OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

[faderifting]

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!

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

Comments

[circleprodigy]

Inessa's used to cultivated distance, though it's usually her that's creating it, either to protect herself or just as a matter of course. To see it in another is less common, but she would be a hypocrite if she call attention to it. So, she doesn't, though there's a spark of curiosity beneath her own composed countenance. (As much as one can remained composed while wishing the ship wouldn't rock quite so much.)

It's not an answer, no, but Inessa's game to answer. Perhaps all Wren needs is time to open out about the topic. "I have only visited once, on behalf of the Inquisition, and only briefly. The most I saw were of the docks and the alienage." That's skirting a little too close to the reason for said mission, which she's not at liberty to divulge. So she'll focus on an unrelated aspect, instead. "We attempted to visit the famed Black Emporium, but the premises was empty. Where it is now, I cannot say."

Garahel whines softly, not liking the scents of that place at all. Go figure, with the musty husk of a man parked right in the middle of it for who knows how long.

[limier]

Alienages. Not all so unpleasant as Val Royeaux’s warren, Wren's certain — but the place has made an impression. How many has Inessa seen? How much did she remember of the first?

(She assumes there was a first. There are elves outside the tight division of city and Dalish; they are few enough in number.)

"Not the Inquisition’s first venture North."

A raised eyebrow, but she won’t press. War breeds classifications: Secrets which one might trade, others which must remain undivulged. The Wardens own more of the latter than most.

Wren forces her hands open, stoops low to offer one Garahel. A moment, rolling the words in her mouth before,

"The Gallows are," Unpleasant? As though that needed statement. The fortress looms in choral menace. "Eminently defensible. I cannot speak with authority to the rest of the city."

An elliptical admission: Yes, I have been. It can’t quite disguise the tension in her jaw.

"Its people will ask patience of us, as I expect we shall require it from each other."

[circleprodigy]

Garahel happily closes in and sniffs at that hand, then nuzzles against it to encourage petting. He's being as patient as a mabari can be for the voyage, but it's safe to say that being cramped on a boat is not the ideal. Once he has room to run around again, Inessa might not catch up to him for a good while.

Inessa smiles a little, glad to see him get attention from others and a little guilty that she can't give him his usual amusements while at sea. Her eyes turning to the distant but steadily growing statues, she nods as her lips form a thin line. "Of that, I have no doubt. The Veil is disturbingly thin throughout the city; I hope our shardbearers can make a difference, but it was a problem long before Corypheus. This will be a challenge on multiple fronts."

As though mages didn't have enough dangers to face, now they would have a thin Veil and public history regarding blood mages to content with. Inessa's not eager to face either one, but it's either this or...what, go back to the Anderfels? Unacceptable.

Inessa's gaze slides back to her company, and her expression softens a touch. The tacit admission is enough to gain her sympathy, as is the tension in that jaw. "Perhaps with the manpower and resources at hand, it will be enough to mitigate the worst. I truly hope so."

[limier]

Wren scratches absently at Garahel's ears, studying the folds of his face.

Say what one will of dogs (and Maker, does she ever know the words), there's a simplicity to their affections which she's always envied. Perhaps some day —

A foolish thought. She hasn’t the time.

"We all must." The worst. Wren sketches a thin smile, as she lies: "Hope costs us nothing."

A relief to hear Inessa acknowledge the city's patchwork Veil. It’s not a matter in which Wren expects her own word to be heeded. Her experience is thorough, but people have a way of getting edgy when an apostate-hunter starts talking dangerous magic.

Lyrium, at least, is a subject with which her familiarity will not be questioned.

"I confess… some concerns of the precautions we've employed. There is a certain carelessness among our researchers, with regards to the red."

As though she hasn’t bathed herself in it, this past month. As though she hasn't prolonged its hold on others, in search of answers.

Tell them, that future warden had said. Tell them not to bother.

She can’t do that. But maybe she can give some warning.

[circleprodigy]

Over the happy rumbling from her canine partner, Inessa frowns in concern and raises an eyebrow at mention of red lyrium and issues regarding it. That substance is one of the few things which truly unnerve her, and the thought of others not treating it with the extreme caution it warrants. "A carelessness? Oh, Maker. This must be dealt with; even one slip could set us back considerably, and set the precedent for more. Containing red lyrium may be an uphill battle but if we fail...."

She shakes her head, not even wanting to picture that scenario in detail. Seeing the bulging veins and tormented eyes of the Red Templars is vivid imagery enough for her. Garahel responds with a soft whine, unusually skittish when it comes to that substance and with good reason.

[limier]

"Quite."

Stiffly, Wren straightens, catches the rail as the ship lurches again in a swell. The sea has a way of interrupting conversation —

"But it is," Her teeth grit to regain her balance, expression smoothed away once more. "It is, I believe, less an issue of procedure than of... eagerness to see the job done."

"This sort of exposure, it builds slowly. Slow enough to take us by surprise, if we allow it. There are those who consider their occupation —" As in: Not a templar. "— A matter of immunity."

She shakes her head. They both know the particular threat a red templar poses, but poison is poison. It kills civilians just as surely.

[circleprodigy]

That lurch prompts Inessa to cling to the railing, losing what little color she's regained from her time on deck. For a brief moment, she doesn't think that the ginger tea consumed recently is going to do the trick...but it passes, and she sags a little in relief. This sea voyage is almost over, they just need to hold on until the ship docks.

