every fire is a lesson learned.

[fightingale]

WHO: Leliana & characters for Antiva mission
WHAT: recruiting characters for the mission, if players are keen beans! if there isn't a starter for you then just contact me and I'll add one asap
WHEN: end of Cloudreach, just before mission departure
WHERE: Skyhold, various
NOTES: Warning for possible discussion of slavery, Venatori related horrors and other such things. I am still on hiatus so I am going to be hideous slow for a few days 8Db

starters in le comments ohoho

Comments

FOR TEREN.

[fightingale]

Leliana rather suspects it would be remiss of her not to be well aware of the talents of certain people working in some capacity with the Inquisition, double so when they are Grey Wardens and in the light of revelations regarding Anders. There are so many potential complications, problems, and she is not eager for the unexpected to make this Inquisition unravel or leave it vulnerable. (She is not fool enough to think she can see everything, to think that there are not things that will be missed all but inevitably, but she will try her damnedest to find everything she can and keep them safe.)

In this moment it works to her benefit in another way to be acquainted with Teren's talents, and having sent a raven down to the Warden Camp to request the her presence, Leliana continues her work.

[doneisdone]

Glad for the respite from her usual chores down in the camp, Teren makes her way up to the keep and the rookery. She arrives with little fanfare, sketching a small bow as she looks over Leliana.
"Sister Nightingale," she greets brusquely, "you sent for me."

[fightingale]

"Warden." A nod of greeting as she stands, hand indicating the chair opposite her at her desk as she finishes rolling up a letter. "Thank you for attending me so promptly. There is a mission that I think could benefit from your experience."

No need for pleasantries, she suspects. They neither of them have time for it.

[doneisdone]

Teren wouldn't be surprised by the news if she'd made any mention of her previous occupation, at least to anyone but Benevenuta, but... Sister Nightingale has her ways. And Teren has been allowed to live, and to continue her duties among the Wardens, which speaks enough.

"Do tell," she says, keeping her face neutral.

[fightingale]

"In its simplest form, a rescue mission. We have reason to believe a Merchant Prince in Antiva City is both trading in slave and delivering them to the Venatori. The slaves must be freed, and any intel that can possibly be gathered must be collected."

She regards Teren quietly, curiously, assessing what information what might be offered to her, if any at all.

FOR SOLAS.

[fightingale]

The wheels are in motion.

It is only fitting, then, that Leliana descend the stairs from her place in the Rookery to Solas' own preferred location, standing just inside the doorway until either he is no longer working on something, or until he invites her in, whichever occurs sooner.

"Solas," she offers, by way of greeting. "I hope the day is not presenting you with too much adversity."

[singularwill]

They happen at the same time - as he finished his current note to look up and find Leliana in the doorway, beckoning her in.

"I am not sure any one here can claim to understand normal levels of adversity," He replied smoothly, standing to face her. "But today seems calmer than it has been, that much is certain. What can I do for you?"

[fightingale]

It is enough to coax a faintest shadow of smile from her in agreement. "I wonder that we will know how to function once all this is done, should the world fall back into something like calm."

Her tone suggests she does not think it will be so simple, that she is not so naive as that. As she steps forward, Leliana's hands clasp behind her back. "I have word of progress on a mission the Ambassador and I have been coordinating. I had wondered if you would be so good as to be involved in it. I think it would benefit from your skills."

He is not hers to order, but a man whose beliefs seem to meet with her own in many regards.

[singularwill]

"I am sure we shall all flail in folly until the world rends itself asunder once more." He says it cheerfully, though, teasing.

The teasing look fades a little as she gets to business, and instead is replaced by one of interest.

"My skills? I am happy to make myself available to the Inquisition, of course, and resume participating in its missions, though I admit to find myself curious as to how you believe I will benefit it."

[fightingale]

"Something to look forward to, at least," she replies, rather dryly. Perhaps there is a reason she doesn't joke any more; it always becomes grim.

And a nod, at that. "The mission is multifaceted, but chiefly concerned with the capture of a Merchant Prince operating a slaving business." Leliana pauses, and her expression becomes more grave. "We have reason to believe he has been supplying these slaves to the Venatori. We wish to see his... trade dismantled, the slaves freed and intel gathered." Her jaw clenches a moment, mouth caught in a stern line. The other elements she can certainly explain, but this is the most pressing matter, that lives have been warped and jeopardised and doubtless lost to this. "I would feel better knowing we had a mage of your caliber with the party being assembled. It is presently more than dominated by rogues, and..." A pause, then, and this is the meat of it: "I believe you and I share some opinions on the ideals of freedom."

