faderift | Such bloody engagements

With a spyglass pressed into her hand, Araceli turns it to where the young pirate points then stills for a long time, lowers it for a moment then raises it to confirm what she's seen before she shoves it back at the girl.

The call for full sail is loud, the only words in common before there's a barrage of Antivan since that's the common tongue on the Leviathan, the ship suddenly more alive than ever.

"Korrin, señor Lannister," Araceli calls once she has everyone suitably busy, if one of them hasn't relieved the girl of the spyglass already. "A moment."

[[Feel free to play npcs as you wish, let me know if you want any of them dealt with specifically!]]

It's always busy on the deck of a ship, but the sudden increase in activity has Korrin on alert before she hears Araceli calling for her. Ignoring the Antivan shouting all around her, the Vashoth woman strides over as quickly as she can manage. She's had more than enough time to get her sea legs in the past few years, so it's not an issue, though if Tyrion is near her and struggling, she'll offer her assistance.

"Kadan? What in blazes is happening now?" It's always something, isn't it. She knows better than to expect an easy mission, but that doesn't mean she has to accept it gracefully.

Tyrion has been on the deck, sitting in a corner with his cipher and his notes. It's not easy writing on a boat, he's found, but it does make for some interesting mistakes that could be used against Venatori agents in the future for mis-direction --

"Hm? Yes, Madam Araceli?" He rolls up his things, and goes to join her and Korrin, who gets a wink and a nod. "Don't tell me we've reached land already."

With so many bodies so busy, Araceli doesn't correct Tyrion this time and she is too good to flinch now at the sound of her given name. That girl is dead to the world, that girl has never existed to a single soul on this ship but she thrusts the spyglass out at whoever is first to take it.

"I would sooner see a dozen Qunari dreadnoughts bearing down on us than what I see now. It wasn't so very long ago after all that the Inquisition still had what amounted to a fleet before it was completely lost." Her mouth twists since she hasn't been a bard in three years and when it comes to this, she's allowed to be so angry she could spit nails. "So it has been Llomerynn and pirates, no resistance fleet either. But if you wil direct your gazes starboard then take a good look at what we're coming up on?"

A blockade, effectively. Not a small one either with ships stretching far and wide though it's not quite as easy to tell since the sun hasn't burned through the cloud yet but there are sails on the horizon all with flags that billow in the wind; is it the number that should be alarming or the flags? A good eye will spot the mark of the Tevinter Imperium and all the trappings but a keen eye will spot a sight that's been rare since the loss of the fleet: Orlesian ships.

That anything could possibly be preferable to Qunari dreadnoughts has Korrin already raising her eyebrows, and she turns to see what could be so much worse than that, of all things. Any protest on her part that nothing could be as bad dies on her lips as she takes in the sight, eyes widening. In her view, both the number and the type of flags are deep cause for alarm.

"...Andraste's tits, that's an assload of them. Fucking Tevinter, why now--" She pauses and stares, eyes narrowing. "Wait, is that--"

Tyrion frowned as Korrin spoke, and he clambered up on some barrels to be able to look over the both of them. His eyes widened as he took in the long stretch of ships from one end of the horizon to the other, letting out a faint, "Fuck Me."

His gaze shifted slightly, before his frown deepened, "Orlesian, by the look of things. Damn the Seven, I need to get this information back to Orzammar. They could blockade Denerim for months with a force like this."

"You know why now," Araceli snaps as if they're picking up the thread of an argument that ended with plans for something else before she turns back to her crew. "Give me half-sail, slow us down so we aren't coming up on them too fast!" It buys them time to think too, since she can't risk coming to a full halt should they be noticed and have any of the ships making up the sizeable blockade coming after them. Everything about her ship says pirate. Everything about her ship probably says 'thing to be sunk and throats to be cut'.

"I cannot take on that many ships. A rough estimate? They outnumber the ships left in Llomerynn three to one at least, better provisioned all around if they're Tevinter. News of a blockade alone, that will not be enough." She looks to Korrin to see if she agrees when they're-- well they're meant to be more equal now, aren't they? They always were but the air is cleared, the wound lanced so she wants to include her and Korrin's actually been to Orzammar, she'll know the situation there.

