Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faderifting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2017-04-02 10:59 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2017-04-02 10:59 pm
Entry tags:
- ! open,
- { alan fane },
- { alistair },
- { anders },
- { araceli bonaventura },
- { bellamy blake },
- { christine delacroix },
- { clarke griffin },
- { freddie durfort-lacapalette },
- { inessa serra },
- { james norrington },
- { jamie mccrimmon },
- { jim kirk },
- { korrin ataash },
- { leonard church },
- { luwenna coupe },
- { malcolm reed },
- { merrill },
- { prompto argentum },
- { rachette dakal },
- { samouel gareth },
- { the medicine seller },
- { twelfth doctor },
- { tyrion lannister },
- { yngvi }
OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall
WHO: Many People
WHAT: Cleaning up Kirkwall
WHEN: Cloudreach 1-21
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: This log post is for characters who go early to Kirkwall to assist in preparing it for the rest of those assigned there. We strongly encourage IC discussion of things left to character discretion—someone should definitely do a crystal post to discuss what to do with the personal belongings left behind in the Gallows or what new form the statues should take!
WHAT: Cleaning up Kirkwall
WHEN: Cloudreach 1-21
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: This log post is for characters who go early to Kirkwall to assist in preparing it for the rest of those assigned there. We strongly encourage IC discussion of things left to character discretion—someone should definitely do a crystal post to discuss what to do with the personal belongings left behind in the Gallows or what new form the statues should take!
Kirkwall once lived on the edge of the Tevinter Imperium and was home to nearly a million slaves. Stolen from elven lands or shipped from across the sea, all slaves fed the Imperium's unquenchable thirst for expansion. They worked in massive quarries and sweltering foundries that produced stone and steel for the Empire.The city's complicated past is not easy to forget, history having earmarked many corners of the stone city. A ship approaching the harbor spots the city's namesake: an imposing black wall. It is visible for miles, and carved into the cliff side are a pantheon of vile guardians representing the Old Gods. Over the years, the Chantry has effaced many of these profane sentinels, but it will take many more years to erase them all.
Also carved into the cliff is a channel that permits ships into the city's interior. Flanking the channel are two massive bronze statues—the Twins of Kirkwall. The statues have a practical use. Kirkwall sits next to the narrowest point of the Waking Sea, and a massive chain net can be erected between the statues and the lighthouse, closing off the only narrow navigable lane. This stranglehold on sea traffic is jealously guarded by the ever-changing rulers of the city as the net trolls taxes, tolls, and extortions in from the sea.
—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi
Establishing a presence in Kirkwall is a delicate matter. First, there's Provisional Viscount Bran Cavin—a man so used to batting back friendly offers of entirely harmless occupation of the battered city-state that his first three responses to the Inquisition's leadership appeared to be slightly personalized form letters. Proving that the Inquisition is here to work and not to conquer will be a process. The first step in that process is the second reason the move is delicate: the only building the Provisional Viscount is willing to part with is the Gallows, left quarantined and unoccupied since Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard's famous crystallization into red lyrium in the courtyard. The Gallows have since overgrown with red lyrium. If anyone is going to live and work there, there's a lot of work to do.
↠ Cloudreach 1-3: The Journey There
↠ Cloudreach 3-4: Arrival
↠ Cloudreach 4-14: Haunted
↠ Cloudreach 14-21: Spring Cleaning
CLOUDREACH 1-3: The Journey There
Pel
Because uncle Jamie is good uncle.
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James
Kirkwall. Home of the Templars greatest failure, of Mad Knight Commander Merideth, of the Chantry Explosion that killed a beloved religious figure (and possible Divine, if she had lived). Too many scars, too many fears, and too much at stake meant that James did not sleep much in the two day journey. Instead he check in on Pel, checked in on his men, and when he was not doing that ... he sat at the bow of the ship, looking out to the water with a troubled expression.
The pressure, as they would say, was on.
