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.
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 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.
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."
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."
"Relatively briefly," Mhavos sits back on his bed, motions precise. "I found him to be patient and forgiving. I admit, perhaps because I am an elf, I assumed..."
He motions to the splendor around them.
"Well, every nonhuman on the surface is surely from humble beginnings. I did not know the extent to which this was untrue for Vance, nor the extent to which it was an understatement for the Sister."
There are moments, sometimes, when Mhavos speaks, that he sounds very much like people Holden's known on Tycho station, on Ceres.
"I never would've guessed," he admits. Not that all dwarves know each other, and not all dwarves are going to get along — obviously — but the gulf between those two is staggering. "I'm glad to have her perspective, but I'm not so sure he's going to see it that way."
If he bristles, it's not because of the scrutiny, or for his own sake.
"There are ways she understands the situation better than any of us, and that makes her insight invaluable," is where he starts. "We need more intel about the circumstances, but this soldier doesn't deserve to be executed based on the fact that the person he killed was born to some high Caste, and he isn't. None of that should matter. What he does deserve is a fair trial and sentencing, based on what actually happened: what he did, why he did it, why his CO.
"We know he didn't enlist because he had so many other options in life, and that's because the Sister was here to tell us. Why jeopardize it? Something must've changed. We owe it to him to find out what."
Edited (less of a textwall) 2020-11-10 18:44 (UTC)
"I'm aware that he had more to lose than most if he got caught. So why do it?"
Would the question be this contentious if the killer weren't Casteless?
"I'm not saying he shouldn't face consequences for what he's done. But from the sound of it, if their positions were reversed? No one would give a damn."
"Of course not," Mhavos says. "In truth, I largely agree. I apologize for stringing answers out of you, but..." He frowns, unsure how to say this- "you are the greatest unknown factor at presence. At least with dwarven culture, I know what I don't know."
A neat way of putting it. Mhavos considers his words carefully before going on.
"The way I see it, injustice is inevitable, so an outcome should be focused on. This... is very political."
He wouldn't normally appreciate being drawn out like that — doesn't, really, but —
"I guess I can't blame you." Not as if they know each other well enough for Mhavos to know what he'd think, and he is a Rifter, operates on a different system of values and experiences than the natives. "We'll just have to do the best we can." Then, "Not that we got much of a warm welcome down here."
All those nasty stares from earlier. The more they poke around, the more that's likely to escalate.
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.
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."
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INTRO FLAVOUR
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
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:
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.
"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."
no subject
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."
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"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."
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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.
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1/2
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How long, but really, how well. He's about as much an unknown to Holden as the rest of Orzammar.
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He motions to the splendor around them.
"Well, every nonhuman on the surface is surely from humble beginnings. I did not know the extent to which this was untrue for Vance, nor the extent to which it was an understatement for the Sister."
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"I never would've guessed," he admits. Not that all dwarves know each other, and not all dwarves are going to get along — obviously — but the gulf between those two is staggering. "I'm glad to have her perspective, but I'm not so sure he's going to see it that way."
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"There are ways she understands the situation better than any of us, and that makes her insight invaluable," is where he starts. "We need more intel about the circumstances, but this soldier doesn't deserve to be executed based on the fact that the person he killed was born to some high Caste, and he isn't. None of that should matter. What he does deserve is a fair trial and sentencing, based on what actually happened: what he did, why he did it, why his CO.
"We know he didn't enlist because he had so many other options in life, and that's because the Sister was here to tell us. Why jeopardize it? Something must've changed. We owe it to him to find out what."
no subject
"You are aware that murder is a crime?"
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Would the question be this contentious if the killer weren't Casteless?
"I'm not saying he shouldn't face consequences for what he's done. But from the sound of it, if their positions were reversed? No one would give a damn."
no subject
A neat way of putting it. Mhavos considers his words carefully before going on.
"The way I see it, injustice is inevitable, so an outcome should be focused on. This... is very political."
no subject
"I guess I can't blame you." Not as if they know each other well enough for Mhavos to know what he'd think, and he is a Rifter, operates on a different system of values and experiences than the natives. "We'll just have to do the best we can." Then, "Not that we got much of a warm welcome down here."
All those nasty stares from earlier. The more they poke around, the more that's likely to escalate.
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THE COMMONS
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:
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
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."
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"Sure," Means: Go on, means I'm listening. "Sorta figured."
(He may be confused as to which sister they're speaking of)
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"When was the last time you were in Orzammar?" Is it a nonsequitor? Maybe yes, maybe no.
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Twelve. He doesn't bother to correct — it's not what she's getting at (it grinds like so much salt).
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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?"