Damn Orlesians. Korrin's eyes harden, her lips forming a thin line. It's true that she doubts Denerim will last long-term anyway, but that doesn't mean she won't fight to keep it going as long as possible. There's still enough spite in her not to want the enemy to come by anything easily. If they want this, they should be prepared to bleed for it.

Korrin nods grimly at Araceli's assessment as she meets her gaze. "No, it won't. Denerim will fall without more support than just news, and you can bet your ass that will affect Orzammar negatively. We don't need to take on the entire fleet; we just need to snag someone with more information than we have now."

Tyrion nodded his head in reluctant agreement. All they had right now was the sight of ships as far as the eye could see. They could be here to blockade just about everything from here to Orzammar. He looked up at the two women, before he put one hand to his heart, then nodded out to the water.

"I shall follow your example, ladies. If you want to take a ship, grab someone for more information? I would absolutely agree that is the best course of action. We cannot do anything to even forstall, or handle this, unless we know the wheres, whens, and hows."

"One of the Tevinter ships makes the most sense. Orlesian ships might have allies, they might have former friends but we cannot be sure and if they do? We cannot know how much they would know." Tapping out a staccato rhythm on her rapier hilt, Araceli draws in a sigh then lets it out slowly. "Go in from the rear, same as a smuggling run."

Certain vessels are already out of the question given the size of her own ship and the size of her crew. Korrin's a Vashoth mage, Tyrion's a rifter, and Araceli herself is a known quantity. She isn't so stupid as to think that there aren't those who've forgotten the rifters they took in the past even if she's cut off that hand and kept her life a secret.

"If there is anything sensitive you need to secure that you have been working on, señor, I would see to it now. It's just how to go about getting someone." She's open to suggestions; hobble the ship and sneak aboard, have someone get aboard and get the person off (which has worked, it's just generally a pain in the arse) or a full-on assault on one ship. Her crew after all have their blood up seeing a force like that.

Everybody lost several someones that day. Everybody lost Isabela that day too.

Korrin nods to Tyrion, glad to see they're all of one mind on this. Now is not the time for a lengthy debate, not if they want to accomplish anything. She frowns in thought, then looks over to Araceli while crossing her arms.

"You know I'm about as stealthy as a hart in heat; I'd only hobble you on a stealth mission, unless you want me to be a big, loud distraction. That I can do just fine. We can go all-in, too, use an assault as cover to snag said person."

"Oh, that's easily taken care of. I'll just throw it all in a pit fire." He looked at the ship, his gaze thoughtful, "We just need to take it without sinking it, yes? Get ourselves a live witness? I think I have something for this sort of occasion, if you ladies will not mind an alchemical solution."

He raised a finger, "I merely suggest not having an open assault - it could call the attention of the other ships, and then we will be truly fucked up the arse. Subtle, sly, with as little mayhem as possible."

Any other time and that comment from Korrin might have gotten the ghost of a smile on Araceli's face.

"So long as the alchemy doesn't burn my ship? I have no objection. Any of them see flames and I won't be the one trying to calm them down when they start howling all at once." Tyrion is certainly welcome to attempt it if his ears don't start bleeding at the volume all of them reach, Antivan and Rivaini blurring together into an indecipherable mess. "We'll need the ship to get the information back to Orzammar so we aren't attacking unless we have no other option.

"Leviathan is a shallow ship, we'll move fast so it gives us the advantage there. A distraction to bring a person aboard if we can be gone as soon as we have them? I can make it happen."

After all, she won't have any other choice and if she says it then it's as good as promising it. Tyrion might not know it but Araceli is still someone who keeps her promises, even in a world such as this.

What Tyrion doesn't know, Korrin at least does to some degree and as Araceli makes that promise, she plans to help fulfill it. The urge to sail away from Thedas forever as they talked about is still strong, but that's hardly a completed plan. Besides, she couldn't live with herself if they didn't at least try to help their allies. They can do this one thing for them. Her gaze lingers on Araceli for a moment before she nods to Tyrion.

