MOD PLOT ↠ Endlessly Far Beneath My Feet

[faderifting]

WHO: Open
WHAT: A visit to Orzammar
WHEN: For about 10 days in early Bloomingtide
WHERE: Orzammar
NOTES: OOC post. Please use content warnings in your comment subject lines as required.

Orzammar is not all that far from Kirkwall: a short trip across the Waking Sea to Jader, then an even shorter (though much more exhausting than it seemed in dreams) hike up into the Frostback mountains brings them to the great stone doors that stand between Orzammar and the surface. Once those doors creak and groan shut in their wake—and the next set of doors, too, designed like a waterlock to keep the sky from reaching the city—it is no easy thing to open them again. No one's going to see the sun until they leave.

The great thaig within the mountains is much warmer than the chilly pass through them, thanks to the molten lake beneath it, which also keeps many of the open streets at least dimly lit 24 hours per day, until they wander off further than the glow can reach. The thaig is magnificent, brimming with distinctive angular architecture and statues honoring dwarven Paragons and ancestors. It's also sprawling. Despite giving the deceptive impression at the entrance of a hollow dome that can be taken in with a single look around, the thaig is home to one hundred thousand dwarves, give or take a few thousand. And that's with a dwindling population. It was built for even more. Buildings with narrow facades burrow and wind deep into the stone behind them. So do side streets that branch away from the Commons at every level. Most of them are lyrium-lit and safe to travel. But given the absence of any sun or moon, the way they ascend and descend and loop through the rock, they can be very disorienting to navigate without stone sense.

Among the locals on the street there's a lingering, palpable sense of relief that the worst seems to have passed, so far as the darkspawn at Orzammar's doors is concerned. It's put most people in a particularly good mood, and made them a bit more disposed than usual to treat the influx of visitors from above as an entertaining novelty. That won't stop the occasional dwarf from being suspicious of outsiders here to interfere with the Assembly or bitter that they want something when Orzammar never asked them for help, but friendly interest will be more common by far.

ACCOMMODATIONS

Riftwatch's Division Heads and Project Leaders will be the personal guests of House Bemot and put up in the house's sprawling, mazelike estate in the Diamond Quarter. The residence is brimming with artwork: statues of the house's prominent ancestors, dazzling stonework on columns and doorways, mosaics on the floors, and art both dwarven and imported lining the walls. They're given private rooms—many far from each other, down different turning corridors carved back into the stone—with large beds and hot water piped up from nearer to Orzammar's molten depths. The rooms are nice but don't mistake this for only an unfair perk; there are servants listening and marking their comings and goings at all times.

Since visitors from the surface are much rarer and their stays usually as short as possible, Orzammar is minimally equipped for large swells of visitors, so the rest of Riftwatch's personnel will be packed into one of two inns located in the tier of the Commons where merchants and other surface-dwellers typically reside when they're permitted access to the thaig.

The Paragon's Rest is the nicer of the two. Two ages ago it was the grand home of a prominent merchant house that has since died out; its name comes from the fact that two (two!) paragons have stayed there since the time it was converted into an inn. It boasts a modest number of small, private rooms and shared rooms with artful dividers, all with stone walls that have been carved with intricate geometric patterns. Meals and drinks are available in an expansive hall where local well-to-do merchants frequently play Diamondback and make expensive deals. The inn's position near the gates and something about the design and directions of the corridors minimizes the heat from Orzammar's molten center and even allows for a breeze to reach the common areas now and then.

Unfortunately, the Paragon's Rest doesn't have room for everyone, and the Buttered Nug is less pleasant. The inn was more recently a shop with expansive back storage for its inventory. The shop is now a cramped, sweaty tavern room, where no matter the hour a nug is always roasting—and constantly being basted with butter—over the fire, while more nugs snuffle in a holding pen in a corner, awaiting their doom. The proprietor tries to encourage everyone who passes through to have a plate. It's his grandmother's recipe. You're going to love it. The diners and residents are mostly merchants of the struggling and/or shady variety. The former storage rooms are unadorned, nearly more cavern than room, and large enough to be shared by large numbers of people, with stone lattice-work dividers between beds that provide very little actual privacy. Choosing the room deeper into the stone will make the temperature less sweltering but significantly increase the number of spiders in your bed.

Fortunately, no one has to do more than sleep there if they don't want to. And maybe try just one plate of grandma's buttered nug?

WORK

Riftwatch's primary objectives in Orzammar are sharing information about the war and making a good impression. While speaking to the Assembly might be the centerpiece of those efforts, it's not the extent of them. The noble caste may sit at the top of the dwarven hierarchy, but they're not the only ones with sway or useful resources and nudging public opinion more generally could have its benefits.

