faderift | closed || Quid Pro Quo

[The journey from Kirkwall to Orzammar has two parts: sailing across the Waking Sea, then a trip inland to Orzammar itself. Inquisition funding gives their party coin enough to book passage on a ship headed toward Jader, and enough left over to secure three horses and a cart to get them to Orzammar.

Three horses, five party members. That's one horse for the cart, two that they can all trade off with--and anyone not riding gets to choose walking or riding in the cart. There are both less dignified entrances they might make, and more.

There is no particular hurry, but this is a mission. The first few days on the road, Bellamy is strict with the pace. He relaxes a little, as their ride goes on.

Their camp is decently stocked with provisions, worn tents and bedrolls, cookpots, food left over from the crossing and whatever they might have picked up in Jedar to get them to Orzammar. The basic supplies are cobbled together from Inquisition storerooms and have seen better days, but any holes in the tent canvas have been patched over and the big tin pot for cooking is only a little dented.

All in all, it's not an unpleasant trip, though how easily any party member might sleep depends on how eager they are to get to underground demon fighting.]

[Along the route, Fenris is generally more content to walk than to ride, frequently allowing others to take the horses. He's not overly fond of them truthfully, though he'll occasionally take a break and do so anyway. Not that he's very good with relaxing. The swift, steady pace they're taking works well for him. The sooner they get there, the better.]

[He doesn't settle much even at the end of the day once they've make camp, stretching and pacing a little as he scans the area.]

We should be there soon, at this rate.

Have you been to Orzammar before?

[Cosima might have asked this earlier -- she probably would have, except for the irrational part of her that spent the first few days of the mission wondering how she'd manage to end up in a jail cell yet again. She's relaxed a bit, though, as they fall into something like a rhythm of travel. And with the relaxation comes indulging her curiosity. It can't hurt to ask?]

I haven't. I can't say I've ever wanted to visit it before, either... I've heard that the more traditional among the dwarves aren't specially fond of visitors. They must be desperate if they're asking this of us.

[But how else are they going to close that rift? It's not something so easily done, not without a rifter or other shardbearer. Which means bringing the Inquisition in to handle it. Lucky them. Still, Fenris does have to admit he's... morbidly curious to see what life is really like underground.]

I guess you don't build a heavily fortified underground city if you're fond of visitors.

[Still, it is interesting at that. And it's mildly novel that they won't necessarily object to rifters more than any other Inquisition personnel.]

Still, it's going to be interesting. Hopefully the regular interesting, not the euphemistic kind where we're all running from something at the end of it.

I wouldn’t count out the possibility of this all ending in a massive disaster of some sort. They wouldn’t involve the Inquisition otherwise.

[After a lot of the things he’s been through, Fenris has come to trust in things generally going from “ok” to “oh god can it get any worse” pretty fast. But who knows? They might be surprised.]

But dwarves really are peculiar people… the underground and surface ones alike. [Especially when your name is Varric.] Did you know that these dwarves who live in the underground are forbidden from ever going to the surface?

I didn't. Do people know why? Is it just, like, a cultural purity thing, or is there some other reason?

[She'd seen dwarves enough on the surface that she'd just assumed some of them came from Orzammar; she sees now that was probably hasty, but she's so used to playing catch-up here that she's not shocked she's filled in some of her blanks incorrectly.]

[Fenris nods. He’s got some knowledge of the dwarves, although none of it is direct, like some other cultures would be. But he knows the basics that most do on Thedas. He frowns a little bit, thinking of what he knows about their society.]

The underground dwarves have a very strict caste system. Orzammar itself is divided quite rigidly by these castes, with the nobles having their own section, the merchants and so forth… and then there are the undesirables. There are always undesirables. [He makes another face at that, disliking the whole notion on principle. Sure, it’s not quite slavery, but even so...] They call them the casteless, and they live in the most rundown part of town. They say their Ancestors disfavor them.

That also happens for those who leave for the surface. I believe the word they use is ‘sun-touched’ or along those lines. Once a dwarf departs for the surface, they’re considered casteless, outside of their society. Exile to the surface could be considered a terrible punishment for some. Though some willingly choose this, of course, if their place in underground life is unappealing… but they can never be welcomed back into the society if they leave.

Wow. That's intense.

[In fairness, a lot of things in Thedas are intense, in Cosima's experience.]

So caste is a birth thing? Because if there's not a way to move between castes, you'd think a lot of the people who are casteless anyway would just take their chance on the surface if they could.

