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CLOSED ↠ FALSE GODS, GREAT DEMONS (GET DORIAN)
WHO: Benevenuta Thevenet, Corvo Attano, Dorian Pavus, Hermione Granger, Iron Bull, Teren von Skraedder, The Outsider
WHAT: A covert operation to retrieve one time magic expert and his keeper.
WHEN: ALTERNATE FUTURE, Early Cloudreach 9:48
WHERE: Nevarra
NOTES: Canon level violence, Tranquil stuff.
WHAT: A covert operation to retrieve one time magic expert and his keeper.
WHEN: ALTERNATE FUTURE, Early Cloudreach 9:48
WHERE: Nevarra
NOTES: Canon level violence, Tranquil stuff.
It is through an intricate flurry of carefully worded letters that Teren von Skraedder and those who volunteered to accompany her on the diversion to Nevarra learn where they would be meeting Lady Thevenet and spiriting her away, and that she would not be alone. Dorian Pavus, her Lord husband, would be coming with her.
There is a lot of coastline to work with, more carefully patrolled the closer one nears to Cumberland. When they set their anchor down and row out to the grey, wintry shores, it's within a hidden cove. One evening's camping and plotting stretches into the next day, and one day's travel on foot takes them into the city proper.
The political state of affars is immediately clear. Imperial soldiers roam the streets, funnel down forest roads, and wholly possess the Imperial Highway. Nevarra is not at war, but Tevinter crawls over her like ants. The white marble, the black glass, the grey stone of Cumberland shows traces of red lyrium growth, and when Teren and Corvo enter the city in search of the agreed upon location, the deep night has taken on an uneasy red tinge. It carries on the wind and reaches, too, where Iron Bull, Hermione, and the Outsider hang back, awaiting cue to fend off danger should it snap at the heels of those leaving the city.
And lets face it. It probably will.
part one. benevenuta, dorian → teren, corvo.
One hopes, anyway.
The Temple itself is some new Tevinter construction, its broad marble staircase almost empty of people at this hour, and shadowed by immense statues of dragons. Dorian keeps step with Benevenuta as they leave the building together and is not, himself, looking for odd shadows or signals. He wears robes of elegant black and grey, and his hair is grown long, silkily combed. The sunburst stamp of lyrium etched into his brow will not become apparent until up close, but it is there, with its faint, faint glow. There is no staff at his back, no battle leathers, no jewellery, and more alarming still, no mustache.
A discerning eye will note that the two are shadowed by robed figures themselves, who maintain a discreet distance.
The rest of the city is a sprawling metropolis of cobblestone, horses and carriages, handsome streets, skinnier alleyways, sloping rooftops. Their back up team is not so far away that they cannot meet them halfway to their exit point, but it will be key to not kick up too much of a fuss until they are in range. Probably.
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Based on what she knows of Corvo, Teren assumes he'll be more than capable of following her lead with the plan of attack she has in mind. Without a sound, she pads up from behind the escorts, and, wrapping a hand around to press over the mouth of one, slashes their throat. She looks to the side as she does so, checking that Corvo is doing the same, or similar, and lets the body drop before she hurries forward to draw closer to Benevenuta and Dorian.
"Watch the perimeter," she whispers to him, and straightens, taking several steps after the pair and, not wanting to alarm them, she chucks a pebble far enough to land just by their feet. They're not alone.
Teren's hood is back, her face clearly visible, offering Benevenuta no opportunity to assume she's anyone else. Her knife is sheathed once again, both hands raised in a signal of peace as she steps toward them, taking in their appearances with growing dismay. "No time for explanations," she says in a low voice, "I need you both to come with me, pretty." A pet name, rarely spoken, a small idiosyncrasy that a demon masquerading as Teren likely wouldn't know.
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there is no mistaking Teren. There is no mistaking that Benevenuta understands, either, because her hand closes around Teren's arm in a grip so tight it cannot possibly be what she intended to do, some small part of her not burned away in the fire of her own zeal weak with relief. At last: competent help. It is an impressive trust that Teren can still command, gone so many years with so little explanation, believed dead all this time and now here -
All they hoped for, then, is not entirely lost.