There are some specific ways Riftwatch can make itself visibly useful to Orzammar, to help counter the argument that the surface is asking for help without being willing to provide any in return. Assisting with red lyrium removal, installing cleansing runes, and teaching members of the mining caste how to do both for themselves will be priorities. And while the enemy's retreat to the north has lessened the pressure on the thaig, Orzammar lives in constant fear of darkspawn all the same. Riftwatch members suited for combat will be assigned shifts with the dwarven troops on patrol in the near sectors of the Deep Roads or standing watch at the great doors that block off the ancient tunnels.

Meetings with various members of the middle-rank castes (warrior, smith, artisan, mining, merchant) have been arranged and assigned, some with an explicit focus on discussing the war effort and providing information about what Riftwatch has learned and experienced, while others are focused on building trade connections or exploring potential opportunities to collaborate on research—and if opportunities to tell them more about the war effort in the process just happen to arise, all the better. These castes span a wide swathe of dwarven society between nobles and servants, and the meetings will reflect that, ranging from elaborate dinner parties with merchants as wealthy as any lord to casual chats over a pint with a busy blacksmith in a lower-tier tavern. Reactions will also vary, but most are interested in hearing what Riftwatch has to say, even if they're not necessarily disposed to agree. Nearly all visitors to Orzammar are merchants, and having access to this many surfacers and non-dwarves is a novelty.

Members of the Shaperate will take a more pointed and professional interest in their work. Shapers may set up appointments to talk to anyone who's able to speak about their experiences in the war so far, taking copious notes. (On paper. You're not special enough to go straight into the Memories.)

For everyone Riftwatch set a meeting with there are ten more they didn't, so a major part of the company's work in the city will be cultivating more casual interactions and both gathering and dispensing information that way. Someone might be assigned to frequent a particular tavern popular with Warriors and make connections there and find opportunities to discuss what's going on above. Someone else might be asked to drop in on a series of armorers and try to get a sense of current prices, how busy they are, and where most of their stock is being sold. Other assignments might be even more general--spend time in this cafe, or at the nug races, or chatting up merchants in this sector of the market, and see what conversations you can strike up or overhear. Talking folks into support for the war effort is great, but any generally positive interaction counts at this point, so Riftwatch members will be encouraged to pitch in wherever they see help needed, but also to be careful not to get entangled in controversy.

To coordinate all of this work, Riftwatch will have command of a private dining room in the Paragon's Rest to use as a meeting room, where everyone can come back to report, regroup, and strategize after a meeting or outing.

LEISURE

Anyone who finds themselves with downtime will also not have trouble finding things to fill it with. The Commons is lined with merchant stalls selling street food and a wide variety of fine dwarven crafts: metal goods ranging from knives to toys, clothing and bags covered in carefully placed little beads, intricate jewelry, and mechanical and enchanted inventions rarely seen on the surface. There's also an artisan who will hammer your likeness into a sheet of metal while you wait. It's all cheaper than it would be in an above-ground marketplace, as long as you're willing to haggle. Shops and smithies built into the stone sell weapons and armor—or do custom work, though getting anything completed before Riftwatch leaves Orzammar will require paying a premium.

The centerpiece of the Orzammar Commons in the Proving Arena. Currently there are no ongoing provings, but there are warriors and aspirants hanging around the surrounding areas to practice and posture. They might invite a competent-looking newcomer to spar.

An alternative to violence is nug racing, where hungry, specially-bred nugs are painted with house symbols and raced through open-topped tunnels, dug into the ground to allow spectating from above. With little happening in the Proving arena at the moment, this is the more popular spectator event in Orzammar, drawing observers from every caste to cheer and gamble on the outcomes of a series of bracketed races. House Etoras' Deep Fried (called Fred) is favored to win, but House Aratack's Hops & Grain (Hoppy) isn't a bad bet, and Keltar's Perfect Baby (Baby) might pull off an upset.

And there is also, of course, an enormous pit of lava below the Commons. (This is not deadly somehow. We don't know.) A favorite game of some of the local children is collecting trash and inviting newcomers to guess or wager on which items will burst into flames before they hit the lava and which will not. These demonstrations usually end by either a fake attempt to toss a friend over the edge as the final object, or a gleeful (and disprovable) explanation that this is why no one in Orzammar is ever found murdered. They only vanish. Fun!

If they'd like to explore beyond the Commons and the Diamond Quarter, no one will actively prevent Riftwatch members from venturing into Dust Town, the dilapidated sector of the city where the casteless live and the Carta rules. Outsiders might even be able to stumble into the area without realizing it, if they get turned around in some of the narrower back streets carved through the rock. But however they arrive, visitors to Dust Town are unlikely to make it very far without running into trouble.

