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

open.

[acreage]

WORK

It isn't hard to keep busy down here. And keep busy he does — they're here for a purpose, and he can appreciate the significance of improving relations with the dwarves. That keeping occupied helps him not dwell on how he feels about underground spaces can only be a bonus.

He spends a lot of time putting cleansing runes for red lyrium into place, offering help and suggestions to the others, dwarf or otherwise, and accepting them himself. He works with good grace, and does not comment when, for the nth time, he's provided a particularly high up patch of wall to place some runes — just slants a wry glance at anyone familiar in the area as he accepts the assignment.

Or maybe, he just interrupts a quiet stretch of work with a,

"Having fun?"

Or — there's the meeting room, where the two of you might be discussing a particular interaction. He breathes out, says wryly,

"I think that went well."

Feel free to elaborate on what an understatement that is.

LEISURE

That's not to say, however, that he's always working. He can be found hanging around the smithies one day, asking questions, and, eventually, leaving with a sheathed blade. Feel free to notice, help him making a more informed choice (or just not get ripped off, as a clueless surfacer), or, yk, make fun of him.

He also spends some time by the open lava pit, being regaled by the children as they toss things in. If they notice another walking by, one may run up and say —

"This is the best one!"

Or maybe he's just found alone, contemplating the burning pit.

work

[lumelume]

"Having fun?"

The question merits a grin from the nearest person, a wiry man of medium height who is all too glad for a break in the silence.

"Of course," Mado replies easily, "there's fun to be found in anything, I should think!"
Noting the height of Holden's workspace, he adds, "we could get them even higher, if I stood on your shoulders."

[acreage]

There's a faint smile at Mado's energy, but he shakes his head without pausing in his work.

"I'm not sure they're needed that high," for one thing. But more pressingly, "It wouldn't be safe. If we do need to install anything up there, we can use a ladder."

[lumelume]

"No worries, amico, my balance is good," Mado cheerfully replies, but doesn't push the subject-- if they don't need runes that high, then they don't need them that high.

"You are a rifter, yes?"

[acreage]

"What gave it away?"

He's kidding, of course. Anyone in Riftwatch has had plenty of opportunity to see him with anchor shard visible, using it on missions sometimes to close rifts. Not to mention doing things like openly discussing outer space on the network.

"I am," he says a beat later, then, "My name's Jim."

[lumelume]

"Your accent!"

Mado beams up at him. "There are plenty of Thedosians with rift shards, after all! But if I can't tell where a person's from by listening to them, they are likely from somewhere else." A fact with which he seems completely at peace-- oh, just people falling from the sky, is that all.

"My name's Amador," he adds, "or Mado, if you prefer. What is your world like?"

[acreage]

He makes a sound, a kind of oh, yeah — he's heard about his accent before, but not recently enough to remember. His voice isn't terribly unlike the dwarves all around them now, but sticks out aboveground.

"Nice to meet you," or close enough, be formally introduced, such as it is, and, "What do you want to know about it?"

It is, after all, a big question.

leisure

[muckspout]

Edgard finds Holden staring into the lava pit. It's a distressing sight. He walks up next to him grabs his arm and says with a laugh,

"Can you see my future in there?"

His smile doesn't completely hide the worry behind his eyes.

[acreage]

Is it not completely normal to stare into the fiery abyss, wow gosh!

"I hope not," he says with a smile, then shakes his head. "Did you know the kids like to throw shit in there for fun?"

[muckspout]

Edgard exhales a weary laugh.

"Did know that. People sometimes. Or at least they threaten it."

He looks into the middle distance.

"Children are terrifying sometimes."

[acreage]

He laughs.

"I remember saying some weird shit at that age, just to see what I could get away with."

So hopefully that's all the stories about throwing people in...is.....

[muckspout]

Edgard shudders a little, but doesn't elaborate. He does laugh at the thought of little Holden testing the waters.

"What, did you threaten to feed someone cow manure?"

Edgard does not forget that he's speaking to the reigning cow champion.

[acreage]

"I got into arguments with the teachers," he says wryly, which can't be much of a surprise.

Considering, him.

"I did used to tell people that a creek on our land was deep enough to swallow you up if you fell in it." He looks to Edgard, raises his eyebrows. "It was shallow, even to a kid. I guess I thought it was funny."

work.

[hornswoggle]

"It might have gone worse."

Ha.

"I thought he was more bored than incensed, which is promising. Maybe we find someone a little more exciting to follow up with him at his smithy in a few days, or—"

A beat, where John nudges his own largely untouched tankard aside to draw on the stray scraps of paper towards him on the table.

"We make a purchase."

What better to smooth ruffled feathers than the exchange of some coin?

