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.

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"We all had reason for a temper, back there. I can't blame you." Granted, Inessa's temper manifested not as fiery rants but an increasingly chillier demeanor and tone to those who deserved it, reflective of her favored element. She's likewise glad to be away from that level of heightened stress, even as Halamshiral will prove to have its own set of challenges.

About to respond to Ciri's comment about the civil war, Inessa's expression shifts from thoughtful to awe as she takes in the ornate ballroom. Despite the empire's many flaws, she had to admit their style has a certain grandeur about it. And at that twirl, it shifts again to amusement. Sometimes the young Grey Warden mage can be too serious for her own good, so moments like these are needed.

Responding with a grin of her own, she curtsies. "I would be delighted, madame."

Garahel stares at the for a moment, then wanders off to explore more of the room on his own.

Her grin only widens as she reaches out, taking the other Warden's hand and leading them to the center of the ballroom. The ceiling above them is just as ornate as the rest of the room with details that depict, to Ciri's knowledge, important moments of the Orlesian Empire.

For a brief moment, she's almost overwhelmed by the detail but she glances downwards and adjusts her stance to one she remembers learning a long time ago. Usually, she was the partner in her learning dances but now she keeps one hand holding Inessa's hand and the other coming to rest at her waist.

"So it has been absolute years since I learned how to dance and honestly, I was horrid at it so forgive me if I step on your feet somehow."

Laughing softly, Inessa shakes her head. She knows to follow Ciri's lead and adjust her own stance, but that's about it. "And when do you think I ever danced? The alienage? The Circle? Or when we were fighting darkspawn? None of my earlier life ever prepared me, so I should be the one asking prior forgiveness."

Her only comfort is that her small feet, should they trod on Ciri's probably won't hurt that much. Hopefully. And yet, the perfectionist in her surfaces. If it's do be done, she'd like to manage it correctly.

"Not even a little bit of dancing? I don't mean ballroom dancing but you never just broke out and danced spontaneously?"

She asks this as Ciri takes a step back, leading the other to follow and trying to remember the fancy steps of her past. One day she'll have to take Inessa to a tavern and teach her the sort of dancing where you jump up on the tables and stomp your feet to the music.

"I think the whole mood that comes with fighting darkspawn could be improved a lot with a little dancing after the fight."

"No, not really. Not the sort I remember. My life has been books and magic, and now fighting. That's more or less it." The tavern sort of dancing would have Inessa even more lost, as fun as it would be to watch. As it is, she finds the pattern that Ciri sets them simple enough to follow, once she gets used to it. Her movements become less hesitant over time, though a trace of it remains as she half-expects there to be some spontaneous Orlesian complication to dancing. They overcomplicate everything else, why not this?

"Suggest that to Teren when I'm nearby, I would be most interested in seeing her expression." Is the woman anything else other than severe? Inessa has yet to find out, much as she respects her dedication.

"We'll have to fix that." She saws, twirling the other woman with another smile. "I know we're Wardens, our lives belong to any future Blights but that doesn't mean we can't let lose every once and a while. We've already been through so much."

Ciri does laugh when she mentions Teren, shaking her head. "Asking her would go about as well as asking the Warden that conscripted me which is terribly. I'll stick with Alistair because he'd likely join in."

Inessa chuckles at mention of Alistair, as they twirl around on the ballroom floor. "That does sound like something he'd do, or at least encourage. So much for Grey Warden solemnity, hm? Though...I suppose you have a point. This isn't terrible, by any stretch." There's a glint of amusement reaching her eyes, a spark of silliness only seen by those who encourage it. "This is probably the only dancing this room has ever been part of, that wasn't surrounded by judgmental eyes and a thousand intrigues."

"It is absolutely something he would do, he's an even bigger goofball than Garahel." Which is the total truth of the matter. Ciri can remember meeting him not long after her Joining and could barely stand his company in the aftermath of everything, unable to believe she didn't manage to roll her eyes out of her head.

"It's great, right? Though you're probably right but knowing this country there is probably someone watching even if we can't see them."

Garahel, busy sniffing around, looks over and barks upon hearing his name. Inessa's lips twitch. "I'm not denying that, even as I'd never mistake that silliness for a lack of dedication. He did save my life, after all." And that memory will keep her opinion of him high even as his less serious actions baffle her. If that's his way of coping with Warden life, so be it.

"...well. Let them watch, then. They'll still be deprived of intrigue, though I might be persuaded toward trying other dances, if you wish." She promises nothing other than that she'll give it her best, and enjoy a moment devoid of politics or battle.