Comments

adrasteia, a grey warden | ota | wildcards welcome

[kantikoy]

[ starters in threads below, or wildcard me here! ]

on the road (again); ota but also specifically for Gabranth

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia brings the Avvar horse she inherited from the nug poachers at the Minranter River, which she still hasn't named, because it's a good horse and well-built to give rides to just about anyone, much less her tiny, elven self.

They're heading up the mountain now, and she's got a man in armor at her side (whom she's never seen take off the armor, not even the helm to eat, which is its own weirdness but she's not gonna ask) who is walking. She does some calculus about weight and height, based on the sounds his armor makes, and leans over the pommel to tilt her head at him.

"A horse this size could handle carrying you." Just for the record.

She is fine with other people riding him, even. Maybe someone else can think of a name for the poor beast.

[archademode]

It is unexpected, that offer. Or perhaps it shouldn’t be, in theory: a man determined to go on foot in long-driven caravan is a man that either enjoys his own suffering, or cannot abide the method of transport.

Gabranth, in some ways, is both.

But not enough that he relishes the glass-shard feeling of wearied heels with each and every step. Discipline and masochism are far different beasts, after all, no matter how some might argue otherwise.

“If you are certain it will make for no trouble.”

He is quite heavy in full regalia, though she in comparison perhaps no more than a laden traveling pack in her bearing, and there is fair chance her chosen steed isn't even aware of her presence for that fact alone.

[kantikoy]

The Grey Warden smiles a little more warmly, picking up the reigns, and maneuvering the horse a little bit away from the procession by turning it away from Gabranth and then behind the armored man, reappearing on the opposite side of him. How many times has she heard a similar response to an offer she's made? As if helping, improving the situation of those she encounters, could ever be trouble in her mind.

Has it been, in reality? Yes. Is she likely to change her behavior towards others? Signs point to no.

"I'm certain," she says, and encourages the horse to stop, reaching forward and patting it's neck. "Have you ridden before?"

[archademode]

“Twice now, in regards to these creatures. Neither was a deft endeavor, but I’ll not burden you with inexperience.” He can sit, and he can ease himself into the saddle, and so long as they’ve no reason to go sprinting off into battle, he doubts there will be any difficulty present in the matter.

Still, he is determined not to displace her from her own mount, and so instead, fits his gloved hands across the back and side of the saddle, granting her a moment to resituate herself before he drives himself up with effort, pulling up into a seated position at her back. There’s no stool or stairstep to bear him nearer this time, but thankfully— even laden with armor— he’s more nimble than he looks in where matters of strength are involved.

And entirely careful to keep harsh armored edges away from her in the process.

[kantikoy]

Somehow, despite the words that are coming from (presumably) the man's mouth, Adrasteia does not entirely expect him to just haul up onto the saddle in that fashion. It's impressive, honestly, the amount of grace involved; she does turn her head so she can glance at him over her shoulder before deciding they're all fine, here, actually, picking up the reigns again to lead the horse back towards the bulk of the procession from Kirkwall.

"The dwarven smiths in Orzammar are going to be fascinated with your armor, you know," she says just in case he doesn't. Clearly, he's a Rifter. Maybe from a world without horses? A strange thought; what do they use to get around then otherwise? But, she imagines it's exhausting to be asked a dozen or three questions about where one comes from when one isn't native to the land.

Honestly, it's a personal struggle for her not to side sideways in the front of the saddle in order to look at him properly, but it's a struggle she's determined to live with for now. "I'm Adrasteia, by the way. Grey Warden and Morale Officer, though the latter only matters in the Gallows, I'm sure."

[archademode]

“Judge Magister Gabranth.”

Dour declaration made at her back in the wake of her brightspark voice, he holds his own breath otherwise— at least for a longer beat or two in deep consideration (one part basking in relief from resting his heels, another because she addresses much he’d not considered), before:

“Perhaps I shall endure to ingratiate myself to them upon those grounds. I am hardly a diplomat, but if it will aid the effort...”

the buttered nug; ota but also specifically for roommates in room 1

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia is... not thrilled about the housing situation. Don't get her wrong! She can appreciate a serving of buttered nug (even if she feels a little bad, thinking about the ones she helped rescue) from Orzammar because Orzammar is where one eats nug, but... Well. Several people who are sharing the room snore, one of them has tried to steal one of her rings while she slept and was met with a wary set of nightshine green eyes and sharp knifepoint to get Adrasteia's feelings on the matter across properly. Another has tried to sell her something that will help with 'whatever happens to ail her' which, while unnamed problems, can all be blamed on being 'so close to the sky' at Riftwatch.

