[closed] the turn of the screw

[doneisdone]

WHO: Teren, Alistair, Anders, Benevenuta, Bethany, Kaisa
WHAT: Senior Warden von Skraedder brings a small gaggle of fools Wardens (and a Mortalitasi for some reason) along to investigate a sighting of the Architect in southern Nevarra. Mischief is afoot!
WHEN: Timey wimey, Haring-ish
WHERE: around and about Perendale
NOTES: there is no Architect but at least the cake is real

[OOC notes first: every round or so, feel free to do a coin-flip "idea" roll, then either send me a screencap of your diceroller or do it on Discord so I can see. If you get heads, proceed to roll a 1d5 and I will PM you a bit of insight for your character to have gleaned based on the circumstances.
For all anyone currently knows (with the exception of Teren and Benevenuta), the Architect is their prime directive and there is no reason to suspect otherwise.

I will be adding new legs to the journey once we've reached a reasonable transition, so the threads and available information will be limited to what's currently visible.

Also, if you could try to keep fewer than two days between each tag, that would be amazing!]

The journey is a long one, and it's in the dead of winter, which means it isn't a lot of fun. They at least have horses, on loan from the Inquisition save for those who have their own, and Teren leads the expedition on the rangy and agreeable black gelding she tends to borrow.

She's her usual self, curt and withdrawn and pensive, though she takes care of hers and is vigilant about ensuring everyone stays together, especially in the brutal snows that blow relentlessly over Orlais' northern plains.
She had approached each Warden initially, explaining that she had received news from Weisshaupt and wanted to take a small delegation to address its concerns: the Architect has been sighted in the north, not far from the border between Nevarra and Tevinter. Teren's old stomping grounds.

Summoned for her familiarity with the region, Teren has grudgingly accepted the call, but knows it would be suicide to make it a solo recon mission. Anders and Bethany are brought for their healing and warding talents, Alistair and Kaisa for their fighting prowess, and the non-Warden Benevenuta.. for... some reason, that isn't entirely clear to anyone else.

Their mission is to find the Architect, and if unable to apprehend him, to gather as much information on the situation as possible before returning to Skyhold.

Comments

The Journey There

[doneisdone]

There are no roads, just several feet of snow. It sucks. The only reason they're able to stay on track at all is by ensuring that the Frostbacks are behind them, and then marking the direction of the buffeting winds, which are doubtlessly blowing off the Waking Sea that separates Orlais from the Free Marches.

Travel is mostly silent, for the simple reason that nobody can hear one another. But camp is a different story: a cozy fire, tents of skin and blankets of fur, and usually a winter-fat rabbit or deer to share between the small party.

Teren is characteristically quiet at these times, but in anticipation of their misery she at least had the foresight to bring a cask of good brandy to keep their blood flowing, and she shares it out generously.

[Post an OTA or respond here!]

[justice_is_blond]

"So this is... heading toward where you're from." It's apparently the reason she's been contacted for this, though he's not pressed about it before. Which probably means she saw his inquiry coming. Anders isn't good at keeping his large nose out of everyone else's business, especially when he cares about them.

"Is it good to go back? Or is it something you're not really looking forward to?" He'd been open about enjoying going back to the Anderfels, but their circumstances are obviously different.

[doneisdone]

Anders' question elicits a grunt as Teren takes a gulp from her flask, and it takes her several moments to screw the cap back on and consider her answer before she responds. She did see it coming, and is prepared.

"It's irrelevant either way," she replies, "we won't be venturing anywhere near my home." There's a peculiar finality to this statement, indicating that even if he should inquire further, Anders will likely not glean any additional reasoning. "The countryside is countryside, like anywhere else. But Nevarran spoken in the hills and fishing villages is quite different from that you'd hear in better-traveled places, so I expect that's where I'll find my use." Especially in the more Orlais-dominated regions, where the dialects get especially impenetrable: in other words, exactly where they're heading.

