[open] 'cause for every lie i tell them, they tell me three

[ebeje]

WHO: Max & YOU
WHAT: Arriving in Kirkwall, recycling a bunch of prompts & transferring over TDM threads, but feel free to toss on a different starter if you like
WHEN: Solace, ambiguously sometime before the Inquisition leaves for Minrathous
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: I'm gonna do a network post here shortly, so this is mostly just a place to gather anybody who wants an in-person thread instead!

I. gallows, docks;

[ It is, from the very beginning, a gamble. To sail a ship full of murderers and thieves into a civilized port is never a certain thing, Max imagines, but today the men she sails with are not only this thing that strikes fear into men’s hearts, but also in the unique position of needing to appear less frightening than those reputations suggest. If this is to work, the Inquisition must see them as formidable allies, yes, but there must also be room in their minds to see them as something more. Reasonable. Reliable. Level-headed. Nonthreatening.

Which is why Max is here at all. Though perhaps not alone.

The ferry knocks to a halt against the Gallows’ docks. Wood lurches beneath her feet, but Max catches herself, a firm hand against a post, and pulls up onto level ground again. She can do this. They have no choice but to do this.

Her smile goes on bright and kind, first in thanks to the ferryman, but next, to whatever friendly (or unfriendly) face should happen nearest while not looking sufficiently busy. ]

Excuse me, [ the petite Orlesian woman beckons, ] Are you with the Inquisition here?

II. training grounds;

[ The men and women Max arrived here with are not her friends; she saw to that herself thoroughly enough, and while she trusts at least that in this moment they share mutual self-interest, she hasn’t survived this long by putting all her faith in something so mercurial as that. They are one avenue of support under specific circumstances; Max prefers to have every avenue available to her, for any circumstance. She will need more than pirates for that.

In the bright of mid-day, then, there is a new face to be found on the edge of the training grounds. She is not dressed for fighting, in a well-fitted dress too vibrant to have ever had much mud washed from it, though seawater has done its work on the hem. In one hand, she carries a skin of water, and in the other a plate of pickled vegetables, still cool from the storeroom. Both, she offers forth to the next fighter off the field, be they rogue, warrior, mage, or otherwise — as long as they’re impressive, or decidedly not in a way she thinks she can use. ]

To keep you on your feet, [ she explains, with a little smile. ] You are fighting well, but the sun is unforgiving, is it not?

III. kirkwall, docks;

[ Kirkwall is not Nascere. To begin with, there’s more than one tavern. There is more than one district, too, and while their island had not been immune to the divisions of social class, fortunes change more easily on shifting sands than they will on these unforgiving cliffs. Finding her place here will be a challenge quite unlike the ones she’s faced before.

Best to get started. The early evening finds her on the other end of the ferry’s route, standing on the old stone of Kirkwall’s docks, her eyes on Hightown’s gates, considering the climb. And all the people and places below. ]

Do you know it well? [ she asks whoever has come on this ferry ride with her, ] This city we find ourselves in.

IV. gallows, towers;

a;

[ There is not much settling in to do in the Gallows, but some. They had escaped with more lives than belongings, and not enough of the former. She chooses a single occupancy room, a bed and a table far simpler than the ones even Mr. Noonan had allowed her, and sets to equipping the space with the available linens and supplies — basic accoutrements that, once again, come only in exchange for a promise of work she will not choose, toward a goal that seems now very distant. But it is the only way she can see of ever walking into her tavern again, of ever taking a seat in the chair she has already sacrificed so much to keep.

(If there is a fucking darkspawn magister sitting in her fucking chair on her fucking island right now—)

The screech of wooden legs dragged across the stone floors of the hall is not pleasant. To say the least. But the only chair she could find is a heavy, gnarled hardwood, taller than she is and carved with vines long since worn away, and it is going in this room. ]

b;
[ Later in the evening finds her higher up, perched beside the narrow slit of a window that looks out over the Gallows to the west. A flagon of wine has found its way to a nearby table, along with a pair of cups, one of which Max holds aloft in three fingers like it might have been a prop in some proclamation she’d considered making when she started but has since thought better of. Instead, she watches the glittering of sun sinking over the sea and sips.

If it’s a pirate who breaks her solitude, they might be greeted with a question. ]

Did you ever imagine, [ she asks the last of the light, ] That after all that has happened, this would be the result?

V. wildcard;

[ Feel free to spin off one of the above prompts or toss me something else! ]

Comments

i

[circleprodigy]

[Inessa walks leisurely along the Gallows docks, the slight elven woman standing in stark contrast to the wall of muscle that is her mabari. He's been so patient with her research and paperwork, that she's given in and decided it's time for a walk. Her intent was not necessarily to be social with anyone else, but when a friendly newcomer needs assistance, she's not one to decline. Manners are always appreciated, especially when a human remembers to use them for an elf. She pauses and nods politely, out of her armor but the griffon pendant likely gives her other affiliation away.]

I am allied to them, yes. Are you looking for offices or bedrooms?

[Her mabari closes in while she speaks sniffing at Max and wagging his tail as he gazes up at her hopefully.] Garahel, give her a little room.

[ebeje]

[ Max gives a little smile for Garahel, too; she isn't the petting sort, but one presumably doesn't keep a mabari if one doesn't have a certain affection for them, and Max prefers to treat the things other people value with care. She's going to need all the friends she can get here. ]

The offices, although— [ A Grey Warden's perspective on allying with the Inquisition could be valuable to her, before she attempts to forge such an alliance herself. ] I wondered if you might tell me who is in charge here in the Gallows?

[circleprodigy]

[Garahel seems to be well-trained, because he obeys Inessa immediately and doesn't whine about the lack of petting. At the question, his mistress nods.]

There are four divisions of the Inquisition; Forces, Research, Diplomacy and Scouting. Beleth Ashara leads Scouting, Luwenna Coupe is in charge of Forces, Thranduil leads Research and Diplomacy is lead by Herian Amsel. All division heads have suites in the central tower, on the eighth floor. Specific projects and their leaders can be found on the seventh and sixth floors, respectively.

[And because a question for a question seems fair:]

Which division would have your interest?