faderift | Out flew the web and floated wide-

Serault is a marquisate in Orlais, a forested region located in the far west of the country. It is a realm of deep forests, stubborn people, and customs that border on heresy. The citizens of the region are largely craftsmen and the pride of the marquisate is its famed glasswork.

[Serault is hardly the longest of journeys many of the party will have undertaken in their time with the Inquisition though travel through Orlais is still fraught at best. But they can travel as members of the Inquisition until they come close to Serault at least so protection is offered, paltry though that may be.

Feel free to thread out any travel threads you'd like or to ask Morrigan any questions along the way prior to showing up at Serault.]

[If asked, Morrigan will admit to having enjoyed her prior trip to Serault though this is a place that clearly doesn't live up to the potential it may have. Yet there is something off about the air here as she draws the group to a halt on the outskirts.

The war doesn't seem to have touched Serault the way it might other towns, not so far to the west as it is but still there is something very much amiss. Why else would she have brought such a team as this for a friendly invitation quite out of the blue to thank her for her patronage?]

[Feel free to have some chatter back and forth before our npc friend shows up to escort everyone in. He is going to be so thrilled at some of you. Look at those mages. Those elves. That dalish elf mage. What is the lesser evil in his life Maker have mercy.]

[Of course it doesn't take long for the situation to go south because such is the life of the Inquisition, and such is the way of things in Serault. Whatever hopes there were for negotiations? Those are long gone.

The Venatori reveal themselves with a spellbinder leading them, flanked either side by a marksman as he readies himself to cast barriers on them. Three zealots are take formation, their swords brandished and there's the lighter movements of a stalker, slinking in the shadows.

They might lack raw power it would seem, but they aren't alone. As before when they almost snatched Morrigan's eluvian from her grasp, there are Red Templars with them. Mercifully only three but there are two guards with heavy shields as well as a knight with red lyrium crystals growing out of them, already shrieking and howling in a way that's more beast than person.

Outnumbered it would appear and they have another problem in the glassworkers chained to their workbenches as well. And you might want to watch out for the equipment. And the glass. Have fun.]

[The day is saved, the battle is won though perhaps only just. Probably time to sit down and take a breath. Do a spot of healing.

Definitely time to start freeing folks and get some information out of them if you can, you might find a few tripping over themselves in their gratitude too.]

[It comes from more than one mouth in the end; someone knew that Morrigan came to Serault to work on something, orders of the Empress and everything. But it wasn't one of them that said it, no, not them.

But perhaps a name is known to any involved in the intrigues of the Imperial Court. Oh and they didn't come alone, no, there was someone with them-- Please excuse them, they must take a moment, this is all very upsetting.

Time to put the clue hats on kids, we're going to go hunt down some notes if we can or to keep asking questions of the npcs.]

Not yet pls

[Epilogue content tba, also covers threads for the journey back]

The travel to Serault is worlds more pleasant compared her most recent trip into the Anderfels. Ciri had spent years in Orlais both before and after her addition to the rank of the Grey Wardens but she had never visited with region of the country. There was always whispered rumors about what went on the woods from strange customs to stranger people that called this little piece of the wold home. Back when she had still been a Rat, riding through the countryside and raiding grand estates, they never bothered to come this way either.

There was little of worth and even what nobles lived here had little to offer, certainly not enough to risk coming all this way. Now it is different and she cannot help idly glancing over her shoulder from time to time. This entire area scream "creepy" and she cannot help but feel as if there is eyes everywhere but perhaps that comes from her own paranoia after recent events.

She has for foregone her usual Warden armor, settling for simple leathers and chain mail instead. Her sword rests on her back and alchemical mixtures are hanging from her belt in flasks helping to give a multitude of light to the shade from the forests' canopy over them. For most of the trip, she has been quiet but cannot help yawning as the trek continues. Hopefully they'd come into some hospitable area sooner rather than later.

The trip so far has gone by well enough, or as much as can be hoped for when traveling through Orlais. Kain is tense and on edge as he always is everytime he returns to his home land. But at least he knows more or less what to expect. He's never visited Serault specifically, but... well... Something about the whole thing has him wondering what they're about to face.