[Her tone is sympathetic, mainly. She can't approve of a system where people are stuck in shitty lives indefinitely. Sure, this is hardly the only system that works that way, but that doesn't mean she has to like it better.]

I would certainly take my chances.

[Yes, he can't blame them whatsoever. To live in a society with such a rigid order, with your station imposed on you without a choice, to be looked down on, enslaved, treated with cruelty... No. Dwarven society below the surface is just unpleasant, even with the lack of mages. Surprisingly.]

Who knows what keeps them down there? At least on the surface, there are opportunities... and the dwarves still need trade to come from somewhere, so the surface dwarves have an essential role. Far better than being the lowest of the low, in their society's eyes.

I mean, I'd think so. But I also realize that I'm like, the last person qualified to guess anything about any culture in Thedas so.

[Thus the questions.]

Thanks, though. I really appreciate when people take the time to answer what must seem like incredibly basic questions, that's gotta get old.

It must get just as old having to deal with a world that's not your own. I can't blame you.

[He's still getting used to that notion, but in a way he understands. Even being in a less familiar country could be daunting, let alone another world.]

Some of this world isn't so bad... but I've always thought it for the best to know the full truth of what you're getting into, no matter how terrible it may seem. Dwarven culture takes some careful navigation, but it won't be impossible to deal with.

There's that too. Luckily, no one sent me here to negotiate anything. Just [she wiggles the hand with the anchor shard] practical considerations.

There's a lot of this world that's really fascinating, but it wasn't like I was a politician or a diplomat at home, either. I mean, not beyond what it takes to try to sweet-talk someone into funding my research, at least.

I’m no diplomat either… Maker knows why I’ve been sent along.

[He may be underestimating his skills with such things, but of all things, he’d never have seen himself going down to negotiate with dwarves. If Varric could see him now...]

Do you ever get used to it? Having that shard in your hand?

[As used to it as one might get toward glowy brands all over, he supposes, though.]

[She shrugs.]

Yes and no. It aches pretty steadily, though if I'm doing something else I'm less conscious of it. Like a mild headache in your hand. It's still startling, when I glance down and see it. Maybe you get used to that too, but I haven't yet.

[She considers asking about his markings but doesn't; if he wants to bring them up, she figures, he will without prompting. Instead, she decided to be frank:]

I'm a pretty deeply unmagical woman, though, so sometimes it's existentially uncomfortable be so intimately tied to something I don't understand and can't really control.

Edited (verb tenses, hooray) 2017-07-09 13:20 (UTC)

[The constant ache is something he can understand all too well. It may not be at all the same circumstances, but in some ways this does help him understand this aspect of rifters a little better. A lot better.]

It's probably for the best not to get too used to it... then you'll start accepting it. [Has he gotten too used to his own... alteration? That's something he'll have to ponder some more, soon.]

Magic is unnatural and dangerous, and has only ever ultimately caused more harm than good. [He pauses a moment.] I don't mean to frighten you. But that's my way of agreeing... you're right to be wary of it.

I mean, I'm a little more worried about what it's actually doing than the ache itself. Anything that can close a rip in reality without me understanding how it works...

[She shrugs.]

My world doesn't have magic at all, as far as I know. It's hard for me to get a sense of what different people here consider 'normal,' sometimes.

Count yourself fortunate to have grown up in a world free of magic.

[For all the positives it might have, the negative aspects of magic far outweigh those. Always.]

I don't know if there's a such thing as normal around here either, but generally having a glowing shard in your hand is far from it. Let's hope they'll start to understand more about it, in time.

[During the trip to Orzammar, Bellamy takes it upon himself to supplement their provisions with hunting.

The only trouble is, Bellamy is not very good at hunting, at least not the game that populates this area of Thedas. Some of the tricks and tactics he learned in Kaiten and in the Frostbacks carry over, but the largest population of walking food are the ground birds, which are proving to be way too clever to fall for the snares that Bellamy is good at.

Which means he spends most of his time crouched in the brush of whatever copse of trees he can find, staring hard at shadows until his eyes get tired of staring. He comes back with maybe a squirrel to show for it, if he's lucky.

One particularly memorable hunting trip has Bellamy vigilantly staring at a knothole in a large and gnarled tree, his crossbow wound and ready. When he hears a twig snap behind him, he whips around on pure instinct, crossbow raised, arm tense. He relaxes only when he realizes that he's basically drawn on a member of his party.]

Sorry.