[byblow]

When the wind is particularly bad, Alistair is not as subtle as he thinks he is about trying to make himself into a shield. There are probably people who need it more than Teren—Benevenuta is here, and Anders, poor cold little Ander—but Teren is closest at the moment, so he and his enormous shoulders wind up alongside her as they trudge through the snow. It stings. It's the sort of thing he would complain about endlessly if everyone else weren't suffering, too. But they are, so instead it goes in the box with concussions and cracked ribs and splintered bones, the box labeled things he pretends don't hurt, rather than the box of things he acts like he might die of, which includes sniffles and paper cuts and—

"I'm starving."

—hunger.

"Which of us do you think should be killed and eaten first? Maybe Kaisa."

[doneisdone]

Though Teren never voices her appreciation of the human shield, she certainly doesn't complain about it either. Being that a stiff wind can and has knocked her over in the recent past (including several times since they've left), her stiff joints and easily-chilled flesh are glad for the respite.
"We'll stop soon," she grumbles, more from general misery than from irritation with Alistair, "seeing as the bloody sun's already deserting us." As if finding their direction wasn't hard enough, traveling at night is made nearly impossible by the absence of stars.

After several long moments of silence, she adds, "Bethany. We'd get the most meat off you, but then we'd have to carry it, and Kaisa's too loud. She'd attract bears and then it'd all be for naught."

It's important to think these things through.

ota!!

[unbrokenoath]

Kaisa handles the journey with an almost admirable lack of whining. Which isn't to say that she doesn't whine, but the quantity is greatly reduced. She weathers the cold with Fereldan durability, and when the snow gets too bad, she tromps ahead to help stomp out a path for the squishy mages and Teren. Alistair can survive just fine.

But maybe the cold is what keeps her complaints to a minimum, because after camp is made, she flops in front of the fire, and lets out a longsuffering whine. Then she rolls over, whines again, and gets distracted by having rolled dangerously close to the embers.

"Somebody suggested to me once that suffering the cold and ice builds humility and character. That's why Tevinter is the way it is." She announces, while patting a slightly charred spot on her sleeve.

Bethany - Camp - OTA

[sunshinethroughgrey]

Bethany had agreed to go without a single argument, because of two Reasons.

One, Teren had asked her, and as Teren had been there for all the Wardens in one capacity or another, Bethany knew it was the right thing to do to help her. Even if it put them at the border of Tevinter, a potentially dangerous place.

Two, the Architect had been seen. The Architect, the only ... person alive who might be able to remove the Taint from a Warden. Or, at least, give them some idea of how they could do it on their own. The one ... person that Bethany needed to help her fulfill her dreams, one way or another.

The ride was ... well honestly it was grueling. The snow and the cold managed to make her feel like her eyes were constantly watering. The amount of mana it took to keep a shield up around herself and the others meant that she had to save it for the difficult passages.

So by the time they reached the camp, she was quiet. Not withdrawn, just tired. Still, she would tend the fire, cook up the game that was caught, and be sipping her brandy near her own tent. She had brought books with her, and would be reading them by firelight, until they all agreed it was time to sleep, start watches, all the like.

Either on guard duty, cook duty, or just Bethany duty though, she always had a smile for her fellow Wardens and an ear to bend if they wanted to.

[justice_is_blond]

She's reading, which means it's a perfectly good time to flop down next to her and lean on her shoulder. Or maybe it's not the perfect time, but he's pretending like it is because he's tired and cold and going after the Architect has thoughts in his mind he can't quite sort out.

"Good book? I realize it's a stupid question because if you say yes then I should probably leave you alone, and you brought it so it's likely to be good, but the day I ask a smart question is likely the day Thedas ends altogether."

[doneisdone]

Teren had seen the amount of effort Bethany had put into shielding the rest of them from the snow, and had little patience for the girl trying to do anything else at the camp, instead insisting that she rest. No watches for her, no chores: she had done her part during the day, and would likely do it again on the morrow.

