mabari. Interceptor, in the meantime, was absolutely ecstatic. He went from Inessa, over to Garahel, then bounced at James's feet before starting the circle all over again.

"His name is Interceptor -- because he's fast as all get out." James looked over with amusement, "And look out, he likes to ram things."

That amount of puppy enthusiasm is just the right antidote for their surroundings, and has Inessa smiling more than she has all day. She braces herself for Interceptor's return, all the while darting an approving look at his owner. "A fine name. Mabari ought to have dignified ones, given their valiant nature." The names she's heard from people who forget that and want something more equivalent for a spoiled lapdog make her twitch.

Glancing down at Interceptor, she grins. "You'll have to do better if you want to knock me over. That big bundle of nonsense over there has kept me on my toes enough with that." Really, he's a big mabari and she's a small elf; if he wants her on the ground, it will happen. Only his training keeps him in check...usually.

Said 'big bundle of nonsense' is rumbling happily at the attention, looking up at James as though he's the best thing ever. Best human, at least. He doesn't often get to spend time with puppies, so Interceptor will get licked and nuzzled whenever he returns.

"I couldn't agree more. He's going to be a beloved pet, but he's also going to be a wardog." James smiled slowly, looking over at Interceptor as he goes and sniffs at his hand, then licks it to demand his pets. After getting his pets, he runs back to Surena again, licking her hands and wiggling under his touch.

He smiled once more, before turning his attention back to Gaharel. "You are a fine fellow. I hope Interceptor follows you in your big footsteps."

Inessa pats the ground. "Do you want belly rubs, Interceptor? You don't have to be a war dog right now." Besides, some of the local children are observing, and as far as she can tell it's doing them good to be distracted from all the tension in the area.

Garahel straightens and barks, looking all sorts of proud at that compliment. That tail is definitely doing overtime. "I'm not certain if he's more pleased about being a role model or having a little one to play with. Perhaps both." She tilts her head upward, looking at the Templar thoughtfully. "I know his name, but what of yours? I'm Inessa, one of the newer Wardens to arrive from the Western Approach."

Interceptor clearly wanted belly rubs and he was wiggling his stubby little tail at getting them, so the elf children could giggle all they wanted. They could also come forward and give belly rubs, he'd be fine with that.

"Well, sometimes that's all it takes." He rubbed Garahel with one hand, before offering the other to the young elven woman. "Ser James Norrington, a pleasure serah."

Vigorous belly-rubbing, it is. Seeing another elf enjoy the company of mabari probably helps, as some of the elf children begin to shed their caution and join them. If she's near a human and not fearing for her life, it must be okay. As Garahel plops down by Interceptor, whose adorableness is reaching critical levels, Inessa smiles and meets his hand with her own much smaller one.

"Likewise. I'm glad to see others take an interest in the areas outside the High Quarter. It's desperately needed, as you can see. I can't imagine many will voice their gratitude, wary as they are, but as a former alienage elf, I appreciate it nonetheless."

He nodded his head in greeting, before he snorted softly. "Well, whatever we can do ... it won't be enough for these poor souls. I can just pray that some of the locals start feeling the call of the Maker once more, and help these people as they ought."

He looks over at the young children, lowering his voice, taking on a quieter tone, "Would you like to pet him? Or rather, them? Come on, come closer. It's all right."

"No, it won't be enough. But I suspect it will be all they have." It would be nice if the local elite would focus on more than their civil war and Grand Game, but Inessa doubts it, and her expression says as much. If there's one thing she can still recall from alienage life, it's that you never go wrong betting on the contempt -or apathy- of the elite towards those beneath them. With the children approaching, she'll hold off from such grim talk, at least for the moment. She stands and smiles at the children to reassure them, and any watchful adult gazes nearby.

"It's true, they're both well-behaved. Interceptor needs more belly rubs. Perhaps you can help? ...and Garahel as well. I know he's large, but he's very gentle."