Jesus. [Church's hands stay up for a while longer than they need to, because it's been a while since someone's drawn a gun-like weapon on him, and it's an automatic reaction at this point.]

Sorry, I'll try to be quieter next time. You were gone a while. Starting to worry if you tripped off a cliff and died.

[The reception in Orzammar is polite without excess or overt warmth. The Inquisition's assistance with the Rift was directly requested, so the arrival of said assistance merits fresh food and accommodations, but not much more than that. It's not a lack of hospitality but a lack of ability. If the dwarves of Orzammar could handle the rift on their own, they would have.

But the dual purpose of their presence here means they've got to find a way to talk lyrium while they're here. Before and after the work on the rift, there are three agents of the most powerful houses of the consortium to track down. Fortunately, they're all easily located. It's charming them which might prove difficult.]

[The brief provided by the Inquisition has this to say about Aderik Alticaen, the agent of Alticaen house: young, heir to his house, ambitious and creative, which means he's a tough sell but open to restructuring the deal if the Inquisition can make it seem worthwhile. Interested in wider affairs and expanding the family's reach. He's capable of persuading his mother to agree with his choices.

Aderik himself is found in a small candlelit chamber strewn with books, sheaves of parchment, and half-rolled maps with their corners weighed down by carved stone paperweights. He does not look up when they enter the room, but continues to read whatever book his reading, his head bent over the tome, so close his nose is nearly touching the page. He is using his thick finger as a guide, following along with the text--so they'll need to get his attention as well as his interest.]

[The Inquisition's brief on Fenna Belnarek has a few warnings: older woman, aunt to the head of the house, and very cautious and conservative. She has no interest in surfacer affairs, and disdains any dwarf who does. Her word isn't law, but her attitudes are a mostly a product of her house.

This means that the representatives of the Inquisition must come to her. She is holding court in a comfortable chamber of significant size, speaking to two other dwarves. All three look over at the newcomers. All three frown before Fenna leans in to offer a few last words, and then the party makes their goodbyes. They have to pass the party on their way out, and do so carefully, without making eye contact. That leaves them alone with Fenna, who settles back on the cushioned stone bench with a loud sigh.]

Well? Get on with whatever you have to say to me, and skip the pleasantries. I have an appointment a few minutes from now and do not have time to waste.

[Her hawkish gaze is a little like being stared down by an impatient schoolmistress. The only reason she's not tapping her foot is because she's sitting down.]

[Bellamy, before speaking, exchanges as surreptitious a look with his companions as he can. This is the part of their mission that he was not looking forward to, and whatever it says about Bellamy--that he would prefer to fight demons and work on closing rifts than trying to wheedle a trade deal out of anyone--well, it's probably not a surprise, what it says about it.

But: okay.]

Greetings, Fenna Belnarek, from the Inquisition.

[The stiff language of diplomacy sounds just that: stiff. If this is the wrong way to proceed, he doesn't know any better. His biggest forays into any kind of statesmanship have ended with pretty disastrous results, or with Bellamy just standing off to the sidelines, listening to negotiations.]

You know what we've been sent here for: closing the rift that's opened in Orzammar. We won't take up more of your time than we need to. We're here to start a discussion, on behalf of the Inquisition.

[The Inquisition's notes on Varnar Dramold should give the party a good idea on what to expect from him: middle-aged, sweaty, sloppy, always late. But careful observation or intel-gathering will alert them to the fact that this is largely a ruse to disguise the fact that he's one of the shrewdest agents in Orzammar. The notes suggest that he is eager to extract even more money out of the Inquisition, not offer them a sweet discount.

In Orzammar, Varnar is everywhere and nowhere. Fellow members of his house are vague about where he might be found--eating, drinking, sleeping, just here a moment ago. It takes nearly the whole time they're in Orzammar for the party to find him--and really, it's him who finds them.

In a passageway while they're walking between one point and another, a stout dwarf comes stumbling along with his head bent. He is carrying a loaf of bread under one arm, a large leather-bound book under his other arm, and a lit torch in his right hand--and he is not looking where he's going, which means he runs straight into whoever is leading the way.

With a startled cry, he springs back and drops everything he's carrying.]

Stones! Oh-- your pardon, your pardon, I didn't see--

[The torch hits the floor but does not go out. The flickering light casts crazy shadows everywhere. The book hits like a weight. The bread strikes stone softly, scattering crumbs. It's the last of these that Varnar goes for first, as he digs a stained handkerchief out of the front of his vest and mops at his shiny forehead.]

