CLOSED | there's no place like home

[pittance]

WHO: Holden, Mhavos, Sawbones + Vance
WHAT: Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass.
WHEN: Vague timing.
WHERE: Orzammar.
NOTES: HMU in Discord with any questions.

Comments

PRE-ORZAMMAR | group thread, short n spammy

[pittance]

They’ve taken the route overland. Fortunate timing: A cousin of a cousin, a wagon going south. The little bundle of merchants have been busy at their own work. Occasionally one offers a smoke, or a hand of cards on watch — but for the most part, they've been content to ignore the hitchhikers.

They’re close now. Winter comes early to the mountains, and steam curls on every breath. Over the past day, Vance’s demeanour has grown narrow, preoccupied.

"An hour, maybe two." He hauls himself back beneath the awning. "We’ll be staying with my brother’s family. Or —"

He exchanges a look with Sawbones. It’s difficult to read.

"Sister Foresa offered an alternative."

[okayimin]

Sawbones' deameanor has likewise shifted as they draw closer to their destination, a frown creasing her brow and shoulders starting to hunch slightly. However, she's perfectly capable of reading the look Vance sends her.

She nods her thanks with a grim little smile, "Thank you. I'll be staying with Sister Foresa." Then for the sake of their Rifter and surfacer companion, "You two should stay with him. I'm told Orzammar's Diamond Quarter is lovely."

And more hospitable to surfacers.

[murderbaby]

This is something social, political, ingrained and meaningful. It has to do with the brand on her cheek, and the look in Vance's eye. Beyond that, Mhavos has no real clue.

When in doubt, at least be polite. He has a roughly positive opinion of everyone here. "I do hope you'll have time to speak with us between Chantry duties."

His fingers linger on the crystal at his neck. We'll be in touch.

[acreage]

Whatever lingers in the air, it's heavy; he looks from Vance to Sawbones more than once, but without context it's indecipherable. An oversight, all his questions and poking around book collections, and little of it spared for understanding dwarven culture.

"Sister Foresa. She's the ambassador who was in Orzammar when it happened?"

It being, of course, the incident that's sparked their current journey.

[pittance]

No relief slinks into his frame, but the nod back to Sawbones comes a little easier.

"Near as I can tell, the new Divine sent her," He pauses on the sight of Holden's hand. Uh — "Stop me if any of this goes overhead. Orzammar,"

A little gesture, inclusive of Mhavos.

"Has no Chantry, and no Chantry law. We don't follow Andraste. We don't keep the Maker." It could say any number of things, that he says we, that Sawbones is sitting there in red and white. "But some Surfacers do, and Orlais does. And they need our lyrium. So it goes in cycles, you know,"

"Friendly until someone oversteps." A hand to the back of his neck. "That's how it was when I left."

[okayimin]

"There's been talk of establishing a Chantry within Orzammar," Sawbones says, "The Divine has an interest in bringing more dwarven converts, but I doubt they'll find foothold without appointing a local as Mother."

As if she were not an Orzammar dwarf within the Chantry. "It's not so one sided. Our trade got hit hard during Orlais civil war. I reckon everyone involved with this will aim to keep civil, but any Sister sent by the Divine isn't going to miss a chance at appealing to potential converts."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos, at least, can follow this conversation. He's not sure Holden can, but he makes a private promise to run through it later for his benefit. Steepling his fingers, he thinks, "has that effort gotten so far as to establish a candidate? Is she someone we should speak with?"

[okayimin]

"I wouldn't know," Sawbones says, almost primly, "But yes, I think it would be wise, given she's the one advocating for the Casteless dwarf."

[murderbaby]

Just as primly, but a bit more reflexive than practiced. "I'll add that to the agenda."

[acreage]

Well, Holden doesn't not follow, but he certainly finds himself with more questions than answers. And, frankly, a lot of that has to do with the gulf between how Vance speaks about all this and the entire existence of Sawbones. He doesn't go so far as to look at her, aside from when she says something, but there's a crease between his eyebrows as he listens.