If those who are lost and scared and afraid should also come to know one of their rescuers was a mage, if that ever changed their fear of mages in the future... it was not a deciding factor, no, but it was something to hope for, even despite herself.

FOR ARIADNE.

[fightingale]

The Nightingale's scouts are something of a permanent fixture around Skyhold. Never in the same place, of course, but there are always eyes, always ears. They gather secrets as surely as the wind brushes through the ivy scaling the tower walls, and they have heard of a rifter asking after the Nightingale and mentions of Cole with that.

It is enough to raise her interests, cautiously, and as such she has a runner deliver a message to her, requesting her presence in the Rookery.

Light filters from the space in the roof, ravens caw, and Leliana is writing letters, sealing one and handing it to a scout. "With Baron Plucky, if you would," and she ignores the way the scout pales a little before going to face their fate wrangling the raven. She does not need to look to be aware of the presence at the top of the stairs.

"Yes?"

[demonicbeauty]

Ariadne was used to royal summons. Back home, she'd served in the court of Princess Amanda, even stepping in a few times when her aunt, the royal translator was unavailable.

But this was entirely different.

And not just because she was trapped in an entirely different world.

Everything Cole had told her about Leliana made Ariadne want to trust her. After all, Cole was one of the very few people that Ariadne trusted. But she couldn't shake the old feeling of uncertainty. She wasn't used to being open and honest about who she was and what she could do. And she had a feeling that if Leliana wanted to speak with her, the conversation would undoubtedly swerve in that very specific direction.

She was quick to finish up her work. She'd been helping to fetch and carry linens for the healers. With nimble fingers, she braided her hair over her left shoulder and washed her face and hands. Ariadne was a pretty as a love-sung lullaby, but she wanted to look respectable. That was always harder.

Ariadne arrived at the Rookery in short order, timidly letting herself in and making her way to the stairs. "Hello?"

Ahhhhhh so sorry for the delay!!

[fightingale]

She knows who she is, of course - a poor Spymaster she would be, not to recognise those she has summoned to her domain. A dramatic word, yes. Leliana has something of a flair for it, though, and Sister Nightingale is surrounded by it almost as much as by mystery. The comparative coldness of the room, and bright light from the windows and roof that cut through heavy shadows and the glow of candles in a shrine she ahs constructed for herself in the very walls only add to it, her tower from which she watches over all of Thedas-- it could be contended that Leliana well appreciates the importance of stories and tales that will find their way from Skyhold.

"Ariadne," Leliana starts, turning to face the young woman, observing her steadily. "You are an associate of Cole's. Rather interested in scout work, from what I have heard."

Her smile is a knife edge, barely a smile at all, though she inclines her head with a slight bow. "I am Sister Nightingale. Well met."

No worries!

[demonicbeauty]

She spent a fleeting moment listening to Leliana's pulse, before dipping down into a small curtsy. It was really more of a bounce than a curtsy, but then again, almost everything Ariadne did was somewhat bouncy.

And very unassuming.

"I'm Cole's friend," she corrected gently. There was something very impersonal in the word 'associate' that she didn't like. Although she immediately had a feeling that she would be Leliana's associate, at best. "He's told me quite a bit about you. Is that why I've been summoned?"

[fightingale]

Were the prompt for the summons not so pressing and Leliana's own mood not so grave, the correction might have made her smile. As it is she simply nods an acknowledgment of the correction, filing it away for future reference, lest it should somehow become pertinent, when she learns more and has more pieces of the puzzle to fit together.

"I had heard mention that you had expressed an interest in the work we do here," she replies, tilting her head a little towards the ravens and the scouts moving through the Rookery. "There is a mission departing tomorrow. I summoned you here to extend an invitation."

FOR THE IRON BULL.

[fightingale]

Some things can be counted upon. Locating the head of the Bull's Chargers mercenaries in the tavern was amongst those things, although it is not always Leliana attending personally to relay messages.

"The Iron Bull," she starts, and she has apparently intercepted the last drink he ordered, because she is setting it down beside him as she trains her gaze on him. "Do you have a moment?"

[qunari]

He makes himself easy to find for good reasons. It's surprising to see she's come herself for whatever it is, rather than pass messages between their subordinates. Must make it serious, whatever it is.

There's no notion outwardly that he knows that's the case. Instead he smirks, gesturing at an open seat across from him. "Sure. What's on your mind, Red?" Casual as you like. He knows as well as she does how important appearances are.

