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

[foxsays]

Look she would feel better if you had a staff since she now has something much more like what she's used to using. Not that she has doubts about the will or the ability Korrin might have but they're already at a disadvantage here.

Any other time, there might be a comment about the Fallow Mire. Remember the Fallow Mire? Remember the time Araceli voluntarily went back there to help find another wisp or something to do with a wisp with you Korrin? She'll save it for later when they've at least managed to catch a breather and dump the nobles on someone else actually qualified to babysit unbearable people. What she can see by the light of the wisp has her nodding until she remembers Korrin can't see her.

"Shabby decor, few belongings, lower ceilings, everyone expected to be packed tighter together?" Her voice disappears around a doorway to confirm the last bit before she swings herself back around. "Servants. A way in and out so they can be invisible." It takes supreme effort not to grind her teeth since this isn't the matter at hand, this isn't what she needs to care about right now but isn't this the fight at home? Something better for the people who have so little, who would be dying just the same way if creatures such as this invaded Castileos at a ball? But it turns to ice in her belly because there are too many people she loves there who might lie just as dead.

She prods a straggler along with a sharp whisper. At least the scale of the place is on their side, it shouldn't take much longer now for them to find the other end and emerge to whatever awaits them. Recalling the homes of most nobles back home, she raises her voice as much as she dares. "Head for the kitchens or larder, the exit should be that way."

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin nods grimly at Araceli's assessment, likewise irritated by it all on behalf of those ground under the heel of Orlesian nobles. There will be time to rant about this later, at least if she has anything to say about it, but that requires attending to their current situation. She tries not to sigh, not really wanting to be burdened babysitting such an inept, insufferable group of people. Still, the only other option is to let them rush head-first into their deaths. Left to themselves, she would give them maybe five minutes, tops.

Taking Araceli's advice, she urges them onward, the wisp shedding just enough light for them to move by. The hallway isn't a long one, and Korrin stops and listens at each door before opening. Small, spartan bedrooms and storage areas greet them first, but the scent of bread and soup catches her attention, and she beckons them onward...only to halt upon hearing whispering up ahead, in the direction of said kitchen. Turning to Araceli, she raises an eyebrow. Time to see if they're friend or foe?

[foxsays]

Gripping her new blade in hand - no time to marvel at how cleanly it slips from sleeve to hand, how comfortable the grip is, Araceli nods at Korrin and slips past her to press herself flat to the wall. It's risky to try it but she's done worse, she thinks, back in Castileos.

Thedas has arrows and spells and red lyrium, but they don't have pistols so it all works out in her favour.

One of the pair is upset, Orlesian by the accent, but the other isn't and that's what has Araceli peering around the doorway as far as she dares. Inquisition armour on one shoulder and she grins, swinging back around.

"We've found the way out - one of them is ours, just be polite. That's for all of you." Because Orlesians.

[gatheringstorm]

Araceli's news causes Korrin to stare in surprise for a moment that something actually turned out to their benefit for once; she was fully expecting assassins or Freemen, at the very least. Then the tension leaves her shoulders as she grins back, turning to usher the others onward with enthusiasm.

"Move it, people. We don't have all night." Not if Araceli and Korrin are to assist in Inquisition/Orlesian efforts against the invaders. This is already going to be a very long night no matter what, but at least a portion of it isn't as long as it could have been.

good ending point?

[foxsays]

"We can catch up with this soldier then take it from here, maybe see if we can get a weapon or find out where everyone else is so we know what we're actually dealing with."

But the most stressful part is over at least, tales sure to be told of their heroics that will be appropriately outlandish and they can both catch their breath for now. Oh and Araceli will be taking her lute back, thanks Orlesian, she needs that even if she just has to stash it for later.