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closed | Clear the decks
WHO: Araceli Bonaventura, Korrin Ataash, Val de Foncé, Melys
WHAT: A casual cruise to Rivain to pick up a new friend; or the Inquisition needs a shipwright and literally everything is going to go wrong, Inquisition we have to many problems, where do we start
WHEN: Flaps at Justinian I don't know, just flaps at it
WHERE: Rivain; Ayesleigh and beyond
NOTES: Violence, language, what do you expect from this crew?
WHAT: A casual cruise to Rivain to pick up a new friend; or the Inquisition needs a shipwright and literally everything is going to go wrong, Inquisition we have to many problems, where do we start
WHEN: Flaps at Justinian I don't know, just flaps at it
WHERE: Rivain; Ayesleigh and beyond
NOTES: Violence, language, what do you expect from this crew?
Go to Rivain. Retrieve Master Francisco del Valle. On paper it looks simple enough but of course this is Thedas and this is the Inquisition doing the retrieving so there are already certain rumours that the four members charged with this duty have probably all heard in some form or another. Antiva want del Valle. Tevinter want del Valle. The Qunari want del Valle. And not just del Valle but the plans.
If the plans are real. There's that too.
Araceli sighs, reads over her orders once again before tucking them into one of her inside pockets of her coat. At least she knows Rivain a little from last time she came here but once again urgency dictates no time to enjoy it. She's glad for Korrin who knows this place well though Qunari and more personal matters relating to them than usual linger in her mind though she does well to push them away, glad for someone like Melys who she doesn't know well but seems to have the ability to cut clear through something in a practical way, a balance to Val's humour though he'll probably be the one who can verify the plans better than the rest of them put together.
At least the workshop isn't difficult to find but it's not what Araceli expected, more hustle, more bust-- then she sees the state of the door. Or what's left of the door.
"Of course, a smooth crossing guarantees nothing here," she mutters under her breath, hands resting on her rapiers.
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"If I was doing a thing like this, I wouldn't go in from the ground either," she continues after a little pause because, well, this is what she used to do and people know her for a thief as much as they know her for a bard so why not. "I'd go in up top and come down if I could."
Less likely to be seen, easier to keep an eye on what's going on, just a better deal into the bargain. If you're the type to be able to do that which is what she doesn't say and judging by the state of the door…Those plans? Even she doesn't recognise much of them. Maybe. Making her way to Melys, she pauses to lift a smashed little model? Is it a model? Or a contraption? Mechanism? It suffered a bodyblow, whatever it was, poor little thing.
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"...Qunari. Or maybe Tal-Vashoth mercs, but I'm betting Qunari. They were sniffing around him anyway, right? This just keeps getting better and better."
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They've got more important messes to get riled over, at any rate; Qunari are six different kinds of shit news. It's clear they didn't just want whatever nonsense del Valle cooked up. She might feel sorry for him, if he weren't the sort of guy to dream up fascinating new ways to kill people.
"Confident on their odds."
Smash in, grab him before no one else — it's not a dumb move. But it's sure a ballsy one. They must be out in force enough to take care of any latecomers, or enough of it to risk the chance.
"So we don't got surprise, and we don't got speed." Doesn't leave a whole lot to work with. "Guess we got underestimation."
Whatever that's worth. She grabs up the scraps of plans, shoves them in a pocket.
"Reckon we should get rid of the rest of this before we go."
Burn it, break it, doesn't matter. They weren't the first party here; they may not be the last either. Better not to give the Imperium any shot at the scraps.
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Val, on his knees, sifting through scraps, now sits up tall enough so that he can consider the rest of this party with incredulity. All of them are subjected to that incredulity. He is good at looking incredulous, a natural, unpracticed and yet skilled. It's something about the eyebrows.
"By which you surely mean, collect every bit of these pages that we are able to and preserve them, yes? My friends, have you truly looked at any of this? It is genius work. We must not tread it underfoot, as whatever brutes who broke this workshop to pieces did."
And, with sudden brightness, nearly in the same breath-- "Is that a model?"
