[Closed] [A'Hunting we shall go

[judgemewhole]

WHO: James Norrington, Ingrid Kief, Bellamy Blake, Ellana Ashara
WHAT: A small band heads out to kill some blood mages, some Red Templars, and an errand or two.
WHEN: Back-dated, second week of Bloomingtide
WHERE: The Hinterlands
NOTES: There will be violence! Also, annoying climbing.

Travelling

The trip to the Hinterlands is positively boring, compared to other trips that have headed out recently. The templars that Norrington have brought with him chat with one another, chat with those traveling with them, and the mood - if not light, is at least comfortable and friendly.

Camping

Norrington places them in the Camp off in the Rebel Queen's Ravine - it will be a long hike inward from the valley to where the Red Templars were seen, but Norrington wants to do a through sweep of the valley. So camp is established, and people are free to mingle with one another as wanted.

Hunting

Those heading out to find the Red Templars will leave early enough in the day, as to have the element of surprise. Norrington stops the group right outside their first spotting, frowning as he hunkers down low.

He turns to the others, murmuring, "They're moving red lyrium - large shards of the stuff. Where the name of the Maker are they getting it?"

or

The blood mages are conducting some sort of ritual, on the far end of the valley, near where those ... rather strange cultists live. The advantage is theirs - they are atop a large hill.

Norrington frowns as he looks up the sides of the hill. "We need a distraction, so the rest can charge around the back. Any ideas?"

An Enchanter's Favor

On the second or third day, Norrington packs up his horse on his own, and calls out to the others, "I'm heading out for First Enchanter Vivienne. Does anyone wish to come along?"

Comments

[judgemewhole]

Where-as, Norrington is still trying to learn what the line is -- the Dalish use blood magic but only on themselves, which while a danger to them, did not lead them to demons all the time. Humans who used blood magic and sacrificed others were clearly in the wrong. Elves who did the same, clearly in the wrong. He was aware his own personal experiences had colored him -- and frankly since he had yet to be proven wrong, he was going to count them as valid.

Blood magic, never - ever a good idea.

"I have seen the remains of what flesh creatures can be, Templar Blake." He mused, as he moved from the dead mage, dropping the blade by his side, and then over to the sacrificial spot. "The hands will be the clue - gentlemen and ladies, please search the remaining corpses."

He pauses, looking around with cool green eyes, "I think I do not have to remind anyone the penalty for abusing a corpse - even a blood mage. We are to search, put valuables aside to be sent home to families or donated to the Inquisition. Anything like a journal, or notes, bring to me."

He looked back at Bellamy, a thoughtful look on his face. "What was your rank when you came into the Inquisition, Blake?"

[nonsibi]

Everyone falls to their tasks, with an air of studied order. Everyone is used to taking commands, and if they were thinking of doing any looting for their own benefit, it seems that they have put such thoughts out of their minds.

Bellamy hadn't followed after Norrington once he'd started back toward the sacrificial spot. Nor had he expected Norrington to address him again. Crouched beside a corpse himself, Bellamy looks around at the knight-commander. He's too good to be outright surprised, but he is caught briefly off-guard.

"Barely out of being a recruit," he answers, evenly, as he starts going through the pockets of the dead mage. "Our training was tough. We had a good knight-commander. Firm, but fair." His fingers find a scrap of paper and he tugs it free, sets it on the grass beside the corpse for further consideration, once he's finished with his search. "Is something wrong, ser?"

He asks casually, but he's thinking ahead, trying to anticipate where Norrington is going to go with this.

[judgemewhole]

Norrington huffed out a breath before he went about, searching the blood mage that had nearly killed him, and the other who had come at him with the blade. He glanced over at Bellamy, though, his gaze thoughtful.

"Absolutely nothing wrong. Your training was excellent. I was just wondering what you were thinking of, after the war against Corypheus. If you were considering rejoining the Templar Order, or going your own way. We could use someone like you."

He flipped through the papers he found, his lips pressing into a frown. "They were trying to find someone, it seems. All these are letters."

[nonsibi]

That isn't anything that Bellamy anticipated. The part about rejoining the Templar Order, that is, not the part about the mages trying to find someone. Bellamy catches the end of Norrington's glance before the knight-commander turns his attention to those letters. And he knows that he's too open, with his expression, that he should be more careful and keep himself composed. And he knows that he doesn't care about rejoining the Templar Order, not after everything that happened. Not after the way they've treated mages. And he knows that he can't, not after what he's done, that even if he wanted to he'd be beheaded before he'd be let back in their ranks.

But for one second, he feels it: that same flare of desire and ambition and pride, the same as when he was just a kid, when everything still made sense in a way that was less skewed than what he knows now. A clear path and a clear and noble goal. The way it felt to belong, briefly, to something bigger and better. He wants it, and that want shows briefly on his face, there and then gone.