[fightingale]

And she accepts the offered seat, moving around the table and claiming it smoothly. Red was an interesting name. Obvious, of course, but even the obvious could have nuances woven into it, and she is used to looking for barbs. In some ways she prefers it to Nightingale - it has less baggage, even as she cannot imagine ever carving away that name. It is too much part of her.

"A mission," she says, rather simply. "One that I think would benefit from your involvement."

[qunari]

"You're probably right, then. What have you got for me?"

It's not bragging, just matter-of-fact. If Leliana's already considered him for the job, there's reason. And he's good at what he does. So rather than flatter anyone's ego -- Bull's certainly needed no stroking -- better to get to the details. Whatever she thought she could give away in the open like this, anyway.

Bound to be things she wouldn't say out loud. He can read between the lines, though. Generally.

[fightingale]

"A merchant prince that we believe is supplying the Venatori with cargo." Cargo she says, but there is just enough emphasis on it, just enough of a pause that someone in their trade might notice where others will not. Living cargo, slaves, people whose wills have been stolen from them and their flesh bound. "The Ambassador and I have some interest in his operation and an Orlesian noble who is seeking investment opportunities."

She holds out a scroll, bound, that contains some details on the Orlesian and the the Merchant Prince. "These people need to live."

The slaves, but sure, maybe she means Fortier and Oleastro.

FOR LEGOLAS.

[fightingale]

Whether it was herself or Josephine who settled on the involvement of one of Galadriel's kin being most wise for this mission - perhaps even necessary - the key thing is that it is important. The Inquisition had kept Galadriel imprisoned a long time, and Leliana herself was of the opinion that any time at all had been too much, had been unnecessary. She wonders if Cassandra knows what it is to have been imprisoned for any significant stretch of time.

That is a question for another hour. The matter is settled now, at least, though not as quickly as Leliana would have liked.

Ultimately she decides it is better for he to approach him herself, rather than sending a scout or a raven, and so once the word comes that matters are ready for them to proceed to the final stages of preparation, Leliana leaves her tower. At least Legolas is not an overly difficult person to find, and Leliana waits a respectful distance until she receives some indication that her arrival would not be an interruption - whether from Legolas himself, or her own assessment. When that moment comes she steps forward, offering a short bow, hand over her heart.

"Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn." Carefully practiced, learned, repeated until it was perfect and rolled off her tongue naturally, the Orlesian accent disappearing under Galadriel's lesson. It was a beautiful phrase, she thought, but perhaps it appeals to the minstrel in her more than to the bard. "I am called Leliana. I am the Inquisition's spymaster, and one of the advisors."

[parkourprince]

There were only a few places in all of Skyhold that Legolas haunted most often, and he scarcely cared to make himself difficult to be found. At least for the time being, perhaps a time would come when that were to change, one day, but for now he had no reason for such secrecy. It was quite enough that speaking with his father in their native tongue offered at least some privacy while they were surrounded by, essentially, nothing but strangers and all too often, not the most kind of strangers.

It was the ramparts today, with some bone shards to be shaped into arrowheads. He sat, cross-legged, near the very edge overlooking the bridge leading into the keep, dressed a little warmer than he normally would be, but the chill of the air so high up still touched his bones in unpleasant ways. An extra leather coat and some gloves were enough to ward off the worst of it, thankfully. Enough that his fingers did not go numb from the work, carving and sharpening, until he had enough done that pleased him in number.

The Men were not dwarves who announced their coming from leagues away, their steps heavy and careless, but neither were they elves or... hobbits, who could walk without sound. Even the most careful of the Men gave away their presence, sooner or later, and an elven ear could pick it up. He knew someone was watching, but it was something he had grown mostly accustomed to here, with how oft it happened, and so he only reacted when she stepped out and announced her presence properly. Had it been anyone else, the greeting in fluent elvish of Arda would have pleased and impressed him greatly, enough to show it, in fact— and it almost did show, until the woman introduced herself. The smile didn't drop so obviously, but it did grow more guarded and the friendly mirth vanished.

He had little of his father's regal bearing — having neither the posture for it, nor the thousands of years of experience —, that could intimidate anyone standing before him, instead he had plenty of the Silvan nature: proud in a wilder fashion, far less patient, a wolf ready to bare its fangs at the first hint of a threat.