They were a few days away yet when Teren approached Bethany, crouching beside her to scrutinize her face and make sure she wasn't in the throes of a very pleasant and relaxing death.
"You're using your lyrium reserves sparingly, I hope," she prompted, a Teren way of saying 'how are you, please be careful'.

The Stratagem Explained

[doneisdone]

"We won't be able to stroll in and announce ourselves as Grey Wardens."

The party is about a day's travel from Perendale, where they'll be restocking on supplies and getting a good night's rest before traversing back out to the countryside. Teren has them all gathered by the campfire, where, rubbing her thin hands together against the cold, she details the next step in their mission.

"The Marquise du Farron is particular about whom she allows on her lands, and the Warden's recent disgrace has not endeared us to her. The report of our quarry came not from the Marquise herself, but from one of her errand girls after she sighted a strange-looking person on a trip to town. The description she gave to the local guard was overheard by one of ours, which was forwarded to Weisshaupt, which was then forwarded to me. Anyway."

She's cold, and doesn't have much padding to fend it off. She shakes as she talks, but Teren pushes through by way of her characteristic unflappable surliness.

"We'll need to acquire permission from Marquise du Farron before we go tramping all over her property. The informant tells me that local law enforcement actually cedes to the lady's judgment when it comes to trespassers and other ill-intentioned folk, and that she is... highly unforgiving." These bloody backwater nobles. Teren rubs her temple.
"So we'll be trying a different tack. And before you start complaining, let me assure you that this leg of the mission will be as brief as I can humanly make it."

She takes a swig of brandy from her flask and removes a scroll from a basket, which she unrolls and looks over briefly before addressing its contents.
"There will be a salon in three days' time at Chez du Farron, which is likely to attract wealthy neighbors posturing for the Marquise's favor. As they do." She rolls her eyes. "I, for our purposes, have recently come into a great deal of money and am in the process of deciding which war-abandoned manor to occupy with my fatherless daughter and modest serving staff." She lowers the scroll and looks around between each companion in turn.
"If that sounds tacky, that's because it is. I will ensure that she loathes me. She will, hopefully, be so tired of her new neighbors by noontime that she will accept our request to take a ride about her magnificent property, just to get us out of her hair. She plays the Game, she knows that even connection to insipid New Money can be advantageous. So."

Using the scroll, Teren proceeds to point at each party member in turn. "Kaisa, you shall be Gisele d'Arriere, my daughter. Don't open your mouth, if you can help it. Benevenuta, Bethany, you're her handmaidens. Please...." She sighs wearily. "...help her." Though the choice is markedly risky, there's a logic to it: Kaisa's coloring is, after all, the most similar to Teren's.
Next she turns to the boys, and purses her lips in a stern look as she anticipates an onslaught of jokes or whining or possibly both. At least Anders already has a vague idea.
"You two are Lady d'Arriere's footmen. Scandalously young, an incredible lack of foresight on her part, and tremendous cause of gossip." She seems to have aged about ten years just since beginning this part. "For the love of Andraste, don't make me regret this more than I already do."

Quite ready to move on from this section of the horrorshow, Teren straightens again, nearly finished. "We'll stop at an inn in Perendale, where I'll bring one of you nonces," (she gestures to Alistair and Anders) "to find appropriately servile clothing for the lot of you. And a dress for Kaisa. And. ...whiskey." With a motion of finality, she stuffs the scroll back into the basket. "We'll wear what armor and weapons we can under our disguises, and hopefully be on our way with less than a day's time lost."

Reluctantly, she glances at everyone again. "Any questions."

Re: The Stratagem Explained

[sunshinethroughgrey]

Bethany raised one hand, and with that hand, she also offered Teren a pair of mittens, because ... well. Because it was Bethany. Just move with it, Teren, she does have a clarifying question.

"What nation are we supposedly from, Teren? Do I need to modulate my accent or speak little to none at all? And what fashion are we dressing Kaisa in? If we are going for simpering I would recommend Orlesian but if not, I would suggest Nevarran." She glanced over at Kaisa, "It will give you more freedom of movement."

