[CLOSED] Smoke & Mirrors: Kirkwall

[minrathousian]

WHO: CLOSED to those who signed up.
WHAT: Inquisition personnel work to identify Venatori agents who have infiltrated the Inquisition in Kirkwall.
WHEN: Early November.
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Violence, murder.

In Kirkwall, the threat to the Inquisition is more covert:  four Venatori agents have infiltrated the Inquisition's base of operations in the Free Marches, and have insinuated themselves well into the workings of the organization. Perhaps they have made befriended you, or established themselves as a quiet loner who prefers only to focus on their work, with little interest in socializing. Actionable intelligence suggests that they will take advantage of the Inquisition's reduced numbers in Kirkwall to attempt to seize valuable information. The trouble now is identifying just who the infiltrators are--and stopping them before they access vital information, or create further havoc.

Comments

INVESTIGATION; finding clues

[minrathousian]

[OOC: There are four infiltrators in total, but your characters will only identify three of them! The following threads are designed to give the individuals responsible for tracking them down clues to help them on their way.]

The barracks

[minrathousian]

[OOC: Closed to Araceli, Anders, and the Medicine Seller! You may create separate threads, or thread your investigation together as a trio.]

You have been tasked by the Division Heads with the unenviable responsibility of tracking down Venatori infiltrators within the Inquisition's base of operations in Kirkwall! It's hard to say how long these enemy agents have been operating within the Gallows, but the fact remains that they are here, and must be ousted, and quickly. So far your quest to uncover any hints to the identity of these infiltrators has yielded little fruit; nothing especially unusual has leapt out at you from perusing personnel records, or from examining shift schedules and project rosters. Now you have come to the mages' barracks--out of frustration, just to see if anything here catches your eye, or with a particular agenda in mind, that is up to you.

It is lunch time on a bright, sunny, and crisp afternoon, meaning that most everyone in the barracks is away for their afternoon meal, or perhaps taking some time for themselves in one of the private work rooms. The room is empty but for the personal belongings of the individuals who have left things behind.

It is your prerogative to look, as ethically dubious as it may seem to go nosing through the personal belongings of your brothers and sisters in arms. After all, someone here isn't who they appear to be.

[OOC: Your characters may explore the barracks as they see fit. Pay particular attention to surfaces such as bedside tables and the areas around chests. A DM tag will be provided in response to your investigation.]

MS - Open (he's helping rly)

[meds4sale]

The Medicine Seller had approximately zero compunctions about rummaging through other people's things. He was, after all, a terribly nosy man who liked to see what others got up to in their personal time. And it was for as good a cause as any - traitors in the ranks. Though if their actions were discovered, that could mean they wind up with a few more - people mutinied over things like this.

But those were problems that weren't his.

The scales, delicate looking white bejeweled things shaped like birds in flight, were gently levitated along one of the rafters, the bells dropping upwards from their little golden trays. It seemed his scale's had their own personal gravity and 'down' was whatever way their stands were facing.

They were there to detect any possible demons. The Tevinters did so love colluding with them after all. If they stumbled on something, they'd at least know if there was some Fade-y nonsense tied to it before it popped out.

It probably didn't make the scales any less odd.

The Medicine Seller was focused on browsing reading materials. Books were always a good place to hide little bits of information - things that could be passed off as bookmarks, or solving puzzles, or that sort of thing. Inconspicuous leisure material to ward off the hours of boredom on patrols or other duties that could be written off as just that when there was something far more sinister concealed in the pages.

Also he'd found one of the Randy Dowagers latest recommendations (four fluttered scarfs out of five!) and he was keenly scouring every page for some insidious code.

So far the only insidious thing he'd found is an awkward paragraph involving the delightful turn of phrase 'engorged bratwurst'.

[justice_is_blond]

Anders watches the scales, trying to push past the guilt he feels about going through mage belongings. They're already watched more closely than most members of the Inquisition. They've never really had an expectation of privacy in the Circles and here again is an invasion of that.

"Anything yet?" His voice is heavy.