When they stop to take a break, Kain busies himself with seeing to his dracolisk, ensuring that she's cared for. Although new to him, the dracolisk has proven herself a pretty good companion so far.

"It seems we don't have much farther to go," he remarks, as he takes a look around to get his bearings.

"Something's not right," Kain grumbles as they approach the area. He's not sure he can even quite put his finger on it, but he generally has a good sense for when it seems like trouble is about to erupt. His hand goes instinctively to his sword. He glances toward the others to see what they think.

The last time Morrigan ventured to Serault, she flew for the most part. Simple enough to appear as she wished, as had come to be expected of the arcane advisor of Celene's court, though at least this time she's not in all the trappings of that life. There's something to be said for slipping back into old habits though because a part of her did miss getting to travel like this even if she barely knows most of the company she's assembled.

Well, perhaps she might do something to change that while they have the time to do so before whatever awaits them in Serault proper.

"I am glad to see the war has not spread so far. Yet." Always yet, and perhaps Morrigan doesn't care greatly for Orlais but she did accomplish something very great in Serault. "Have you visited before?"

Having met Kain once before, Morrigan at least knows his face, knows what he does and if Kieran finds out that he too possesses a dracolisk then he'll certainly wish to seek the Warden out.

(If she is reminded of another Kain with a dracolisk, now is hardly the time yet she cannot deny her curiousity but there is a return journey to be made. Likely one where she will wish for distractions from whatever matter has necessitated dragging them out here in the first place.)

"Tis faster as the crow flies," a smirk tugs at her lips as is only good and proper when saying such a thing because of course she would know. "Though there are still many that might prowl in wait before we enter Serault. I was warned when I came before, I doubt such times have improved travel even this far from the War of the Lions."

Kain pats his dracolisk fondly, glad that she can get a little bit of rest before they carry on with the rest of the trip. He's definitely curious to see what they'll find, and guarded about it too. He glances at Morrigan as she approaches, nodding agreement.

"I would never drop my guard in any part of Orlais... and I say that as someone who was born and raised in the country. Still, the Serault area... certainly may pose its own challenges. I know what to expect in the war-torn areas, but the people of this area are known for being strange and stubborn." He has to smirk a little at that, the fact that he would consider anyone more stubborn than himself really says something. "But I like a challenge. I guess we'll see what that entails soon enough."

Bruce was pretty much a stranger to the Serrault area - he had passed by before once or twice in the past, but never lingered long, so he couldn't know enough to know what was really wrong or not.

But if they were saying so... "Best to not jump to conclusions yet." There was certainly an odd tension in the air, but as far as he heard Serrault was a pretty weird place in general. "Best to better see what's happening before deciding what to do."

When last Morrigan had been to Serault, there had been work to be done though that hadn't stopped her from poking at a few other things that had invited her curiosity. This time there is no one to greet them and that--

Well, with the invitation that prompted their departure from Skyhold, it has her sighing sharply through her nose. "Last I came here, I remember more children playing in the streets." A place she might even have brought Kieran had circumstances been different, had her reputation not made that something of an impossibility. "Perhaps the demand in glass is far less at a time like this. Serault has little else to offer but a surfeit of shame."

Morrigan's own mount, an Inquisition horse of no particular distinction beyond being apparently rather infamously ill-tempered and thus chosen for that trait alone, snorts from where she's tethered it for the time being. At least it isn't frightened of the more unique creatures among their party.

"I am certain that dinner parties and even a visit to a doddering old dowager." All it would take would be a stray ball of wool, rolled just right so that it unwound enough to pull tight and trip someone. (Leliana look what you and your adopted country have done to her.) "We might find ourselves in good company in the eyes of some; if the Inquisition is made up of heretics, what better place than Serault where heretical Chantry groups lurk upon the margins as bandits and pirates do upon their lands. Have you heard of them?" Perhaps they aren't quite so well-known when Serault is so very desperate to reclaim their status but it had been something that had caught Morrigan's interest, if only to alleviate some of the boredom during her stay.