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Cade
The boat itself is all right, and he helps out periodically, at least when anyone thinks to shout at him to do something. But he checks constantly northward, and then when Kirkwall is in sight, he goes strangely still: standing at the railing, watching the city grow closer, his face blank and his hands quivering ever so slightly.
He lived in Kirkwall for a long time. He hadn't realized it at the time, but when he'd left, he hoped that was the last time he would ever see it. But here they are, and as usual, he's got no choice in the matter.
The Medicine Seller
Despite the grumblings throughout the Inquisition about how Kirkwall was a blazing trashfire in the form of a city, the Medicine Seller was delighted by the prospect of moving. He was probably one of a handful that had actually signed up to go early.
Skyhold, for all it's grandeur, had felt stifling. He couldn't go particularly far without an entourage of other Rifters unless he wanted his hand to explode in a rose of white hot pain. And the fortress, while a sound strategic location, was also cutoff from the world. He may still be tethered to a leash that was the rift shard, but Kirkwall was a city - a port city no less - which meant there was work for him to do.
He was positively giddy, in fact.
Were he a more expressive man, this might have manifested in a constant spring in his step or a chronic case of tuneless yet merry whistling.
Fortunately for all those disgruntled by the uprooting, the Medicine Seller was about as emotionally stunted as a sea cucumber, and his gleeful shenanigans were limited to roaming the deck with an ambiguous yet self-satisfied smirk as he stared out at the deep, blue sea.
It was good to be moving again.
b. bunk buddies
Sharing close quarters were nothing new to him- the Medicine Seller had spent his life on the road, taking shelter where he could. Overcrowded inns, cramped seafaring vessels, even ducking under the roof of a roadside shrine (though in the latter case his companion was generally a statue of a Buddha) - the point was, he wasted no time in staking out a space for himself and was quite unabashed about the situation.
Setting down his wooden pack, he opened up the top compartment. A red, bejeweled case (set with the same eye insignia as the one on the pack and the back of his robe) was extracted and set aside, followed by a handsome tea set, then some wooden masks that were rather skillfully made (if somewhat grotesque in their bared fangs and strange proportions), and then a parade of other odd paraphernalia - finally he found what he was looking for. The bedding was pulled free of the compartment, and laid out as if it were something he'd done countless times. The other goods were put back in, one by one, and either the Medicine Seller was extremely good at packing or there was something very suspect about his medicine box.
And would it even be wise to inquire about such a thing to your peculiar neighbor for the trip? Especially when there's now a strange rattling noise from one of the drawers as the City of Chains becomes visible on the horizon?
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Thingol
He never thought he would sail again. The Dwarves had taken that from him; from Melian and his people. Though it is unlikely that Ulmo or Ossë will hear him, he recites a prayer to them - for safe passage.
His first sight of their new "home" is depressing and he shows his disgust openly.
"Nae! Avon. Dôl gîn lost, Inquisition!"
[OOC: *Alas! I won't. Your head is empty,...]
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Taashath
He used to be disgusted at the amount of Tal-Vashoth the event had created. Now he kind of understood it. The Triumvirate deciding to play things that way was not exactly what the Qun meant to some people, and with the proof of humans - Hawke - being powerful enough to take down the Arishok had changed the view of the bas to others.
It all makes him a little uneasy, but the Inquisition was going, and something he was good at was following orders.
...nothing really prepared him for the statues at the bay, though. Giant slaves crying in defeat. Chains everywhere. "That is disgusting."
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CLOUDREACH 3-4: Arrival
Somewhere in Lowtown
He grips his camera tightly as he walks around, taking in the sights around him. The destroyed homes and muted atmosphere reminds him too much of Altissia after Leviathan's rage. Admittedly, there's a lot less flooding here, and it's clearly been awhile since... whatever happened. But the damage is still clear as day.
Prompto likes taking pictures of happy things: his friends, beautiful landscapes, chocobos... but he knows that it isn't always about capturing the good things in life, but also the pain. To remember and reflect. Swallowing, he lifts his camera and takes a wide shot of a row of abandoned houses, burned and caved in from debris.
