A FOOL'S ERRAND | Closed.

[limier]

WHO: Wren Coupe + Malcolm Reed, Ioane, Inessa Serra, Simon Ashlock, Cade Harriman, Anders + NPCs
WHAT: The Inquisition has word that a handful of Red Templars may have broken from Corypheus' control. A team has been sent to investigate, and decide upon a course of action.
WHEN: Forward-dated to the end of the month.
WHERE: The Free Marches
NOTES: OOC Post; Violence, body horror, language. Will edit if stuff comes up.

Pieces will be edited in as we go!

Contents;

• Arrival
• Confronting Ser Hayes
•  

Previous Conversations;

• Taashaath
• Malcolm - 1, 2, 3
• Norrington - 1, 2
• Samson
• Anders

 

Comments

[tactical_alert]

That he has to pretend he's in no danger is much easier said than done, now that he knows. But even if he can contract the sickness, he's still the best equipped to resist it. And so he steps closer. Enough to be out of immediate reach, he wagers, should she take a swing, but it puts him at the center of attention and the closest to deal with her should she lose control.

And what control it is, fighting so hard against it. She's half caged wild animal, literally backed into a corner, her movements uncertain, unpredictable, unnatural. But he has to talk to her.

"Who wouldn't listen to you?" Who wouldn't let her stay? "Please, we need you to tell us where the others are. We know about them, know about you. That's how we came to be here. Whatever you can tell us. And we'll keep the family safe. You have my word."

[limier]

"Stormy," Her breath hitches, the words come out in a dreamy whine. Claws trace the dirt and her eyes cast away, drawn into some new, distant distraction. "Do you know her? So pretty. Always was. I came home, you know, for her? It was time to come home. Said I was, was,"

Repetition again.

"I’m unworthy?" A harsh laugh, or something that used to sound more like one. "I came back for her, I brought them. And now I’m,"

"I’m unworthy. What’s that word worth? Pretty as glass." Quiet again, "Kester never liked her."

[tactical_alert]

Stormy. That's a new name. He doesn't know who that is. "Unworthy," he draws out, brows knitting together. A harsh word if there ever was one. "In what way? For what? What is she doing with the others?" Whatever coherency he can squeeze out of her, he's willing to wade through the prattle.

[limier]

"Leading them," A snarl. "Lying."

"She's mad," Hisses the woman who can't maintain a train of thought for the length of any more than a sentence. "As if she can control this. As if they hear her prophecy, they won't hear His,"

She punches the wall, hard. Boards splinter, earth sifts loose from the ceiling.

"She's, she's not. Not a. Never should've hid her. Never." Hayes lurches, "Please. Please don't leave. Not without killing that bitch —"

A lunge for the group.