But all he says is, by way of agreement, "I wouldn't mind having a word with her, myself, and hear what she knows."

INTRO FLAVOUR

[pittance]

The gates of Orzammar stand open to trade. Goods, animals, and a skinny dwarf winging correspondence to those parked beyond — but the guards that peer from iron visors step no further into light.

They have papers. Vance has a conversation: It starts with Riftwatch, and ends in my lord. The hall beyond is cavernous, a pit in the earth; abyss hewn into sharp geometry. As they descend, great blocks of stone reveal themselves for the helms, faces, bodies of enormous statues. Careful where you step. The Ancestors are watching.

Beneath, Orzammar blows herself into orange and crimson, a blast of heat and noise and life. For all the bluster of the hour, the mood of the crowd hovers tense; stares that start rank, stay nasty. Eyes that once might have shut from Sawbones stutter instead on the seam of her robes. Holden and Mhavos are by turns objects of fascination, and dismay.

They’re soon accosted by a young dwarf with a mane of black curls. The hug she throws upon Vance will clarify: His niece. She’s friendly, and witty, and quick. Her glance skates over Sawbones like rain.

Sister Foresa waits beside her. A dark-eyed human woman of smooth demeanour and indeterminate accent, she radiates a deep calm. She apologizes to not extend her hospitality any further than Sawbones, but there is only so much room; and already guests to keep. It’s her fond hope that they’ll return to speak with her the next morning.

It may be Mhavos' imagination that she does not look him in the eye.

THE DIAMOND QUARTER

[pittance]

The house is fine, if smaller than its neighbours — occupying that portion of the Diamond Quarter which squats between breeding.

A bright yellow bird sings from a cage in the dining room, much of the walls taken by mosaic: A feast of tile that fails to mirror the lean dinner fare. While the best has been brought for this occasion, Surface fruits are nowhere to be seen, and lichens the only dressing of green. The mead is good, and (as an officious servant will caution) strong.

Though absent a sun, it seems that segments of society keep its hours. After a time, Holden and Mhavos will be shown to a room with two spare beds and an enormous, ticking clock. While Mhavos will fit with only minor knee cramps, Holden hasn't a chance in hell.

But there are baths that heat themselves, lamps of shimmering lyrium, and most precious of all — time to speak unobserved.


INFO DUMP

Vance will excuse himself to the drawing room, where a conversation with his brother Jaan can be overheard by a dedicated snoop.

Mostly, it's family gossip. More useful:

With the increased traffic of Darkspawn, Vance worries that Orzammar can’t afford to lose any more troops to the Surface. He insinuates that the Wardens cannot be relied upon for aid.

Seditious sentiment is growing among the Deshyrs. This latest incident has emboldened some voices seeking to return to a voting Assembly. King Bhelen is in a tight spot.

How is their mother looking to play this? Deshyr Digiorno is inscrutable as ever.

And the younger Lady Digiorno? Doesn’t believe that Riftwatch should be getting involved. Vance agrees to that much.

IF U WANNA ROLL

Eventually, conversation stills. Jaan nods off in his chair. Vance watches in silence, before quietly slipping out of the house.

He can be followed, but this carries certain risks.

PRE-GOSSIP.

[murderbaby]

He had expected this. Wordless, he immediately begins to strip both the beds of their blankets, arranging them carefully on the floor.

"This will be better for you," he says, the bedding arranged into a shape roughly Holden's height on the floor, using the both of their allotted blankets. "It will be hard, but you won't be hanging off, at least."

[acreage]

He's honestly just thinking about other ways to pass the night — checking in with Amos through the crystals and then reading, maybe, or something — when Mhavos starts in on his solution.

Which is a kind offer, but he moves to pick some of that bedding back up.

