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.
For a moment, Mhavos feels the pang of something he's slow to identify-- these two are clearly at odds on something, and Mhavos doesn't know what, or, frankly, how to choose. An easier time, when he could leave that decision up to whoever owned his contract.
Mhavos sighs, a sound quickly caught up in the sound of wooden wheels over gravel and dirt. How to change the subject? "Assigned chaperones, or are we only to leave with you?"
General you. He looks at neither Vance nor the Sister when he asks.
Wow, yikes. His momentary assumption is that the tension has to do with the Chantry, but he doubts it's that simple. Thank God for Mhavos's move to redirect the conversation.
"How often," building on the question of not wandering off alone, just a little, "do — Surfacers travel down there?"
Exactly how much attention are a human and elf going to draw down there?
"We sent for some the other month," Research expedition. Something about the lyrium. "And every so often, a Warden comes down."
He'll skip the why of that, thanks.
"But you're gonna stand out," What's the phrase? Like a sore thumb? "And given the situation — Orlais, Riftwatch, I don't figure that'll look so neutral as planned. Tempers might be up."
And Mhavos is a clerk. Holden is, well. He has that kind of face.
"Stick together, and I'll try to rustle up a guard. Don't get near Dust Town without the Sister."
"Be careful with anyone you see with a brand," she adds to that, pointing to hers for Holden's benefit, "Surfacers that aren't with the Carta are easy marks."
And because it bears mentioning, "If you see any Casteless women in the Diamond Quarter, tell them I'll be around in the Common Area."
Mhavos faintly wishes he were the charming type, to turn all this onto its side and shape it into a joke. But if such a thing is possible, it's beyond him. He wonders if this tense mood will continue the entire trip.
Probably.
"I'll try not to have anything on me worth stealing," he says, "but the discretion is noted; thank you."
He shoots a look over his shoulder, to the little line of ponies and wheel ruts behind.
"I better go show some face," If they want a lift home again. Vance clambers back down, jogs a pace behind the cart to add, "Might want to stretch out while you got it."
(He doesn't need to specify Holden on that. The proximity of the past few days have made it clear: Vance is on the tall end of Dwarf.)
The wagon bounces. Slush kicks up — he's vanished from view.
Sawbones isn't particularly keen on walking through the slush herself, but she'll slide out after the rest if they decide to. She's starting to feel tense and jittery, fidgeting just a little.
"You got questions?" she asks their surfacers, "I know we're forgetting to warn you about something, but it's been a while since I've been back. Reckon both of us-" Her and Vance, "Are bound to miss something."
Of course, they might not, but she could use the distraction when they're so close to Orzammar itself. The dwarfs here just glance curiously at them, but don't stick around to make remarks.
Holden unfolds those long limbs and moves to pull himself out. He can, in fact, take a hint; especially when it mirrors thoughts he's been starting to have himself. May as well stretch out before he's potentially bending himself in half to walk through a fucking doorway.
It's good Holden waits, because Sawbones might not have been able to hear him over the laugh that bursts out of her. She manages to smother it quickly, shaking her head.
"Stone no," she says, "He's Diamond Quarter. That's nobility." She shakes her head, "If both of us had stayed where we were, the only way we'd ever meet is if I took up noble hunting and he decided to try and get a son by me."
"Casteless women who sleep with upper Castes to try and get pregnant," she says, her smile looking more like a threat, "Bit like brothel girls if they didn't get paid for the service. The only time a Casteless woman ever gets into the Diamond Quarter is if she's a noble hunter. The only time a noble man ever talks to a Casteless woman is if he's looking to lay her."
Perhaps an oversimplification, perhaps a generalization, but also she isn't wrong. She pre-empts any further questions by expanding: "Orzammar has a low birth rate. And Caste is inherited, father to son, mother to daughter. If a Casteless mother has her son recognized by his father, she and her family are elevated to that Caste. They have an opportunity to have a life that isn't scrounging in the trash piles for food."
