A FOOL'S ERRAND | Closed.

[limier]

WHO: Wren Coupe + Malcolm Reed, Ioane, Inessa Serra, Simon Ashlock, Cade Harriman, Anders + NPCs
WHAT: The Inquisition has word that a handful of Red Templars may have broken from Corypheus' control. A team has been sent to investigate, and decide upon a course of action.
WHEN: Forward-dated to the end of the month.
WHERE: The Free Marches
NOTES: OOC Post; Violence, body horror, language. Will edit if stuff comes up.

Pieces will be edited in as we go!

Contents;

• Arrival
• Confronting Ser Hayes
•  

Previous Conversations;

• Taashaath
• Malcolm - 1, 2, 3
• Norrington - 1, 2
• Samson
• Anders

 

Comments

arrival; gathering information

[limier]

The journey out is tense, if only for the air between Coupe and Reed — that of an argument left unvoiced.

When they do break camp, it's some distance from town. Wren's brusque, but calm about the business of assigning roles. She'll stay back to finish setup.

Life in the Marches is hard; harder outside a city. A self-declared duke holds this stretch of land through a combination of force and some shrewd ass-kissing of distant Hambleton.

Still, the town of Damp is prosperous enough. Many of the roofs here are at least partially timbered, and stone walls are not infrequent. There's been care put into this place, and some peace with which to maintain it: boards are laid into the dirt for muddy walkways, the gardens are well-tended. There are no sisters and no Chantry — though a board posted outside one home advertises both beer and services.

Not unusual for a settlement of this size.

Armed strangers are met with suspicion (and pitchforks leaned prominently into view); less so, when they prove to have money or else to offer.

MALCOLM & IOANE - Team "Act Natural"

[limier]

Assignment: Ask around and keep ears open for anything that seems off. Ioane is to pretend to be Malcolm's servant; Malcolm is to pretend that he has those.

Notable information:

There's no Chantry, there are no sisters — but people talk like there were, not so long ago. They don't like to talk about it much more than that.

Pieces of expensive coloured glass can be found decorating homes, here and there: Usually hung from cord.

A child in the village tells fanciful stories of cellar monsters. He swears he's seen one, and that it told him to "run".

No knows what a Seeker is. They all know what Inquisition means, though, and they're worried. Some believe it means Rifts will appear, others expect more mundane trouble.

Those speaking to Ioane will be more open about believing trouble is already here. The cooper says he'd make for Hambleton, if he thought he'd be let in.

OOC Notes: Feel free to handwave as much or as little of this as you'd like, and generally use the thread for whatever talky purposes you want! If you want/need me to NPC, just ping me on plurk and I'll drop in.

[tactical_alert]

[After the first few times of introducing himself as Seeker Reed of the Inquisition, he decides to leave off the Seeker part. Malcolm, then, of the Inquisition. And Ioane. (It's a little unnatural for him to see a partner in a mission as just a second idle thought, but he can play the part as flawlessly as you please.) That the Inquisition is known even here, even if it's worries of trouble, is heartening in a way. But to know the Inquisition, and recognize Templars of course, but not know even the name Seeker of Truth? That troubles him. They haven't bee disappeared for that long. He tries to quell fears without making up too many details.

He stops before one of the quaint homes, at the dangling splash of purple light of sun filtered through glass. It's not the first decoration he's seen, and while to each their own...] Doesn't that seem more elaborate and expensive than a village like this ought to have?

[To be fair, he doesn't know much of Ioane, but if she's a working servant-type girl, she might have a better idea. He could help himself but doesn't, reaching up to lightly touch it and send it into a gentle spin.]

[poleaxe]

[Ioane has been using this Seeker bloke, it's true. He's not really her master, and so she's trying to figure out if she should apologize afterward, or tell him. What if he finds out? Will he be angry?]

[When they said they needed to get information, an idea formed in Ioane's mind. She's only been with the Inquisition a little while, true, but she knows what servants are best at: gossip. So she's been using Reed to get information, pitching a proper moan about him behind his back to garner sympathy to loose lips. So far, it's worked fine enough. She just doesn't know Reed well enough to tell if he'd mind her wheedling his reputation so, and thus has kept just how she's getting her information secret.]

[The people here are skittish, and happy to tell her of it, though they skimp on details like a miser. The kids here are skittish too, which isn't a great sign for them. Might be a good sign for information-gathering; Ioane isn't sure yet. She's thinking over this when Reed stops to ask her a question. Ioane's learned fast at pretending she's paid attention; she can recall what he just said easily enough.]