"Keep your blankets. It wouldn't be the first time I've ever slept on the ground."

[murderbaby]

"Have you ever slept on stone?" Mhavos says dryly, "we're splitting it even. I keep the mattresses."

[acreage]

He has not, as a point of fact, sort of cants his head in acknowledgment.

"Alright, fair enough." With some humor, as he puts the blankets back, "Just try not to step on me if you get up in the middle of the night."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos gestures to the whole of himself. "Would you notice if I did?"

[acreage]

"Maybe not, but I doubt it'd be fun for you."

The question of blankets settled, he moves to sit on the unoccupied bed for now.

"How long have you known — ?" A tilt of his head towards the door.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos looks at the door, not getting it. Dryly, "that he was a dwarf? Almost immediately."

THE COMMONS

[pittance]

This little stone room is hardly standard diplomatic lodging.

Tucked about the back of a smithy of no particular repute, the digs are humble, and hidden from the street. It is, Foresa will explain, a recent change. The owner is sympathetic, and the Ambassadors’ residence not ideal for their present dilemma.

The floor sweeps clean beneath the statue of a woman. Though carved in miniature, her limbs taper with a grace alien to Orzammar’s proportion. A canvas of simple, windswept tones leans beside her: A portrait of the sky.

There are two cots. One is already taken by a brand-faced woman, and her infant held to breast. There’s food before there are any introductions — bread, and water, and a hard yellow cheese that Foresa presents with sly pride. The woman introduces herself as Cecilia, the sister of the accused soldier.

If Sawbones wishes to speak with the others, Foresa suggests a ladder to the narrow roof above. Feeling about the dim ledge reveals a cache of crossbow bolts tucked into a can of ash and spent cigarettes.


INFO DUMP

Both women will both answer what questions they’re able. They're also certain to tell Sawbones that:

The war above has increased the number of Casteless recruits. Cecilia's brother was among this wave.

Cecilia was the one to petition Foresa for help. She's a devoted Andrastian.

Her daughter was fathered by an officer of the Warrior Caste. As the child was a girl, they were turned away. Knowing that her brother had a temper, Cecilia refused to give him the man’s name.

This backfired. Believing he’d identified the man in question, he attacked and killed his Commanding Officer. It was the wrong guy.

Cecilia hasn’t been allowed to speak with him. Foresa is acting as a go-between, and hosting her here to prevent retaliation.

IF U WANNA ROLL

Some hours after they've crawled into bed, there sounds a gentle scrape of stone from outside. Debris has been cleared from the front of a closed, and previously hidden door.

Foresa is nowhere in sight. It’s possible, but risky, to investigate.

The Next Morning

[okayimin]

She wakes at the soft noises in the middle of the night. Not moving, but not needing much light to see the appearance of the hidden door and the disappearance of Foresa. It doesn't arouse suspicions so much as confirm them. It's not the first time Sawbones has lain in the dark, listening for sounds of movement, but she's there til what approximates for morning in Orzammar.

When the others arrive, she does her duty to provide an introduction. Then she makes eye contact with Vance and tips her head to the door. Not too far is a little cubby of an alleyway where a trash pile is. She takes him there and says with no preamble, "Apparently, the sister is Andrastian."

[pittance]

Hands shoved into pockets, he blinks for one long, stupid second —

"Sure," Means: Go on, means I'm listening. "Sorta figured."

(He may be confused as to which sister they're speaking of)

[okayimin]

Sawbones in turn has her hands on her hips, chin tilted and eyes sharp.

"When was the last time you were in Orzammar?" Is it a nonsequitor? Maybe yes, maybe no.

[pittance]

"About ten years,"

Twelve. He doesn't bother to correct — it's not what she's getting at (it grinds like so much salt).

[okayimin]

"About five for me."

Give or take. Only the Stone knew how long she'd been in the Deep Roads. She gives him a long, considering look.

"What do you know about the Warrior who got killed?"