The Salon

[doneisdone]

The travelers arrive at Perendale and go about their aforementioned errands with little incident. Teren rents enough rooms at an inn that everyone can have their own, a treat for their willingness to come with her and a welcome respite from sleeping all clustered in their snowy camp. Two days after their arrival, they set off again, bedecked in their newly-acquired disguises, complete with half-masks, and occupying a coach rented from one of the higher-quality cab companies in town. A lot of coin is going into this, it's true, but first impressions are everything.

When they arrive at Chateau du Farron, they are greeted by a tawny elf in the vestments of a maid, who curtsies elegantly and offers to show them to the drawing room. She introduces herself as Raelle, and the look she exchanges with Teren upon their arrival is not one of strangers. The informant.
"I shall require a sherry at precisely noon," Teren announces to the girl as they enter the drawing room, her voice alarmingly melodic and her smile abruptly... existent. She's done this before.
"Mademoiselle du Farron," she exclaims, blithely interrupting every conversation in the room as she sweeps toward the landholder, "such a delight to meet you at last! I thought I might never be invited."

Mademoiselle du Farron is a startlingly pale woman in her early thirties, with hair white blonde and fine, and blue eyes so light that they resemble glass. She is visibly startled by the crowd's appearance, and hardly even bothers to conceal her offense.
"You... weren't," she says in a cold, feathery voice, "I haven't a clue who you are."
"My dear, your newest neighbors!" Teren replies with an oblivious and irritating chortle, "Madame d'Arriere of Serault, and may I present my daughter, Mademoiselle Gisele d'Arriere." She gestures to Kaisa. Of course the others aren't introduced-- they're just servants, who cares about them?
"I haven't had the chance to make a proper introduction, but seeing as we'll be living but a manor away, I thought it wise to befriend you post haste." She beams.

"Ah," du Farron intones, still and catuious as before. "...very well." Her head twitches minutely to one side, her eyes landing on a large man across the room, who wears no mask and is there for a clear and specific reason. He nods just as subtly.
"...make yourself at home," she continues, with no warmth whatsoever, and gestures stiffly to the rest of the room. "Refreshments are being prepared."

The party is now more or less free to mingle, though only Kaisa and Teren are able to address the other nobles without attracting unwanted judgment.
Directly, Teren requests Anders to bring her a glass of water from the kitchens, as she is ever so parched. Alistair is kept at her side, her arm unsubtly looped in his, the silent derision almost tangible among the room's other occupants.

The nobles available for conversation are:

Felice du Farron, lady of the house. She clearly has little patience for social gatherings, and upon observation looks at her bodyguard quite frequently-- it doesn't seem to have been exclusive to Teren. She has a smile that barely reaches her mouth, let alone her eyes, and is essentially a small and delicate porcelain doll filled to the brim with resentment.
She can be talked to, but Felice tends more to be talked at. She may have information on the Architect, but it will have to be pried out of her.

Aurelius and Calpurnia Artemaeus, a dark and imposing couple dressed in Tevinter finery, who are visiting as they pass through to Orlais; Calpurnia is openly a mage, possibly even a low-ranking magister. She has a penetrating gaze and a decidedly unfriendly air about her, but she is also breathtakingly beautiful and clearly a charmer when she decides to be.
Aurelius mostly stands silent at her side, but with a knowing smirk on his lips, clearly on her side in all things.
They might know something useful, or be helpful in currying favor with Lady du Farron.

Benedict Artemaeus, their young adult son. Clearly he inherited his mother's disgustingly good looks, and likely his parents' attitude. He stands by the window nursing a glass of wine, openly disinterested by the party, though his attention is caught in something like a look of quiet dread when he lays eyes on Kaisa. Please, mother, not that one.
He might know something useful but absolutely doesn't care. He doesn't want to be here.

