faderift | OPEN ↠ THE WINTER PALACE, PART II

OPEN ↠ THE WINTER PALACE, PART II

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!

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When the chaos breaks out, Thranduil is finally able to soothe away the itch that’s been sitting between his shoulderblades for the entire night. Here is the threat so long concealed, and in the light it is easier to combat. He loots mail off a body first, grabs a sword and shield next. The sword is of poor quality compared to his own, and the mail would make better decoration than actual use, but it is more than he had before, and he’s glad for it when he comes into the yard.

The Duke, so visible, is both a center to rally towards and a target with that gold. There’s Freemen between himself and the Grey Warden, and he cannot risk getting flanked. One he catches by surprise—parries, and then knocks to the ground before cutting his throat. The second takes more time, and it’s the fog of the courtyard, the knowledge of who waits inside, hiding and afraid—he loathes this, but he can do this, and the second man dies. There are still uncounted more, and he shouts to Inessa as he makes it by, heading towards the Duke, identifying himself.

“Mind your fire!” He wants a mount for himself, but that gate needs to close first. The Warden has the dog herself, and then he can’t think, bringing his sword up to fight another in between himself and his goal.

"If only--!" Despite their dire circumstances, Inessa allows herself a small, grim smile, relieved to hear Ciri's voice even as she doesn't dare more than the briefest of glances. Likewise, Thrandil's words are noted though she won't dare distract either of them. Instead, the young Warden gestures for the other guard to help his companion with the mechanism. As more Freemen charge across the threshold, they indeed become encased in ice. To ensure they'll remain that way a little longer, Inessa conjures a wall of ice to sprout around them, effectively blocking the gap until something can break past the thick barrier. Then it's time to enchant her allies' weapons with frost, giving them a slight advantage.

Garahel, meanwhile, spots more enemy forces heading in their direction from elsewhere and lets out a warning bark before crouching and bounding over to leap upon the nearest one. Once again, the war hound proves his effectiveness; the Freeman falls to the ground with a sickening crunch and doesn't move when the mabari lifts his weight -and jaws- off him. Just like that, he's off to the next.

Kain is just returning from grabbing Inessa some of the good wine he'd promised, when all hell beaks loose. Of course, it just figures this evening couldn't be quiet. The wine left behind, Kain spends the first moments of the attack running through the chaos in search of a weapon. He curses himself for not suspecting something and thus not being prepared. He'd have worn his Grey Warden armor and been armed if if were up to him. He sure will use this as an excuse to argue for having it with him next time. But right now he's got no choice but to make do, unfortunately.

At least it doesn't take long. When he stumbles across one of the fallen, he's quick to take the fighter's sword, a one-handed one much lighter than his favored swords. But still, he'll manage.

Then he joins the battle in full, rushing toward the gate to add to the defense. His first hit is lucky, striking down one of the intruders. He notes some the others already there, but there's no time for talk... only to fight, as the next intruder comes at him head on.

Cracking her knuckles, Ciri passes Inessa's place with a brief brush of hang to her friend's shoulder before pushing off to greet the party crashes. It's come with a long time of practice (most of which back in those boring weeks in Weisshaupt) that allows her to make use of her friend's magic in time with her own work.

It could almost be seen as dancing; the way Ciri moves through the plots of magic and greets the Freeman with deadly strikes from her sword. Her style isn't meant for strength but rather speed as she strikes, spins, rolls and strikes again. It was all to keep the fighters confused and off their feet as she took advantage of their exploit points.

If things began to get too close to comfort, she uncorks a bottle of fire and grins as the world is doused in the flames that protectively cover her form. The Freeman have but a single chance to react before she takes off, faster than before, sword raised to strike out at any of them that came within a striking chance.

Ciri's rather flashy style of fighting is something Inessa's grateful for now, as it will draw attention away from herself. She plans to make good use of that and show off her rift magic abilities at the same time. Meticulously careful with the placing and timing, Inessa glares at the approaching Freemen and creates a tiny rift that pulls some of the Freement to a central point, hard enough to crash into each other. Garahel takes over from there, focusing on those still stirring afterward.

And there's no time for talk, to be sure, but Inessa definitely notices Kain's presence and smiles briefly. She's relieved to have him in sight, knowing how easy it is for him to become badly injured when out of it. To that end, she casts Barrier over him before he can move too far out of her range.

Wardens-- three of them, he thinks, fighting as a near perfect unit, or at least as a group of people comfortable with one another. It soothes him, as much as he can be soothed in the middle of battle, where everything demands your attention all at once while still remaining focused on what's before you--

Another Freeman falls, and he's thankful that so far he's seen no elves. He knows they are here, but even now, kinslaying is abhorrent as ever. He glances across the courtyard for someone new, someone he knows-- he's picking his way to the noble, and the others are occupied with the gate, but it's painfully apparent what will happen if the young Man falls in the midst of defense. The only thing to do is keep making his way towards him, cutting down those who stand in his way.

"TEMPLARS, FORWARD!"

Reinforcements have arrived, Wardens and ancient elven lords, with Norrington leading the charge, crashing into the Freemen. At the forefront, a furry blur of snarling teeth leaps at one of the Freemen blocking the way of Thrandriul to Duke Cyril. Meanwhile, Norrington leads his small squad of men to support the others, his own shield going up as they form a shield wall.