"Alchemy sounds just fine to me; I still have plenty of ingredients, since I use a shit-ton of grenades against the Qunari. Not just Antivan fire but pitch or confusion work wonders, too. If you need them, they're yours."

It's how Korrin's spent what little downtime she has had, making grenades and losing herself in the dull, repetitive task so she doesn't have to think about the shitshow that is Thedas these days. At least all that productivity has seen use, and can be put to some again.

"Oh no - we're going to make them think their ship has caught on fire." Tyrion states with a completely straight face, as he goes to toss his notes into the fire. "Perhaps with a touch of knock-out powder, so we can snag one of our fine sailor friends."

He looked over at Korrin, looking thoughtful, "If you don't mind me butchering some of your grenades for bits and pieces, that should do nicely. Can we get close enough to the ship that something might be tossed on the side without them knowing it?"

"A moment." Calling for one of the crew, an older man with a scar that curves up from his jawline and along to what's left of his ear, Araceli tosses the spyglass to him and nods to the crow's nest. "Tell me the closest ship you think we can come alongside," she instructs.

"We have hooks and ropes from the smuggling jobs to get us over, it's about picking the right mark. Someone who knows enough to be useful, not so much that they'd be missed." Risk analysis as ever since she fears reprisals far more than she would have before when the Inquisition had power, when it felt like they were winning, gaining ground.

The sailor returns, spyglass passed back to Araceli but he addresses the three of them. "There's a galeas following behind the closest galleons, supply boat for them would be my guess. Sitting low, Tevinter colours but colours only, not a dragon in sight on her."

"Gracias, be ready for full sail on my word." Galleons means they'll need to be damned quiet about everything but Tevinter mages don't have Qunari gaatlok so that's something in their favour at the very least. "How long do you need to get the supplies ready? Sirena, if I get us close enough and the target is on the deck, could you make a throw?"

Nodding, Korrin smirks. "I've always had one hell of a throwing arm, and it's gotten nothing but practice these past few years. I'd bet my life on it now, as I always do." If she can't throw the grenade where it needs to go, it can't be done. But she's not about to start focusing on the risks and consequences; they need to do something, now, and as far as she can see this is the one with the best outcome for all that matter.

Looking over to Tyrion, she nods. "Go for it, I'll show you where I've stowed them. All things considered, it shouldn't take that long between us." And a good thing, too. The thought of messing with the vints always gets her blood pumping.

Tyrion nods, as he turns to follow Korrin to her supplies, running through the ingredients he was going to need. Something for smoke, something that choked, and yes, something that would put the Vints to sleep - if only temporarily. He tapped his fingers against his leg, before he asked, "Do we have hot tar ready? We'll need to stick it to the side of the ship."

With a ship picked out, Araceli nods to them both. "Go get everything then, I'll get us to where we need to be. I cannot go aboard, not with a ship to steer." Not with only one hand because she'll forget, she'll think she's in Antiva like she was before, or on the way to Dairsmuid, or worst of all aboard her father's ship and then they'll be done for.

"I have pitch." Whistling through her teeth gets the attention of the crew. "Señor Lannister requires pitch, fetch it for him, por favor. They will see to it for you, do not burn my ship or we will be swimming to shore with all of them ready to harpoon us."

Leviathan is a ship that Araceli has relied upon these past three years, and whether the Inquisition knows it or not, they've relied upon it too. There's no sense in risking the ship against such odds so now the Leviathan finds itself with a plus one in the form of a captive, bound and unhappy.

The brig is the least pleasant part of a ship. The brig of the Leviathan has always been a place for odds and ends, home to strange fish living in what little water there always is in there though no one has ever found a reason for it with their large luminous eyes and rows of spines, or the hulking crabs that scuttle sideways and clack their pincers menacingly. There's no light in the brig save that they bring themselves.