Taking in a few deep, slow breaths, she listens to Wren and nods. "I thought red lyrium infection was swift and terrible, not gradual. Even so, if there's the slightest chance it could begin in that manner, that should be enough to temper the most eager of us. No one deserves the fate it will bring them."

[limier]

"Swift and terrible," Wren agrees, a slight hesitation buried beneath the words. Consuming it here and now might not send growths sprouting up from her skin. That doesn't mean she wouldn't be a total shitshow in the interim. "And gradual and terrible. But always.. "

Terrible. It doesn't need restatement. After a long moment, she nods. Some stiff little measure of approval. Of acceptance.

"If you have any sway with them," The researchers. "We should all be grateful. Without protective measures, cleansing, a watchful eye — the chances are beyond slight. They are certainty."

[circleprodigy]

Her lips forming a thin, worried line, Inessa nods grimly as Garahel leans on her for more petting. "I agree, though I don't know how much sway I truly possess. It's true I aid in research at times, but I am not in any position of authority. Even so, I won't deny the benefit of additional caution. There is too much to lose through carelessness."

[limier]

"Authority can hinder," Particularly of late. "Where respect does not."

It's a common misconception, that people listen better when they're frightened. Civilians listen best when they believe it's their decision to do so. A lifetime within the rigid structure of service, and Wren knows she's a poor fit for this.

But Inessa cuts a friendly, unthreatening figure. If she's dangerous, it's in delicate packaging; easily-overlooked. What baggage she owns of the Wardens, of the Circles — the two play against each other to create the impression of a moderate.

Wren doesn't know her so well as to guess at the image's truth. But its usefulness is readily-apparent.

(Maker, let it be enough. For the girl only, at least, let it be enough.)

[circleprodigy]

"I...that is a fair point." Inessa considers that thoughtfully as she strokes the top of Garahel's head while he leans a little into her. "The Grey Wardens of the south can rightly attest to that, to our sorrow." It's unlikely she'll need to elaborate, when the story is widespread and half the Inquisition traveled to the Fade.

She tilts her head, assessing Wren with a curious though not unkind gaze. "This really bothers you; it is more than just abstract worry in your case, isn't it?"

[limier]

Quietly: "I have lost four men to red lyrium."

No elabouration needed here, either. They’ve all lost people. The templars, the wardens, they've lost more than most. To desperation, to absence. To the machinations of a madman. This time, when she looks over, her eyes cut sharp.

"But they chose that fate."

What else is there to say? What else is there to describe? Pacing a cell, knowing that it's only a matter of time. Knowing that you won't die, that they won't kill you, won't cripple anything that might put you out of use —

Seeing the broken thing they've caged beside you, and knowing what's to come.

If I could not stop them, at least I might stop this,

"I would not," Her voice cracks dry. Absently, she massages her throat; resists the instinct to hold it there, safe. "I would not see it fall upon the unwilling. It — eats. From the inside out; everything good, it eats."

How terribly dramatic. She'll need to rein that in.

[circleprodigy]

"Four...." Inessa's eyes widen in horror, that calm stoicism sliding away in light of such awful information, at least for a moment. Garahel moves away from her to lean in against Wren, a soft sympathetic whine coming from him. He may not be able to nuzzle bad memories away, but watch him try regardless.

"I've seen those affected, but none were well-known to me. I'm so sorry you experienced this." She sighs and bows her head, heart sinking at the thought of losing anyone in that fashion. It's still very much a possibility and she's well-aware, much as it's not something she tries to dwell on.

[limier]

"Merci."

Her fingers tangle in his short fur, heart thumps dull. The numbers keep thinning; if she has her way of it, soon there will be no one left at all.

Inessa looks so damn young here, no more than Werner's age. She has so much yet to experience, and so little of it pleasant. Wren can't say whether Kain will heed the warning, doesn't know enough of the man to guess — but the wardens have never been known for their lifespans. What they're doing is buying time. A kinder end.

(If she knew the truth of the Calling, perhaps she would feel differently. Perhaps not.)

She needs to walk this back, has already shown too much of weakness. Dwelling, it doesn't do anything. Won't avert this.

"We do what we must." Cut back the rot, even as it folds beneath skin and soul. "But we may do more. We may remember them as they were."

A silent moment. There's something beneath this jagged melody, something that beckons for the chase, that will never be caught: An echo down a well.

"Hold those you would care for." Sooner or later, it will be time to let go.

[circleprodigy]

Inessa nods solemnly at the advice, staring at the water rather than the ever-larger statues which dominate the horizon. "Always good advice...but even better for those who must live moment-to-moment. Our work affords little time or opportunity to take the long view of matters that aren't Blight-related. I will try, as best I can." And yes, she is young, barely more than twenty, but the responsibilities settled on her shoulders have aged her more than she'll admit.

She takes a deep, cleansing breath and seems the better for it as she glances back over, nodding. "They deserve to be remembered in a better light. If I can give them that, I will."

[limier]

"Thank you."

Again. She still means it. For all the Circles have become, they were homes once, too. You live your lives side by side, lives that few others see, that none outside understand. Who is going to remember them, if not each other?

"There are words that are not said easily. Better than that they go unheard." So, like, tell Kain ya want to tap that blonde ass. Slowly, she peels her hand from Garahel, steps back from the rail. "I apologize, I am not myself. Perhaps we might speak more of this some other time."

When she has her head about her, when she can be of more use than this; when she can begin to attempt the fraught business of revealing a fate not-to-be.

Some other time. For the moment she needs the space of this conversation. She can dig her cramped way back into the hold and count her breaths, and that will serve, as it always has and must.

Kirkwall waits.