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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Beleth has no fear of magic, in usual circumstances. While she is no mage, she grew up surrounded by them, without the taboos carried by the shemlen. But the magic utilized by the strange Rifter was...odd. Eerie, almost. It was a magic she didn't know, and it seemed to utilize forces she was unfamiliar with.

It was, in short, otherworldly.

Which is why, when Beleth opened the door to see if it needed cleaning, and discovered the Medicine Seller, with his strange scales, and the bits of paper that he plastered to the wall (that would surely need to be cleaned up by someone, again) that Beleth deemed it best to simply back out and continue on her way. However, before she'd even got back to the doorway, she spotted a rogue flying pot heading for the Rifter. Strange or not, he certainly didn't deserve to get brained by a large piece of metal.

"Watch ou--!" Fortunately, Beleth has respectable reflexes, enough for her to hurry into the room and grab for the pot. But she had forgotten about the scales, and hadn't gotten the memo that they were pretty apt at not getting stepped on. Her fingers close around the pot, but with her momentum, and her belated attempts to try to avoid the scales, she stumbles, and falls over. Smooth.

At least the scales had managed to avoid getting squashed.

There's a long pause as Beleth's brain slowly processes the actions that just took place, but once it clicks, she looks up at the Medicine Seller, and holds up the pot like a trophy.

"It was going to hit you."

It all seemed to happen in slow motion - he sensed the pot being lobbed at his head just a moment too late. The young woman who had looked in on the room, and had the look of someone who promptly decided 'nope, not today' and had been about to leave, dove to catch the pot. The scales flew every which way to get out of her trajectory, and suddenly she was going down, down, onto the ground.

As Beleth held up the pot, every scale tipped in the direction it had flown from, their little bells chiming before promptly righting themselves. He gave them all a Look. Nice effort guys.

At least whatever it was had come and gone.

He knelt down, taking the pot and set it aside.

"Goodness. That was quite a tumble."

He offered a hand to help her up. One good turn did another, after all

"That was very kind of you. Thank you."

There's a single, wild moment where she's afraid that those weird scales are trying to point to her as...whatever the scales measured for, exactly. Evil? Danger? Being a dumbass?? Wait, no. It's just the pot.

"Of course." Beleth took the offered hand, pulling herself up and then promptly dusting herself off. Even though there wasn't any dust. That's just what you do. "That pot would've hurt. I'm just glad I caught it." Partly to avoid it hitting him, partly because it would've looked really dumb if she'd tripped and hadn't even managed to grab it.

"I don't think I've ever seen spirits like this...? I mean--I'm not a mage, obviously, but I've seen them before. Even talked to one. But, um--None of them ever threw things." She sighs, crossing her arms and looking around the room. "If they're going to act like this, I'd rather deal with demons. At least you can just stick them with arrows."

"It was a deft catch," he remarked as, one by one, the scales settled back into their original positions. They swayed occasionally, one way or another, but did not tilt.

"The simplicity of demons is refreshing," he agreed. They were powerful, true, but utterly predictable. He glance down at his sword and it stared back with its orange jeweled eyes and the ever-present, open-mouthed grin.

Nothing in this building was simple. Piecing together its history, complicated grudges lingered in the very stonework.

"I am certain it is not a single entity." He turned his attention from the sword, back to Beleth. "Though some behaviours are similar to those of Onryō."

There was a soft clink from the sword as it closed its teeth together.

"With the Fade as torn open as it is? There's definitely more than one spirit--or demon--here. They could probably throw a parade. It's a shame Solas isn't here, really, he'd know how to--" Before Beleth could explain what Solas could do, or have time to ask what an Onryō is, or whatever else she could say, there's a clink. Curious as to what made the sound, Beleth's eyes dart down--only to see the sword's strange decoration had moved. A chill goes down her back, and there's a quick moment of surveying the room for any more flying kitchenware, or other semblance of malicious spirits.

Nothing seems to be happening, so Beleth feels like it's only right to inform the rifter of this startling development. "Your sword--the face in it--" What was that face, anyway? A demon? Why would you have it on your sword??? "--It moved. The mouth." She glances up at him, voice hushed. Like the sword could overhear and get mad, or something. Who even knows?? This is all out of her depth, let her know when you need something scouted, or stuck with a bunch of arrows.

He chuckled a bit to himself.

"It is a little early for Hyakki Yagyō. And these do not seem the festive sorts."

Not that he wouldn't mind seeing a demon parade. It would be a nice change of pace, though he wondered how well it would be received in the Gallows. And then there was that name again - this must have been the fifth time he heard it. Who was this mysterious Solas? And why did it incite an acute craving for an omelet? The world may never know.