It is down here Araceli leads Korrin and Tyrion, her right hand offered to Tyrion if he'll have it.

"You might wish to mind the steps, they're slippery. I have almost lost a hand or two when we had more cause to store things down here to tumbles."

Korrin summons a small lick of flame in her palm, enough for them to see by but not a danger to the ship. She could summon a wisp for light, but prefers to rely on her own magic rather than spirits, even primitive ones. Besides, their 'guest' might appreciate the presence of a mage...enough to start talking.

"I'm steady enough; if you slip, I'll catch either of you." The times she's truly lost her footing on this vessel number very few, though admittedly she hasn't had reason to hang around the brig.

Tyrion's no fool - well, never has been. If Araceli says the steps are slippery, then the man with the small bow-legged legs is going to take her hand so he doesn't fall on his arse.

"My thanks for the assistance - and my hands and toes and other body parts thank you as well." He looked around, his tone wry, "Decorating in the Kirkwall style, are we?"

Everyone needs a place to be bitter and miserable, this is the place for Araceli when she actually does need her alone time. Moving a crab out of the way with a nudge of her boot when it creeps along a step, she keeps her right hand outstretched for Tyrion until they reach the bottom where the water laps over the tops of her boots.

"A tribute to the namesake of the ship, an absent friend." It's dark enough to hide the shadow that passes over her face even having to mention the Outsider for a moment, that all these years it can still ache. She never did get to go to Kirkwall, she wouldn't know their decor if there's any of it left now. The reports-- well, the reports were the same as any other reports she got; blood and bone and death, misery heaped on misery enough to scorch her throat with bile.

"If you will bring the light closer so we can have a better look at this one…"

And in the cell, there sits the captive. Or rather slumps. Sodden, miserable, but still able to glare at them in the darkness, and tightly bound though not gagged since that rather defeats the purpose of taking them in the first place. "Vishante kaffas," they hiss angrily, ceasing their struggle with the bindings the closer the trio approach.

The benefits of being taller include the water not reaching quite as high in her case, but there's an immediate downside as well. Most vessels outside dreadnoughts aren't exactly built for someone of her size and though she can manage well enough, staying below deck for too long will have her growing mildly claustrophobic. In this case, she's all the more grateful for having a direct purpose down here, something to keep her focused.

Approaching the cell, Korrin raises her palm to allow her flame's light to reach their captive. She stares at the miserable sight, unimpressed and leveling her gaze right back. "Yeah, yeah. So sorry to interrupt you, but we have questions and you're going to answer them." She gestures for Araceli and Tyrion to take the lead there, more interested in looming and bringing that flame just a little closer.

Well, in this case, the water is lapping to his waist and his expression twists Just SO. Enough that when they are brought to the prisoner, the fading scar on his face is right in the position of Disgruntled Grimace. He leans into the bars, glowering, before he states simply, "Unless you've got a pair of brass balls to back up your bravado -- I suggest you listen to the ladies. Otherwise I will be forced to get nasty with you -- and since I am only the first step in this process, I think you ought to get properly nervous about what the two of them are going to do after me."

His green eyes narrowed, "So. The ships. Everything you know, now."

Hand resting on her rapier, Araceli smiles just enough to bare her teeth; polite, practiced, the Nightingale might be proud of how much of her composure she's got left if there was still a Nightingale left.

"Think I'm scared of a dwarf? Where d'you think we all get the lyrium from? Everyone else with sense knew to go where the going was going to be good." It's a man's voice, that much becomes clear once he actually starts speaking. Not from the upper reach's of Tevinter society, but someone informed about a few things at the very least, able to sneer at them. "And you," he tips his face up to Korrin with a too-bright smile, "you'll be begging for what the Qun'll do--"

Araceli almost shakes her head, almost mutters something in her native language under her tongue but she sloshes closer, crouching to be closer to his eye level instead. "I am not a woman to be trifled with; I have escaped your Venatori before with only one hand," she's lying through her teeth to blend what happened when she was taken in Craintellier with the woman she is now. "And I left them a bloodied ruin. You think I will not ask her to burn you? Why do you think there is so much water left in this part of the ship? I come from a nation of sailors so I know how to make sure my ship will not burn and I am sure that she knows just how long she could keep you alive. Orzammar would have so many questions, no?"

