faderift | Kingsway Rifter Arrival

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Kingsway Rifter Arrival

WHO: New rifters, rescuers, and anyone else
WHAT: New arrivals are collected and transported to Kirkwall
WHEN: Mid-Kingsway
WHERE: The Brecilian Forest, near south of Denerim
NOTES: This log contains prompts for the ARRIVAL and RECOVERY of new rifters, as well as the subsequent QUARANTINE period. All prompts are open to anyone.

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Wonderful. [She snaps the spyglass shut with a decisive click to punctuate it. --And then rethinks it, telescoping the glass out again with a very faintly sheepish look.]

I've yet to cross the harbor, and I'm curious if you couldn't explain some of the more prominent features of the city visible from here to me. I'd like to know how to orient myself when I do make it over. When I'm allowed to go, I mean. I can't imagine it'll be so much longer and I'd really prefer to be prepared.

[He's a very dour kind, isn't he? But that all seems correct, given the oppressive atmosphere of the Gallows and the dark sea past the harbor. For all she knows that particular morose look is just normal.

Anyway the point is, it doesn't stop Wysteria from offering him the glass. Or from asking just the tiniest additional question or two.]

Is Kirkwall's architecture very typical? And what's the name of the mountain there, if you don't mind me asking?

[Something sinks in his heart. It's a heart used to it when the past fifteen or so years hasn't been particularly kind, when the Chantry might tear itself to pieces yet before they seat a new Divine upon the Sunburst throne but he is here, isn't he, to listen, to see, to report. Only the new rifters are kept here but if their paths have crossed then this is a chance.]

Kirkwall was part of the Tevinter Imperium long ago, filled with more slaves than you or I could possibly imagine; in Lowtown they have foundries, and outside the city itself there are still quarries like the Bone Pit. Slaves worked those, all to expand the Imperium. It's how the Bone Pit got it's name. [For the first time Deacon turns to regard her, something about her not unlike the scholars who'd turn up for a bed or to comb through the library at Markham, all their questions. Easy to slide into the familiar. (Easy. This is how demons might be invited in.)

One hand lifts up to say no, no thank you to the glass, smiling despite himself. Abigail was much the same at that age, Deacon can still remember all too well.]

What you'll see by the water are two great statues called the Twins of Kirkwall - the Chantry has done all it can to remove the shameful marks of Tevinter's legacy, their disgraceful imagery of the Old Gods carved into the cliffs - but the Twins hold the great chains Kirkwall can use to close the only shipping lane. Handy for them. Everything with Kirkwall is a remnant of Tevinter. The Gallows we live in was once a prison then. I can't think of many cities where it's split over levels in such a way, Hightown, Lowtown Darktown.

[Probably Tevinter. He'd heard rumours, those who'd delved to try finding out-- But there are more questions and thankfully he's not a man with lyrium eating holes in his memory.]

And the mountains we're near would be the Vinmarks.

[All the better that he refuses the use of the glass himself. It allows her to set it back to her eye sonshe might shift the sight of it to scour the city across the harbor for the features he's describing. What she can see of them, anyway. The only truly obvious figures are the Twins themselves and the great weight of their respective chains looped like hideous garlands across the running channel.]

Has this place long been out of the hands of the Tevinter Imperium?

[The way he talks about it, it's as if Tevinter is a dead nation whose only claim to this land or any other is their evidently very poor taste. But that can't be true. That nation's name is in every mouth in the Gallows. When they're not talking about Nevarra or Orlais or-- well, she understands things are rather fraught at present.]

I take it we're not their biggest fans, by the way. Tevinter's, I mean.

[She tips the glass down and shoots him a conspiratorial sidelong look.]

In the Ancient era, close to the end. This was before Kirkwall was even called Kirkwall; it was the City of Chains until the slaves revolted, after Our Lady devastated much when she led the rebellion from the Imperial Highway to the Imperium itself.

[Satisfying to speak of it this way even without the benefit of a Chantry to do it properly where he might direct her to, and he feels the lack of it. A garden. Spaces about the Gallows but where is the Chantry that stood as long as it did? A Grand Cleric with her steadying presence?

None of this is right, what are they helping here? Are they throttling themselves with a chain of their own making?]

