faderift | MOD PLOT ↠ Endlessly Far Beneath My Feet

MOD PLOT ↠ Endlessly Far Beneath My Feet

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

a. THE PARAGON'S REST
Even if the Paragon's rest is physically more comfortable, it's far fancier than Ellie's used to. She looks distinctly out of place to begin with, all whip-thin corded muscle and freckles from a sun nobody here's ever seen. She doesn't have armor on, just leatherwork, mismatched but fitting, hands wrapped to securely hide the shard in her palm.

She leaves her forearms bare; though she doesn't have any tattoos that look like the ones sported by the casteless, a moth and two ferns span from wrist to wrist to elbow on her right arm, laid down over scar tissue.

Ellie learns quickly to play cards, and otherwise keeps to herself. The Rifters are familiar faces, even if she doesn't know all of their names; if she gets a chance she may sidle up to one of them and take a place nearby.

"There's a breeze a foot to your left," she tells them, her smile wry. "What'd you get up to today?"

b. THE DEEP ROADS [cw: violence]
Though Ellie's technically part of Scouting and not Forces, she's managed to prove herself to be a force to be reckoned with in the training yard, and she invites herself along on more patrols in the Deep Roads than she's assigned. Between her knives and bow, she fights with a dirty, ruthless efficiency, throwing herself with almost worrying zeal into the fights with the Darkspawn.

Her arrows rarely miss, and if something gets too close, she's far from shy about pulling a blade and going for something vital. She keeps herself keenly aware of any allies in trouble.

Might even be that she's pushing herself a little too much.

One particularly vicious wave of Darkspawn has them pressed, and Ellie nearly goes down under a close call with four on her at once. She dodges them at first, but she's tired, her movements lagging from too much time spent on patrols, and she takes a hard blow in her shoulder. She staggers with a yelp and a curse -- and then her eyes glow a sudden, bright blue, and she blinks out of sight.

A second later, something rips the throat of that Darkspawn right out, spraying blood everywhere. Once they're dispatched, Ellie appears again some feet away, gasping for breath, leaning heavily on her bow like it's a staff, her legs trembling under her.

c. ORZAMMAR PROPER
Eventually, Ellie's command will make her take some time off, but resting can only occupy her for so long. Instead she wanders through the merchant's quarters, taking in the intricate weapon and metal and armor work, bright-eyed as she watches it be made. Anyone willing to entertain her questions will get a barrage of them, though she does her best not to actually interrupt.

Most often she is content with simply watching -- but there are times she'll sit and bullshit with the merchants, always tactfully making herself scarce when they have business to conduct. She doesn't wear out her welcome in any one place.

"You getting anything?" she asks, if any of the Riftwatch members approach the stall she happens to be at.

d. WILDCARD

Laura has grown fond of the Paragon's Rest for its food and its great hall, both of which appeal to her more than the greasy plates and small space of the Buttered Nug. Unfortunately, her bed is in the latter--but there always seems to be room in the former for some entertainment before that point.

It takes a moment to ascertain that she's the person being spoken to, but there is a draft nearby--she can smell the difference in the air. There's not much shift in her face, the suggestions of confusion and understanding difficult to register without knowing her.

"I talked," is her response, flat and with a faint accent to it. Having taken this as an invitation, she seats herself across from the girl. (Ellie? A fighter, she knows this much from her presence in the training yard. Laura has not challenged her to a fight yet, preferring to take the measure of other small, swift people from afar first.) She's brought some dinner with her, tearing up a hunk of bread and dropping it into a bowl of soup. (Under other circumstances, she would use her claws. Away from the Gallows, however, it's an unwise choice.) "What did you do?"

Ellie's accent is inexplicably the same as the Orzammar residents, but she can't pin down Laura's -- she knows her by sight but this is the first time she's heard her speak. It's... almost familiar? Almost.

It's going to bug her.

Ellie works on her own meal with the attitude of someone getting through it rather than savoring it, soldier-like.

"Deep Roads, then watched some of the nug racing," Ellie admits with a shrug, taking another bite. "I'm shit at the talking thing."

"You are new. They would not know what to do with your memories." The Shaperate, that is. It doesn't occur to her to explain the context of this conversation of memories, her voice mostly mixing in with other Marchers, vowels occasionally tipping the wrong way. "When you have seen more of the war, they will want to know."

Meals are one thing she's learned to appreciate in the last year or two; when there's time to eat and talk with someone else, it makes her feel more like a person. There's a studied sort of deliberateness to every bite, like she might have figured out the correct time things should take by observing others. "What are the nug races like?"

Ellie nods like she has the foggiest clue of what Laura's talking about. The way people refer to memories in the context of Orzammar is a lot more significant than people usually do, so it makes her think there might be something else to it, but...

Well, shit. Maybe she knows.

"Loud." Ellie shrugs, studying the way Laura eats without being too obvious about it. There's something familiar there in the overly correct way she explains, and moves. "Lots of people screaming for whatever they bet on, cussing when they don't win. I don't get how they care so much, but then again I'm not from here."

She takes another bite, pushes it into her cheek, talks with her mouth full.

"Are memories something special here, or what?"

Amos isn't in Forces either. He just likes a good fight. As builds go, theirs couldn't be more different; where Ellie is lanky, Amos is raw muscle. He fights with a bludgeoning weapon, some spikes sticking out of it for extra measure. Darkspawn blood, black ichor, drips off slowly.

He sees Ellie, and knows his job. Protect her while she rests. Luckily, it seems the Darkspawn in this particular corner of the tunnel have been dealt with for now. They'll be back, but not quite yet.

Amos throws her a waterskin. "Shit," he says, stretching out the syllable. "You're a fucking killer with that bow."

Amos is exactly the kind of muscle Ellie appreciates having around. Someone to draw in the bigger targets, control the flow of the battle, give Ellie something to flank and surprise. She's all the more effective if she's not the center of attention.

Still breathing hard, she catches the waterskin, salutes him with it as a thanks, and takes a long pull. It's warm, like the rest of the Deep Roads, but it's still a relief.

"Not so bad yourself," she answers with a half-smile, she takes one more drink and tosses the waterskin back, pulling her sticky shirt away from her skin to cool off.

"You kept almost all of 'em busy."

"I used to be a..." there really isn't a word for it. "Let's just say this ain't new. Except the monster thing."

So, yeah, he's killed a lot of people. What're you gonna do, greenhorn, call the cops?

"We make an okay team." Amos lifts his forearm, displaying a tattoo with a stylized A. "Name's Amos."

Ellie gives him a look, a quirk of the eyebrows that says no shit, Sherlock. Like recognizing like. Neither of them got this good at killing things from noble practice in a training yard and they both know it. Amos doesn't fight to subdue or disable, and neither does Ellie.

"Same," she answers. "But the monster thing isn't new."

She tilts her head to get a good look at the tattoo, flashes him a smile.

"Ellie. And yeah, we do." She gestures to the tattoo, leaning in. They have a few minutes to kill before something else tries to murder their whole expedition, surely. "That mean something special where you're from, or just something you liked?"

Ellie | OTA

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I know we already have a thread but (b)

Shhhh

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