Damn right it is. [She tilts her head to the side. That'd fetch a pretty penny in Denerim, and she knows exactly what'd happen to it, if it'd fallen into her hands way back when.] Why didn't they sell it?

[tactical_alert]

If it was just one, I'd suggest family heirloom of some sort. But a couple of these ramshackle houses do. There isn't even a chantry around; surely they could build or convert one if something happened to it.

[They could do it without the money from selling off fancy pretty glass. And it isn't the fact that there's no official chantry building here that bothers him, small as this place is. That someone preaches out of their home casually enough is no surprise. But he's gotten the impression that there was one, before, that Sisters were here doing their duty and--and then what? Did something happen, did someone chase them off?

Knowing why they're here, what this mission is about, means he doesn't like the possibilities that spring to mind.]

Some attempt at a ward, maybe. Or a symbol of something. [Just guesses. It would normally mean nothing to him if it wasn't for the fact that all these little things are piling up out of place.] These people are scared and isolated. Perfect for someone or something to take control.

[poleaxe]

And glass is dear-- usually. [How's it made? She can't quite remember, but she saw a few glass blowers at the market, growing up. Hard workers, dangerous work, and expensive. She remembers that much. Bloody expensive.]

[She frowns up at the glass, a plan forming. She's not sure Ser Reed will be interested, but it's worth a shot. (And, selfishly, she's sure showing some initiative would be good for her reputation. Might get her more interesting postings like this. And she likes this. It's a job about thinking. She's never been paid to think before. Hell, it's still a novelty getting paid.)]

You ought'a ask to buy it. [She says, turning to Reed.] How they react-- that'll say plenty.

INESSA & ANDERS - Team "Catdog"

[limier]

Assignment: Use Garahel and a healer's eye to look for any signs of red lyrium in town. Anders is to use literally any name but "Anders".

Notable information:

A young man displays skin and eye irritations beyond those expected of a peasant's life. He goes out of his way to avoid the pair.

Garahel will trigger on the scent of red lyrium at several village locations, including the town well.

A pregnant mother hasn't been sleeping at night, and blames it on the howling winds.

Inessa will be met with open curiousity — much of it benignly puzzled. These people have never seen an elf before.

Both mages will meet with less fear than might be expected. Nonetheless, a villager will warn that it'd be safer if they kept moving. It doesn't seem to be a threat.

OOC Notes: Feel free to handwave as much or as little of this as you'd like, and generally use the thread for whatever talky purposes you want! If you want/need me to NPC, just ping me on plurk and I'll drop in.

[circleprodigy]

The stares are a little strange; for much of Thedas, elves are always beneath notice. At least being a mage as well as a Grey Warden has made Inessa stand out enough beforehand to accept the attention without comment. Whatever she thinks of it will not be stated, not here and not now. There are more pressing matters at hand than her own welfare, and she can handle a little curiosity. As for safety, they didn't track Red Templars in the pursuit of such.

Remaining at Anders' side, she nods for Garahel to take point. Her loyal mabari snaps into work-mode, no playfulness about him while he sniffs around that dangerous substance. As they approach the town well, he lets out a low growl, tensing up and not moving any closer. Narrowing her eyes, Inessa steps forward stares downward into said well.

"...oh, Maker."

[justice_is_blond]

He's not getting the normal icy looks the staff and robes tend to bring. It's nice, and it means he's feeling comfortable enough that he's let Purrelden out of her pouch and up onto his shoulder. The cat, however, is not helping them find anything which means he's with Inessa in following Garahel.

The growl brings him to peer into the well too, expression neutral as he sees... darkness and water. Anders glances at Inessa, glances back at the well, glances back at her, looks at the dog, and then tilts his head to give her a confused look.

"That growl means something in particular, I take it?" As he's looking at Inessa, he can see someone walk toward the well and make an abrupt turn around. That gets his frown. The young man is walking away at a pretty steady pace.

"...Don't look now, but there's someone clearly trying to avoid us. Something's wrong with his skin."

[circleprodigy]

Garahel's growls are well-known to her, all of them. This is one she knows well, though her elven eyes help confirm it regardless. "It means red lyrium is down there, Anders." Inessa's voice is tense but quiet, not wanting to alarm anyone around them. Red lyrium anywhere is terrible enough, but in a town's drinking water? It couldn't be in a worse location, or a coincidence in any way.

