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Entry tags:
- ! open,
- { alistair },
- { anders },
- { bellamy blake },
- { bruce banner },
- { cassandra pentaghast },
- { clarke griffin },
- { gavin ashara },
- { inessa serra },
- { ingrid kief },
- { isabela },
- { jehan mercier },
- { jim kirk },
- { josephine montilyet },
- { kallian endris },
- { korrin ataash },
- { lexa },
- { martel },
- { maxwell trevean },
- { nerva lecuyer },
- { sabine },
- { samouel gareth },
- { siuona dahlasanor },
- { vivienne }
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.
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.
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Dany still remembers how she and Viserys had lived when she was a girl, traveling from place to place, poorer and poorer by the day. Beggar King. She remembers.
She almost doesn't hear Cassandra, lost as she is in her memories, but she does hear and comes to a halt, eyeing the stranger warily. The woman gives off an air of worldliness and strength that momentarily stuns her as she stares. Dany notes the scars, the sharp eyes... and the advice.
"I will." No, she doesn't know the area at all, and without any way to defend herself, it's incredibly foolish to be doing what she's doing. "... Why are these people so carefully guarded?"
A naive question, she knows, but her knowledge of their world is still so narrow. I have to know.
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"These people?" she repeats slowly. "You mean...the elves?" It's not something she had evern really stopped to consider. "Well...they are...elves." She frowns. It's not much of an answer, she realizes.
"It is for their own safety, as much as anything, I am sure."
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"Why should they be quartered just because they are elves?" She looks at one in the distance, taking in the way the woman goes about her business, and the only difference she can see is the shape of her ears.
Dany looks back to Cassandra, quietly defiant.
"What danger might they be in among the others that they are incapable of handling?" she asks.
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"You are a rifter." It's not a question. She pauses, a slight frown on her face as she thinks. "What do you know of the history of Thedas? Of the elves?"
Not much, she would assume.
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"Little to nothing," she admits readily. "I would be happy to learn."
If it meant more of an understanding of these people's situation, of why they're kept in such awful conditions.
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"The elves have had a long and sad history," she begins. "They were once slaves in the Tevinter Imperium. When Blessed Andraste brought freedom to the people of Tevinter, she freed the elves as well, and they made a home here, in Halamshiral and in the Dales to the south. For a time, they lived peacefully alongside the humans of Orlais and elsewhere. But the peace did not last. The elves grew distant and suspicious, refusing to trade with humans. They would not offer their aid in battle when the darkspawn attacked during the Second Blight. Many died who might have lived with the elves' assistance."
"Finally, the elves turned on humans entirely, attacking their cities and killing their people, and there was no choice but to fight back. The Chantry led an Exalted March on the Dales, reclaiming the land and attempting to bring the light of the Maker back to those who had strayed from His grace. Halamshiral was taken, and now many elves live among humans in the cities, although naturally only among their own kind. Others do not live in cities at all, but have retreated into the wild, living among the trees."
Like animals, she does not say.
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"Why were they 'distant and suspicious?'" Dany asks, picking out the apparent turning point. "Your Andraste was a human, wasn't she? Why were the elves so quick to turn against her kind, after what she did?"
No wonder they revere her. The so-called 'Maker's' favor aside, the woman seemed... extraordinary.
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She stiffens, expression steeling a bit.
"And now?" she questions evenly. "Where they were once afraid of humans, the humans now almost seem to fear them."
They are quartered, after all, like wild beasts and now like people.
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Dany is much smaller and weaker than Cassandra. The Seeker is a stranger, one that the young woman knows only by reputation, one who has patiently provided answers to an interloper's questions.
All the same, her expression is unflinching, unapologetic.
"Do the elves quarter humans in their cities?" Dany asks, pressing further. "Those in these alieanges hardly seem to appreciate whatever generosity is being offered."
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"The elves have no cities, save this one," she says bluntly. Dany's challenging questions and unapologetic stance don't bother her at all. If anything, her straightforwardness is a welcome change from the subterfuge and scheming of the Great Game.
"It is true that many elves do not appreciate all they have been given. Others do. We cannot force them to be grateful, however. We can only continue to be patient and charitable, and try to emulate the mercy of Andraste as best we can."
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"Thank you," she says finally, "for explaining this to me. I am obviously not of Thedas and have no way of knowing these things."
Aside from what people tell her and what she can find in books.
"We have no elves where I come from," she explains, "nor... qunari. There are dwarves, but not the same as your own, and there are people with magic, though I think it not so common."
The way her face darkens slightly suggests what she thinks of magic.
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She folds her arms, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry. There are so many different worlds that the Rifters come from, and for the most part, she has not delved too deeply into any of them. Enough to worry about here without trying to keep track of strange lands and cultures she will never see.
When information is offered, though, she can hardly turn away - whether that information is offered verbally or not. The girl is not fond of magic, then. But for now -
"Not the same?" she repeats, trying to imagine it. "How are your dwarves different?"
Perhaps they are less annoying.
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Her tone is explanatory, but pitying. Sympathetic.
"They are not treated well," Dany continues, brows knit unhappily. "It is only out of bad fortune that they are born different, but they are... ostracized. Often abused."
Certainly without the famed, underground cities of Thedas' dwarves, she thinks.
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"There are such people in every world, I think, but they are not true dwarves." She shakes her head. "I am sorry. No one should be treated in such a manner."
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"... Thank you for your explanations, my lady," she says, after another pause. "I'll leave the alienage for now, after... what you've told me. I hope I've not overstepped in our conversation."
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