Once he's done, he shakes his head.
This place looks like a war zone. What happened here?
He mostly says this to himself, not expecting anyone to be around or hear him.
Re: Somewhere in Lowtown
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wherever you need him to be, he will rise from the nearest gutter
His letter of complaint to Melisende and the Boneflayers had more or less boiled down to 'don't fuck it up'.
Kirkwall's how he remembers it, more or less; he skipped the funerals after-- well because he could, because Asher was Asher but not even Asher could be two places at once so half of them went and half of them got on with the getting on, and dwarves aren't sentimental idiots if they didn't come out of Orzammar, don't you know. (Ask him, go on ask him.) Whatever, suffice to say he's a fantastic tour guide, honest, he knows this city and the mess that it is because he came up out of the gutters here, ignoring the people that look at him twice.
Gets him good prices when he haggles, annoying as it is to find that wow you really always are son of six (or is it seven he needs to remember how many various relations he says he has) fathers. "You know we got you that stall. Not we," he flaps a hand, irritated at the words that come out of his mouth or how they come out, "but me and Gunnar. Remember the night with the deeds and going up to the Visco--"
"Keep your bloody voice down, mates rates for it then." She's a Ferelden which might explain why Yngvi's being almost waspish about the whole affair if you happen across him right now, beaming up at her like a particularly friendly sort of feral creature you trip over in the dark. Cleaner though. Perhaps the cleanest Yngvi has ever been which isn't clean because you can still catch the miasma and get lost in it but you'd be less likely to lose things in his hair and he wouldn't be leaving fingerprints all over. (And you're welcome, Inquisition, you have potatoes on the cheap thanks to his intervention.)
Maybe he's done here, maybe there's more haggling to get to, maybe you actually need him and he sloped off to do this - is it work, is it that tour he probably promised you? Who knows. Or are the nugs loose. He got them this far, he's not losing them to some stray demon just chilling in a dark corner because Kirkwall.
Loose nugs?
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tour, sort of.
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Tavern -
He senses a great Darkness for one. Blood has been spilt and hatred has been left to fester. He eyes the statues coldly, pressing his lips together in a thin, unhappy line. Should the Inquisition be able to set this land to rights, they will have his unwavering loyalty for Ages to come. Somehow he thinks the job will not be finished soon - if ever.
Thus why he takes himself to a tavern. It takes much for an Elf to become drunk and he has no desire for that fate. But a cool drink and some quiet do wonders for him. His body is not as it used to be and fatigue tugs at him insistently. If his eyelids begin to droop at his table, surely he can be forgiven?
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This does not go to his head. As well as anyone, he throws in to help, does a little directing and assigning tasks but there's rebuilding, and clearing red lyrium, and thank the Maker he's off the sea, because he could not get off of that boat fast enough.
Before the work truly begins, there's negotiating to do. It's a good thing he's the moderate Seeker, the one who can emote but not fly off the handle. He wouldn't say he's a people person, because he's not, but he can fake it til he makes it, and that's not a bad skill to have in Kirkwall. He leaves the armour off for the sake of appearances, but he keeps the symbol of the Eye for all to see, for all to know his position in an instant. Milady trots along with him, eager and excited--they've not been to Kirkwall for several years. One man he talks to about setting up a kennel alongside stables, they'll need hands for building, hands for caring, and feed alongside, seems to vaguely recognize him. He uses it to his advantage.
And when he deals with someone a little more stubborn, well, Milady is there to help disarm. Hopefully he runs into more dog people than cat people.
He doesn't try to talk past the guards to where the Chantry had stood, but he does talk to them about the stalled efforts to make a garden. Suggests that when the Inquisition is done cleaning up, they might be able to lend a hand.
Seems a shame to let it sit and rot, he thinks, staring up at the empty space where the mighty building once stood. A moment of reprieve. In his head, a small prayer. Not aloud.
