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

[circleprodigy]

Inessa doesn't get very far inside before pausing abruptly as she takes in Hayes' appearance. Her eyes widen in horror, unable to look away as she takes in every detail. There's a part of her that wants to turn away and run, just keep running, but she can't manage even that. That distorted voice makes her flesh crawl, and everything she senses is putting her natural stoicism to the test.

"Maker's breath...."

[tactical_alert]

Having Templars around is a bit of a danger. Especially Cade. He objected to him going, and he objects mentally now, but there's nothing to be done for it. Now that he knows that Seekers are also impacted by the damned stuff, he wants to exercise a good bit more caution.

Raze it. Burn it to the ground. Place down some runes.

But no. He can't do that. He doesn't even be as cautious as he cares to be given the circumstances, because he trusts that Wren hasn't told the entire Inquisition. So long as they both know--that is enough. Aleron, perhaps, and Cassandra, as his fellows. But no more. They would know to keep their mouths shut.

He marches down in, face a mask of stone (wonder truly if it's a mask at all), and he might show mercy when it's called for, but she is...less a civilian, now. "They are safely away," he tells the creature who is still Adamina Hayes, somewhere, but not quite. "We'll do what we can for them. It was foolish of them to hide you as they did." They owe her at least that much of an explanation, even if his words are smooth, clipped, professional.

[limier]

Her head lifts between the pair. She shrinks back from the narrow entrance and its little ladder down. The motion’s made peculiar, awkward by its bearer; a crablike shuffle. Under other circumstances, the contrast might be funny.

"Stay back," Wren grits, from behind Inessa — her own hand reaching down to clamp on the girl’s shoulder. (Harder than she intends.) None of them are well-equipped to handle this, but Reed’s in the least danger at present.

"Stay back," Hayes croaks in echo. "Stay back, stay back. It’s worse. For mages, it’s,"

The thought grinds out into blank noise, and she lunges up. The motion's sudden, and halts itself as quickly. Still pressed to the corner, Hayes' neck twists unnaturally to regard Malcolm.

"They wouldn’t listen," She pleads. "She wouldn't let me stay. She lied to them, and they wouldn't listen to me. Please don’t. Don’t hurt them. You said they're safe, you have to keep them safe,”

[tactical_alert]

That he has to pretend he's in no danger is much easier said than done, now that he knows. But even if he can contract the sickness, he's still the best equipped to resist it. And so he steps closer. Enough to be out of immediate reach, he wagers, should she take a swing, but it puts him at the center of attention and the closest to deal with her should she lose control.

And what control it is, fighting so hard against it. She's half caged wild animal, literally backed into a corner, her movements uncertain, unpredictable, unnatural. But he has to talk to her.

"Who wouldn't listen to you?" Who wouldn't let her stay? "Please, we need you to tell us where the others are. We know about them, know about you. That's how we came to be here. Whatever you can tell us. And we'll keep the family safe. You have my word."

[limier]

"Stormy," Her breath hitches, the words come out in a dreamy whine. Claws trace the dirt and her eyes cast away, drawn into some new, distant distraction. "Do you know her? So pretty. Always was. I came home, you know, for her? It was time to come home. Said I was, was,"

Repetition again.

"I’m unworthy?" A harsh laugh, or something that used to sound more like one. "I came back for her, I brought them. And now I’m,"

"I’m unworthy. What’s that word worth? Pretty as glass." Quiet again, "Kester never liked her."

[tactical_alert]

Stormy. That's a new name. He doesn't know who that is. "Unworthy," he draws out, brows knitting together. A harsh word if there ever was one. "In what way? For what? What is she doing with the others?" Whatever coherency he can squeeze out of her, he's willing to wade through the prattle.

[limier]

"Leading them," A snarl. "Lying."

"She's mad," Hisses the woman who can't maintain a train of thought for the length of any more than a sentence. "As if she can control this. As if they hear her prophecy, they won't hear His,"

She punches the wall, hard. Boards splinter, earth sifts loose from the ceiling.

"She's, she's not. Not a. Never should've hid her. Never." Hayes lurches, "Please. Please don't leave. Not without killing that bitch —"

A lunge for the group.