Tevinter might have converted after the killing of Our Lady but their ways have ever been corrupt. What came after-- We here, those not of Tevinter, the rest of Thedas, we will one day again have our Divine seated upon the Sunburst Throne in Orlais, and she is always a woman, has been from the start, will always be a woman. But in Tevinter they have the Black Divine since the schism. A man. Their ways are wicked, their mages rule still despite what they may say, recent events have shown only that we cannot take our eyes from them.

Unfortunately, we only have so many.

[How many threats are there; Qunari, Tevinter, Mages and Templars gone rogue and wild to be returned to their rightful place, Corypheus, the Inquisition, and now these Rifters. Will it never end? One of them thinking to share looks with him? But he puts a smile on his face, nods carefully.] What do you hear about the Gallows? People talk little to old men.

Oh come now, you're hardly old. [It's an automatic response. He might be an old grandfather and she's say the same. Magicians, she's found, are especially vain people and she's spent the last six months delicately consoling their egos at every opportunity where it seems sound or strategically intelligent to do so. There's a currency to getting into the most prestigious lecture halls and she's operated at a starting disadvantage. The right sweet, kind thing said at the right moment never hurts.

But it's a throwaway remark. She doesn't linger.]

I've heard we - being the Inquisition, I suppose - may or may not be at war with them. There's been some conversation about a leadership change, but I'll confess that the names and titles elude me. Not to worry though, there's another discussion this afternoon about geography and governing bodies and I suspect I'll learn all sorts of things there. In which case, I owe you all kinds of gratitude for putting me out ahead of the pack. At this rate I'll be the most knowledgeable person in the room outside from the poor fellow leading the conversation.

--Or lady. There's quite a few of them sensibly placed, aren't there? I wonder if that has something to do with what you mentioned about the Divine and how she's always a woman. You people are used to seeing one in charge, which I don't mind telling you sounds like a considerable improvement in thinking from where I'm standing.

[Fifty in Thedas is a landmark. Reach it for some and you might be that old soldier favouring a leg, an arm, and folk will mutter behind your back with a sly smirk but you made it. Or you'll be in a hard job that's left your bones aching, still more work to be done. Or something soft, whipcord but not taut as you were in your youth or there's a paunch in the middle, same as houses sag with the damp in Lowtown or down by the docks.

Fifty in the Chantry where you do half the work with your fists but not the sword? Well folk don't know what to do with you, not even your Mother.]

So it's we then Serah. [She could mean anything by that, we is a convenient word in the mouth before the knives are out.] Some of our number were caught behind enemy lines by Tevinter, by the grace of Andraste and the Maker they were rescued before Corypheus and his followers could do unspeakable harms upon them. You have an interest in learning of Thedas?

[A wary curiosity. Last time went I'll and this is in person, in public. The Division Heads are all in residence now so whatever he might have slipped out of last time is done and dusted. But if she's sincere, it very much is his job.]

Women and men are equal here save in matters of the faith. We are judged as men for the betrayal of Maferath so our roles will never be that of the spiritual; Tevinter is abhorrent for seating men so high. Men are impure in a way women are not.

How fascinating.

[It's clear from her rapt attention that she means it. The glass in her hand has been forgotten in favor of listening to him properly, though she turns it about in her fingers as if in unthinking habit. Click, click, it says as she telescopes its last section absently.]

--But yes, to go back to your question. I'm very much interested in learning about Thedas. It seems only right, doesn't it? If I'm meant to be here for the foreseeable future, and that certainly seems to be the implication from everything I've heard, then I might as well know a thing or two about where I am and what I'm doing and how not to trample all over anyone any more than is strictly necessary. I don't know about you, but I sometimes find stepping on a foot here or there gets you a long way in the right crowd. But it's important to be able to tell whether the one you find yourself in is one, or if they'll - I don't know - throw you in a dungeon for scuffing their laces.

[This metaphor is getting away from her. She clears her throat.]

I'm taking classes. Or at the very least I'm being told a great number of things by people while I'm stuck on this little island. But I'd like to be at least a little prepared for when I leave it and go exploring in true. You seem to have quite the handle on the situation. Are you a scholar, sir? Uh. Serah.

[Not with those shoulders, she expects. Pardon her for noticing.]

Not all think that way.