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CLOUDREACH 4-14: Haunted
Attack of the Statues
The affects of a too-thin Veil are ignored as much as possible; she reacts to floating objects and phantom screams alike with unshakable patience, at least in public. Garahel remains close, though, very protective and growling at things others can't see. When she tries to usher him somewhere less stressful, though, he refuses.
And then in those last days, the slave statues come to life. Inessa's eyes widen the sudden manifestation, one that can't be ignored with the workers' safety at stake. Quickly, she moves forward to encompass as many as she can in a Barrier spell before casting Pull of the Abyss, trying to draw as many of them as she can together and away from the workers. Garahel stands guard, ready to attack any statues not caught in her magic that approach.
"I could use a little help over here!"
Re: Attack of the Statues
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He remained on the boat throughout the process. Mostly because so many others took to staying in the city that it meant he could find one or two corners to keep to himself.
He wanted to find a way to contain the lyrium in a box, or something so that he could keep some for further study. Currently he had a small jewellery box lined with Limspathoid - a mineral that was similar to a cross between lead and diamond. Only much, much stronger. Maybe as much as a hundred times. The box sealed completely, keeping everything inside of it - inside. It was a box he had used to transport Dawsine, which was 50 times more powerful than Uranium, so he figured it would be strong enough. No way to know without testing it, though.
While he didn't know much about red lyrium, he had already discovered that when inside of this box, he couldn't hear the singing at all. Not that he could hear it all that well before. Not without focusing on it. It was the blessing of having so many screams raging through his mind all the time. Finally, there was some good coming of that.
The real test would be if any of the natives could hear it. So he presented to the box to various people (not dwarfs) with a simple question. "Can you sense anything about this small box?"
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Christine Delacroix
{ haunted }
Each day she instructs her fellow mages on what's required to cleanse the walls and floors of the Gallows. It's the culmination of a year's research into red lyrium and its effects, and in light of the news of the dark future, she wants to ensure that this vile stuff is completely removed and barred from regrowing. At first she keeps herself busy so she doesn't have to face where she is and its history, but history, it seems, wants her to acknowledge it. It's when she's in one of the former enchanter's rooms placing a rune on the wall that the door slams shut behind her and the lock clicks into place from the outside. Such a thing would be bad enough on its own, but this is a woman raised in a Circle, who saw it as a prison and has been ruminating over the poor mages that dwelt here too. Were they locked into their rooms at night like they were little prison cells? Christine runs to the door and shakes the handle, but it doesn't open. She bangs her fist on the door before stepping back and raising her staff to throw any forceful spell she can at the door, willing to shatter it to escape. The first few hits do nothing and she begins to panic. Once she escaped the Circle, she decided to never go back again, and yet here she is, trapped; being punished for what she is.
"Let me out! Please!" she shouts, tears springing to her eyes. "Please, please, please!"
{ fighting statues }
Christine feels she can do more in holding off the statues than stripping away the last vestiges of red lyrium. Those with pickaxes and hammers can make faster work of it than she can with her staff, but what she can do is keep these gruesome enemies occupied. What spells do the most damage against bronze statues? Well, she's about to find out. A shrill wail pierces the air and she winces before sending down a lightning bolt into one of the statues and charging her spirit blade at the same time. A few more spells and she'll launch forward to slash at the statue's legs.
"Augh! That sound is so terrible!" Perhaps they can fill their ears with cotton-- no. There's no time to stop for such frivolities. They will just have to endure it.
Haunted
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Helping With the Ghosties
This was what he existed for.
He wasn't much use with eradicating the red lyrium. He was even less use in construction.
What he was good for, however, was helping to keep the ghoulies at bay so that people could do their jobs.
He set down the scales - tiny, delicate looking things, white as snow and inlaid with precious gems. They were made to look like birds taking wing, and tiny golden bells dropped from the trays. They were laid out in small rows on the floor - far too many to fit in the single drawer they came from - and they swayed gently to and fro like weather vanes on their pointed stands. They would seem somewhat sentient, occasionally hopping out of the way and floating off to settle elsewhere if they were in a spot someone needed to work. When something unseen turned up to get a bit frisky, they would tilt in its direction, their tiny bells chiming, and the Medicine Seller would know where to send his paper talismans flying, blocking the malevolent spirits at each turn.