"Burns! To the door! Help them!"

It might seem ironic that the presence of Templars would bring a mage some relief, but nonetheless Inessa's spirits perk up as she hears Ser Norrington's voice. Against the Freemen, their presence is very welcome. There's no time to express her gratitude, though; that will just have to wait until they're fortunate enough to be the ones still standing afterward.

Glancing around to keep her allies' status and positions in mind, the young Warden mage gets ready to cast anew. Using the essence of the Fade, she smashes the nearest Freemen to the ground. More pickings for Garahel.

Geneviève had been torn when the chaos had broken out. She's nowhere near the inner halls, but she knows that the Empress is in danger, as are the members of her family who are in attendance. The explosion at the gate had of course changed any thoughts she'd had of fighting her way inside. The green ballgown she wears likely makes her one of the more peculiar combatants, but that gives her an advantage, as the first Freeman she cuts down with the dagger she'd strapped to her thigh barely sees her as a threat until she's slit his throat and relieved him of his sword.

She follows the chaos to the gate, spotting her countrymen, Inquisition agents, Wardens, and the Templars alike, though her focus is on the portcullis. Open, it's just letting in more Freemen. She catches some of the angry yelling, knowing at least it's being addressed as a Freeman comes at her and she parries his sword with her own, driving the dagger held in her off hand into his side. Once he's down she turns, looking for her next quarry.

"Maker damned fucking traitors," she hisses, to no one in particular. "We cannot let any more get into the Palace!" Hopefully the chevalier inside are equipped to deal with whatever's happening in there.

Reinforcements are good. They need all the help they can get at the moment, given how many Freemen are charging in. As Templars come surging in for the defense, Kain feels confident they'll get the upper hand. There are an odd assortment of other fighters, which given the Inquisition, is pretty much standard these days. They've got a lot of strength on their side.

Kain throws himself into the fight full force. The more enemies that fall, the more blood shed, the stronger he gets. He lets them get a few hits on him, fueling his Dragon-Rage attack... It's a good thing he's got that barrier on him as he holds nothing back. His borrowed sword slices through enemies, one by one, cutting them down. There's no time to question what's happened, why this has happened... that will come later. For now, he fights.

Reinforcements are definitely welcome, even as Inessa can't afford to take her attention away from Garahel's targets. One in particular doesn't looked too badly injured and as he stands to draw his weapon on her mabari, she glares, responding by encasing him in ice. When said ice shatters, this time he doesn't move.

As Garahel returns to her side once more, she gestures for other allies nearest her to back away from the cluster of Freement closest to her. "Out of range, now!" Why? Because a Blizzard spell is going to take effect shortly afterward, that's why. Dark clouds gather above, bringing icy winds with them to slow and freeze those unfortunate enough to be within its path.

Reinforcements are great especially with Norrington at the charge. After their battle against Samson, Ciri knows that the templar can handle himself and lead his charges. She falls back as the Templars rush in, twisting her sword in hand before striking forward as the Templars throw the Freemen off balance with their shields.

She takes aim at weak points and exposed body parts until she hears Nessa's voice call out. A grin breaks out across her face as she twists, kicking out and striking another in the back to throw him off balance. He takes down two more with him as he falls into the cluster just as the magic comes alive, icy winds kicking up and chilling the attackers to their bone.

With a flick of her wrist, Ciri pulls her fire grenade free and lights it before throwing it into the cluster of Freemen. They wouldn't be getting out of this ill mounted attack on the Palace easily.

Even as reckless as he gets, Kain knows better than to be in the path of that icy cold blast. He does manage to give a brutal stab toward an enemy's leg, leaving the other fighter helplessly awaiting the Blizzard as he himself moves swiftly away. So far, so good. Maybe they'll be able to hold this off better than he'd thought initially.

After the ice, there's the fire from Ciri's blast to avoid, taking out another group. Who would have guessed that this evening at the Winter Palace would end in so much destruction? He heads into his rampage attack next, becoming a wild, unrelenting force as he heads straight in the middle of a bunch of the Freemen. He lets them hit him at this point... it's all according to plan for a reaver. As it is, the more devastation, the more enemies that fall... the more he's spurred on to attack all the harder. Seeing their blood spilled gives him power. Kain's sword clashes with the Freemen, continuing to cut them down.

Beside Gaharal, there is an answering howl, as Interceptor goes to knock down their opponents by slamming his heavy head into their knees, driving them to the ground. A sharp whistle from James pulls him back while the mages level their attacks -- and then the Templars follow in after Kain, to block anything coming back out towards the mages, and get in a few slices of their own.

The flood of soldiers rushing in is a welcome sight, but that they're Templars negates some of that delight. He's far too aware of what will happen should any of them do-- whatever it is they do that threatens to pull him apart each time. The feeling of relief spreads despite this-- every Freeman he cuts down is one less, and the flood is no longer so overwhelming.

Thranduil minds their faces when he can, the armor of the Wardens sticking in his mind. He must find them later, must thank them-- because this may well have gone the other way, with more Freemen flooding in.

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OPEN ↠ THE WINTER PALACE, PART II

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