faderift | [CLOSED] For the world's more full of weeping,

WHO: Sina, Kit, Myr; later: Yngvi, Herian, Kaisa, Nari
WHAT: Something's not right about a warehouse down by the docks...
WHEN: Mid-Kingsway, while the rest of the Inquisition's off playing Hello Kitty Island Adventure
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Warnings for child abuse and abandonment, implied violent death.

There's a warehouse down near the Kirkwall docks with a mystery crouched inside it.

Myr had smelled it first on passing by the place: Decomposing meat, spilled bowels, rotting corpse. Something wrong, even in the bad parts of Kirkwall; something that demands investigation.

He'd left a glyph nearby to remind him of the place, returned the following evening to hunt around for the source of the smell. It wasn't so hard to isolate it to the one particular warehouse, not with the mephitic funk of recent death oozing from the back windows. Lingering long enough to place another marker, he caught the faintest high-pitched wail--and had to flee back to the road to evade the warehouse's inattentive guardian before he could make certain of what he'd heard.

Quiet inquiries made of passers-by didn't serve to unravel the mystery. Not many of them were inclined to speak to an elf--but the scraps he could garner were food for suspicion. It was empty; someone's cousin-or-other had heard it was up for sale; the single guard's posted to keep away squatters; no one knows or cares what had been stored there before.

A tidy story. A dull story. A story that doesn't explain the stench or the sound. Someone needs to dig further into it; how convenient that someone's here to dig.

It isn't the first time Myr's acted on mad impulse since coming to Kirkwall; it is the first time he's hesitated long enough to question if it's safe for him to do this alone. Elves are disappearing from the city and none of the authorities care. What's one more killed for nosing around somewhere he doesn't belong, even if--especially if--he's a mage? It wouldn't be hard to walk away from this. No matter the itching sense of urgency in the back of his head, he could walk back to the docks and hand this over to the Inquisition guard there. It would be the safe option.

The wind shifts, bringing with it the scent of rot. You don't have that kind of time. He clasps the sending crystal at his neck, awakening the enchantment and thinking of Kit and Sina.

"Have you two got time to come to the docks? I've turned up something down here I don't like." His description of his find is quick and to the point and doesn't neglect that heart-chilling, half-imagined cry.

Threaded | Flat

Myr's description is quick and to the point, and more than enough to get Kit dressed, out of bed, and booking it down to the docks. Relatively speaking, it doesn't take him long to get there; he's a denizen of the shadier reaches of the city now. In fact, some part of him is privately ashamed that he hasn't stumbled upon this chilling mystery prior to Myr's message.

He arrives at the docks perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes after receiving his friend's message, and finds him quickly enough.

"Hey, it's me," he announces himself, and briefly rests a hand on his friend's arm so he can know where, exactly, Kit is in relation to the rest of him.

Kit makes a call.

With that done, he does what he can to help Sina and Myr remove the rest of the children--babies, they truly are just babies--out of the cage they've been confined to like livestock, his heart seizing so powerfully in his chest at the sight of their abuse and neglect that he doesn't trust himself to speak. Once they're free, the risks touching the blanket that was stowed away with them and uses that to cover the fallen body of the slave.

It feels wrong, somehow, to leave him without saying something over his body. "Atrast nal tunsha." May you always find your way in the dark.

"I'm going to wait outside for the others," he says to Myr and Sina, looking between them with undisguised worry on his face. "Will you two be all right?"

Myr tries not to blanch as takes a knee beside the corpse.

"Kit," he calls, voice a little flat for the effort not to breathe too deep, "did you get a good look at him when you covered him?" It must be dark in the warehouse, he thinks; perhaps too dark for anyone not blessed with elven eyes to make out much of anything (though the aura he's since quenched shed its own weak light).

Too damn bad they haven't got a pair among them. He stretches out a careful hand to find the edge of the blanket; begins tracing its dimensions. It won't be so large he can't throw a barrier over all of it, but this will require a certain precision... "How good are you with a flashfire?" he directs at Herian.

Nodding to Kaisa in gratitude, Yngvi manages another smile at the little ones before turning his attention to Nari's question.

"Up in the Gallows, my room's in what was the Templar tower before everything. If you meet us inside the door that should work." That was the strange luxury about having a tent in Skyhold: you could say exactly where you were without having to remember how many doors down or neighbours or anything like that. "Right you lot, we're going on an adventure and it's going to be fun, won't it Warden? All the nugs are tucked up in bed and if you fall asleep I won't take it personal either." Yngvi keeps his voice nice and soft as he starts pushing, having to put his back into it to get the keg going like this but that's fine. A little hard work might help put all this out his mind too.

batdwarf is here to help

waiting for reinforcements

Kit, Herian, & Myr

Yngvi, Nari, Kaisa, & Anders