Her eyes almost rolled out of her head with that one. Needless to say, she doesn't spend much time in the room and sleeps lightly when she does.

elsewhere in Orzammar; ota

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia has been to Orzammar before, roughly eight years prior to now; then she was just all of nineteen and very wide-eyed about the world outside of Amaranthine. She'd barely even seen a dwarf outside of random traders in her hometown at that point in her life, had definitely not exchanged many words with them much less been in a city full of them.

The thing about Orzammar is that not a lot of it has changed. It feels... almost frozen in time, in a way. Part of her keeps expecting to turn a corner or enter a doorway and find herself face to face with Warden Alphonse, being irritated at her for something or another. It's an odd feeling, for sure.

That, combined with being unable to see the sky, has led to a quieter, more reserved Adrasteia on the whole.

As a Warden, she feels more than a little obligation to help keep the city protected from darkspawn; as such she can be found on patrol more nights than not, though usually not alone, so feel free to join her either by choice or assignment. During the day she can be found at various merchant stalls, discussing how a particular piece of jewelry is made or haggling over the price of a set of very sharp knives. One can't have too many knives.

She's not even a rogue, y'all.

Other places Adrasteia can be found include assisting with red lyrium removal and talking to people in the Commons about healers and where they're needed, red lyrium, the war, etcetera.

commons.

[indissection]

Sidony is not a particular fan of being anywhere near dwarves, anywhere near anything to do with being underground, but she is making do. She has a job to do and she already has some sets of dresses and skirts that are more appropriate for wandering around rather than for sitting and looking pretty, so she's brought those along with her and intends to make good use of them.

At least she can do something worthwhile with herself while she is here and she intends to make use of it. She wanders around to try and find more about what they do in terms of healing here, in terms of looking at bodies, anything that might help her own research and studies.

Of course, she spots Adrasteia as someone who stands out and she offers a small smile and a curtsey as she makes herself more obvious, brushing her hands on her skirts.

"Are you making yourself useful, my dear?"

[kantikoy]

Most dwarves don't know elves. They know of elves, certainly, but it's rare for an elf to make their way to the underground city. Suffice to say, this has made the elves of Riftwatch somewhat popular.

It doesn't hurt Adrasteia that she is a Grey Warden mage as well.

When Sidony makes eye contact, Adrasteia smiles in welcome at a familiar face, returning the woman's curtsey with one of her own. She likes Sidony— she likes most everyone, truth be told, but the Navarran woman is an accomplished non-magical healer in her own right. Adrasteia has felt fortunate to work alongside her.

"Certainly making my best attempts. Dust Town has the greatest need for people like us, but being well-received there even as a healer has its problems." Which is to say Adrasteia would rather not get jumped while representing Riftwatch.

"Have you eaten? I haven't yet and I was wondering if you would like to join me?"

[indissection]

On the other hand, Sidony is nothing more than the embodiment of uselessness to most people - or at least to those that don't know her well enough. She has the appearance of nothing more than a noble lady, someone who cares for very little more than her dresses and her money, and maybe that had once been the case. She had been rather obsessed with fashion for a while, but work with Riftwatch was a quick cure for that.

She is wiser in a great deal many things these days.

Arms crossed behind her back, she lets her smile settle into place. She is certainly fond of Adrasteia - there's no reason not to be - and her eyes skim her up and down before she makes herself properly comfortable in new company.

"They are rather insular people, as best I've heard," she admits with a nod, thoughtful. "I wouldn't trust strange outsiders if I were them, and I doubt we've done much to offer them confidence in us."

But, oh. The offer takes her by surprise for a moment (people want one thing from her and that is healing) but she nods her head.

"I would like that."

[kantikoy]

Her smile widens.

"Oh, good. I'm at the Buttered Nug and don't tell anyone I said this, but I think I've exhausted my interest in that particular meal early on." They've still got days of this mission to go, and she doesn't want nug.

The dwarves would probably never speak to her again if they overheard her at this point, she figures.

She crosses the space to stand closer to Sidony, inclining her head upwards at the other woman. "There used to be a small restaurant in the lower area of the Commons that serves a very hearty and delicious stew with thick noodles that I think are made from mushrooms. I never asked exactly what was in it, and I shan't start now."

merchant stalls~

[coquettish_trees]

After the merchant's second offer on the knives— one which is, as to be expected, still too much even given the quality— and before Adrasteia's return salvo, a third voice chimes in.