Thessaly Barrett, an effusively chatty Nevarran lordling, short and rounded and likely in his late twenties. His mask is ridiculous, a new and daring style in Val Royeaux, didn't you know, and he is more than happy to share its meaning with anyone who asks. Or doesn't ask. About this or anything else. At least he's friendly, unlike 99% of the people here.
If he knows something, you will hear about it in addition to all the gossip he's heard coming from Perendale, what he had for breakfast today, and how Orlesian Coursers are obviously superior to Dalish All-Breds, is there even a competition.

The footmen and handmaids have the opportunity to interact with:

Raelle, the aforementioned maid. She has large, mournful eyes and a heart-shaped face that tapers into a pointed chin, her bearing reserved but observant. She is their contact, and the mission can be discussed with her as long as it's done surreptitiously.

Thibault, the bodyguard. He is huge and unfriendly looking. It would be unwise to irritate him.

Florien, the butler. He has red curly hair and a long aquiline nose, and seems agreeable enough if not completely married to his job. He has a pleasant smile and a friendly, servile manner, but is unlikely to know much about anything beyond the house's goings-on.

Go forth and ruin everything.

The Salon - The Handmaiden Maribeth

[sunshinethroughgrey]

Maribeth, the Mademoiselle Giselle's second handmaiden, was a quiet young woman. Dark hair pulled up into a bun, hands folded in front of her, brown eyes cast down. She didn't speak much, but when she did, her voice was soft. One could find her, if one was actually looking for her, working on repairing her lady's gowns and other garments in unobtrusive corners.

In fact, you might even forget she is there. Servants, after all, aren't people and are more like furniture.

Raelle

[justice_is_blond]

Anders, or Garrett as he's currently using, goes in search of water, returning not too long after with a glass before slowly making his way around the room, flirting as he goes with various members of the serving staff. It's not difficult. His end target is Raelle, smile warm and welcoming.

"One could fall into your eyes and love every moment of it. I'd certainly not mind spending some time looking into them, if you've the time to spare."

Thibault

[byblow]

"Maker," Alistair-turned-Algernon says, approaching Thibault head-on, which would be incredibly stupid if he weren't a calf-eyed innocent with no plans to do anything that might warrant cracking his head open--"I think you are bigger than me."

There's no think about it, but he stops and makes a show of measuring, anyway, spreading his hands in the air to measure the perceived breadth of Thibault's shoulders.

"What do you eat?"

Now it's a Key Party

[justice_is_blond]

Anders returns to the parlor and looks around, trying to catch sight of who might be available to help. The key feels like it's burning a hole in his belt pouch but his breathing is even and face completely neutral. Of course, to anyone that knows him, if he's keeping his face neutral they'd probably know there's something up. He tends to express a lot on his face.

Anyone that approaches he'll rope in, but they have to approach fairly quickly; he didn't get the sense that there's a lot of time to make their move.

Benedict

[unbrokenoath]

Kaisa is feeling a bit like a sausage stuffed into the casing, if sausages were stuffed with an admittedly pretty dress. It was easy enough to accept that a fancy dress was a requirement for the job, but it was a little more difficult to actually wear it--not just because it feels like she might pop out if she breathes too hard.

The look of dread in the young man's eyes is like a siren's call, however. So, sausage casing and all, Kaisa sashays up to the young noble. At least in body language, she has a certain edge--she's spent her life strutting around like she's the personal owner of every establishment she's stepped in, after all. Pulling off that confidence that nobles had is an easy enough task. It's just everything else that might get them in trouble.

With no preamble, Kaisa leans up against the wall next to Benedict, fluttering her eyelashes at him. "Hello~" Is all she has to say--she was specifically instructed to use minimal words, after all--but she makes sure it says plenty, what with her eyebrows raising, and a smirk dancing across her lips.

Florien.

[ungovernable]

Benevenuta's resemblance to her mother is - debatable, as she favours her father's colouring, his mother's features. In looks, only a little, only something of the shape of her face, perhaps. In the way she holds her mouth, in her mannerisms and her expressions, it is more marked; enough that, ignorant of her mother's history in Tevinter beyond the fact of it, she steers as clear of falling under the Artimaeuses' eyes as she does of Thessaly Barrett, who is more obviously positioned to clock a woman who has spent her entire adult life in the heart of the Nevarran court.