It's a question to the room but his gulp is an audible pathetic thing.

There's nothing that man has said that Korrin hasn't thought to herself, especially in the earlier days of the invasion. But now, she's beyond fear, at least for herself. The Qunari will never get her alive, she'll see to that one way or another. And so she smiles a hard, dangerous smile at their captive, as she listens to Araceli's modified version of the truth. That gulp only widens it, and she makes the flicker in her palm flare up just a little for dramatic effect.

"If you think to goad me into silencing you, that's not going to happen. I'll get what I want one way or another, and believe me, no one is going to give a shit if some Tevinter filth screams it out rather than taking the sensible approach. You might want to work on saving your hide while you still have it."

Ah-hah, he thought Tyrion was from Orzammar. Clearly the man had only interacted with female dwarves before, if he didn't see the difference between Tyrion and a regular dwarf male. So he put on an alarmed expression, lifting up his hands, "Ladies, ladies ...let's not make the Carta angry. By the Stone, that's all we need."

He moved closer to the bars himself, "Now serah, I'm sure we can make some sort of equitable arrangement. We want information - you don't want to be set on fire multiple times and find yourself a eunuch instead of a man. But I'm sure you don't want the Venatori to think you betrayed them, yes? Well, you're in luck. I'm a member of the merchant side of House Cadash, and I just happen to be in the business of ... alchemic solutions, if you get my drift? I made a rather decent trade not so long ago - a truth potion made by the Avaar themselves. I was going to use it on my cheating whore of a wife ... "

A delicate shrug, and then sharp smile, "You see, we 'force' you to take it, you tell us what we want to know, and no one needs to be cauterized. What do you say?"

He hoped the ladies caught onto the ruse, otherwise he was going to have to talk even faster.

Edited 2017-03-13 13:05 (UTC)

Taking a careful breath, Araceli counts backwards from ten in her head as their captive's eyes dart rapidly between the three of them, tongue darting out to wet his lips. A moment of reprieve.

Still, he sloshes back with some exaggerated splashing when Korrin's palms glow because he's been around some of the enchanters, he's seen the things they can do to people. Couldn't get that smell out of his nose.

"They're still around?" That's a point in favour of Tyrion's lie since he's not exactly happy to hear that news. He knows enough to know that the Frostbacks and Orzammar are in the same region, that 'trade happens' but if the Avvar are involved then what does that mean? It's not like the Avvar have any reason to love Tevinter after all.

"We are not entirely unreasonable," Araceli adds in her bard's voice that hasn't had to come out in some time, her smile a girl's smile that doesn't really fit her face these days. But she learned from her mother how to be very gentle a long time ago, and those lessons never abandoned her. "I have heard they are unpleasant but I am not the one here with guest rite in a hold, am I? You know some of the things they put in, don't you? What they do? We only want to know a few things that I think are not so very difficult to tell us: how many ships, where are you headed, why are you headed there."

Korrin smirks a little at the sloshing back, then nods firmly to confirm what Tyrion's saying about the Carta. Maker knows if any of them truly exist still, but what their new best friend doesn't know will certainly benefit them. She moves her hand back just slightly, still cradling that flame but letting Tyrion make his pitch even as some part of her would dearly love to roast the man and slam him into the floor over and over again with rift magic. But that wouldn't get them what they want, and she isn't about to be responsible for wasted time.

As Araceli and Tyrion try to reason with him, she just keeps one hand on her empty sword tilt that contains her spirit blade. Her job isn't to sweet-talk him, and she knows it and isn't going to try. "Just remember that if you're jerking us around, we'll revisit that eunuch idea. Don't waste our time."

