OPEN ↠ THE WINTER PALACE, PART II

[faderifting]

WHO: Open to all.
WHAT: The War of the Lions comes to a head with tense peace negotiations scheduled for a grand Winter Palace ball
WHEN: This is forward dated to Firstfall 30 Wintermarch 15. Set following the events of Part I, located here.
WHERE: The Winter Palace, Halamshiral, Orlais.
NOTES: Please make sure to read the OOC post for more info!

It is a wonderful night, isn’t it? A beautiful party. The Empress has outdone herself. The entire evening has been remarkable, whether from the perspective of one enjoying the spectacles provided by the Inquisition, or the nuances of the Game, or even the more superficial entertainments of the evening - the music, the food, the dancing. All of it is wound together into an evening that will surely be memorable for some time to come.

And then everything begins to become rather more complicated, although admittedly still very memorable.

The first sign that things might not be as they should be comes when the doors to the main hall slam shut, and are rapidly sealed. The realization that all is not well might not spread through all areas of the Palace with equal speed, but it cannot be said that the element of surprise is neglected throughout. The Freemen of the Dales have come, and the Freemen will see to it that they finally claim what is theirs.


THE MAIN HALL.

Two things become rapidly apparent. First, the evening is not going how Celene had intended. Equally apparent is that this is not what Gaspard planned, either.

They both of them find themselves in close quarters with men and women that are armed - human, elf and dwarf alike, though the latter are in small numbers and the humans dominate the group. There are a good many elves, though, more than one might expect to find in the company of former chevaliers. Some of the invading party have slipped from the guise of servants, others are more obviously marked as Freemen of the Dales who have only just arrived.

In terms of numbers, armor and weapons, the arrival is alarming, and nervousness is palpable in the hall. Worse still, they are not alone. The apparent leader of the Freemen, a man with mustachios that would make a walrus weep, stands shoulder to shoulder with Red Templars, the red lyrium glow seeming all the more strange in the ambient light of the party. There are cries of panic from some, the gasps and outrage of many as they realize what is unfolding, and the sickening realization that despite there being a good many skilled warriors in the room in the form of noble men and woman from across Orlais, they have no weapons to retaliate with, as per the rules of entering the Winter Palace. The atmosphere is one of sickening dread. (And at least one noble is stress eating every lemon tart in sight. Can you really blame them?)

Celene, for her part, issues an order for her people to remain calm, before an elven man turns to hold the point of his sword to her throat. She does not speak further, but continues to hold her head high.

Walrusface - or, more correctly, Charles Walthier, a man of some sixty years and considerable reputation before he departed for the Freemen, steps forward. There is a ripple of chatter, and one of Gaspard’s men approaches in indignant protest, an outburst in Orlesian about conduct not befitting a chevalier. The man is cut down by a red templar before he can draw breath to continue his tirade.

Before any further heroics or speeches can be attempted, Celene and Gaspard are both swept out of the ballroom. It may be tempting to follow. But most of the doors are now barred, and the last four Freemen to leave behind the Empress and Pretender turn to fire flaming arrows at high draperies scattered throughout the hall. The only open doors lead to balconies with drop-offs that range from dangerous to suicidal, but they're nonetheless swarmed by the best-dressed frantic mob you've ever seen.


SERVANT QUARTERS.

From further away, a regular chant can be heard from the main hall: Freemen, Freemen, Freemen. At a signal, some servants are casting aside their disguises, and clusters of armed men and Red Templars are entering, some from rooms, others from hidden passages. They're ready to fight those who try to get between them and the nobility. Some of them are also willing to talk to those who seem willing to listen - about casting off the yoke of the Orlesian nobility, about reclaiming the Dales for the common man and elf alike. But none are particularly willing to let the servants and guests in the common room mount a rescue of the screaming nobility in the ballroom and gardens. If you want to try, you'll have to sneak out.

Or you can barricade yourself in a room and let the nobility look out for themselves. No one will know.


THE GARDENS.

The scents of jasmine and roses fill the air. So do screams. Evidently the Freemen and their corrupted Templar assistants have no concern about lawn preservation, hedge maintenance, or making sure exquisite fountains aren't ruined. What isn't trampled might be torn down or lit on fire. And in the midst of the chaos, an elf climbs up onto a pedestal alongside a statue of embracing lovers - lovers with oddly familiar noses - and holds a marble should for balance while he interrupts the common rallying cries of Freemen! with For Calpernia!

Comments

SCENARIO 1: Dance with Abandon

[faderifting]

All night, the small parlor has been the exclusive domain of The Dowager, Lady Mantillon, perhaps the most influential member of the Council of Heralds. Perhaps her attendants "invited" you in for an audience just before the ball devolved into chaos, or maybe you jumped in to try to hide from the madness of the attack. Either way, this antechamber is now your refuge, along with a handful of other Inquisition personnel, two of the Dowager's personal guard, and the imperious old lady herself, currently sheltered behind two maids, who to their credit have not yet devolved into hysterics as many guests have done.

