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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A shade advances at Araceli, lunging out before she can reply and she blocks the strike with silkdart, gritting her teeth as it snarls at her. A sharp thrust with the rapier has it recoiling so she can dance back to find a better position.

"If the tall spindly ones appear, watch your footing, they can disappear and show up beneath you, knock you back!" She calls out, the shade advancing again.

Oh crap, they're coming out already. Prompto shifts his stance, going on the offensive. He moves towards the shade attacking Araceli, but he's cut off by a loud screech and a blast of ice. He's knocked back, wincing as he crawls back to get onto his feet. "Aw, not one of these again!" he says as a Despair demon swoops through. Prompto scrambles to his feet, going to thrust at the creature, but it jumps back, just out of reach before firing more ice at him.

Remembering her first encounter with one and the ice that had crawled up the blade of her rapier when she'd struck it, she curses, another thrust at the shade on the move to try boxing the despair demon in. The things always move and if one of them gets stuck with no way to get to the other it's going to be painful.

Like the shade clawing at her when she doesn't get out of the way in time. The curse in her mother tongue doesn't matter as she gives herself a shake, slamming the ornate hilt of her weapon into its face when it roars at her.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine! Are you?" Because that looked like it hurt. Prompto decides to ignore Despair for now and help his companion. He's not gonna chase after it while she's getting clawed. He runs over, taking advantage of the hilt knocking the thing on its head and driving the rapier through it.

Compared to some of the things a rift can spit out (Craintellier, every single time now it comes back to the nightmare that was Craintellier and even though that wasn't a normal situation she still prefers to plan for the very worst) a shade isn't so terrible. Not anymore.

Even if she knows that any sort of pistol and gunpowder would cause chaos in Thedas, she misses them in moments like this.

"Bueno, just-" She uses her shorter blade to drive through, twisting viciously and the shade crumples. "One down. Watch your feet!"

When she jumps to avoid the ice spray, she makes to grab Prompto too because it hurts to get caught up in it especially if you aren't prepared.

"Phew, glad that one's-"

He cuts off when she grabs him and yanks him back. For a moment he's utterly confused, until he feels the sting of cold near his feet. His boots keep out the worst of the cold.

"That thing's a pain," he mutters as his eyes search for the Despair demon. It's over in some corner, hovering with its little hands. Prompto swears it's taunting them. "Should we try and flank it?" What he wouldn't give to have his guns, too, so he could just land a bullet right in that demon's head.

"This blade is good for that." Fiendishly good beyond what she's read of these types of blades but Araceli doesn't really feel like questioning the thing that gives her an advantage in battle.

She's light on her feet as she starts to move, unwilling to look back should the demon focus on her since she's lost her best opportunity for stealth right now but it can't choose both of them.

"Mirrors, go one way, I'll go the other, keep closing it in." Eventually they'll wear it down and hopefully no one's going to go losing anything to frostbite in the process because Thedas isn't equipped for that.

"Okay." At least the demon's cornered, for now. Prompto breaks off from Araceli, going to the other side before he starts to move at the creature, blades drawn. Prompto's not the most graceful of people, but he tries to be cautious and light on his feet, knowing this thing could blast him at any given second.

Which, surprise, it does. The demon chooses to pick on Prompto first and hurls a streak of ice in his direction. Prompto curses and dives out of the way, rolling and tumbling.

With the demon's attention not on her, it allows Araceli to utilise her shorter blade to the best of her ability. Originally meant to be slipped up a sleeve then pulled free and wielded at fancy parties, it's still deadly enough when she needs it to be for something like this and she keeps out of the line of sight.

Each time when she goes for it, it's never what she expects. Solid but not solid enough. The cold pricks at her fingers when the shorter blade rams up, the rapier there for balance when she doesn't have a chance to wield it before there's a blast of ice and she's sent flying backwards, swearing. At least it's shrieking too. Probably in pain. She hasn't met anyone that claims to be an expert in the cries of demons.

Prompto's still trying to get to his feet when he sees from the corner of his eye Araceli go flying. The demon doesn't seem to be doing so great either, though. Prompto scrambles to his feet. "You okay?" he shouts to her.

Despair's not a happy camper right now. It screeches and fires a shot at Prompto. The blast hits him square in his side, knocking him back down onto his knees. Luckily he's not unused to being hit by ice/cold magic (thanks to Noctis and his horrible aim in chucking those magic bottles). Prompto takes his dagger and hurls it at the demon, hoping to nail him with the blade.

Bad news is, the blade doesn't sink in. But the hilt DOES connect, knocking the demon in the head. He hopes it gave it a concussion. He stumbles over to Araceli, holding out his hand to help her up, if she needs it.

"No te preocupes!" Araceli calls, a small part of her wishing for the first time that her mark could do something more than just seal the rifts. Shield her, shoot out blasts. Either thing would be appreciated right about now when it's something as mobile and destructive as a despair demon.

Her eyes dart to the dagger, taking note of where it landed if they need it before she takes the hand, using her other one to push herself up.

"Quickly, while we have the chance." She nods at her rapier and his, sure that if they charge it together they can do this when she's still got silkdart in her possession too if it's required. (This probably won't be a good enough excuse to get out of the work on the desk either, even when there's still the rift itself to close to keep other demons from following behind.)

Edited 2017-05-13 10:41 (UTC)

Prompto nods, gripping his borrowed rapier hard. Frost still covers his legs, but he's determined to work through it. He inhales deeply, bracing himself before he begins to sprint at the demon. Rapier drawn back, he runs full tilt at the thing, ready to thrust the blade into it.