The talismans plastered the walls of the Gallows as the clean up team moved from room to room. When the coast was clear, they seemed only blank rectangles of paper. But when something drew near, strange black writing appeared, and then warped into some odd runic symbols, at the center of which a blazing red eye stared out.
He used these, like the scales to track the movements of the demons, though the talismans had the added benefit of acting as a protective barrier. ...At least when the Medicine Seller was around they did, anyway. And powerful as the protection was, it was not indefinite. After a few hours, or at the constant barrage of the more insistent demons, they tended to erode and he had to set up new wards. It was very tedious, but it helped to keep ghost-related accidents to a minimum.
Though for all his experience and constant vigilance, even the Medicine Seller hadn't escaped having a pot lobbed at his head by a spectre that happened to get in a lucky shot.
As discussed~
\o/
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The hauntings disturb him more than their tangible foes. He glowers at the tools that float, cursing in Doriathrin as he knocks them aside. Each door that slams before or behind him is given much the same treatment.
"What are these games?!" he has the utmost respect for the dead. Usually. But these spirits seem to be nothing more than imps to him! "Get thee back to the Halls, you wretch! This is not your land." his voice radiates power.
If only the spirits had ears to listen.
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Whistle While You Work
Statues
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wwwildcard, just lmk if there's anything that needs changing!
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CLOUDREACH 14-21: Spring Cleaning
Talking to the Natives - Discovering Caches
The dead followed them both, right on their heels...
So he would go through, trying to use his shard to help. There were gifts with shards - and he had yet to manage them - but if there were Rifts here then he and Sansa could work together on closing them. He also had no problems dragging things from here to there, just took him a bit longer. All his reading in Kirkwall made him perfect for the point person on going to squeeze more supplies out of the merchants, so he'd take a few hours of his day to to go charm the locals.
The Qunari homes helped with that - there were a few things he kept. Scrolls on the Qun, weapons, gold, that sort of thing, but most of it he sold to curious passer-bys to buy more supplies. Use and re-use. He thought Lady Montilyet would appreciate that. It wouldn't be hard to find him going through, cleaning up, and parsing through what he had found. Then following him as he went off to make trades.
Which was why, of course, when the crowd got to a reasonably disturbing size, he was one of the first out there. He had gotten to know quite a few people in his time here, bought them all a few drinks, smiled and charmed and now -- he talked.
"Good morning, everyone! Little early to be gathered about. If you're looking for work - I'll glad you pay you in trade for goods we find here." Is his cheery and pleasant answer, as he puts himself smack dab in front of the crowd.
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finding a house
Re: finding a house
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The Docks
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Dealing with Rifts and Cleaning
B~
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rifts;
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Bones, Battles, and Bad Beer - oh my!
a
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Cleaning and gardening
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the docks + cooking
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Cooking
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Party at the Docks
The Docks... Cleaning and Healing
Healing
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Docks
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{ healing }
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Cleaning
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healing;
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Anders | OTA
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3
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docks;
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Gardening and Cleaning
cleaning.
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bellamy || demon fighting, room cleaning || OTA
WHATEVER. } backdated some
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WREN COUPE | Catchall | ch-ch-chain-geees
There’s a little room. There’s not a lot.
So beggars can’t really be choosers. There’s a blank space beside yours — occupied in short order by a roll of blankets, and a rather cramped templar. Hi, new sleeping buddy.
Or perhaps find her later on deck, trying vainly to stay out of the way and watch the view. Maybe you can count hideous statues together.
HAUNTED (GALLOWS)
At the end of the hallway the door slams, a heavy bolt slides into place. Breathy giggling rises from a corner, turns to a piercing shriek before it fades out abruptly, as though smothered beneath heavy cloth. Looks like you may be here a while.