Tyrion leaned in, folding his arms on the bar, just out of reach, his green eyes all friendly, but he let his posture seem slightly off-kilter. Like he really doesn't want to lose good trade, but he's resigned to lose it if Korrin has her way. Body language spoke volumes, in situations like this.

"Naturally. They have their spirit animals, and what have you, guiding them out of danger. Just like the Dalish -- which is another group that doesn't like you all much, isn't that right?" He stroked his beard, "Either way - you 'drink the potion', or really drink the potion so you don't have to lie your way out, and just answer those questions for us. For that, we give you a clean way out of some rather ... blood hungry Venatori? They've got to be running out of slaves for their blood magic rituals by now, yes?"

If the pirates that once made up an armada can still survive, Araceli can well believe that the Carta are still clinging on in one form or another, accustomed to operating without undue attention and wriggling out of it whenever they can't draw it. Holding onto her own facade is tiring when she's having to play pretend with someone who would've killed her or hurt her if she still had her hand or she'd been the one bound in a brig on his ship but she can do this. They've lost so many people already.

She's seen hungry people before, it's not a pretty thing.

"You and I, we both know what the Venatori are capable of doing to their captives. One of us more intimately than the other, certainly but I will say that they are creative, no?"

"Quiet!" If he could clap his hands over his ears then he would, a sickly tinge to his skin when he cries out. "You've got eyes, don't you? It's a blockade. We came from Orlais and took the last of their ships," he begins, fidgeting, stumbling over words he doesn't want to say but the blood magic seems to have done the trick for the moment. "Built more of our own for where we're going. Nothing grows in Orzammar except the Blight."

That sickly tinge is noted and Korrin smirks again. Even if she weren't focused on intimidation rather than sweet-talk, there would be no sympathy available for him. He's an active participant in Tevinter's domination, and deserves everything that's coming to him. And it will, sooner or later.

"Uh-huh. Keep going, you can give us more than that." Her gaze is unrelenting, her tone quiet but dangerous, knowing that the last thing they want is him comfortable. Nervous people always share more than they should, and he definitely has more to share."

Tyrion's eyes narrowed at this news, and he all but purred as he leaned back from the bars, green eyes flashing something close to disbelief. "Why in the world would they try, anyways? They can't get through the doors -- and Orzammar can survive on what they grow underground for centuries. Has your great Elder One just decided to be petty, since he can't be powerful?"

He looks over at Araceli, his tone dry, "I'm not entirely sure this is worth a potion. Maybe we should just let her roast him ... I'm sure we could bribe the Carta for outside trade routes instead ..."

"I'd take the Qun before them," he tells Korrin and only Korrin, face tipped up to her but away from her hands and any hint of her magic; it says something about whatever he's been seeing. Or hearing.

Araceli is silent for a long time, before she looks between Tyrion and Korrin, having been the one on the Leviathan looking at the blockade, at the ships, plotting the course away as she counted the minutes.

"You came from Orlais as you said, headed for the Waking Sea by what I could tell. Where else are you headed with so many ships?" Fear is a terrible weight in her stomach that lifts her voice high when she asks the question, watching him look away from Korrin and back to her and Tyrion. "If it comes by land it is the Carta but by sea you come to the pirates of Llomerynn, unless..."

Unless Llomerynn is about to have its throat cut as well. Silence is another form of assent to her, it always has been and she can't breathe, this other life she's built for herself these three years past that is about to be crushed too. It takes everything in her to hold her hand steady and not take the rapier to his throat right now, not when there's Orzammar with questions but Llomerynn brings in supplies no one else can, sails ships no one else can.

"The Elder One will make the world anew," he tells them when the silence grows too much for him to stand, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "We will make the world as it was meant to be, cleansed of the likes of you. More than just food you'll be needing. You'll be stuck down there in the dark. No one to help you up here when you can't get anywhere because there's nowhere for you to go, nothing you can get your hands on. Ports are all closed to the likes of you now."