Perhaps in these early days in Kirkwall, carrying around some of the things like balms or salves or flasks of whatever it is that the mages call them that tend to slip through her head to deal with just these sorts of things - ice and flame and lightning - might be sensible. Then again, that would be thinking ahead and they only have so great a capacity for that most days.

Araceli takes the opposite side from Prompto, thrusts with the rapier and flicks her other blade into a icepick grip as it-- crumples. Gives way. The cold makes her teeth burn as it howls and shrieks, the head twisting this way and that with all those terrible, terrible rows of teeth that make no sense belonging on a face that could have been human.

Sucking in a breath is like being back in the freezing wastes but she twists the rapier and rides it out, refusing to give in.

His blade follows in not far along behind hers, cutting through the creature's torso and nearly coming out the other side. The way the demon roars reminds him of home, when he got a little too close and personal to the daemons that terrorized the countryside when the sun set. He ducks his head, teeth gritted as it spewed out ice at his face.

Remembering his own weapon, Prompto reaches for his dagger and stabs. He aimed for the head, but winds up getting the demon's shoulder or neck instead - he can't really look over at the moment. But it certainly lands somewhere, as despair lets out another bone chilling (almost literally) scream. "Argh, c-c-come on!" Prompto's teeth are chattering so hard, he's sure to get a headache later. Despite the cold sapping his strength, he lifts out his dagger and brings it back down.

That seems to do it. Despair begins to falter, and the cold recedes.

There's a strange but very real satisfaction in taking down a demon. Something Araceli's done more of in Kirkwall than she has in a long time since her line of work doesn't put her into the field as often as others or at least not a field filled with rifts. You don't have to care like you would with a human. They weren't a person with a life, with a past, with a future. They're a thing that wants nothing more than to tear and destroy all the things they set eyes on.

The calm sets in for a moment as she withdraws her blade from the pile of rags that falls to the street. Still there isn't time to think about that as she wipes her dagger on them while she can, sticking it in her belt as she reaches over to tap Prompto's arm.

"We have to close that together. Hold out your hand, focus, draw deep and use all your will to do it and nothing more will come out."

It's a relief, that's for certain, but dread sets in as Prompto eyes up the rift in the distance. Gods, he hates closing them. He's only done it once or twice, but he still hates it, how it makes his hand and arm ache, and that he's using something he doesn't understand at all to accomplish it. But he has little choice here.

"Okay. Right." He lifts up his marked hand, aiming it at the rift. Prompto focuses as best he can, wincing as green energy sparks around the mark on his hand. "On three?"

Join the club. At least the terror no longer has Araceli actively scared her own hand will do something terrible now, not since she was taught how to do it properly but well, there are so few satisfactory answers. There's plenty she can go with, plenty she can improvise, plans and back-up plans and back-ups for back-ups but when she's suddenly got a thing in her that wasn't hers?

Not happy.

"On three." She plants her feet, pulls in a deep breath and extends out her arm. Accepts what's going to come as she narrows her whole world down to her hand and the rift and closing it because anticipating pain is living it twice and you always hurt yourself more that way.

Prompto shudders out a breath. "Right. One..."

He adopts her stance, and concentrates on the mark. He grimaces as the energy begins to build up. It takes everything he has not to yell as it keeps building. "Two..."

Deep breath. He tells himself he can do this, and at least he's not doing it alone. "Three!"

There's no getting used to the feeling of the magic that shoots out of his hand. He fails and lets out a short shout as it comes pouring out, straight into the rift.

Martel was a better teacher for this than Araceli could ever hope to be. Martel understood magic, Martel had the easy confidence, the way of just taking hold of her wrist out in the desert and pointing her hand just so. Araceli's words aren't for things that she can't understand properly but her head turns, hand still outstretched as the mark does as it should.

"Just focus, let it happen. Let it draw deep," she repeats again with an edge in her voice from trying to keep her own concentration on things that don't really have actual concrete thoughts to go with them. "Don't fight it, we're almost there!"

Ow. Ow, ow, ow, ow. Oh, did he mention ow?

His breaths come out in pants and huffs, arm shaking from the effort. By the Six, Prompto's almost sure his hand will explode. But finally, mercifully, the Rift closes, a burst of green and sparks before the air stills. Prompto sinks to his knees, lungs still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. "Th - Thanks," he manages.

"De-- It's nothing."

Use the right language, she remembers. Digs out a cloth to give her weapons a quick cursory wipe so she can stow them before making her way to him, her right hand on his shoulder as she bends at the waist to catch her own breath better, managing a smile.

"It gets easier, usually? Not so many as there have been in Kirkwall, they say the Veil was always very thin here. This was good, you did very well. The people here? They will have fewer demons prowling, maybe we will all sleep better into the bargain too, no?"

Prompto nods, quiet for the moment as he waits for his heartrate to return to normal levels and for his breathing to even out a little. He's no stranger to battles, but it's a whole different ball game to have a glowing hand that can close Rifts.

"Scary to think of those things opening up here, in a city. Bad enough to happen in the countryside, but it's way worse to have them in a city full of people. But yeah, you're right. I hope some people will go to bed knowing it's safer here tonight." He lifts up the rapier Araceli let him borrow and hands it over to her. "Thanks for letting me use that. Probably didn't have proper form and all, but at least it's sharp."

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OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

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