He is staring beyond Korrin's shoulder. Now Val scrambles to his feet, using the table as leverage, and crosses to the corner of the room, where the splintered remains of some something are lurking like a vulture with snapped bones.
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Attempts to summon the diplomacy that she usually has plenty of but this really isn't how she expected any of this to go from the start.
"We have to find the man himself who has the knowledge to make such plans in his head," she pauses for a moment and makes a face of her own, a small grimace. "If his head is still attached and entirely his own." Craintellier is a bad memory that makes her rub one of her thumbs absently, model shifted carefully then held out as a peace offering or temptation.
"If we're overburdened, we won't be any good; if there's anything you think particularly to what we're doing? Then yes but we're behind and we need our man. And for no one else to get more than they already have." Please Val you may have this little model, look how sad it is, take it please.
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"Araceli's right, our focus has to be on the man himself. He can always create more, can't he? If his head his still his own and the Qunari haven't fucked with it too badly, then what we see here is replaceable. We also don't have a lot of time to waste, so the longer we spend here the more of an advantage the Qunari have. Let's not give them more of one."
She's always dreamed of sticking it to the Qunari somehow and now the Inquisition is handing her an opportunity on a silver platter? Damn right, she's not going to waste it.
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Which way did the grey, violent giants go? She rubs at her face, watching Val like she's just not quite sure what to make of it all: Some flashy, jungle bird that's just squawked out proper speech. He's important, she knows, she's been told.
(She also knows which one she trusts to recognize the sharp end of a sword —)
Something settles in her expression, a judgment made. She turns aside to Araceli:
"Either way, some of us," Here, she includes herself. Time spent around Orlesians, it's bad for her health, "Can get a move on while this gets sorted."
Melys yanks a thumb to their surroundings. Figures the mage can take care of torching or drowning this, right quick, might even keep a blaze half-contained. And if Korrin gets fixing to go hard enough, she doubts even Val's going to stand in the way.
"Meet up on the edge of town?"
A proposal, but a real question too. Araceli’s leading this, and that suits her fine. Let her make the choice. Stick someone else's neck on the line.
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Val's interest is minimal to that regard. He takes the splintered model eagerly, turns it over in his hands to consider its broken pieces, its limited functionality, its sad state.
"I see," he says, to himself, "ah, and then this piece," and his mumbling turns very Orlesian then. Your pardon, fellow travelers. He resurfaces with enough clarity to weigh in on the suggestion of splitting up, which he quickly deems-- "An excellent suggestion. Let us part ways. Because, you see, it is not always in the head that one stores one's plans and theories, yes? Notes are of vital use and importance. This man, when we find him, head fully attached--he will be overcome with joy, should we return some pieces of his notes to him. Joyful enough to perhaps offer the very help that the Inquisition so sorely needs. I can get this sorted."
Charming turn of phrase. He smiles at it, more to himself, even as he says it.
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"How much do you know about what they might do to his head?" Conversations about Kas are one thing but there have been other bits and pieces here and there, Araceli doesn't know if everyone's going to be on the same page. But Melys is right, they're burning daylight here with nothing to go on beyond 'he's not here' and 'there was a struggle' and a fish three days dead could probably tell them that much too.
"Agreed - Korrin knows Rivain and I know it enough to meet up with you both. I can make sure we make it back as well. We have already lost sight of one good man with a keen mind, I would hate to lose you too, señor de Foncé and two sets of hands are better than one." Araceli manages to make the smile look almost sincere; possibly in another time, another place, she wouldn't have been abducting a man but still coming for the plans but she doesn't want someone being left alone. She's got enough sailor's heritage and teaching in that if he wants to point out things he can point them. If not? She'll poke around with a hand on her rapier before they meet up again.
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Araceli's question is met with a small frown as Korrin crosses her arms. "Given what's in it, I doubt they'd want to turn him into a drooling vegetable. But that doesn't mean he's safe; they'll want his cooperation and I'm pretty sure they won't care how brutal they have to be to ensure it. As long as his mind still works, they probably won't care overmuch about what happens to the rest of him."
She represses a shudder, only knowing the information second-hand but it's enough for her not to envy the man's captivity. Free will has no place in the Qun, even a Vashoth raised away from it knows that much.