Everyone gets checked for symptoms. So there’s a bit of a line. At least it’s a breather — or an opportunity to size up the people you work with. Someone has a pack of cards.
SPRING CLEANING (GALLOWS/DOCKS)
Human (and elven, and rat) remains should be handled with care and dignity.
But that doesn’t make carrying skeletons any logistically easier. Perhaps you’re both lifting the latest one only to find it coming apart between your hands. Or there’s something that once mattered to the bearer — a letter, a locket — still clutched in a withered fist.
It could be that one of these unburnt bodies has been drafted into the skeleton war by some minor spirit. Whatever it is; the point is, you’re doing it together.
WILDCARD
[ have at it bruh ]
The journey there
Her gaze shifts to the statues looming ahead, signalling their upcoming arrival to the City of Chains. It's not a sight she had expected to see again, nor an especially welcome one. But the Inquisition needed them here, and she's nothing if not a creature of duty.
As the mabari huffs at Wren, tail wagging a little, Inessa glances over. "Have you been to Kirkwall before, Ser Coupe?" Small talk and yet not really. Kirkwall is a touchy subject with many, even now, but it would help to know who is more familiar with it that herself.
gently weeps
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spring cleaning, gallows;
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skeleton war
http://i2.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/000/749/399/ea6.jpg
how do i subscribe
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G-G-GHOSTS!!
RUBBISH
Re: RUBBISH
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skeleton war
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ALAN FANE | Catchall | pretend i came up with another kirkwall pun
The statue catches his interest. Find Alan leaning down to compare head-sizes, or otherwise asking after its subject. The horns are still pretty sharp.
Later on he’s bargaining with a merchant. It’s going… poorly. The Inquisition are new in town, and that means the locals are ready to continue a grand Kirkwall tradition of scalping the unwary. Fish definitely doesn't cost that much in a seaside town.
HAUNTED (GALLOWS)
He’s been following the screams. Around one corner — then the next — and pretty soon he’s completely lost. Or. Well. You both are now.
The darkness doesn’t feel like it’s alone.
SPRING CLEANING (GALLOWS/DOCKS)
It’s not pretty yet. But it could be —
Where Alan’s gotten his hands on paint is a question best not examined closely. He’s mostly just covering stains, anyway. It doesn't really matter that he’s covering them with pictures of eyes, flowers, and whatever else comes to mind. Want to help?
Or perhaps you’ve heard him shouting back greetings to the natives: Hello! We’re from Ferelden — well, some of us, we live here now, sort of — no, I don’t know why,
How terribly helpful. Perhaps someone should intercede.
WILDCARD
[ boop ]
Spring Cleaning, Docks
Upon spotting Alan, Korrin heads over with a freshly-filled canteen, which she promptly offers. "Thirsty? You've been at it all day." Eyeing the paint job, she manages a small smile. "Those are the first things I've seen here that aren't eyesores. Nice work."
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{ spring cleaning }
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spring cleaning, docks;
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haunted.
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spring cleaning! tentatively forward-dated
oh man i'm sorry about the delay on this
gestures @ self
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Haunted
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2spooky4u
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ioane of denerim | ota.
clean harder: aka my mr. clean slashfic
Whether it's spirits or the cripplingly squeamish, if she runs off to check on every strange noise, she'll never get anything done. But they've been at this long enough for the faint of heart to be rerouted to docks duty, and the hauntings have grown tediously physical of late.
So it's with belated recognition that Wren drops her sweeping (a glamorous order, the Templars) and goes sprinting down the hall for the source of the shriek. A gangly ginger battering a corpse —
Shit. Maybe she should've kept the broom.