[acreage]

"There's still time."

To manage to piss him off, ha ha! Which would be an inevitability, probably, if not for John; being able to consider bored as promising is a level of optimism that suggests he's seen worse odds. Holden opens his mouth as if to consider an answer to the first suggestion — what would be more exciting to someone who's never been aboveground? — closes it as he hears the second one.

"That might work," musingly, as he considers that. "Especially if we take the time to talk about the quality of his work."

Which, to be fair — is very impressive.

"Do you have any ideas?" For what to buy. Then, after a beat, "I might be able to think of something."

He has, after all, been considering a purchase of his own down here.

[hornswoggle]

A chuckle that tapers off into a cleared through, because it theoretically is bad form to laugh over the prospect of making things worse with the people they're meant to be impressing. Dwarves are thrilled with the novelty of them, but what's the use of that if it isn't parlayed into meaningful connections?

"Such as?" John prompts, rather than make a suggestion of his own.

If Holden already intended to spend the coin with a purchase of his own in mind, why grope for an excuse?

[acreage]

"I've been thinking about buying a weapon of my own."

Instead of relying on Riftwatch's armories, others. He shrugs, adds,

"Being here seems like a good opportunity to do it."

[hornswoggle]

"Convenient," John agrees. "We've not only our recently departed friend, but a whole list of potential smiths for you to choose from."

Just how many weapons does Holden need, exactly?

"What sort of weapon did you have in mind?" is not strictly necessary, but it is of interest. Rifters weren't always so gifted with the weapons common to Thedas. Holden has been here for some time, but still...

[acreage]

Just how many weapons does Holden need, exactly? He'd been thinking about the one, but the comment gives him a brief image of leaving Orzammar with a whole stockpile of purchases, all in the name of the war effort.

"A sword." Which still feels fucking stupid to admit, even after living in fantasyland for more than half a year now, even to a local who probably wouldn't blink at the notion. "I've spent the most time practicing with them. So," self-deprecatingly, "I'm least likely to embarrass myself with one."

l e i s u r e

[nonvenomous]

The time is impossible to know, between miles of cold stone hollowed out overhead and the hellfire glow of molten rock through the channels beneath it. It feels late.

His approach is the kind of quiet one would expect from a snake -- a whisper of sole over stone at the last second that could just as easily belong to a Carta thief. But it’s just Silas, mussed and unassuming with a lit joint between his fingers. He looks like he’s fresh rolled out of his blankets, barefoot, collar loose in the laces.

Here to join Holden in contemplating the eddy of magma far below.

[acreage]

"Couldn't sleep?"

He might consider, later, the folly of not minding his surroundings more in a strange city. It might very well have been, say, Carta, or some unaffiliated thief, or some dwarf none too fond of surfacers, or rifters. As it is, he doesn't look towards Silas till after speaking, takes in the general dishevelment of his appearance without comment. Jim looks put together in a way that clearly indicates he didn't particularly bother to try sleeping; instead, took to

well,

watching lava flows.

[nonvenomous]

Joint pinched up to hang at his lip, Silas glances over in wordless confirmation. He steps up onto whatever ledge or barrier, turns his shoulder, and sets about maneuvering himself to wizz however many meters down, down, down. After a weightless second, contact flashes the crackling stream into spits of hissing steam.

He watches it go with some fascination, the lava’s light hot on his bony face. In a way, this is science.

“Have you ever been married, Captain?”

He waits until he’s finished to ask. Polite, in that way.

[acreage]

Well, as long as we aren't having this conversation while he's peeing, that's all right, then.

His sigh, though, may or may not be audible over the ambient sounds of city, and lava, and anything else.

The question sparks memory: Naomi, nimbly moving through the Roci in low grav; Naomi, telling him so go be you; Naomi, never failing to do what she thinks is right, and never letting him be any less. So there's something in his face, in his voice, that suggests a yes, even as he says,

"No." But he goes on, after a moment, "But a wedding wouldn't change anything about Naomi and I, anyway."

Did Silas ever meet Naomi? It seems possible enough that Jim doesn't consider otherwise.

[nonvenomous]

Silas expels smoke in a noxious coil as he settles to sit, raised cross-legged on his perch. He is tired, as much of Riftwatch has been in the depths of Orzammar, slack through the shoulders, the bottoms of his feet black where he’s been padding over bare stone.

“I’d initially believed Rifters brought to this plane must be unattached.”

Free agents.

The cherry of his joint is only as red as the light already radiating through this chamber. The name 'Naomi' hasn't stirred any sign of recognition in him.

[acreage]

Still standing, he glances over dubiously.

"You thought all Rifters had to be single?"