"But surely you can make her the gift of a more generous offer. After all, I am sure the Warden intends to valiantly protect your beautiful city with them this very night, and it is no poor thing to be able to say ones blades are in such hands." Alexandrie, smiling broadly, with wide and guileless eyes.

[kantikoy]

The merchant stutters briefly, before correcting their offer to something closer to what Adrasteia is willing to pay.

She smiles at the Lady d'Asgard before responding with another lower figure, and the merchant accepts with a little bluster. "I hadn't realized..."

"Oh, it's fine," Adrasteia responds because she knows she told the dwarf she was a Grey Warden and it hadn't mattered at first, not until they were reminded that they should respect that title. "No harm done."

Except for a lower price for these nice knives, which she'll take, thanks.

As the merchant steps aside to wrap the knives, she turns to Alexandrie and mouths 'Thank you.'

[coquettish_trees]

'Quite welcome' is mouthed in return with a twinkle in her eyes before she exclaims "But I am so pleased I have run into you!

"Tell me, how should you like to attend an event you need not have any hand in running at all?"

[kantikoy]

"I would like that quite a lot."

The merchant comes back with the wrapped knives; Adrasteia pays, and then fixes the Lady d'Asgard with her full attention. "What would be required of me?"

meeting room, at some point;

[pittance]

It's just them, just now. Strange hours — stranger, if you reckon the sun to pass them. So maybe it's breakfast, maybe it's not. The clocks aren't so hot you can't pretend.

"Hey," Entered basket-first, held aloft only to nudge her way. Snap-peas: Fresh and sweet and impossibly green. "You holding up?"

She'd been weird. Then he'd been gone. Hasn't been more than a glimpse about their work here, a name on patrol lists and never the same shift. He looks better, cleaned up. Stands straighter.

(Grinds his teeth a little harder —)

[kantikoy]

Having been staring at some fixed point in the wall, Adrasteia refocuses her eyes and attention on the basket between them before she manages to brighten up a little. "Peas," she exhales a little comically, picking one up with a gloved hand and biting into it. A couple of chews and a swallow later and her brain helpfully reminds her that he'd asked a question.

"Ehhhn. It's both different and not, from the last time I was here. But, I have news." She pulls off her gloves before cupping her chin with her right hand and opens her left on the top of the table between them, wiggling her fingers.

There's a green shard there.

[pittance]

There's weird for you. He leans up to squint, and the frown that pulls at his mouth isn't only gravity.

"When'd it happen?"

[kantikoy]

The girl is strange, Vance. Sorry about it.

"Just before we left for here."

merchant stalls.

[heorte]

"I didn't know you were partial to daggers," comes Ellis' voice, an interjection made only after the merchant in question has turned huffily towards another customer.

He'd been meaning to seek Adrasteia out. Here is as good a place as any, considering patrols have pulled him in one direction or another since they've arrived. This is chance, but he'll take it.

[kantikoy]

Adrastiea is surprised, but not exactly startled, by Ellis' appearance at her side. She turns up to look at him and smiles. "My father taught me everything he knew about knives when I was a child. He was hoping for a rogueish type, I think." She has no idea what he'd have thought about her being a mage and avoiding Circle life, but that's a consideration for late-night insomnia, not right now. "One of them is a gift, anyway. How have you found Orzammar?"

[heorte]

Adrastiea has a way of volunteering pieces of herself, passing them over without any hesitation. It feels remarkable, even though Ellis has in some ways begun to grow used to marveling over it.

It registers. He takes it in stride as he eyes the blade in her hand, sizing it up as he considers the question.

"Much the same," he says after a moment, only to add, "Preferable to the time Riftwatch dispatched to Orlais."

For many reasons, not solely because he's far too Ferelden to ever be at ease on Orlesian soil.

"It's early yet, to be buying for Satinalia?"

Prompting, but not prying. He's curious, but not enough to press her for an answer as to who she'd seek out a dagger for.

[kantikoy]

"I'm afraid I might have preferred Orlais." Adrasteia gives a little wince; sorry, Ellis. "Just a tiny bit." She holds her thumb and forefinger apart less than an inch.

"It is, at that, and yet..." Adrasteia gives a little shrug as she puts the knives away in a bag she's carrying expressly for the purpose of gifts she's purchased, "there are two things I know. One: there are fewer craftspeople finer than those of Orzammar, especially when it comes to weapons and armor. Two: there is no such thing as too early for a gift."

She'll definitely get everyone she knows something for Satinalia, but in the meantime, there are so many days between now and then. So many opportunities for gift-giving.

"Perhaps I should make gifts of them both." A small headshake, a problem for a later train of thought. "Have you eaten? Would you like a drink?" A seat and an ale would be preferrable to standing here chattering on in front of all and sundry.