[OPEN] Smoke and Mirrors: Perendale

[minrathousian]

WHO: OPEN!
WHAT: The Inquisition's forces fight against the Venatori to prevent Corypheus from seizing power in Perendale.
WHEN: Early November.
WHERE: Perendale, Nevarra
NOTES: Violence.

On the edges of Corypheus' territory, Perendale is the site of a major Venatori offensive--a push by Corypheus' forces to take control of the city and push his influence further across Thedas. The Inquisition's forces have rallied to answer the Nevarran governor's desperate plea for support. The battle for Perendale will decide the fate of hundreds within the city's walls.

Comments

[exequy]

Kostos is being his usual glowery, taciturn self, too, albeit in more mobile form, walking around the camp in a path that circles so wide perhaps no one will recognize it as pacing. The staff in his hand has a blade at one end that could do with sharpening, but it hasn't occurred to him to try to keep himself busy that way. He's a worrier. And a prayer. His lips are moving soundlessly—you have grieved as I have; you, who made worlds out of nothing—but they stop mid-syllable when he nearly walks straight over Teren and her knives.

Whatever words Teren has deigned to speak on the journey here, they were enough for him to combine her accent and her look and hazard (key word) a guess as to her origins, with sufficient confidence to slip into his well-educated dialect of Nevarran and say, "This is not how I wanted to come back."

[doneisdone]

The stumble does indeed yield a snap of surprise and impatience, watch where you're going you fool, and so forth-- but when the mage turns and speaks to her in Nevarran, educated Nevarran, Teren's expression changes. It's not friendly, per se; not that she ever really looks friendly, but even among her own countrymen, there are, well... cautions.
She consdiers a moment, then nods in curt agreement, temporarily keeping her Nevarran to herself.

[exequy]

Kostos nods back.

And stands there for a moment, almost physically wobbling as he's pulled in different directions by the desires to say something more, for the sake of camaraderie and social acceptability, and to never say anything else to anyone again for the rest of his life.

And nods again, and turns to continue walking and worrying.

They're both very good at this.

[doneisdone]

There was something there, and Teren doesn't know what it is. On the surface, she's always felt self-conscious speaking the native tongue with people from other parts of Nevarra, since her own dialect bears the risk of coming off classless and foolish. Below the surface, he could be anyone, from anywhere in Nevarra, and know any number of things about her that she doesn't want people knowing.
And he hesitated near her, which means, on some level, they connected. Or he did to her. This doesn't bode well.

Watching him walk away, Teren narrows her eyes. She won't let her guard down around this one.