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

"Who can say," he remarked, and began to rifle through the middle compartment, looking for just where he put that teaset. Several more oddities had to be removed for him to retrieve it, including a number of haniwa, a sealed box, a pyramid with an eye painted on it, several jars, a figurine of an octopus, and a few antique looking marital aids. There were museum curators that would probably do a great deal just to get a peek at some of the crap the Medicine Seller had acquired and squirreled away over the centuries.

Finally, he retrieved it, and cleaned up the mess around him.

"They are not heirlooms, however. I should probably sell some of it though."

He wrinkled his nose as he stared into the depths of his medicine pack. "It has been some time since I properly cleaned it out."

"..."

Church could only stare in bewilderment as more things kept coming out, and if he focused on how weird and varied those things were, he probably would've gone a little mad.

"How do you..." He trailed off weakly, choosing instead to turn his baffled stare to the tea set, as if that was the only strange thing of the pack. "That thing's bigger on the inside. Lllllemmie guess: magic? A magical bag of holding like thing that just holds all?"

"My, that does sound quite fantastical," he hummed, rather amused by the man's speculations. Of course, Church was on the nose, but the Medicine Seller was nothing if not an aggravating pedant. Especially when any of his weird magical stuff was called out for being exactly what it was.

"But as you can see, it is a box. Not a bag at all."

He even tilted it a bit so Church could get a look in the top compartment which... just appeared to be very tightly packed and not at all some infinite void of stuff.

That there is a frown. Like, a deeper frown. Like he can't tell if he was in the wrong or if this guy's just dicking with him or both. "Magical box of holding, then."

He squints at the contents. He can at least see some of the stuff pulled out, sort of mushed in but in a tetris-y organizational way. "There's totally magic here, don't know if you've noticed," he adds, petulantly. "I should ask if they could conjure up a box of holding. Like, if it's possible here." He's not super convinced of anything but the dude still carries a tea set in a box on a ship somehow. There's a lot of baffling things going on right now.

"I have noticed," he said, his tone just one big shrug, even though he was preoccupied with arranging the cups.

"I have also noticed there is a bit of controversy about its place in the world."

Spoken with the air of someone who had no interest in getting caught up in either side of that particular controversy.

He laid out the cups - tea for two. They were rather dainty little things - deceptively dainty even. Stoneware was fairly sturdy and he did keep them properly shelved and nestled safely in their little compartment so they didn't rattle too badly.

"Please pardon me - I shall go get some hot water."

"I...okay."

It's not that he doesn't like this guy's style. The unruffled and nonchalant, who says a thing and does it as if it's not weird. How do you make hot water in the middle of the ocean? Mmmmmagic? It's not like they've got fire for, y'know, wooden boats. Or did they? They don't have stoves. Do they? He doesn't know a thing about how boats work.

But no, the guy had B+ points for scooting along without bothering with too many questions. But man is that rankling sometimes.

Still. Rude to not sit for tea. And, yeah, okay, sure, he's rude sometimes, but he might as well make sure he doesn't fall out of the makeshift bedding and sit himself down like he's having tea with Christine.

In the ship's kitchen, obviously. On the mundane coal stove where many a sailor's meals were cooked. And certainly not by asking a passing mage to do it for him because that would probably be seen as rude.

In any case, he returned shortly with a kettle of hot water.

"You are a stranger to this place, then?" He asked as he fished out his cannister of matcha. He didn't bother adding an 'as well' in there. He was fairly certain they both stood out as Rifters.

He doesn't know the first thing about old timey boats, okay. He knows about spaceships with all the modern comforts of future home. While he's adjusted pretty well (out of necessity), he sometimes misses the basics. Like electricity. God damn, he can't wait for these people to discover electricity. He'd tried to enlist the help of a mage to make something warmed with lightning-power, but it just wasn't the same...

"Yeah. Been here a while. Long while. Over a year." He thinks for a second of telling Wash I've been here fourteen months and laughs to himself. At least this time he hasn't been alone.

Some days, he's very, very glad that being alone is so hard around the Inquisition, because it might drive him crazy.

"Close to a year and a half, I guess. It's...been a wild ride. None of this is anything even remotely like where I came from. You seem a teensy bit more at home."

"My goodness, that is a terribly long time," he said, and began to mix the matcha in the cups with a large whisk. Swish swish swish until it was clear green tea.

"People do not change much, wherever one goes." Not much anyway. You'd think for all their similarities, people would squabble less. He offered the steaming cup to Church.

"Where did you come from?"

Edited (html fail + literally forgot the word for whisk i am a hot mess) 2017-05-09 23:14 (UTC)

"Ain't that the truth."

He accepts the cup with a nod of thanks, blowing on it a little. "I come from not fucking here, that's for sure. Another planet, with waaaaay more technology than they have here. Still basically at war, though. If it's not with demons, then it's with magical people who want to end the world, and if it's not with magical people who want to end the world, then it's aliens where I'm from. And if it's not aliens, then it's with each other." A shrug. "So yeah. People don't change a whole lot. Even in the space-faring future."

"Such things seem to be universal," he said thoughtfully, preparing a cup of tea for himself. "Such a pity."

He took a sip, thoughtful. There were short stories he saw occasionally in magazines, speculating about a time when people would live on the moon or Mars, or what meeting life from beyond the stars might entail. Some were optimistic, others painted a bleaker picture.

It seemed, in this man's case, the latter was more accurate.

"How does one travel to another planet? With the magic?"

OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

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