Because he knows, that it's shit. That being a templar didn't mean anything. That the most he ever belonged was when he was with the apostates in the middle of nowhere, fighting off the Avvar and the Red Templars and keeping each other alive. Bellamy's fingers curl around the scrap of paper in the mage's pocket, crumpling it.

"Maybe," he says. "I hadn't thought much about it." We could use someone like you. Bellamy pulls his hand out of the mage's pocket and puts the crumpled parchment on top of the first one, there in the grass. "I guess you'd know better than me what the Order needs, ser."

The words on the paper look blurred to Bellamy. He grabs them up and carries them over to Norrington, for his perusal. His arm is stiff when he holds the papers out to the knight-commander.

"One thing at a time. Right, ser?"

[judgemewhole]

"Well, do give it some thought. I know we are ... rather in disarray at the moment," Hah, says his inner cynic, "But there will come a time when the Order will need to be reformed. With most of the bad elements swept clean -- well, it is a time for rebirth."

He flicks through the letters, frowning, distracted as Bellamy hands him two more pieces of parchment. He slides them in order, before his eyebrows raise. Shock, and then he exhales.

"... They were looking for someone - two someones. Two someones I would very much like to meet myself. The mage who killed my mentor, and the one who caused the massacre south of Emprise du Lion." He looked over at Bellamy, nodding his thanks. "Excellent work, Templar. We'll have to have the rest of this translated, but this might be the first real lead in months."

He frowned, looking around, "Why in the name of the Maker did they think they would find them in the Hinterlands? The mage rebellion has been over for months, now."

[nonsibi]

Whatever consideration Bellamy might have given (or will still give, whether he wants to or not he will think about it again, bitterly, nostalgically, angrily, sadly) to Norrington's suggestion is swept aside by the revelation of what's written in those letters. Bellamy looks around sharply, zeroed in on the papers, like he hopes to read them from the distance he's standing.

Norrington nearly catches him at it when he looks up with a nod. Bellamy jerks his gaze up to the knight-commander's face instead. His expression might read just like surprise. He hopes it reads like surprise.

"It doesn't make sense." He says it slowly, echoing Norrington's sentiment. Why look in the Hinterlands? "They must have known something. If it's not in these letters--"

He cuts off. They'll be without their next clue, is the implication. If there's nothing in these letters, the trail stops cold.

"I'm sorry," he adds, after a beat. "About your mentor, ser. For whatever that's worth."

[judgemewhole]

It does read as surprise - but there's something there that causes Norrington's eyebrow to raise. However, he's too distracted to really focus on it, as he looks at the letters once more.

"Yes, they must have ... " He looks down at the letters again, before he snorts, "Of course they were looking to combine forces. A blood mage as powerful as the one who murdered that entire village? Might even be a reckoning for the Venatori."

He shook his head a little, "But the rest of this is written in a language I don't understand -- I'll have to take it to the scholars I know. See if they can parse it together."

[nonsibi]

"A whole village, one man--it was blood magic either way."

Equating the murder of Norrington's mentor and the murder of innocents, condemning blood magic: this is the way to respond to these crimes. Bellamy's heavy tone suggests condemnation. He's back to staring at the letters again, too. If Norrington can't read what's written on the pages then he's not likely to be able to read it, either. History was his strong suit. He was never interested in foreign language. Would it be better to destroy the letters? Maybe. But it would be too obvious.

He decides, swiftly, what to do instead.

"Permission to speak to that, ser?" Bellamy draws himself up, grounds himself by dropping one hand to the pommel of his dagger. "If they were looking for those blood mages, and if there's some clue in those letters, then we should get them translated sooner rather than later, ser. We wait too long, the trail, if there is a trail, goes cold. Give me the names of your scholars and I'll see it done."

[judgemewhole]

"That it was, Templar. That it was." He stared down at the letters, his own hands slowly clenching around them. Memories flicked across his mind's eye, and everyone of them was drenched in the blood of people he considered a parental figure.

Bellamy's words draw his gaze up sharply, before he nodded his head, "Pel Ashara, of Clan Ashara. Lady Adelaide LeBlanc, of the Mage Council." He eyed the papers once more, his lips pressing together, "And if all else fails - go to Lady Montilyet. I have the Advisor's full backing to hunt down these monsters -- they will want to know we have a new lead, and I know Lady Josephine will know someone who can translate them."

Or, translate them herself.

He handed over all the letters but one, the one that was already readable. "Fastest horse you can ride, Blake. We can't have these falling into the wrong hands."

A thoughtful pause, "In fact ... I should send some more men with you - Murtogg! Mullroy! Front and center!"