faderift | OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

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!

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

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Elves are naturally drawn to the sea; he, in particular, has made a great voyage via ship before. But Elven ships are considerably better built and more comfortable. Thus, for much of the journey, Thingol is wide awake, his eyes fixed on the rolling waves beneath them.

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,...]

Malcolm was raised with the common tongue, and his time in Val Royeaux and around Orlais has given rise to a fluency in Orlesian, but those are the only languages he could say to speak. Elven tongues are a little looked down on, to put it mildly, to learn, and he hadn't spend enough time around Antiva to learn more than a spattering of their words, and Maker forbid the qunari language filter down so far.

So he has no idea what this man has said, but the tone is unmistakable. "Stay your tongue," he says with a sharp edge. "Save your complaints until after the work is done; there's going to be a lot."

The Elven languages of Arda were prized for their complexity and fluidity. They were perfect for poetry and song, though Thingol had a liking for most other languages too. Except for Dwarvish. That harsh, cacophony of a language could die in his opinion and he would not mourn it.

He turned, a smirk born of anger and amusement curving his lips. Was he being ordered? Did this Man really think he had no freedom to speak as he wished?

Preposterous.

"I will not." he gave the Man no more answer than that, head lifting with arrogant pride.

He casts his gaze up (Maker's breath but he's tall) at the elf, wondering for a moment just which one of the Rifters this is. Hard to keep track of some days, and he bears striking resemblance to other Rifter elves of other lands. "Once we land, there won't be any time for whinging and whining. We go where we're ordered, do as we're told. Unless, of course, you'd like to jump overboard and swim back to Ferelden."

Sure doesn't like to think about going overboard though. Nope. That's not some awful fear he's had to stuff down these past two days or anything.

If he knew anything of Arda Elven history, it would not take him long to guess. Thingol was not as tall as he was in his world, but his hair was just as silver and his aura was just as bright.

Oh and his attitude was just as stubborn and intractable too.

"I am not a soldier." his lips twisted and he turned so that the man could see him plainly, "I could swim back."

Elvish strength and durability was renowned in his world - and any other, he wagered. No, he wasn't proud at all.

Edited 2017-04-21 12:24 (UTC)

"You could." He has his doubts, obviously. The seas tend to be choppy with rough weather, and it's two days by boat alone. "Safe travels if you intend to go through with the proposal."

By all means, dive overboard. One less mouth to feed, and it'll be on his own head and not Malcolm's if he dies out there willingly.

Well, it did not take a universal translator to figure out that Thingol was not happy and that those words might not usually be used in polite company. Not that Kirk could blame him. The sight of their soon to be home was... well, less than impressive, to say the least. Already his back ached just looking at it, and he yearned for the warmth of the springs in Skyhold.

"My thoughts exactly," he said, leaning against the railing as they sailed over the chop. "But as they say, no pain, no glory." And no, he had not understood Thingol, just remained confident he had grasped the basic feeling about the situation.

Oh he knew far worse words, but he was a King and Kings knew not to curse profusely. And while their new home was not impressive, it was not that quality of it that bothered him the most. The Darkness that clung to the very structure of the buildings and statues made him nauseous.

"This land is cursed." his lips thinned, "I do not fear pain nor do I seek glory. But I would prefer my fëa be free of this taint."

Shadow could pass from someone or something to an innocent party. Thingol frowned at Kirk, clearly troubled.

"Keep yourself separate from it. You must."

"Fea?" Kirk repeated the word curiously, managing not to mangle the pronunciation to badly for his first attempt at it. He thought it might mean something like "spirit", but that was based on the human understanding of that word.

The other's earnest took him by surprised, blinking for a moment at him as if unsure of what he had heard.

"If you say so," he finally decided on, not precisely sure that the other was on about.

"The soul." Thingol did not like the word - as it originated in Quenya - but there was no Sindarin component, "Elves are strong spirits given flesh. Our souls matter far more to us."

Thus why an Elf would die for their beliefs - their loyalties - rather than darkening their souls with a lie.

"I do say so. One touch of a shadow can taint you, twist you. I have seen it happen to many others."

Souls. Magic. Spirits. Words Kirk did not particularly like, and he wasn't sure what to make of Thingol's explanation of it, but he thought it wiser not to get into a battle over something like that. What harm did it do anyways, for Thingol to believe as he did? Besides, there were much bigger matters at hand than a point of words.

"I've been touched by more than a few shadows," he assured him. "They haven't broken me yet, and they won't now either. But thanks, for the heads up." He glanced at Thingol, arching a brow. "You sure you're going to be okay, though?"

Elves knew of spirits intimately; they had flesh, bone and muscle bodies because that was what was required to exist on Arda. If they had remained with the Valar, it was unlikely such would be necessary and they would remain in their most basic, pure form. Thingol was very old, though many could claim higher ages because they had not perished. But he was still one of the first Elves to ever exist and that said something, truly.

"These are heavier than those you might have encountered thus far." it was difficult to tell what he saw when he looked upon their new home, but it wasn't good, "I can fend for myself. I have my blade and Aranrúth has not once failed me."

Except with the Dwarves. Damn all the Dwarves.

"Believe me, this - this isn't the worse thing I've seen in my life," he said softly, memories flashing, making him wince. No, it was not the most awful, not by a long shot. He had faced his darkest hours, his demons - he was sure he could handle what this place threw at him. It would take more than this place to break him, after all.

He looked to the elf and made a soft sound. "I don't know if a blade can help you here - not against everything, at least." Because who knew what might be lurking in this place? Seemed like every part of Thedas he went to had some monster or another waiting in the shadows to leap out at them. It was getting rather old, actually.

"This place has seen a lot of hardship," he explained. "I don't know how much anyone has told you about Kirkwall?"

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OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

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