"Can't tell you much about the Caste system itself," she says, blandly, "I only know what I've read from books written by Surfacers. The Casteless aren't part of any of it. The Shaperate doesn't keep record of our family lines and we're not allowed formal burials, because it's believed our bodies would weaken the Stone. We don't exist, unless someone from a Caste needs a disposable body. Then it's grunt work in the Carta or noble hunting."
She nods, "Low rank. Makes sense, given the Carta work most Dusters end up in is enforcing. Already suited for being front line fighters. Behlen's been making reforms, but that's not gonna change how folks act, especially after the way things were. Used to be if they caught you with a weapon, they'd execute you for disgracing the weapon."
Sawbones sighs, rubbing her forehead, "Wouldn't be surprised if this business had something to do with the Carta or worse. I'm more surprised something like it hasn't happened already."
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To all of it, frankly.
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Mhavos sighs, a sound quickly caught up in the sound of wooden wheels over gravel and dirt. How to change the subject? "Assigned chaperones, or are we only to leave with you?"
General you. He looks at neither Vance nor the Sister when he asks.
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"How often," building on the question of not wandering off alone, just a little, "do — Surfacers travel down there?"
Exactly how much attention are a human and elf going to draw down there?
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He'll skip the why of that, thanks.
"But you're gonna stand out," What's the phrase? Like a sore thumb? "And given the situation — Orlais, Riftwatch, I don't figure that'll look so neutral as planned. Tempers might be up."
And Mhavos is a clerk. Holden is, well. He has that kind of face.
"Stick together, and I'll try to rustle up a guard. Don't get near Dust Town without the Sister."
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And because it bears mentioning, "If you see any Casteless women in the Diamond Quarter, tell them I'll be around in the Common Area."
She does not address Vance with that request.
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Probably.
"I'll try not to have anything on me worth stealing," he says, "but the discretion is noted; thank you."
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This is probably exactly why Vance thinks he has one of those faces.
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He shoots a look over his shoulder, to the little line of ponies and wheel ruts behind.
"I better go show some face," If they want a lift home again. Vance clambers back down, jogs a pace behind the cart to add, "Might want to stretch out while you got it."
(He doesn't need to specify Holden on that. The proximity of the past few days have made it clear: Vance is on the tall end of Dwarf.)
The wagon bounces. Slush kicks up — he's vanished from view.
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"You got questions?" she asks their surfacers, "I know we're forgetting to warn you about something, but it's been a while since I've been back. Reckon both of us-" Her and Vance, "Are bound to miss something."
Of course, they might not, but she could use the distraction when they're so close to Orzammar itself. The dwarfs here just glance curiously at them, but don't stick around to make remarks.
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"What's the Dust Town?"
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Thankfully she has a straight forward answer for Holden, "The slums where Casteless like me live. A bit like an alienage. More like Dark Town."
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He resists the urge to take out a notebook and begin to take statement. "Your place of origin, and very much not Vance's, yes?"
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"Stone no," she says, "He's Diamond Quarter. That's nobility." She shakes her head, "If both of us had stayed where we were, the only way we'd ever meet is if I took up noble hunting and he decided to try and get a son by me."
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"Casteless women who sleep with upper Castes to try and get pregnant," she says, her smile looking more like a threat, "Bit like brothel girls if they didn't get paid for the service. The only time a Casteless woman ever gets into the Diamond Quarter is if she's a noble hunter. The only time a noble man ever talks to a Casteless woman is if he's looking to lay her."
Perhaps an oversimplification, perhaps a generalization, but also she isn't wrong. She pre-empts any further questions by expanding: "Orzammar has a low birth rate. And Caste is inherited, father to son, mother to daughter. If a Casteless mother has her son recognized by his father, she and her family are elevated to that Caste. They have an opportunity to have a life that isn't scrounging in the trash piles for food."
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"The caste system," he says after a moment. "How does that work?"
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"Or," he says at length, "the military."
It's a prompt, more than anything else. The case they're here about, after all, has to do with a Casteless soldier.
Still, that's clearly more of the same: a disposable body.
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Sawbones sighs, rubbing her forehead, "Wouldn't be surprised if this business had something to do with the Carta or worse. I'm more surprised something like it hasn't happened already."
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He taps his crystal once more.
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