"Wars are not prosperous times."

This from Sabine, who leans low in her saddle to cross her arms against its horn as she squints at their destination, loosely wrapped in mist. She is nearly nondescript in her forest greens and greys, robust leathers, but she has a quiver of arrows lashed amongst her travel effects and hasn't taken pains to pretend she is an elven servant instead of an agent of the Inquisition. Her shard, at least, is wrapped and covered.

Her tone of voice is a hint skeptical, anyway. They know -- they think they know -- what they're walking into, and excusing their better instincts seems unwise. "For most," she amends. Wars are prosperous times to some, Maker knows.

Edited (i remember my genre) 2016-11-23 00:47 (UTC)

"You must think of all the glass that has been shattered in the Dales," Jehan says, calm and content in a way that borders on inattentiveness—though he is paying some attention, up on his horse. The necessary amount of attention. It is for others to note incoming attacks or signs of fights. He won't be of any use himself until there are people to measure, or more than their absence to measure them by.

He is, in fact, craning his head back to look at the sky overhead, more interested in the weather than anyone's general feelings of malaise. He has made this journey with Wardens, mages, and elves—it's about time someoneelse felt any discomfort. But he lowers his chin now and gives the town ahead a cursory glance.

Velanna prickles a little at the mention of the Dales. It's a compulsory movement and she's not entirely in control of it. Deep-coded into her DNA all that rage about the stolen homelands and all. She has managed to be polite (for her) this whole trip and to her credit doesn't make a snarky remark about how it was probably glass originally forged by elven hands that was being destroyed.

"It would be a waste to commission more of something that will just get broken again while the war continues to rage," she says calmly to the air in front of her, rather than directing it in any direction.

At times this has all felt a little too close to a bad joke told in a tavern or in a parlour; pick three of them and have them walk into a different tavern together, riotous laughter ensues only there's seven of them if she includes herself, and they've all ridden into Serault together. Her invitation could burn a neat little hole through the pouch she's stashed it in on the journey.

"If there is to be profit made from any of this," just sharp enough to catch the attention of this ragged little company and not the few milling about to gawp at them, eyes sliding past because look at the elves and look at the mages. "Then let it be for the Inquisition and Serault. I wish to know why an invitation comes now of all times."

Which is about the perfect time for a man to come up to them, rather taken aback because yes, yes he knows Morrigan but oh. Oh dear there are so many mages. And elves. Not elf singular but elf plural and could that--. Perhaps only Jehan because even a man of Serault would know gentle birth would grant him a moment to forget how to speak when he claps eyes on the fact that there is a Dalish mage amongst the assembled party. Andraste have mercy on your weary servant, he did not ask for any part of this.

Only he can't speak, or approach so he's just going to stand. Awkwardly. At a distance. His hands fluttering about himself as you perhaps debate amongst yourselves or someone wants to point at him. Be cool, Louis, you have totally got this.

"It's a nice change of pace compared to how the rest of Orlais has fared in similar places." Ciri mutters, a touch tiredly perhaps compared to her usual chipper tone of voice.

"My friends and I used to dare one another to travel into these woods but I never actually did travel here." She would say it was not our of fear but perhaps there had been some fear involved. The sort of unreasonable fear that is born from stories that are passed around campfires in the dead of the night to scare those around you. "I never found myself sent this way on missions for the Wardens either."

But now that she is here there is curiosity about it and once more, she cannot help glancing around to gaze at the dark woods that surround their party.

Ciri simply listens on in silence as she idly pets at Kelpie's dark mane. The mare snorts, digging a hoof into the soft dirt and the Warden cuts her eyes among the mist covered grounds. There is little to make out but the silence beyond the group's chatter is bothersome, eerie almost and she makes a gesture to the buckle of her sword belt across her chest.

