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faderift2017-01-07 11:10 am
faderifting) wrote in faderift2017-01-07 11:10 am
Entry tags:
- ! open,
- teren von skraedder,
- { alan fane },
- { alistair },
- { anders },
- { araceli bonaventura },
- { beleth ashara },
- { bethany hawke },
- { cade harimann },
- { ciri },
- { corvo attano },
- { geneviève de la fontaine },
- { inessa serra },
- { kain ventfort },
- { kaisa daesun },
- { korrin ataash },
- { malcolm reed },
- { merrill },
- { morrigan },
- { obi-wan kenobi },
- { rey },
- { thranduil }
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 toFirstfall 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!
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
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!
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!
no subject
Tonight is not such a night, not yet at least though who knows what will come to pass as expensive dancing slippers are already left abandoned as they stumble in their heavy gowns, unable to see where they're going in the confines of their masks. Glancing in the direction of where the magic is being hurled from, she nods up at the other woman then moves to make her way to Teren since she has the advantage here of being rather less limited to two arms and two legs and human.
"Who do you seek? Both of you!" One circuit with wings is probably going to be quicker should it come to that after all when she doesn't have a staff with her and the doors might need something more than just them.
no subject
"Alistair," she barks to Morrigan, "and Kaisa!" Benevenuta is on her list as well, but to loudly announce it, even in this scenario, seems an unwise decision. People are always listening.
The smoke is thickening and her eyes are watering from it, her lungs beginning to burn. She quickly shreds her sleeve from her gown and then tears it in two at the seams, stepping forward to thrust one into Morrigan's hand while she ties the other around her nose and mouth. It's not much, but every little bit helps. Maybe.
no subject
"We need to get these doors open, now, and then we have to get Celene and Gaspard!"
Another blast of ice, and another blow of force to the doors, to force them open, so these people could get out and they could get to saving Orlais.
no subject
His fault, though, for not looking where he's going. He heard his name, he came running. So he doesn't have a stern word or look for Bethany. He only presses a hand to his chest to mime weak-hearted relief, accompanied by a sigh that quickly turns into a cough.
Once the worst of that has passed, he wheezes, "If you're opening the door, be ready to fight. Or send out the most annoying people first."
no subject
"...do we, though," she mutters, possibly too low to hear. It would certainly be tragic if all the most powerful Orlesian nobles burned to death at the same gathering, in their big stupid house, at their big stupid party. How poetic. She might actually consider dying here worth it, seen in that light.
But it's probably best to focus on getting out of the ballroom, for now. Perhaps she can waylay Bethany and Morrigan when her lungs aren't filling with smoke.
no subject
"Are you wounded?" She asks, ignoring the other requests for the moment as she gives him a good once-over, tugging down the cloth over her mouth because yes Alistair you will see all of her scowls you are in person to witness. "Perhaps we take the slim chance they might have the collective wits for gratitude this night," Morrigan suggests once she's tugged it into place, and years ago she would have shrugged, let them be left to their fate but well.
She's changed. He's changed her hasn't he?
"Do let me know about the door, webbing holds longer than one might think." But she offered to look for three other people, so there's a puff of purple smoke lost amidst the rest and a familiar crow squawking moments later. Might help to get a better view of things for them anyway.
no subject
Of which there were plenty, and just none near the damned ground. She stepped back away from Alistair and Teren. "Mind yourselves. Without my staff this is going to get a little ... ah ... wild."
Which is to say, she might just end up putting a hole in the ceiling of the Winter Palace. Whoops? At least it won't be as smokey.
Hands raising up towards the ceiling, she used Force magic to push the smoke out the windows, with as much force as possible, so good and clean again could get in again.
no subject