She's about to say more, but Anders' news diverts her attention. So of course she has to look anyway, though tries to do it without turning her head too much, more out of the corner of her eye. A frown curves her lips as she eases away from the edge of the well. "Shall we speak with him, then? I'll follow your lead on this one. You're more a healer than I." Not only more skilled, but trained in dealing with difficult patients. That will likely be relevant now.

[justice_is_blond]

Shit. Red lyrium in the water, and someone avoiding him. Anders presses his lips together, trying to weigh the options quickly.

"Do we have any options for the well right now? Otherwise, we should follow him." A beat. "And warn the others not to drink the water here. Maker, but I'm going to have a headache of a time if everyone's exposed."

He's ready to move if the answer is no, and frankly, he expects it to be. There's nothing they can drop into the well to clear up the water.

SIMON & CADE - Team "Issues Like Vogue"

[limier]

Assignment: Someone's passed red letters through this village. Look like Templars, and see if you can flush anyone out.

Notable information:

Cade will meet with more wariness than Simon, by simple virtue of talking less. The more they speak, the easier people are with them.

The barman-slash-unofficial Chantry host is sympathetic, and oddly-knowledgeable. He asks detailed questions about their service.

Distracting him to look around will reveal the shrine is based around a small statue of Andraste; identical to those issued in philter boxes.

He is also apparently illiterate — but he boasts that his daughter can read.

The Song is faint, but present; it's strongest on the outskirts of the village, closer to the trees.

OOC Notes: Feel free to handwave as much or as little of this as you'd like, and generally use the thread for whatever talky purposes you want! If you want/need me to NPC, just ping me on plurk and I'll drop in.

[paladingus]

Well, if there's one thing these two can manage without issue, it's looking like templars. Even out of armor, the vibe clings to Simon like the scent of Chantry incense. It's no trouble to polish up the old skirt and breastplate and adopt his most pious air of peacekeeping and just-championing.

One would think he could give it a rest for the moment, at least, when they're still a good twenty minutes' walk from the town limits, but there's nobody Simon feels more compelled to be templary around than fellow templars, and Cade is...an unknown quantity. Simon remembers him as well as he remembers anything about his Gallows service, but he'd never gone out of his way to know him more than passingly. Mostly, he recalls the incident with those other knights and that charming young lady from the Blooming Rose--and he had felt bad for Cade, truly, but he'd also privately had to admit to himself that he wasn't sure why all the fuss was necessary. It hadn't exactly read as the sort of nose-in-the-air moralizing that the other chaste templars back in the Starkhaven barracks had been prone to, but Cade's presence still prompts a low level of wary self-consciousness. It is nice to see a familiar face again, after this long, but the silence between them feels heavy with the potential for judgment. Simon breaks it as quickly as he can.

"Been a while, hasn't it?" he says. "I hope life hasn't been treating you too badly in the meantime."

[onlyhymns]

Unfortunately for Simon, Cade remembers him even less specifically: he's one of the many Other Templars from their days in the Order, and although Cade can't recall any specific unpleasant encounters with Simon, that doesn't mean there weren't any. It just means he doesn't remember.

For this reason he's been aloof since they first reunited, beyond his usual shyness and general social incompetence. But now that they're on a mission together, it seems inevitable that they'll have to talk.
"It's been fine," he says evasively, glancing Simon over as he adjusts his gauntlets. Though he doesn't say it, something in his expression seems to add 'no thanks to you'. Kirkwall went to hell and Simon wasn't there. No wonder he's as upbeat as he is. That's fine.

[paladingus]

There's nothing less forgivable than when someone prods at a thing one hates about oneself for a good reason. It's second-nature for Simon to append a mental no thanks to me to any discussion of Kirkwall's redemption after its troubles, but there's always still an irrational hope that other people won't feel that way.

Fine, he thinks hotly, if it's going to be like that, never mind how stupid a question that had been or how well he knows it. He looks away and measures the length of the trail ahead of them.

"Good." Don't look shamefaced; that's how they get you. That's what they want. Own it, matter-of-factly, and it strips the satisfaction out of the judgment--doesn't it?

"I won't pretend I know what it must have been like in Kirkwall. There wasn't much to see in Ansburg."

WREN - Miscellaneous/The Journey There

[limier]

She's composed, if a touch terse; though the information she's given thus far has been sparing, she'll answer any questions asked. She bids everyone use caution, and thanks them for coming along.

If you want to grab her before it all goes to hell, this is your shot.

[justice_is_blond]

Oh, why not. At this point, poking Templars is basically a hobby. Anders heads over to Wren and raises an eyebrow.

"Do we have some sort of main plan here? Base whatnot that you want us to keep in mind?"

