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

"Yes," Waver said, quite confident. He mentally tacked on for science, even though this was none of those things.

If anything, this was probably going to be one of those dreadful television programs of grown men screaming at the dark for an hour with commercial advertisements. The fact that he found that appealing spoke volumes right now.

"If nothing else, we might be able to bring back some rather useful information that can help speed the rest of this process along."

Sadly, the Medicine Seller was a good seventy - eighty years away to such television programming, but when the time came, he'd probably find it the epitome of entertainment.

He gathered up his belongings - well, he opened the middle-most drawer of his medicine pack and his scales gathered themselves up and levitated their bejeweled selves back into the box they sprung from. Save for one, which had perched atop Waver's head.

That would serve as their invisible ghost detector.

"Shall we then?"

"We shall."

Waver did take a moment to glance upwards though, catching sight of the scales perched atop his head. He shot the Medicine Seller a sidelong glance, clearly a request for an explanation, but in the meantime he flipped to another page of his notebook.

On the page itself was a map of the area, with Xs and squares denoting certain spots.

"The squares are active areas that haven't been addressed yet. Pick one."

The Medicine Seller offered no explanation for its behaviour. The scales usually did as they were bid, but sometimes they did as they pleased, and far be it for him to stop them. Or explain their peculiarities.

He tapped a purple nail lightly on a spot on the map; the First Enchanter's old study.

"...Here."

Hefting the pack onto his shoulders, he set off for the door.

The lack of explanation doesn't thrill Waver, but he accepts it. That the scales seem to have a personality is enough of an answer.

"Okay."

Waver doesn't put the map away though. It remains at his side to be consulted every so often, especially as they get deeper into the area. There are objects being moved in the distance, and every so often Waver catches one moving out of the corner of his eye. His body tenses every time as well, but reminding himself that this is all an experiment soothes him.

"Ah. Turn right and it is the first door on the left," he says, when they're nearly at their destination. There's a sudden chill in the air as well, which is greeted with a frown. "Hm. Interesting."

He followed Waver's instructions, quite relaxed for now. The occasional shifting bit of pottery or tools weren't particularly troubling - redecorating was hardly a good intimidation tactic.

The scales that had perched itself so neatly atop Waver's head had begun to sway a bit as the stepped into the dusty gloom.

The Medicine Seller had his head tilted upwards, like a dog that had caught a scent - the dip in temperature certainly hadn't escaped his notice.

"Something is here," he affirmed. Though what? There were many kinds of spirits that could cause things to become cold. But why hadn't it acted yet? They were sufficiently separated from the others after all.

"Such sluggish behaviour is ...unusual."

"It is," waver agreed, extending one hand up to brush against the scales. He wanted to feel if that cold chill impacted bodies other than their own. The scales seemed like a solid place to start.

Silence was settled around them, and Waver strained his ears for something. Anything.

"I think it's waiting," he said suddenly. "Which means this is an above average intelligence spirit.

The scales were unusually cold to the touch, though strange things that they were, they might have just always been like that.

"Most spirits are," said the Medicine Seller as he picked through the scattered pages of torn up books.

"Not being able to decipher something's reason, and that reason not existing are two very different things."

It was, for him, the first rule of his work. Just because something thought differently didn't mean it was stupid. It just had different circumstances.

Waver gave the scales an affectionate little tap with one of his fingers, a little thank you, then withdrew to put his hand in his pocket. The relaxed posture helped to slow his heart rate, but only by a fraction.

"Fair point," he said, once the Medicine Seller brought up reason. Waver was inclined to elaborate as well, when a few pages went flying out of the books and were suddenly plastered to the wall.

Rather than tense, Waver walked over towards the wall to examine the pages. If they had meaning was something he wanted to determine immediately.

"I'll bow to your expertise in how to proceed."

The Medicine Seller barely reacted to the flurry of pages that wooshed by his head. He was too busy nosing through the drawers of a broken desk to pay much mind to flying papers for the moment. Big deal, ghosts. Anyone could throw papers onto walls - the Medicine Seller did it all the time.

After his rummaging had procured naught but a bent sextant and a tin of moldy, sickly sweet smelling goo that had once been candies, he finally looked up at Waver's question.

"It is possible they are important."

He he moved from the desk to go peel on of the papers off the wall.

"A letter." His eyes scanned the contents before he offered it over to Waver. It was a rejection to a prior letter that had called for an investigation into one Otto Alrik.

Waver took the letter and read it in full. Not skim. Read. He noted every name, then walked back over to the desk and began to go through the drawers. None of them were stuck, or else the spirits were letting the drawers open easily.

"I found a stash," Waver announced when he got to the final drawer. There was a stack tied together with twine, rain spots and mold growing on the paper itself. He wastes no time in undoing the knot, and divides the pile in two.

"These look like case files."

There were numbers in the upper right corner. It was a logical guess.

He took the other stack of files, perusing the contents more thoroughly now that whatever was there seemed quiet for now.

His eyes narrowed as he came across something he was not familiar with.

"What is the 'Rite of Tranquility'?" He asked, peering up from over the edge of the moldy document. Going by context he was fairly certain meditation wasn't involved.

"Nothing pleasant," Waver said with a shudder. He had done some reading on the topic after arriving, but quickly put it aside when he learned what it was. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Waver continued.

"The ability for a native mage to tap into the Fade to perform magic is removed. Their emotions are also a casualty. It's like--"

Fuck, it isn't a good comparison but it is the only one Waver has.

"Popular culture depictions of a lobotomy."

OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

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