[There is a great deal tucked inside that statement. Learnt from Chantry Mothers how to say it mildly when he might still punch a wall over the head over it. Still, his mouth puckers after eating chips when you've gone and split your lip.]

There's little in our history that isn't tied to the Chant of Light, to Our Lady the prophet Andraste and to the Maker. Fortunately for all, myself included, we're not in Orlais where a faux pas like that would have you a laughing stock. Here there are other reasons to find yourself in the dungeon though I heard that the Kirkwall guard ran the gamut from corrupt to useless.

[Sometimes you have to see what a person does with charity given.]

Me? You'll be thinking of Brother Jehan, freckles enough from here to Denerim but we serve the same purpose as Brothers of the Faith. I've been at it longer.

[It's not the worst lie. They're both Brothers he's just a firmer hand all things considered.]

Ah. I understand entirely.

[A priest then, though every priest she has ever known has also fancied himself well and truly educated, a student of learning as much as a son of the faith. He must, she thinks, be from the country then. A simple farmer turned faithful, perhaps. He certainly bears very little resemblance to the narrow little men of the parish and the fat old Fathers of Somerset's grandest churches.]
Then I appreciate your patience with me. You've been very kind indeed to take a few moments to answer my questions when I'm certain you have all kinds of better things to do, particularly if Kirkwall is as bad off as you say. --Which I'm not shocked by, honestly. I think I've been told six times to be mindful of dark alleys and side streets and everyone seems very concerned about a potential for being murdered or worse over there.

[She gestures across the harbor to the city proper.]

Are you from here, sir? Kirkwall, I mean. [Before he can answer, some stricken look falls over her face. Wysteria changes tack between one breath and the next:] Oh, I've been terribly rude, haven't I? Saying all those things about the city if you are. I don't mean anything by it, I assure you. I'm sure it has all kinds of lovely depths that you just can't see from this very specific vantage. The sea here is very beautiful, isn't it?

[Well no, it's horrible and dark and chopping constantly at the shipping and the docks and the cliff bases. But maybe in the right season--]

If you are to be here [swallowing is-- well there are things you swallow, sometimes that's your own bile too] then it's better for all, most of all the people of Thedas who've been through much these past ten years or more that you know all that you can know. You're strange to them. What comes across the Veil are spirits or demons, and demons are better suited to walking and talking as men or women, there'd be a great deal that'd alarm them. Kirkwall was what it was. Then when the Blight hit Ferelden over a decade ago there was the influx of refugees, with that comes the overcrowding, and most of them had to sell all the could to leave there or to find lodging, and that left them in Lowtown or Darktown, neither known for their sterling reputations. Not all of them had connections to nobility as did the fabled Champion of Kirkwall. There was the Qunari who landed then murdered the Viscount which is what such a heathen folk will do. And some few years after that a mage had the idea to destroy the Chantry here, killing many people, and in the violence that followed there was much to do be done. So you see a Kirkwall that's had to find its feet time and time again. Any place would be hardpressed from one of those alone.

[So to weather all of that? Perhaps this place has done well. Perhaps. But the Veil is thin here, there are too many mages, too many of these rifters, all of them pressing, pressing, pressing upon it that it troubles him.

Yet there's nothing to be done, this is the outpost.

A laugh barks out of him and he shakes his head, genuinely looking amused.] I hail from Markham, we've a university there, it's not the backwater that our sister Ansburg is. Both are invested in agriculture but where Ansburg is trade, Markham is about the research of it. And we've the tourney once a year, rabble that it is.

[And of the sea:] You'll want to watch for some nights and tides, I hear there's a rota of who throws out the dead and when the sea gives them back. Or that was the rumour when I arrived.

[How perfectly dreadful - all of it, really. Dead bodies and a terrible wine dark sea with the horrible black cliffs and its grim city above it, its denizens tortured for untold numbers of years by all manner of hardship. It is impressive that Kirkwall is there at all; he's right about that much. But it's doesn't make it look or sound any more warming or pleasant, now does it? It's all very well and good to know the history of a place, but my how exhausting it must be to find any relief in any corner of the place whatsoever.

Ah well. At least it isn't the only place in the whole world, even if she's currently trapped in the middle of it.]

Well, [she manages, swallowing her mortification] I'm happy not to have offended you too terribly then. Markham sounds lovely - I'm a great enthusiast of a good university, actually.