By the Stone! I didn't see you lot there! Came sneaking up nearly out of nowhere--if I've damaged anything, you must send the bill to me. Ask anyone in Orzammar and they'll point you to me. Varmar Darmold is the name--

[By chance, it happens that Fenris is in the front of the group at the very moment the dwarf comes obliviously along. He gives an astonished cry, startled by the random collision. It's no harm done, of course, but still... Still. They've finally found the man they've been looking for.]

[About time.]

[Chasing this dwarf down has been an exercise in futility. Fenris has had half a mind to suggest they give up this useless chase, but here he is. He bends down to retrieve the torch and book. The words on its cover aren't entirely familiar to him... he still has much to learn. Though he does give it a curious second glance before offering it to Varnar.]

Nothing is damaged, and that won't be necessary... although we wouldn't mind having a word with you instead.

[The request for the Inquisition's aid contained some details on the rift itself. It is located in a side passage on the outskirts of the Commons, the main level of Orzammar where all dwarves who have a caste (but aren't noble) live and work. It's not right in the thick of things, but has basically popped up in the dwarven equivalent of a suburban cul-de-sac. It's been there for almost a month, and the dwarves report that it has been gradually but consistently growing, and the team will notice that it is more active than is common. They've set up a perimeter of Warrior caste to keep the demons from flooding out.

These perimeter guards move aside for the Inquisition when they arrive. Most strive to keep their stony expressions, but a few cast glances of interest or judgement over the party that has come to deal with this trouble on behalf of the Inquisition. Sure, it's not totally unheard of, Surfacers coming down below the ground, but this kind of help is something special, and no one is really sure of what to think, distrust tinged with gratitude--or gratitude tinged with distrust, depending.

No one has been down here since the rift got bad, so the narrow passage that they follow to the rift is dark, but it's anything but quiet. A vaguely disquieting hiss comes from somewhere ahead, growing louder the farther that they go--though it isn't very far that they have to go. The rift comes into sight around a sharp bend, where the passageway opens up into that cul-de-sac end. The roof of this part of the cave is a high vaulted ceiling that disappears into darkness. The walls around them are smooth, worn down with care. And then there's the rift, splashed obscenely among the faces of the rocks--but before anyone really has time to register any greater details, there's the demons to deal with.

A whole mass of rage demons swarm toward them, brutal hisses and barks registering in a distorted echoing cacophony as they crowd the passage. Behind their seething ranks, two fear demons lift what passes for heads toward them before they begin their glide over.

Never a dull moment, even in Orzammar!]

[Fenris is... more or less used to the kind of looks the dwarves are giving them, though it's usually from a different source. He's more focused on the task ahead though. Demons. His least favorite entities in the world. He's been itching to stab a bunch of them as soon as he'd heard about this mission. It's a lot of the reason he'd signed on.]

[As soon as they reach the swarm of the creatures, he's almost surprised. He's encountered a rift by now, so he knows what to expect, but this is above and beyond the usual. Drawing out his large two-handed sword, he wastes no time in charging forth, swinging with a steady strike toward the first of the rage demons.]

[Church is not here for doing deals. He'll accompany them and maybe even pick up some knowledge about 1) how to deal with these underground dwarves, since that's apparently different than aboveground dwarves, 2) lyrium, more than he already knows, and 3) the sort of deals already in place and into the future. He doesn't suspect he'll use that knowledge, but still, good to know something.

No, he's mostly here to close rifts and kick demon ass and maybe impress some impressionable dwarves. He normally covers his sharded hand with a glove to block out the light, seem like normal, but this trip underground, he's mostly left it off. He's easily identifiable that way, and nothing will get in the way.

But with all the demons after a tight passageway squeeze, he can't even get at a good angle to start closing it. Church dodges aside rather than rushing ahead, putting up the mystical shard of a shield when a rage demon raises a burning appendage to lash out on him. He'll worry about building heat in the room if they don't get this dealt with quickly, and he slashes with his sword.

Maybe Bellamy makes him miss the crossbow, but he knows it wouldn't do him any good if he'd brought it into close quarters combat like this.]

Watch the scary ones!

[He's super helpful, guys.]

closed || Quid Pro Quo

team building on the way to Orzammar

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Orzammar - the Lyrium Deal

the Lyrium Deal - Aderik Alticaen

the Lyrium Deal - Fenna Belnarek

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the Lyrium Deal - Varnar Dramold

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Orzammar - THE RIFT.

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