There are only two ways in or out. The door, which is actually double doors, to be precise. The wood is delicately gilded in an elaborate pattern and the knobs are lion heads, but it is perhaps not the sturdiest, and its lock is more ornamental than functional, a token obstacle at best. On the whole the door is unlikely to delay attackers very long. Luckily, there are several large pieces of furniture about the room that might be formed into a makeshift barricade if anyone feels so inclined.

Or, on the other hand, there is the window. Three stories up it is safe from the attention of those marauding the grounds, but also provides limited escape options. There are vines and stonework that one could climb down, but it is a dangerous path. If one reaches the bottom safely, the hazards do not end there: out in the courtyard marauding bands of Freemen can be seen, setting fire to elaborate topiary lions, tearing down a statue, assailing a gate, chasing screaming packs of nobles and rounding them up for slaughter or ransom. Nearest the window, a group of attackers can be seen attempting to force their way into a small, walled section of the garden, which is being defended by what looks to be a group of mostly servants and mostly elves. They are making a valiant stand to hold the barred gate, but they look barely armed, and unlikely to last very long.

From outside the parlor, heavy footfalls come closer, the doorknob is jiggled, and then a shoulder thumps into the wood. The man trying the door shouts to his comrades to come help see what's in here, and a clamor of boots can be heard approaching. What are you going to do?

[mythalenaste]

Pel had been posing as a servant all night, in reality one of the Nightingale's backup spies, her vallaslin discreetly covered by makeup. The simple brown dress covers all sign of pregnancy, and she had been placed in a position considered relatively safe--in the ballroom, serving drinks, where things were supposed to be safest.

Well.

The shoulder thumps into the wood, and the gloves come off.

"Stand back," she says loudly, steps forward, and from her hands come a torrent of ice. Not just sealing the door, but reinforcing it, a veritable ice berg that will buy them more time until the Red Templars find a way through it.

[chainlightning]

Having also posed as a servant (no one needed to know that one of the companions to Hawke was here, not when that companion was the one Varric had practically written "blood mage" across the forehead of, even with the Chantry not finding any evidence of it), Merrill has mostly done very well at not being yelled at all night. This is a different sort of yelling, however, and with a glance toward Pel (she's clan, family and carrying a child, have to make sure she's okay) she heads for the window and looks out.

"There's people outside trying to fight back. It might be easier to get away that way, my Lady, if you would try the climb out." Merrill is pretty sure that the Dowager isn't fighting anyone, after all, with the way she's trying to hide and the fact that none of them have any weapons. One hand is set on the edge of the window, magic being pushed into the vines to try to make them grow into something that's easier to climb down on.

[unbrokenoath]

Well, isn't this just fucking great. Kaisa knew shit was going to go down. She knew it!! She can't even bother to be surprised, but she can bother to be really pissed off. And she's unarmed, which pisses her off even more--but after a few moments of consideration, she picks up one of the lanterns off the ground, and swings it at one of the imposing freemen. It's not her preferred kind of weapon, but it is both very pointy and on fire, so it does the job.

As she moves around, taking down whatever freemen and red templars stray into her path, she notices the group of elves trying to defend...wherever that garden led. Whatever it was, and whatever reason they needed to defend it, didn't matter as much as the fact that they were apparently willing to die for it, and the freemen seemed wont to let them do so. Kaisa didn't even hesitate--she did, after all, have quite a few Feelings about people fighting unarmed elves--before barreling into the attacker's group, screaming like a demon, and swinging the lamp around.

"Pick on someone your own size you fucking--fuckers!" Is probably not the best battle cry, but give her a break, she's trying.

[mythalenaste]

"You!" Pel calls down to Kaisa. Her mana is drained, though the banging on the door pauses for a moment. "Cover us till we're on the ground!"

The dowager is as still as her mask. If she is fazed, there is no way to tell.

There is suddenly a pound against the door that rattles the floor. Something much, much stronger is outside, and even Pel's massive ice barrier won't last long against it--especially if the door is in splinters and there's nothing left for the ice to reinforce. They have to get down now.

"You first, my lady. You might want to kick your shoes off."

"Thank you my dear," the dowager responds pleasantly, as if Pel is merely returning from running her an errand. "You have been most helpful."

With that, the dowager slips her shoes off and hands them to one of her guards. The other guard takes her hand to steady her as she prepares for Merrill to finish with the ivy.

ngl i was literally waiting for a new person to tag in this whole time lmfaooo

[chainlightning]

The vines reach the top of the window at last, curling into the window sill and the curtain rods and anything else they can reach. Glancing back at Pel, Merrill urges more vines across the room to the set of doors. It won't keep whatever is slamming into it out forever, but it will help reinforce it.

"And barriers for everyone, if no one minds?"

It's only the dowager whose nod she waits for, and then Merrill casts one.