She does not like it but her face does not betray her until something disturbs the silence she has been so focused on. Pulling at Kelpie's reigns, she turns and narrows her eyes. Needless to say Louis' presence is soon met with furrowed brows but she relaxes quickly with a sigh, glancing over her shoulder.

"We have company." She says, jerking a thumb toward poor Louis.

Bruce turns to glance over at the Orelsian (the one who wasn't Sabine) for a moment at his remark, though he doesn't say anything out loud particularly. Other people might have, perhaps, but Bruce considers himself one of the last person to really be able to respond to anything at all. His own views tend to be different from most, and as long as nothing terrible happens, he can work with almost anything.

Either way, that wasn't the issue at hand now.

"I guess we're going to find out," he mutters after Ciri points out their approaching company. Bruce nudges his dracolisk (still very much unnamed) to turn around so that he can properly face them, glancing over to Morrigan this time. She is the one who had the invitation after all, so its probably best for her to decide.

Edited 2016-11-25 10:45 (UTC)

"I saw the Exalted Plains some months past. When I made my way from the capital to Skyhold the weather demanded more of my attention in truth and I had managed to avoid Dirthavaren. To see it now..." To see it now there's something like regret in Morrigan's voice, quiet but present, maybe from knowing the history and poring over the ruins there. That it sees more bloodshed now is hardly a comforting notion.

It's the comment about Ciri's friends that draws her attention; Morrigan had none (supposes she does now but you get to your late thirties and it seems odd to just finally have your very first friends) but prowling about wild places was what she'd been born to do. "I cannot imagine much drawing Wardens this way. Tis always possible that Darkspawn might ford the Marshes yet such places have a way of choking out many creatures without wits. The Korcari Wilds likely did the same to the stragglers from the Blight." Or so she hopes, she hasn't really made a point of going back to poke about there. "I wonder though, what would bring the young out into a place like this, rife with bandits and pirates, or strange heretical beliefs in Andraste."

Strange heretical beliefs about Andraste that don't involve dragons and loons beseeching you to despoil urns of supposedly sacred ashes with blood. Because they believe Andraste is a high dragon. As one does apparently. Why anyone was surprised Haven ended the way it did if they knew a scrap of the history is utterly beyond her.

This comment from Jehan gets an eyerolled glance from Sabine, side-along, but the murmured indications of company spare them all from any sniping. She urges her horse along with a nudge of her heels, and can't help but meet, frankly, some of the stares she receives. She's up on a horse, under an Inquisition banner, and there's no need to feign deference.

Bruce glances to Morrigan, and likewise, Sabine keeps her mouth shut too even as she eyes up this man with open frankness. Should his eyeline wander to her, she has a smile for him, sharp and ready.

Jehan receives no such eyerolling from Louis because oh, a man of taste. A good sign even if he is amongst such company which is what prompts a phrase that comes from memory, trotted out tonelessly but to a tune that might be a rhyme children would sing. If they were on the streets.

"Glass so clear and worth the price, as kicks of light catch color twice. Lady Morrigan, it is a pleasure to see you once again. My lords, my lady," Jehan, Kain, and Ciri are all given a look in turn and an incline of the head. "Allow me to introduce myself; Louis Chastain, representative of the Serault Glassworks."

"Such a large party, however, was...unexpected." He doesn't even seem to be aware of the fact that he's wringing his hands until he looks down at them, as if they're not his hands even though they very much are. When he looks up at them all again his eyes are blank, unfocussed, mouth hanging open ever so slightly and it takes long enough again for him to come back to himself that Morrigan finds herself glancing about at the assembled company with a raised brow because Serault is odd but it wasn't this odd before.

"The rumours of the Inquisition, why even here we heard them but so many mages, so many rabbits," Louis prattles on because well this is a subject that at least feels more comfortable with. "You encountered no difficulties?"

He will listen to anyone but. You know Orlesians. Especially one that seems to be a bit of an odd duck, to put it kindly.

Out flew the web and floated wide-

journey to Serault;

arrival in Serault;

boss fight;

aftermath;

Venatori Agent & Retainer;

epilogue;

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suddenly, an npc in the not-so-distance

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