Korrin smirks at Tyrion briefly, though it fades upon hearing the captive's remark. She frowns, hard-pressed to imagine anything worse than the Qun, but now is not the time for that particular tangent. Her gaze briefly meets Araceli's; if she did slash his throat or let her burn him, there would be no judgment on her part...especially when he begins speaking about the 'world as it as meant to be'. That prompts a sneer as she stalks in as close as she can get, to let him feel the heat of that flame, and see it reflect in her hard, contemptuous eyes.

"Promises, promises. He's been doing that fucking song and dance for the past several years now. Poor bastards, you've tried so hard to wipe us out and 'the likes of us' are still alive and kicking. He can fucking try, but don't think we won't make him pay up the ass for it. We're a spiteful bunch like that."

Tyrion could feel his heart squeezing in his chest - if they lost Llomeryn, Denerim and Orzammar all in one blow ...

He rubs his beard, before he gives Korrin a little smirk, then looks back to the prisoner, tipping his head to the side, "Besides, from what I can see -- soon all there's going to be left is the Venatori and your precious Elder One. I do wish you would all wake up and see that all that will be left of you, and the scabs like you, will be splatters on the ground."

He tips his head, "Beyond that - they're going to kill the lyrium trade if they go after Orzammar. Your new world is going to depend on blood -- for blood magic. Such a pity we'll have to stop that from happening. You and the other sacrifices will just have to whine about not getting to die on the slab for your Venatori masters."

He leans forward, "And the only way you are pushing us out of Orzammar -- is if the Elder One himself is coming. Is that true?"

"There are dwarves plenty of other places. Dwarves have been friends of the Imperium for a long time, if you had ever been then you would know of what I speak. You are the ones hiding in the dark like vermin or stowing away on ships, the last rats left."

The flare of Korrin's magic, Tyrion's prodding, it only stokes his fervor to a final point as Araceli watches in silence because what do you do when everything you sacrificed for is taken away so neatly, when everything turns to bile and grief in your mouth for all the things that might have been but never will be?

"You will know the Elder One's will." And this is where he sets his jaw, eyes blazing with the belief of the zealot. He's willing to die for this because his life is worth nothing with what he has given to them already but it will come, oh he can see it, he can see it already, how glorious a thing it is. "I will greet the new world here or in the heavens, it makes no difference to me now. However it comes I will be there watching you fumble in the dark as the hunger and thirst cut through you worse than any knife or poison ever could."

And this malicious fervor is getting increasingly tiring to witness. Korrin's patience, already ebbing, drains away. She closes her hand, extinguishing the flame...and then summons a lightning bolt instead to blast and paralyze him. More than that and he'll bear witness from the heavens just as he wants.

Her voice is dull, flat, done. "If you want anything else out of him, better make it quick. My bullshit meter for the day has reached its limit."

The look on Tyrion's face, is pitying. This man is so far out of his depth that he is looking for any sort of excuse to hang onto the desperate situation he was in. He'd met these soldiers - so keen on the cause that they were losing that it was better to die than admit they had been duped.

Still, his voice was steel. "Kill him. Do it now, make sure there's nothing left. I have no use for him."

All she can remember are dead friends, hurting friends, before any of this began and ever since, how there used to be a rapier at her left hip too that she still misses the same as her hand when she draws her blade.

"I will be granted--"

Araceli's rapier cuts off his last words, a quick clean punch through the chest

"Once it's dark out we can dump the body, weigh him down. I'll send someone down to bind him tight, give his body to the sea when it's safe enough that should a ship pass, they won't find a corpse." Her voice is flat she thinks, as if coming from very far away when she pulls her blade back, red with blood. "We should--"

Sail away off the edges of the map like we talked about, sits on the tip of tongue but she bites down, cleans her blade instead. Someone else may take the lead.

In the end, there's only one thing for it; it's a blockade, the Inquisition isn't likely to starve, it's going to starve, and they've got a means to get to where the bulk of the Inquisition is.

They're going to Orzammar.

