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

[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.