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

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."

OPEN LOG: Establishing a Base in Kirkwall

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