"Have you told him that? He'd probably be happy to hear it even if he acts so goofy." She says, smiling softly. Although Ciri mostly bantered with him for these past three years, she knew he loved the Wardens and took pride in them saving others even though it was not something they were meant to do.

As Inessa talks, Ciri laughs and nods. "A little gossip might make this place a little more exciting." She says, shrugging but grins at the mention of other dances. "Mm, I agree. This one is a little faster but you're a faster learner so this shouldn't be an issue for you."

With tha, she spins them before tapping her foot to a quick rhythm and starting the new steps.

"Would he? I thought he didn't like talking about the Fifth Blight." That doesn't blunt Inessa's desire to let him know his actions had an impact, but she hates the thought of attempting to reach out only to make him awkward. There just hasn't been the right time to get into that discussion, and forcing it...well, she's sure that would end even more awkwardly.

"...faster? I--alright, let's do this." Inessa's smile is a touch more hesitant, but only because she doesn't want to trip up Ciri in the process. She's less confident about being a quick study when it doesn't involve books. But she gives it her all, focusing on those taps and the first steps involved. Her attempt to follow may not be as smooth and clean as before, but as long as she doesn't trod on any toes, this might count as a win. "How is this?"

"I don't think he likes talking about certain things, you know?" Like Loghain, the Archdemon or the currently missing Warden Commander. "But I think it might make him a little happy to hear from someone that he had a part in saving."

That is what she thinks anyway. Ultimately, she could be wrong but Ciri doesn't think she will be in the end. Either way, she just smiles more as Inessa continues to follow along with her steps. Her own steps are not as smooth nor clean and likely not even correct. Most of her dancing lessons are lost to her memories, buried somewhere underneath the terror of the Blight and the years on the road.

"It's fine! Just remember it doesn't have to be prefect as long as you're having fun."

"You have a good point. I'll work myself up to mentioning it when the timing is appropriate." Or at least not detrimental. She doubts Alistair would remember her any more than Zevran had, given that she was either hiding or too shy to speak with them at the time. But who knows?

Ciri's reassurance prompts a sheepish smile from Inessa, who admittedly needs the reminder every so often. "Perfectionism is a difficult habit to break, outside the Circle. There, it was more about mastering our skill so that it wouldn't inadvertently harm others. 'Having fun' was...not really the point." But she doesn't pull away or otherwise discourage Ciri through body language. "Where did you lean this?"

"Come with me sometime when I go visit him. I bring him snacks a lot." She has to laugh when she says because it makes him sound like a puppy. Which, honestly, is more or less true in some ways.

The question earns Inessa a small pause as Ciri considers it before answering lightly. "My grandmother made me learn when I was young. She said a proper lady should now how to dance but it was all dreadfully boring but it looks like some things stuck." A couple of things apparently. "The rest I learned before I became a Grey Warden. I traveled a lot and met a lot of interesting people and each one had some sort of dance I had never seen before."

"Do you also play fetch?" Inessa grins, wondering how Alistair would respond if he could hear them. Better him than Teren, at least. 'Fetch' has Garahel perking up from where he's plopped down to stretch out, yawning and doing a full-body stretch as though he's a lazy pet instead of a prized war hound.

Darting a smile at him before Ciri turns her again, Inessa's smile turns sympathetic. "That was me, but with staff-work. I went through those drills so many times and hated them, but after a while, I could do them without thinking." Though now she has to wonder if she would have taken dancing, if there had been an option. Would it be as fun as it is now, without Ciri as a dance partner? Probably not. "Hm, that's something I never thought to ask about after leaving the Circle. But it's an intriguing idea; visit a new place, learn their dancing."

"Only when he's been good."

Garahel gets another smile when Ciri turns to offer him one. She turns back to Inessa when the other woman begins to speak, listening and understanding. If she thinks hard enough, she can remember days when she danced until she felt like she was going to collapse only to be rushed off to another lesson. History, math, language... it all began to blur together after awhile.

"We mostly kept to Orlais but a few times I went to Antiva and Nevarra. Met a lot folks from Rivian too."

That gets a soft chuckle out of her, and an apologetic glance at her mabari, who huffs and pouts when he realizes they're not done doing other things than playing with him. He'll live, somehow.

"Cumberland's as much as I've seen of Nevarra, and I've never been that far east. Perhaps some day--" And she should have been paying more attention to her footwork, because not doing so causes her to stumble into Ciri with a startled gasp.

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OPEN: Halamshiral

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