"We must move swiftly," she says, in undertone, lacing her fingers through Dorian's to be more sure of not losing him in what will, sooner or later, be chaos. If not by Teren and Corvo's design, then with Andraste's will it will be hers.
But not ill-thought out. Hopefully.
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He still tucks the bodies off out of sight. No need to alert anyone sooner than necessary.
Corvo leaves his hood up, trailing after Teren like a malevolent shadow. She can do the talking, she's the one who knew them. His eyes trail to the man that their entire mission revolves around, but there's something so...unsettling about Tranquil. It proves easier to let his gaze roam around them, keeping an eye out for unwanted visitors. He's content to let Teren do the planning, and simply follow, killing anyone that would muddy the path. It's a blissfully simple job.
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He will go with them, and do so quietly. He has no idea what's going on, but it's honestly for the best that you don't tell a Tranquil certain kinds of sensitive information ahead of time.
Venatori watchdogs bleed out on the dark steps, and whatever last gasps they gave don't immediately bring anyone running. The city holds a hollow silence that threatens to carry the echoes of their footsteps.
And, too soon than is comfortable, it too carries a shout when dead men are found.
"Benevenuta," is from Dorian. Hush. Flat. "They will kill us if we continue this way."
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but she walks a knife's edge and she knows it too well, pale beneath carefully applied cosmetics, thinner than Teren remembers her, the hollow gaze of someone fighting a losing battle all alone for too long. In Nevarra there are many eyes and precious few alliances, and too many nights she's wondered: would it not have been kinder to kill him? What has she achieved, fighting this way? What will there be left, at the end? Of either of them?
Will it be anything she's proud of?
"They will try," she says, grimly, to Dorian.
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Briefly, he debates pointing out to Teren that it would probably be better for someone who knows them to escort them. But she's made her decision. Maybe it will be better for someone who has a personal stake in all of this to be the one fighting. There's a small grunt, a noise to indicate he heard, and Corvo glides to the other two, a hand reaching to Dorian's elbow.
He is, after all, the priority. Corvo will try to keep the girl alive, but only as long as it doesn't put the purpose of the mission at risk. There's a small part of his mind that points out that it would be incredibly easier to put the man over his shoulder and take to the rooftops, leaving the women behind entirely, but he hasn't slid that far yet. Instead, he leads them towards a backstreet.
"This way." His voice is hoarse with disuse, quiet. Louder is the sound of his folding blade being drawn.
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He still keeps his hand locked with Benevenuta's.
Just as Benny's skirts disappear around the corner of the back alley, there's the crescendo of hooves striking cobblestone. The man that bursts around the corner in his tall horse is certainly not a run of the mill guardsman, all flapping robes and an aristocratic mane of blonde hair.
And magic, clearly, stafflessly directing a flurry of ice magic from his open palm towards where Teren has lagged behind, still in view.
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MAGES
Teren's side is clipped by the spell, the freezing burn a familiar feeling but not enough to incapacitate her. Presumably the rider is more intent on catching the runaways than he is on killing her, in which case, Teren waits until he's gone past before she launches herself at him from the ground, her knives aimed like twin fangs for his shoulder blades. Her hope is that she can drag him off over the other side with her long enough for the horse to panic and flee, or at least for her people to get out of sight again.
In the meantime, she keeps an eye on his hands. Mages are the worst.
part two. hermione, iron bull, the outsider → dorian, benevenuta, teren, corvo.
In view of those that hang back in the name of discretion is a relatively skinny canal that veins out of the city greater, dispersing into shallow river and swamp. There's a bridge, walkways, and some flat surface that is so infrequently patrolled that they have seen only one Imperial guard clank his way by at a bored pace. The city itself is quiet this late, beyond the sound of whining river insects that bite at exposed skin. With any luck, their presence of extra security won't be needed, and Teren and Corvo will silently emerge with Dorian and Benevenuta in tow.
Because this whole situation hasn't already been a shit show from start to finish.
There are plenty of places to hide and wait it out. In the midst of carriage horses who have been tethered for the evening, or the river boats dragged ashore in rows, or simply the shadows beneath the bridge.
