open | intro log.

[murderbaby]

WHO: Mhavos Dalat, resident newbie, & YOU.
WHAT: Mhavos takes stock of... all this... weird fucking shit.
WHEN: Aug 1-3ish, presumably everything in here doesn't happen the same day.
WHERE: Various places around the Gallows and Kirkwall proper.
NOTES: Poetry, discussions of slavery, a nerd whining about religious authenticit. Will update if anything intense happens.

a. OUTSIDE THE CHANTRY.

It's All Fool's Day. Mhavos has read of this holiday, but he's never been given leave to witness the celebration. He fins himself curious, and a little daring; he's got nothing else on his schedule, anyway.

Outside the Chantry, a play is being put on. In front of a respectably sized bonfire, play actors dance about, mimicking the sacred immolation of Andraste. Mhavos stands in the crowd, watching intently. At one point, he almost flinches, before crossing his arms and shaking his head. To himself, he murmurs, "That's not what happens."

b. GALLOWS LIBRARY.

Among the rows of long tables, Mhavos has collected around him a fair pile of books. He pages through one, writes something down in a ledger, scoffs, and returns it to a different pile, before selecting another. This pattern repeats, complete with Mhavos moving his lips to read each word, several times. Coming close, one will find the books are written in both Orlesian and Trade, and detail a large range of subjects.

Occasionally, one may hear Mhavos murmur, "terrible, terrible," under his breath, his Orlesian accent thicker than usual.

c. THE STREETS OF KIRKWALL.

You are presumably minding your own business, wandering aroun town, doing whatever it is you do with your day. That's fine. That's fair. Allowed.

A gentle hand taps your shoulder, or, if you're particularly tall, your elbow. Turning around, you'll find Mhavos Dalat, an elf with an Orlesian accent. He hands you some coin, or an object that's definitely yours.

"Excuse me," he says mildly, "I believe you were pick-pocketed."

d. LOWTOWN.

After memorizing a map of Kirkwall, Mhavos is set and determined to explore as much of it as possible on his free time. Lowtown is inevitable, and Mhavos isn't much afraid of it. He's just an elf, after all, and he elects to bring none of his belongings. It's easy enough to pass through without making any waves. Any ripples.

He watches a street performer, an elf juggling a series of hard wooden balls. The performer is a bit clumsy, and their clothes are tatty, and the balls are chipped from old paint, dented from years of use. It's clear why the performer hasn't moved their act to Hightown yet.

The performer drops two of the wooden balls, and they thud on the dirty ground before Mhavos deftly kicks them up into his hands, balancing them gracefully in his hands before throwing them back. The entire maneuver is quick and fluid, betraying far more grace than Mhavos had meant.

The performer thanks him, and Mhavos quickly makes his exit from the scene, walking fast, face down.

e. HIGHTOWN.

There are street preachers in every part of Kirkwall, but from Mhavos' survey of the city, the worst are most certainly in Hightown. He listens silently, walks by them, ignores them, until he can't stand it anymore.

On matters of faith, Mhavos has little care. But being uninformed...

You'll find him standing before one such preacher, an annoyed look on both their faces.

"That's inconsistent," Mhavos says, voice mild despite his expression. "Either we are bidden to choose the direction of our lives-- as you say, to be with the Maker or against Him-- or we are all acting in accordance with his will, but you cannot have both. If you preach, you are asking us to choose. If you preach that His will shapes our lives in every aspect, you are contradi-"

He's cut off by a loud shout from the preacher, and the words 'knife ear' are heard. Mhavos massages the bridge of his nose. "You clearly haven't read the Messendrine Epistles..."

f. WILDCARD.

[yo i'm down for anything, mix and match prompts, come up with new stuff, whatever. hmu @ wehwalt (i'm open to adds!) or a dm if you want to discuss anything!]

Comments

[sulahnan]

"Because of the spit."

[murderbaby]

He laughs. He can't help it. "The- the spit?"

[sulahnan]

"Yeah, some places just weaken their drinks with water, make you pay more, but there are a few..." She makes a face, thinking about it. "Just a loooot of spit."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos is invariably charmed by the oddities of this unpredictable young woman. Who is both taller and older than him. But details.

"How can you tell?"

i'm imagining this as a walk-and-talk btw

[sulahnan]

"It's--it's a different texture," she shudders. "And taste, and it's just better to know ahead of time where not to drink so you don't have to make the mistakes someone else already has."

Wise words from a girl who drank spit once.

same WHOOPS.

[murderbaby]

A slight cringe. "I'll take your word as bond."

at least we're on the same page there lol

[sulahnan]

"Yeaaaah. I'll also point out the good ones, of course. And the haunted places."

👈😎👈

[murderbaby]

Mhavos' expression changes from mild disgust to mild interest. "The haunted ones? Those, I may ask for directions to."

😎👉👉

[sulahnan]

"Oh yeah, tons of haunted places. And a few that aren't haunted but are deeply creepy."

Like that abandoned house down by the docks, or that old graveyard that doesn't actually have any spirits to worry about but is dilapidated and spooky, long-since picked over by gravediggers.

On that note: "What do they do with their dead in Orlais?"

[murderbaby]

Mhavos turns his head a moment, mildly surprised by this turn in the conversation. "Burn them like the rest of Thedas. At least, that's the ideal. If you're poor, you may end up in a pauper's pyre, or just thrown into a gutter somewhere."

[sulahnan]

"Oh, so the same. I thought it might've been different." Like gilded sarcophagi or preserving in wine, somehow. A fancy death for fancy people.

[murderbaby]

"To be fair," he says with a smile, "the nobles of Orlais manage incredibly elaborate pyres and funerary rites."

[sulahnan]

"Yeah rich people around here do that, too. It's kind of hard to claim a pyre or a rite as haunted, though. But! A mausoleum? That's practically haunted by default."