[limier]

"Do not fuck it up,"

Dryly. It’s a moment before she glances up from the map she’s been reviewing: A small, muddled thing, less cartography than vague local impression. There ought to be a Chantry seat nearby, something to serve this tiny, patchwork fiefdom; but the locals will answer that more quickly than her notes.

"This comes from months of work. We need move carefully, investigate before we act."

Her eyes pinch briefly shut.

"The risks are greater than that of a few renegade knights." Contamination, as they’ve spoken of. History, agency, purpose — as they haven't. "Exercise caution, yes?"

There's the first sign this is going to be a bad day. She's had to tell Anders to take care.

[justice_is_blond]

He deliberately looks in the direction of Cade's tent and raises an eyebrow before looking back at her. He's not the one that's likely to fuck this up.

"If it's any consolation, I've held a fortress. Against Darkspawn, so most of them weren't too bright to be sure, but if we find a defensible position..." There's just a hint of amusement in his voice. The Templar is telling him to be cautious. "So why did you spent months researching this group in particular?"

There has to be something specific going on. Most red lyrium groups are simply heard of and then taken out.

[paladingus]

"I'm sure he has his uses," Simon murmurs from behind her, "but what do you anticipate we'll be needing demolition work for? We could've just brought a good mason."

This directed, of course, at Anders' distant back.

[limier]

A short puff of air. Under other circumstances, it might be amusement. Wren hands a hammer back to him without looking.

"Did we not?" Dryly. She gestures to the tent stakes. Have at it, Simon. She considers:

Look on the bright side, he might get himself killed, A joke she won't make at the moment. Harriman already won't let the man near him; she will not have another. She trusts Ashlock not to start anything (the lad's seemed stable, and there's a Seeker in view), but she owns a better measure of Anders. Anders, who will be a pain in the ass if he hears them at it.

"Would you rather a knife in the back," She stoops, to collect a coil of rope. "Or a gnat in your ear?"

There are few enough healers in the Inquisition. Anders at least is a known quantity — one they can't conveniently bump off a cliff.

[paladingus]

There's a pause before Simon takes the hammer, but not much of one, and the long-suffering sigh is mostly just for show before he gets to work. Oh, fine.

What he'd rather, if he ever really had his druthers, is not to have to maintain a veneer of civility at all when it comes to a man who should be dead, why isn't he dead, come on, people--but at least he's not alone in that sentiment, and if the other templars can suck it up without making a scene, Simon's never been one to stand out. All he's got as an outlet is a virtuosic talent for passive-aggression.

"Which one's he supposed to be, again?" he asks, with a hard enough whack to a stake that they'll probably never see it again. "Because gnats are a pain, to be sure, but last I checked, no gnat ever slaughtered hundreds of unsuspecting innocents at a go. I'm sure there's good evidence that he's not just lying in wait to do the same to us for being templars, but I'm not privy to it."

[circleprodigy]

When there is a moment and Wren isn't busy with others, Inessa (accompanied by Garahel, of course) quietly makes her way over. The slight elf woman pauses a short distance away, on hand on her mabari companion to keep him from being a pest as she glances over, slightly arching an eyebrow. She can't deny her curiosity about their mission, but at the same time wants to maintain a respectful balance.

"If you have a moment, I am here for advice...and to listen. Whatever you can share will be helpful."

[limier]

"I am at your disposal."

Wren stops fiddling with the campfire, steps back from the careful arrangement of wood. She’s flint and steel, but in the chill wind of the Marches, there’s a more sensible solution at hand. A small, would-you-please? gesture to Inessa.

"Have you fought red templars before?"

She — she should know the answer to that, she's certain, but in the moment she can't frankly remember. It's not for inattention of their prior talks. At least, she hadn't intended it be so.

(She has, perhaps, been more distracted recently than she’ll admit. A few too many revelations, a touch too much noise.)

[circleprodigy]

Fire isn't Inessa's strong point, but that doesn't mean she can't assist. A small flame appears in her palm and she lowers it to the campfire arrangement, stepping back and inhaling the scent of wood smoke. Garahel wags his tail at Wren, hopefully expecting a pat or two before plopping down by them.

Staring off, Inessa nods as her lips form a thin line. "I have, yes. Last year, there was a mission in Emprise du Lion; several of us were sent to investigate disappearances, only to discover that Red Templars had captured and experimented on the missing. What we saw will be forever burned into my mind. There was a boy--"

She stares downward and clears her throat. "...forgive me, that is not a memory I would wish upon anyone."