"And, forgive my wonder, what would one of the Advisors seek with an elf of Arda?" Other than to wish to imprison him perhaps, Legolas thought, one slender eyebrow arching a notch. Still, he was not raised an orc, and though he stayed up on his perch, he greeted her in a similar manner, acting the Prince and the Lord that he was — or trying to. A small bow of his head, a hand resting over his heart, "Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn. If you approach me, my name you must know, yet all the same I will say it: I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, and, indeed," striking, sharp in tone, "Friend to the Lady Galadriel."

[fightingale]

The change of his smile is inevitable, and if Leliana were not so guarded by default, were not the Nightingale and a shadow at all hours, the regret might have shown better in her expression as a response to it. The regret does still come, and it is genuine, but it is prompted by the talents of a bard rather than coming so naturally as it would otherwise, even if the difference would not be obvious to most people.

"It was your friendship with the Lady Galadriel that made me consider approaching you imperative," Leliana replies, not quite a confession, but something of an acknowledgement. "I am but one of the leaders of the Inquisition, and her imprisonment concerned me greatly. My power to act against my colleagues was limited, and I am aware there is nothing I can say that will serve to convey the esteem with which I hold her, nor how well I comprehend what she and the elves of Arda together represent to our own elves. They have suffered cruelly under the hands of humans, and I am sorry that she was subjected to imprisonment."

Words. Talk is cheap, she had told Morrigan once, and (as always) Morrigan's response had been to the point: this, from a bard. She deals in words and whispers and secrets, in shadows and death. She is the Nightingale, undoubtedly falls short of that name by the standards of Galadriel (by her own specific admission), and as such she denied herself even that title with Legolas. "I am honoured to meet you, Legolas. I confess I have come to you with a question that would be a favour to the Inquisition, and a chance to see we are not so foul as we doubtless have made ourselves appear to you, if such a proposal would be of interest to you."

It is strange, this dance of words. She rarely has to do such things herself, any more, working from her tower. Sometimes she misses speaking with people. Sometimes she wishes she could attend these missions herself, but the windows for such things are rare and she cannot leave the Inquisition without the mind and heart to which all eyes and ears bring their information.

[parkourprince]

It was a struggle to hide the true expressions, it was never something he cared to do much, never something he truly needed to do either, but it was different in Thedas. Leliana's demeanour took him aback, and all that he showed was the distinct silence that followed her words, his face remained the barely neutral, haughty look. There was no malice that he could hear in her voice, or sense in her bearing, so these could not be lies or attempts at manipulation, yet he had not the ability to look into her mind, or discover her true thoughts, either, so the suspicion he kept close to his heart. A shame, truly, for in all his life he had known many who were kind, who were noble and loyal, but this was Arda, and here right now, it was this land of Thedas. And here he could not let himself be fooled or manipulated, it wasn't just his own safety and name at risk here, after all.

There were many sharp words that came to mind, and he would utter them, his tongue as much a blade as his knife, but he held them back. For now. Leliana had come to him with apparent good-will — which was far more than ever could be said about Cassandra —, and so she would face the same in return.

"Any elf will listen, gladly, when they are presented with good-will instead of ignorance, and respect instead of arrogance, and counsel or aid we will offer as well, should it be needed," though there were those who would advise against asking elves for counsel, with their tendency to answer both yes and no. The thought of hobbits came to him, old friends and one of them stuck right here with them, in this dark world. Inadvertently, Legolas's tone gentled. "And the future will show the truth of your words.

"So you have my attention."

[fightingale]

"Thank you." It is a great deal to ask, she thinks, but these are the rules of courtesy and the dances that come with diplomacy and politics. This is a strange twist on it, but the dance exists all the same, a fragile and beautiful kind of thing.

"There is a mission departing tomorrow for Antiva City - the capital of Antiva, equal parts beauty and splendor, foulness and corruption. The power in Antiva is held by Merchant Princes, who are not royalty but may as well be, for all their riches and sway. However," and her tone becomes fractionally more clipped, "It has come to my attention that there is a Merchant Prince running a secret slave trade. Elves, humans, and I have no doubt that dwarves and qunari alike are amongst their numbers. Slavery is illegal in Thedas, with the exception of the Tevinter Imperium, but it is persists. We have reason to believe these particular slaves are also being sent to the Venatori, who number amongst our enemies and have a... history of abuses of all kinds."

She pauses, then, and opts to continue before asking if Legolas has questions. "The group departing will have the mission of releasing the slaves, capturing the Merchant Prince Oleastro, arresting a guest presently staying with him, and gathering intelligence."

Leliana watches him, curious but with no great expectation about whether he would agree to attend. "I am happy to answer whatever questions you may have."