"Garahel? Like the Grey Warden hero?" Because of course every city elf child alive knows of him by now, he's been a firm role model since the Fourth Blight. Inessa's smile widens a touch, glad that some things never change. "Yes, like him."

"Then we shall have to make sure we make the ends meet ... a little more than usual." Is James's firm reply, before he put Interceptor into one little elven girl's arms. The puppy immediately proceeded to give the girl's face a bath, and anyone who got close enough to pet him got the same treatment.

"What's your Mabari named for? A human warrior?" Asked one boy, tipping his head.

"No-o. He's named after a character trait -- mostly that he is one of the fastest mabari I have ever seen, even as a puppy. He runs like the wind."

Inessa watches fondly as Garahel gets his dearest wish of belly rubs. He's in heaven right now, though doesn't wiggle too much so as not to dislodge those wonderful hands. She chuckles softly, turning her attention to the pup's antics. "That I don't doubt in the slightest. Mabari can be very fast, especially their young. Garahel was just the same when he was that size, which wasn't that long ago. So he's really an overgrown puppy."

Garahel huffs happily, not caring that she's talking about him right now because BELLY RUBS.

"Ooooooh..." Comes the chorus from the elven children, and with that, the questions, "Do they eat normal food? Can they talk? How smart are they really? Could they do my adding homework that my papa gives me?"

James grinned at all of that, before a curious look came over his face. He answered each question first, then let them play with a puppy before he leaned over to ask Inessa in a whisper, "Do they not have a school?"

A good question, and one that Inessa struggles to answer. She was taken to the Circle before she was old enough to require schooling of the conventional sort. What did Denerim have? It's not a question she could answer. "They might not. It could have been among the buildings destroyed. Or the parents still fear the tension and wish to keep their children close." Now that he's asked, that concern lingers in her mind and she'll make a mental note to ask around later.

"And no, they won't do your homework for you. They're very smart, able to follow complex commands, but that notion will remain a fantasy. Now, if you want someone to play fetch with or defend you, you couldn't ask for a better companion."

He frowns as well, as he murmurs back quietly, "If you can ask ... we can see what we can do if that is an issue."

Every child should have the chance of an education - even if it was simply reading and writing. He smiles at the children again, "They're very loyal as well -- these two will be our friends for ever after."

Inessa nods in agreement, knowing that other priorities might need attention first. Even so, having grown up in the Circle, she knows the value of an education. If there's a chance for these children to have even an echo of what she did, they ought to make it happen. "I'll ask around, discreetly. They might talk to me, we'll see."

She makes no promises, not when her armor and weapon and animal companion mark her as a 'flat-ear' before she even opens her mouth. But she doesn't focus on that for now, instead smiling at the two mabari and their fans. "That's right. The mabari chose us, not the other way around. They have good instincts, and that helps them decide who they'd be compatible with."

He nodded in turn, knowing that a Warden from such places would know best who to speak with. If nothing else, it could be a small step forward in helping these people. Even if only a few took the chance to take to schooling ... well. Look how far Briala had gotten, after all.

The parents of the children were slowly relaxing, as the children 'ooooohed' at Inessa's answer, and one girl piped up, "So anyone could have a mabari?"

She was looking at Inessa's ears, touching one of her own. Norrington stated simply, "Absolutel. Mabari are wiser than humans, and see the value of the soul, the true measure of the person they are bonding with. Mabaris are, I think, the truest judge of character."

That one girl provokes a soft smile from Inessa, who nods in agreement with Norrington's statement. "Exactly. You don't have to be a Fereldan to have one as a companion, either. Mabari may be best-known there, but they'll be loyal to those loyal to them, regardless of origin. Isn't that right, Garahel?"

Garahel huffs in agreement, though is too busy enjoying belly rubs to offer more of a response than that. He wiggles happily, thrilled with being the center of attention for a few young elves.