[The rest-- demons and dead bodies and spirits and what the world thinks she is or isn't-- well, the rest she can fuss with when it comes her direction.]

The Orlesians - of which there are many, they flock together as chattering birds do - will talk about the glory of their own. A bright glittering thing but what matters more is what comes out of it, not the gilding. Markham has a university we might rely on a long time; we might feed our people, cultivate a great many young minds out of it.

[What do they get out of Orlais all too often? Peacocks. Generations of families swanning off or sent off on the coin of their family. Kirkwall doesn't paint some of the graduates in so fine a light, Celene's involvement - that the royalty gets involved - is little short of disgrace and embarrassment.

(Shartan, elves, that mess.)

Blood in his mouth when he bites the inside of his cheek to keep his face from souring on it.]

The Gallows was once a place of education and sanctuary for mages, perhaps it might become that again for those of you who have little choice to be here when there is such a great deal to learn. My door is always open for questions of faith or those I'd do my best to answer, I'm one of our oldest here.

[With the air of a man who feels he's been surrounded by twelve year olds ready to break out into spots at a moment's notice.]

[Ah, now there's something familiar. On any other day, that particular knowing tone might set her teeth just slightly on edge. There's nothing quite like being told by a gentleman how knowledgeable he is. But today, on the edge of the Gallows' ferry slip looking over a strange harbor to a stranger land, she can't help but be strangely warmed by it's familiarity. He looks very little like any of the Somerset scholars or old magicians who had insisted on their reputation and education, but suppose then the possibility that all men are simply predisposed to find themselves irritated by silly young people no matter where they come from or what their trade may be.

Still: today she's good humored for it.]

There certainly seem to be a considerable number of willing minds. And I'm sure we all could benefit for your expertise. Messere. Though I expect anyone teaching really must need considerable patience. The questions I've asked about nonsense things like dates and calendars alone--! [She laughs. At herself, mostly.] Is there a... chantry you attend here in the Gallows, or are all the chapels on the shore proper? I should think I'd like to see a service. --A mass?

[Unlike the young ladies (and one perhaps closer to his own) who greeted him, Wysteria has manners. The manners of a young lady brought up well that isn't exclusive in his experience to any one place or class: a farmer's daughter can have more manners than a princess sent off to tutors for grace and tact. Better to have a young woman that might truly have the desire in her to learn rather than have him force her to take a seat and stand guard at the door, big stick in one hand, Chant in the other.

There are only so many times you can do that before it gets old.)

Willing faces. How far it goes I can't say yet, they've been away a long time and our Divine is dead, may she find rest at the Maker's side now. Our calendar begins in truth with the founding of the Chantry, all else before is Ancient accordingly though we've had Ages to never think much of it. In the Gallows we've three chapels. The largest is in the Central tower, the former Mage and Templar towers have their own smaller chapel, and we've a prayer garden on the same side as the Templar tower too. [Where Deacon does weird meditaton, yoga and Thedosian capoeira because you need to unsettle the kids trying to tend to their elfroot. They need to know that Andraste is watching. She's always watching your habits. She knows about that stash. And that one too Jimothy.] We've to recite the Chant at least once a week as one of the Faithful, you'll have ample opportunity to witness prayer though I'm sorry you won't see it how it should be. With a Revered Mother. In a Chantry proper. Attended by all the people. Kirkwall's was grandiose but it had many who came to it, we're lesser for its loss.

[There's a garden there now, she's heard. She thinks she's like to see it herself - to mark the footprint of the place. There's a kind of pleasure in that sort of thing, isn't there? Looking at the shape of the space a thing took up and then left behind. Even if the process was terrible or tragic.

She's about to say as much - or something like it - when a shout from the ferry slip catches her attention. A boat is coming in. It's the second one she's seen coming since standing here and--]

Oh! [She thrusts the spyglass under her arm.] Oh, the next lecture is meant to be starting. [She whirls, takes a half step and then whirls right back to him.] Thank you so much for your time, Father. I promise I'll come along to hear the Chant. I'm terribly curious. Forgive me, I should be going-- [With another whirl of skirts, she's off - gets three whole steps and then swings abruptly back to rejoin him.]

Poppell, by the way. Wysteria Poppell. That's my name.

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Kingsway Rifter Arrival

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sure was some broken html up there huh

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