Avoiding the three of them is easy enough when she's designed to be ignored, and in being so has the opportunity to approach Florien, or - fall naturally into his orbit, as if accidental, as Anders passes her with his key and musters in the corner with Bethany and Kaisa.

This feels like a trap.

If it is, the butler will tell her little of use - but taking his temperature might gauge how close and how sharp. He ought to have all of the house keys bar those in the keeping of his mistress, who seems a woman unlikely to have misplaced anything; the right prompt might show her if he's missing one or not.

"Your pardon," she says, letting someone else's passage in the room turn her more sharply than it seems she planned and catching herself, not ungracefully, before she would have barrelled into him; the hem of her skirts swirl at his feet, but there is no collision, too carefully timed.

An Incident

[doneisdone]

The small contingent of guests has made their way out for-- what, a tour of the house? who cares-- when Raelle enters the drawing room, carrying a tea tray for the guests.
Nimble though she is, a small bump in one of Mademoiselle du Farron's fine rugs catches on the toe of the maid's slipper, and she gives a cry of surprise that heralds the crashing and shattering of the porcelain on the floor. "Merde!" she gasps in visible horror, her large eyes flitting to meet those of the Lady of the House, who stares down on her coldly, unmoving.
"Clean it up," says Felice, in a voice so quiet as to be almost a whisper, with the sharpness of a razorblade.
Already beginning to tear up, Raelle nods, makes her apologies, and stoops to begin picking up the shards from the rug. Florien, previously occupied with Benevenuta, hurries in to help her, apologizing profusely to the silently shocked guests and to the fuming du Farron.

As she stands with a cluster of porcelain shards in her hands, Raelle turns to meet eyes with Benevenuta out in the hallway, and she slinks out of the parlor toward the servants' door without offering any further signal.

"How crude," Madame d'Arriere intones, "my good lady, do you often allow the elves to soil your finery?"

Felice looks like she might kill someone. Based on what just happened, she will probably start with Raelle.

The Heist Completed

[doneisdone]

By the time Mishka had been successfully secreted to the stables, Lady du Farron was more than ready to be rid of her more disruptive guests. Raelle had entered the salon with a fresh tea tray, indicating to Teren that the others had succeeded. Summoning Benevenuta and Alistair along, she took her leave, entering the cab-- already containing the others-- and going on their way. Raelle, clearly an important player in the plot, drives the horses. What happened to the original driver isn't worth asking. He's probably still alive, at least.

At no point did she ask to tour the grounds, but by now she has already recognized that the jig is up, and is just buying time before she's confronted with her own lies. Removing her fancy gloves and hairpiece and ruff, she waits until they're well out of sight to embrace Mishka, with more feeling and intensity than she is likely thought capable by most.
"I knew you would come for me, Chacalonne," Mishka says fondly, cupping her face. "We go now to a safehouse, from whence we can all disappear once more." He kisses her forehead, and Teren, strangely, obliges. "I had not expected so much help, but I am grateful for it. Your people are good."

Maker willing, that will keep the other Wardens quiet for now. When Teren straightens again, she glances shiftily between them, then out the window, saying nothing. Damage control was part of her plan, and she's prepared for it when it becomes necessary.

[justice_is_blond]

The Maker never seems to will Anders to be quiet. Or maybe He does and Anders ignores Him.

"Most people who have people they consider theirs also consider telling them the reason they're going somewhere instead of lying. Most. Apparently not all." He's cold from hanging out in the stables and very bothered. If she'd said she wanted to rescue someone important to her, he would have been there. Instead, this.

Anders is looking directly at her, too, even if she's currently looking out the window.