Korrin isn't thrilled to be returning to the south, let alone Orzammar. The Qunari threat in the north constantly occupies her mind, as does the progress they might make in their absence. Plus, she's never been fond of Orzammar's rigid caste system, rock ceilings, and bad ale. But since there's no help for it, she'll keep the grumbling to a minimum and deal. Besides, some part of her has to admit that it'd be nice to see a few friendly faces from better times. Hopefully more won't fall in the time it takes to get there.

Tyrion, for his part, was cutting out everything for the journey outside of rest and food. They needed to get back to Orzammar as quickly as they possibly could. Leadership needed to be warned, evacuations needed to be planned and -- well.

Some rather significant traps laid. He rode as if the Elder One himself was on their heels ...

And rather, he was.

Araceli has never been to Orzammar. Too landlocked so the supplies went elsewhere with people that knew where to find them and when to go get them. Will anyone she knows still be alive? She's cut off a hand, she doesn't smile so much but Araceli knows that even with a change of name that on the outside she's very much who she was back then.

(Absurdly, she misses her nuggalope, but he's gone and she entrusted Lux to someone going off with the elves to where he'd get to live a happier life for the rest of his days.)

"How bad is it going to be there?" Araceli asks at last when she can't put off actually having to ask that question since she's only talked about it in terms of what Orzammar might require from Llomerynn for the past three years. "And who do we tell without causing a mass panic, these days it takes few sparks to kindle a blaze."

Coming over to stand by Araceli, Korrin nods with a grim expression on her face. The last thing they needed was public panic, and life was difficult enough in Orzammar without adding to the present burdens. But they needed to be warned, there's no escaping that.

"You know better than us, Tyrion. I get news from the crystal sometimes, but it's sporadic. No one has the time for stupid games or gossip, let alone the important shit."

Tyrion heaved out a breath, his gaze moving from the path over to the two women traveling with him, "Right now? Cullen Rutherford is the only advisor left alive - but he probably won't be there. He'll be out in the field, moving things around. The Wardens - what's left of them - are still pretty prominent. They might be able to get everyone organized to move in a short amount of time ... and more importantly they know all the tunnels out."

He tapped his fingers against his horse's saddle again, "Once we get close enough to an outpost -- I can start sending word ahead through my agents."

"Might is not a word that bolsters my confidence in this." Land makes her feel exposed though, the very idea of Orzammar makes her feel trapped, a noose by any other name.

"The word has been sent to get what we do have in Llomerynn out while we still have the chance, there's no telling what signal that sends to the Qunari but now they can't be our primary concern." Araceli feels no need to say that she can't be sure how loyal her pirates will stay with her gone and the odds stacked so high against them but the Leviathan at the very least will find a port while it has the chance to offload all that it can carry.

It won't be enough to last but they'll be forced to make do.

"You might tell your agents that as well, lessen some of the blow to steady the ship so to speak. The last person I even spoke to on the sending crystal was Christine Delacroix." Someone far removed from everything and everyone, someone safe enough to speak to.

Korrin may not share Araceli's deep affinity with the sea, but the last few years spending most of it on some ship or another has left her even less interested in heading somewhere deep underground. So her gaze is sympathetic as she comes to stand by Araceli, a solid supportive presence. They'll trudge through this mess...and hopefully that shared dream of a sea voyage far beyond will still be possible afterward. It might not anyway, but she'll avoid tempting fate by mentioning it now.

"The Wardens, huh? I thought they'd all be gone by now. They're not exactly long-lived even in the best of times. If there's enough to make a difference, I'll take it." She was never on the best of terms with most of them, but that hardly matters now. Perhaps her favorite -Kaisa- is still alive, at least. "And 'might' is pretty much all we have to work with, these days. Certainty went out the window a long time ago, along with too much else. We'll have to deal as best we can, there's not a lot else we can do about it."

But the closer they get to Orzammar, the more her memories of those lost take their toll. The list of people she would contact and can't is getting far too long. It's a burden that's increasingly harder to bear, especially knowing anyone they'll find will in all likelihood not remain alive and well for long. Perhaps some of that terrible ale will be needed after all.

Such bloody engagements

capturing the enemy

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interrogation

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journey to orzammar

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