faderift | 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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The voyage has not unsettled him, however his first sight of their new "home" has done far more than choppy waves ever could to his heart and his stomach. Thingol is accustomed to halls that blend seamlessly in with a beautiful forest. He has often camped outside under the stars and been glad of it! Yet this...

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?

He sought out Thingol for his own reasons, and it is just as easy as he suspected it would be to try and find him-- a gesture to Thranduil's own self, 'have you seen anyone who', his ears covered-- he does not need elf atop rifter just yet. And he is not really surprised when he finds himself in a tavern.

He picks his way through the sea of people and stands next to the seat nearest to Thingol, a moment of quiet as he waits to be acknowledged and then sits.

"The stars are difficult to see this night," he says, and signals for a mug of-- whatever they're serving. The only coins he has are Orlesians, but the barkeep takes them anyway.

Those ears will soon be uncovered if Thingol has his way. He has silver hair enough that the pointed tips are, for the most part, hidden. Thranduil is equally blessed in that department - except in hues of gold - however it is the principle of the matter. Being an Elf is troublesome indeed - dangerous - but there is no mask or armor in the universe that can hide this child's beauty from his eyes.

"Is that surprising? The Darkness lays so thick here, I can taste it." he purses his lips stubbornly, "They need more of our kind to dispel it, yet they treat us like refuse."

Maybe it is shamed out of him- he is the only elf Thranduil will take orders from without blinking, besides his own father, but there is a reflexive jerk of movement from him after he's settled, his fingers dragging his hair over a shoulder, the tip of one ear peeking out from between white-gold strands.

He nods, agreeing, hands resting loosely on the top of the bar. "We have time," Thranduil notes. Few resources beyond that, but they'd fall into place once Corypheus fell.

(Perhaps, later, he'd speak of Solas, but the bar is crowded and as sure as he is of his glamour, he will not risk it.)

"I hope, my lord," he murmurs, glancing over. "- that no one has treated you so?"

It is good to see that tip and, momentarily, Thingol's eyes are drawn to it, a small smile touching his lips. Good, child. Do not let them take your race, your culture from you. His long fingers curl around his cup of Eru knows what sort of alcohol and he cocks his head to the left.

"Time spent in Shadow." he feels as if he has entered the Enemy's lands and any time spent in such a place will surely be to their detriment. He meets Thranduil's gaze and the color seems to soften.

"Far less than I would have presumed given the climate." but he is intimidating in his own right, "Yes, it has happened and I did not take kindly to it nor did I pretend not to hear it."

OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

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