The Final Turn

[doneisdone]

Tension has built to a nearly insufferable level within the carriage, and when they stop by the doors of the burnt-out chantry, Teren is quick to alight from the vehicle. She holds out an arm to assist the weakened Mishka, silent and, if one squints, even deferent as she helps him along. With her hair and dress still indicating Madame D'Arriere, it's likely easy to forget this is Teren at all.
No one demands that any of the others come along, but they are welcome to.

Raelle hops down from the cab seat and hurries toward the old chantry, heaving its door open to admit the two. She proceeds to hold it open for any others who enter, though when Benevenuta approaches, she waves her down for a private word.

Teren helps Mishka down the nave as directed, toward the end of the collapsing room, where there lies a well-disguised trapdoor leading to an underground passage. She will not be joining him beneath; the object of their mission was simply to deliver him to safety and ensure his escape.
However, before they've fully reached it, the trapdoor begins to open of its own accord.

A tense moment follows, though Mishka seems unbothered. A woman emerges, perhaps a bit older than Teren, her skin dark as night and her clothing as refined as it is practical. The moment her face becomes visible, Teren makes a sound like all the air is leaving her body; half gasp, half sob. Mishka smiles sadly as she tears herself from his side, hurrying forward to embrace the woman with an uncharacteristic desperation. They lock lips, and at once their relationship becomes clear.

Perhaps Anders will know who it is, perhaps not. Either way, Mishka turns with an apologetic smile to regard everyone else who came in. "You'll have to give them a moment," he says gently, "it has been quite a while."

[unbrokenoath]

Whispered softly to whoever is close to her:

"Holy shit."

Pike

[doneisdone]

A small, shabby fishing village not far from du Farron's manor, it's a wonder anyone has managed to come out of Pike uninhibited by at least one disease. The streets are muck, most people are missing most teeth, the smell of fish and offal and despair permeates the air, and there's hardly a scrap of color in the whole place. This town has been razed and rebuilt so many times in the constant skirmishes between Tevinter, Nevarra, and Orlais that it's barely worth looking after, let alone taking pride in.

Teren keeps her head low as she leads the solemn march into town, and even so, she's unable to completely escape notice. The women in particular seem especially dismayed by her presence, and whispers of "unmensch" and "verwachsen" follow the party with suspicious glances sent to the other Wardens and Benevenuta. The fishermen seem less concerned, though there's at least one bark of recognition laughter followed by unpleasantly-colored spittle smacking against Teren's face that heralds her return.

Her shoulders are hunched miserably as they reach a nondescript shamble of a structure, and she knocks. The door is opened by a very small elf, white-haired and dark-skinned, easily in her seventies and bearing a striking resemblance to the much-taller woman in front of her. Though she has clearly been ravaged by time, poverty, and no doubt disease, and her eyes are fogged over by cataracts, she reaches up to clasp her daughter's face between her hands (Teren has to bend down significantly), turning it from side to side in an inspection much like that which Teren has given the others in recent memory.

"Wo bist du gewesen?" she demands, and pulls her in, squinting at the small entourage. "Einkommen," she demands of them, shaking her head and clicking her tongue as she beckons them forward and immediately goes to where something is boiling on the fireplace.

[byblow]

Alistair is—let's say he's on his own two feet, and Kaisa didn't actually have to carry him all the way here on her back, though of course she'd be up for the task, what a woman, etc. He's on his feet but pale from blood loss and pain, dragging one leg and leaning heavily on whoever last drew the short straw, who also gets to catch him or haul him back up whenever the nerves that haven't finished connecting correctly happen to be nerves he needs for balance. He's very disgruntled by all of this and has made sure everyone knows it.

He shuts up abruptly the first time someone looks askance at Teren and murmurs a word he doesn't have to understand. He gets that it's nothing good. His face goes surly but he stays silent, for once, a miracle. He doesn't speak at all until they're watching Teren be fussed over by a tiny old elf; he's less surly about that, more tired and bewildered and half expecting this stranger, too, to put a knife in someone's back.

When that doesn't immediately happen, he musters up, "Hello," for the old woman and a strained, quizzical smile for Teren.