"Enough," A sudden, tight grip on Ioane’s tunic, hauling her back from its path. Points for effort and all, but she's going to fuck up her knuckles, if it doesn't just rip chunks out of her. "The fireplace, grab a poker,"
warn for your kinks pls.
but it's an exhibitionism thing
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b
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a1
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a1
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c1
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a2;
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Oghren Catch-All OTA
Well he could say he didn't like ships. It was like a swaying box of death with just water all over the place. There were plenty of times it seemed like it was just all up in the ship too and the smell. He was someone who smelled terrible all the time but he felt he couldn't compare to a lot of people being together on a ship like that for a bit. Bleh. He just didn't like it.
Yet when the first signs of Kirkwall came up, he couldn't say he was thrilled. It just looked terrible and he was not a fan of the statues. So that just left him grumbling all the way off the ship when they could get off as he just made his way to the nearest tavern to get himself good and toasted. If he never had to get on another ship it would be too soon as far as he was concerned. That had been worse than the blasted boats for that Circle Tower years ago in his opinion.
And that was where one could find him when he wasn't helping out with the cleaning up. Right there in the tavern providing them with more business than any regular ever had in their history.
Statues
Well if anyone ever wanted to witness Oghren in battle this was a good opportunity. And he was proving very quickly that being drunk off his ass did not mean he was a hindrance in battle. Quite the opposite actually. He was grinning as he rushed forward to clash with those bronze statues, his axe proving to do some damage even if it wasn't stopping them. After all, it was made of silverite and wielded by a skilled user.
"Think you can take me on, you sodding things? Screech some more. I've heard worse in the Deep Roads!" was what he cried out to them as he gave a blow that would have been sure to kill a normal creature had it been made of flesh.
So surprise, surprise. Oghren the Drunk was actually admired for good reasons and those stories about him likely weren't so made up.
Cleaning
So statues taken care of, it was time for cleaning. Not something he was that skilled with but he could do some heavy lifting. He was made of muscle even though he was small in stature. That meant he could haul quite a bit in these Gallows. Move things about so that way people with a better eye for things could actually do something with the stuff.
Hence why he was here now and looking about for someone able to answer questions. "You. What do you need me to haul about? And don't you put me to work doing the sodding statue melting. Just because I'm a dwarf it doesn't mean I should be put into that sort of business."
Wildcard
Got another idea for what you want to do? Make your own prompt! Or you can message this journal or my plurk or discord to plot out other ideas!
Statues
"You know Kirkwall once led a mass extermination of the common nug in fear they carried disease," he calls out at last. "It was known as the Battle of the Squealing Plains."
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Cleaning
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Statues
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arrival
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Diana/Wonder Woman | catch all | OTA
The good news was she's done this sort of thing before: dropped head first into a world she didn't know, where things so much bigger than herself were already in motion. At least she spoke the language this time. That helped. She still had quite a bit of current events to catch up on.
In between that, she made herself useful, if only because she would go absolutely mad otherwise. Her mother would have a fit to see her now: dressed in hand-me down leggings and tunic, running errands for snappish men. But her mother is dead.
So.
There is no reason to limit herself to the Inquisition when there's the need to make a little good will with the locals, so the word does spread that if one needs a tall, beautiful and disturbingly strong woman to do a task that isn't morally dubious, call for that crazy Rifter woman.
1b. Drink Up Me Hearties Yo Ho!
The Hanged Man makes her think of her time in space. The people here are certainly no less diverse than her old crew, vicious and rough and at times more than a little thirsty for violence. It is shockingly easy to slip back into that part of herself. When she wasn't Wonder Woman. When she was Captain Diana of the unbound ship Hippolyta.
She lounges in her chair, no less commanding a presence than when she stands tall and straight, but the sharp watchfulness of her gaze is shuttered behind the play of an almost roguish smile. She'll wave over to anyone who looks like a native and glances at her a half second too long, gesturing them over. "Ho friend, join me in a drink?"
2. Stone vs Clay
They might not know what else to make of the strange Rifter, but there's one certainty about Diana and that is that she is disturbingly strong and durable. So it makes sense that the durable and strong get sent to deal with the other disturbing articles in the Gallows.
