faderift | Such bloody engagements

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Such bloody engagements

WHO: Araceli Bonaventura, Korrin Ataash, Tyrion Lannister, Zevran Arainai
WHAT: We're going to need a bigger boat (we're going to actually need boats plural)
WHEN: Drakonis, 9:48
WHERE: Waking Sea to Orzammarish
NOTES: ooc plot post; language, threats of physical violence and torture

Routine. It was all meant to be routine. Qunari dreadnoughts to outrun had become routine at some point in the last few years same as being absent a left hand and answering to Leandra in public instead of Araceli but when the Inquisition asked something of her, she would still answer. Leviathan for all that she'd given it a seemingly grandiose name was a moderately sized ship suited for speed more than anything else, getting supplies and people where they needed to be and getting the hell away from anything that could take them out.

(If Thedas had cannons but they would be in Qunari hands, in Venatori hands, and the nightmares Araceli had had at first before she'd tucked those away had nearly woken her screaming every night.)

Transporting someone for a diplomatic mission - she'd laughed to Korrin about it, hadn't she? Bitter in a way her namesake would have wept over, what diplomacy is left - but sailing. People hauling the sails, running around the deck. A rifter diplomat so she'd had to pay everyone coming along double to shut their mouths, then had to up a few rations to keep them sweet but this is what you do in a time of war.

She assumes.

"Captain, might want to take a look at this!"

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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.

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Such bloody engagements

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