Norrington smirked at that, before he nodded his head. "I'm from the Free Marches, myself, so that just proves it. They'll even let us odd Marchers have one."

Interceptor barked his enjoyment, before he started licking faces again, giving everyone kisses and making the children giggle again.

"Ah, so I was right about the accent." Aw, Interceptor. He gets licks from Garahel, too, just because puppies deserve all the affection from protective older dogs. Inessa won't interfere with the children's enjoyment, so she'll refrain from petting them both right now.

"What about the Orlais nobles? Could they have them, too?" There's a soft hush at those resentful words, towards the elite who get already get everything at their expense. Inessa pauses and chooses her words carefully. "It's less likely. They wouldn't want to emulate 'dog lords', after all. But their loss is our gain, hm? More mabari to go around for those who appreciate them."

Edited 2016-08-10 17:37 (UTC)

"You were absolutely correct about the accent." James answered, deadpan. Honestly it was hard to imagine himself without this accent anyways.

James glanced over at Inessa, then drawled out in true Marcher fashion, "And I think we all know that Orlesian nobles only like something that looks good with feathers on it. Garahel and Interceptor would look fairly silly with feathers sticking out of their collars, hm?"

Interceptor barks, then makes a face, shaking his little furry head.

That first response gets a smug grin from Inessa, as she hasn't visited the Free Marchers herself but has heard the accent before from travelers. And seeing Garahel respond to that comment with a sour look at James and a huff, she chuckles. "I believe Garahel agrees with Interceptor. He much prefers kaddis instead. That's a special warpaint used by mabari handlers so that the mabari can tell allies from enemies in the thick of battle. Different kinds protect them in different ways."

She nods to James after seeing her mabari mollified by ear-rubbings. "If you would like, I can show you how to make and apply it. It's not difficult, once you get used to it." And Interceptor will have plenty of time to grow into the practice, too.

The children giggled at the dogs, and the adults smirked back at James and Inessa. "That's right. Interceptor is too small now, for kaddis, but when he grows up big and strong, like Gaharel, I shall find a special kaddis to put on my armor, and he will get on his fur."

He nodded at Inessa, "I would be happy to learn, of course, from an expert." Now that does get a few surprised looks - humans willing to learn from elves? Whaaaaaat?

Having known such humans most of her life, Inessa herself isn't surprised of course. But especially after their own empress treated them as disposable, it has to do the elves here some good to know that such a scenario is possible. The emotional wounds sustained won't heal quickly and might not entirely, but she knows how important it is not to give in to bitterness.

"I'll see what can be done, then. It will be a welcome change from routine, and Garahel likes modeling." Given the interested looks around them now, Inessa almost wishes she'd done up her mabari before arrival. She had refrained only because of concern that Garahel might intimidate children already on edge.

Garahel barks quietly, trying not to make his new friends jump, evidently agreeing to this plan.

"And as everyone can see, Interceptor likes showing off." The puppy barked in answer, waggled his little stubby tail and ran around in a circle, before head butting Garahel. Mostly because he was a bit of a show-off. James snorted as the puppy went tumbling backwards.

"Well, what did you expect? He's ten times bigger than you."

Interceptors antics get some laughter from the children as well as Inessa, especially when Garahel starts licking the pup as though it were his own. "Sorry, Interceptor. Garahel is a solid wall, in that respect. I know that well, though mostly due to his colliding with me rather than the other way around."

Big mabari and small elf? Yeah, that means she ends up flat on her back in no time. To fend off any concerns, though, she elaborates. "He's been trained out of that behavior, though, and in time I'm sure Interceptor will be, too."

Interceptor huffed, sneezed at James, then panted at the attention of Garahel. Apparently, they were now brothers. Whether their owners agreed to it or not.

"Well, he'll surprise you when he's fast enough now. I shall truly be sorrowful of all the headbutting I will get when he is bigger, if Garahel is anything to take away in size." James sighed, mock-mournfully.

OPEN: Halamshiral

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