Diana does not like red lyrium. It is entierly possible that the red lyrium isn't wild about her either. It hums louder in her presence, the air shimmering and rippling as spirits on the edge of consciousness jostle around. Though that maybe just be the large hammer she's been using on the massive cluster dominating a room. It's hot, uncomfortable work and the red lyrium itches at her skin and mind. The mark in her left hand aches, a steady, unpleasant throb like a second heart beat.
Diana does the only sensible thing one can do when there's work to be done and a demonic presence to ignore: she strips off her shirt, tying it around her face and nose. She binds the lasso around the mark in her hand, over her arm, around her shoulders and chest and down her other arm. The lasso is not itself. It does not open her up and strip open her heart and mind the way it has in the past. But it grounds her. It clears her head enough to go back to swinging the hammer.
The room cuts a strange, but striking scene; a tall, strong woman- her face wrapped and nearly naked from the waist up- the gold of the rope wrapped around her glowing bright in the dim room, burning against the haunting red of the lyrium that cracks and shrieks and shatters as she brings the hammer down again. The heavy presence of the spirits lingers in the room, punctuated by the occasional piece of furniture or plateware flying across the room to crash against the wall or Diana's hammer.
2b. For Asgard!
A large hammer, as it turns out, is also an excellent tool against screaming, lumbering statues. Diana normally doesn't favor two handed weapons, but she makes due in a pinch, swinging it hard into the middle of one of the statues with a grunt.
"Watch your head and get behind me." She's not really paying attention to who she's talking to, but she really does hope they follow her advice.
3. Rest and Recreation.
Diana can lift heavy things, but the finer details of construction and repair are a little outside her wheelhouse. She goes where she is needed, but is occasionally side tracked by the crowd of natives outside the gates. She smiles and calls out to them, occasionally answering a inane question or two, careful never to reveal anything that may be too important. It's difficult to say if anything she knows at this point is important, she's still gathering her own information.
Like now. She stands among a group of women, laundry on their hips, pausing to interrogate the stranger on their way to the fountains, but sidetracked in their question by a sweet smile and the genuine curiosity. What has been going on in this city? That's all she wants to know. Just a little gossip.
4. Wildcard!
Choose Your Own Adventure.
2b.
Damn fool she is.
The statues come to life, and Ioane screeches in fear. The fear is good, it boils over into anger quick-- how dare these things, these abominations, try to get the jump on her? She lets the food spill to the floor, and holds the wooden tray like a weapon. It's a shitty weapon, but if she's gonna get crushed by a statue, she's gonna go down swinging.
A lady with a hammer calls out, and it looks like she knows her mind. Ioane gets behind her, but she's still tensed, ready to spring. She refuses to cower. "If you gotta plan," she says, "I'd love to hear it."
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1b
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2b
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3;
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late cloudreach, closed to nathaniel.
The Children—don't have flashbacks to the Awakening, Nathaniel—being Kain and Inessa. They seem to love the griffons enough not to whine about hard labor.
Two: "No one has seen Wardens in Kirkwall in a year at least. That doesn't mean they haven't been around, but... We should probably check the Deep Roads here sooner than later, make sure the darkspawn aren't having a party. And send a messenger to Ansburg."
There's a very brief pause, then three fingers:
"I'm sorry for giving you too hard a time." A little rushed. Get this over with. "And that's all we're saying about that."
And, as an immediate deterrent from saying anything more about that, because he isn't here to throw Anders in front of any druffalo, four: "If anyone ever strikes you as a good replacement for Teren—for working with you and me, I mean, she's happy to keep being our quartermaster and all of that—if anyone strikes you, let me know."
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"Bethany as quartermaster," he answers quickly. "Provided we can drag her away from planning her wedding. She's a sensible lass. For liaison to the Inquisition...it chiefly depends on who the Inquisition trusts. I think you and I are trusted. However, I'm also married to the Warden they trust the least. I can't be impartial in matters relating to Anders.
"While we're on the topic, why don't we promote Bethany and Kaisa to Senior Warden? They've barely had less time in the order than I have."
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