By the time it's getting to that point where maybe there is some negotiating about whether or not they want to send someone in to check on progress, there's the sound of clanking. A guard of the Imperial army wanders through, over the cobbled bridge, and pauses. Squints into the darkness. Then, with a rustle of leather and mail, he steps up to the very edge.
Cue the thin trickle of fluid that signals he is relieving himself, although not necessarily of his duties.
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He's here to help, to distract only if that is what is needed. With Corvo, tortured and briefly almost lost to him, having gone in- well. The Outsider is taking this perhaps a bit more seriously than usual. Luckily he has spoken to the other two on this team even before they were ripped into the future, though only briefly; he remembers their voices, if nothing else. He has some measure of ability -- the Iron Bull, a warrior, and Hermione, a rifter and mage. And then there's him, watching a guard piss off a bridge.
His hood had gone up as soon as they'd heard the clanking. Hidden in the darkness with the others, it's horribly tempting to use magic to yank the guard over the edge, but that may be more trouble than it's worth. And yet...
"Could make it look like an accident," the Outsider murmurs, fingers twitching against his leg.
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It's not as though he wouldn't find satisfaction in watching that guy tip over the edge and out of sight to a cold, watery grave. Not that at all. But they've got a mission to see to, and it's the worst kind. The kind that's personal, that itches at the back of his brain, and he's got to hold that shit in check. No room for it now.
No way he wasn't coming on this mission, either. And it's clear he's restless himself, snorting once in the cool evening dark.
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But as time passes and a guard gets just a little too close to where they're hidden for her liking, Hermione feels more and more on edge, wishing she'd done the smart thing and had gone with the Doctor. Even if he isn't what she'd expected given Jamie's earlier descriptions of him, at least it had been easy to feel safe with the Doctor. As it is, she edges closer to Bull out of instinct; it isn't that she doesn't have any faith in the Outsider's skills or her own, but let's be honest: if it's safety she's craving, the Iron Bull makes for a rather steady shield against most physical dangers.
"He could scream and bring others running this way," she whispers thinly, not daring to get too loud. "We're here as back-up, not to set up a diversion."
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The twitching turns into a brief spasm, and then stills, fingers flat against his legs. After a moment, his arms lift, crossing over his chest.
"I'm focused," he murmurs, settling a little against the wall. "But I don't like this."
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When Hermione shifts inward, Bull hums, and one strong hand places itself at her back in reassurance. She's fine. She's going to be fine, and damn right he'll step in front of anything nasty that comes her way. That's what he's here for, be the muscle and the draw for fire while the other two do what they do.
Which is going to be short-lived if they start poking the hornet's nest. So. Someone's gotta play the voice of reason here while they wait, miserable and anxious.
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"We haven't been waiting so long, have we?" she asks, more as a way to try and convince them that drastic measures need not be taken yet than as a way to try and keep track of how long they've been waiting. "If there were something wrong, we'd know. A flurry of guards, some shouting, something. Let's save our energy for the worst case scenario and hope we don't have to use it."
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The pissing man has moved on at a lazy saunter, and it's quiet once more. Quiet enough that when the worst case scenario does arrive, it's easy enough to pick up -- the sudden influx of footsteps. Three men. Swishing garb and the hiss of light armor rather than the heavy clank of guardsmen or night watchmen.
"There's nothing," is a quiet mutter. "Should we--?"
"If they come this way, we'll cut them off."
"But if we drive them into the city, we'll lose them."
"The wilderness is no better. Come, we'll ward the area."
Three voices, all men, and then: the glimmering of magic, the white-blue of ice. With a little manoeuvring, it's possible to see the three Venatori men casting their spells -- glyphs on the ground, humming with energy, fading into near invisibility like traps.
And one of them headed for the shadows, inevitably, without really watching where he goes.
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He makes a note of where the glyphs are placed, though he's not entirely certain what he can do about it. The man heading for the shadows, however, he can do something about.
There is a glance toward the others -- the Iron Bull, tall in the shadows, and Hermione, shivering in the cold. There is a bit of a shrug as he draws his sword.
And then the Outsider turns back toward the man and lets a tendril of magic shoot out to yank the man toward him, hopefully right into his waiting blade.