He glanced back to Beleth, briefly puzzled by her reaction.

Oh. Right. The sword would probably seem creepy. Oh dear.

"It has heard the spirit's Form," he explained. "When a person dies holding a grudge, feelings of anger and resentment create a vengeful creature. I am not sure what it would be called in this place, but I know them as Onryō."

His gaze fell back down at the sword with its fanged grin and unblinking orange stare.

"Given the history of this place, the Truth and Regret should not be difficult to find."

Why are Rifters so dang weird?

Beleth contemplates this question for the ages, as man explains various things and uses words that don't sound like any language she's heard of. Still, in the spirit of being a good host, she gives the strange demon face in the sword a more appraising glance. "On-Reo." Well, she tried, at least. At least the thing being able to detect demons would probably be pretty useful.

--Wait, did he imply that he's seen an actual demon parade? Does she even want to know?

No. No, she does not.

"Yes, I would guess a great number of the people who died here carried anger and resentment. How could they not? I'd certainly be, in their position." But of course, she's Dalish, how could she not hate the idea of being imprisoned in an island of stone? "That's why the Veil is so thin here. Why spirits and demons cross over so easily. But--um. Are Truth and Regret spirits?" And why was he trying to find them? Few people sought spirits out willingly.

"There are, undoubtedly, spirits that may go by such titles," he said in that infuriatingly slow manner of speech, as if there was all the time in the world to chit chat.

"...But I am not referring to such beings. Rather the state of affairs that have warped them into such grotesques."

He tucked the sword back into his sash.

"The Truth of their circumstances will likely be similar. But their perceptions, thoughts, feelings... the cycle of Regret that traps them - that will be different."

Luckily for him, Beleth is patient enough, and she didn't have any plans today besides 'try to make the Gallows at least a little less horrifyingly deadly'. Which, surely, this counts as, somehow, probably. Admittedly, her current goal is leaning a little more towards trying to figure out if this guy is actually fascinating, or exactly as kooky as previously estimated.

Maybe both.

After some careful consideration on that subject, and the subject of the actual conversation, she passes a firm, definitive verdict.

She has no fucking clue what he's saying.

After a few additional moments of trying to decide how to respond to something she only vaguely understood without calling attention to the fact, she puts her hands on her hips, nodding solemnly, like she totally understood everything he just said and they were completely in agreement, my guy. "Mmm, yeah. I can see how that would create some problems here."

His words successfully acknowledged according to proper manners, she then moves to smoothly steer the conversation in an entirely different direction. "Speaking of names--" And like it just occurred to her, she blinks, and then makes a fist, holding it to her chest, with an informal bob of the head, before relaxing again. "--Beleth Ashara. Scout. And bard!" Or at least, she's a bard-in-training, which is close enough. "It's a pleasure."

He didn't seem particularly perturbed that Beleth had responded in the most polite but vague way possible. He was well aware that, for many, what passed for explanations in his roundabout way were not very clear. He was no instructor on these matters. His job was simply to sort out the nuances, however rational or otherwise, that drove people to some spiritual madness.

"A woman of many talents," he remarked, bowing his head. "It is, likewise, a pleasure to meet you. And I should express my gratitude for your good timing earlier."

He didn't offer a name. He didn't really have one to give, but only recently it was starting to seem like a bit of a problem.

So it was his turn to change the subject.

"Though whether counting pottery or throwing it, such behaviour always has meaning. I wonder if the pot is significant."

At his compliment, Beleth ducked her head, a bashful smile on her face. "Not so many. Just enough, I suppose." Bard, scout, and expert pot catcher, what more could you possibly ask for? "And of course. I didn't want to stand idly by and watch someone get hurt."

That he doesn't provide a name is noted, but she can't figure out a way to broach it without seeming rude. Maybe there's a good reason? Maybe it just didn't occur to him to provide his own. Courtesy is more important than curiosity, and Beleth elects to simply wait and see if an opportunity to gently prod for it comes up.

"Significance? I can't imagine what significance a pot would have. But I suppose there's a lot that happens in this place outside of my imagination." It's not like Beleth ever really visited a functioning circle before, and it looked like that wasn't going to be amended any time soon. "I would have guessed it was just being angry. Trying to hurt people." She gives another shrug, as if to say, But what do I know?

"I'll report it, anyway. So other people can watch out. If you're alright being alone...?" Lest he be caught with another miscellaneous cooking utensil to the noggin.

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OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

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