This feels like a betrayal and yet he's gently opening a drawer anyway, looking for something tucked away that somehow screams 'I'm working against the Inquisition ask me how.' There are your average items and trinkets mixed in, a pair of poorly darned socks, a light scarf that's likely been swapped out for a heavier one, quills, pencils, a dented ring... Anders closes the drawer with a sigh and moves on to the stack of books on top of the dresser as well, skimming for irregularities.

"Likely a stupid question, as if either of you would find something and not say," he mutters. The quiet is probably important so they can get out of here if someone comes up while they search, but it's uncomfortable.

[foxsays]

Once a thief, always a thief. Araceli is careful with what she touches though no less curious for it, aware of where a thing sat before she lifted it so that she can put it back exactly as she found it. The difference between someone coming down the hall in the night. Combing through their home because the candlesticks were angled wrong.

Lux is outside since he'd be underfoot, ready to sound the alarm or be a distraction should she need him to do so.

Keeping out of the way of the scales, she shakes her head in reply. "Recipe for a balm in the second drawer by the bed with the nightgown hanging off thend, they must've adapted it on the road," she says of the newest pile. Thinks of being captured before--

Kneeling to open a chest with one of her lockpicks, she finds a locket with the reddest curl of hair tied with a blue ribbon. The face on the inside has long since worn away. Running her fingers along the sides, she tries feeling for any outer sign of hidden panels instead of having to go rummaging through the whole thing right away.

[minrathousian]

The exploration of the outside of the locket yields results: there is indeed a small catch indicating a hidden panel, and with a little pressure applied to it, it gives easy. (A delicate piece of jewelry, perhaps, but one that sports dwarven engineering of the sort not found in Orzammar, but in Kal-Sharok--the stomping ground of the Tevinter Imperium.)

Inside the hidden panel is nothing of immediate consequence to an untrained eye, but if this back panel is held to the light, it should immediately become clear that the emblem of the Imperial Chantry is emblazoned upon it.

Whomever owns this locket ostensibly comes from Tevinter.

[foxsays]

Part of bard training is in languages. Those that people speak when you need to, but the more careful ones too: what a bouquet given means, what someone gives away by standing, the way they set a table, the colour they wear or decorate their halls in.

The heraldry of Thedas of course was the beginning, the same as learning ships and their sails, so Araceli knows--

Recognises that sunburst for what it is but still she rises and crosses to Anders, the best placed after her to pass it over. "What a pretty thing," she says to mean I'd sooner be handling an angry viper. Nodding to the Medicine Seller too, she waves in the direction of the scales, the locket, unsure of what more might be told of the thing.

"It came from that chest opposite," Araceli adds, indicating with her free hand if that helps since it narrows down the search area at least. Probably gets them a name too.

A workstation within the library

[minrathousian]

[OOC: Closed to Simon and Myr! You may create separate threads initially if you prefer, but it would make more sense for this to remain in one thread.]

The Inquisition keeps careful records regarding its personnel, their schedules, and their daily duties. It follows, then, that the infiltrators themselves have noted down *a* name for themselves in the Inquisitions's record books--they just might not be their real names. What follows is a truly thankless and tedious task, for whomever is unlucky enough to acquire it: to go through the complete personnel roster and cross reference it against the division and project rosters, as well as their assigned schedules.

Look for discrepancies; does anyone manage to appear, suspiciously, as though they were in two places at once? Is anyone making odd trips to Darktown while on duty, or towards the project research offices?

[OOC: There are undoubtedly many, many rosters and schedules to be examined, but for the sake of facilitating interesting RP, the selection has been limited to three: a roster and schedule of personnel responsible for feeding/watering the prisoners; one for the day labourers, and one for new vendors looking to set up their wares within the Gallows. Examine each, and a DM tag will be provided in response.]

[paladingus]

Simon had not been clear what exactly being a member of Forces entailed, when he signed up for it, and he had thought it might have involved more...force. But even if he had envisioned more exciting work than guard duty and desk jockeying, a templar's training tends to leave its subject well-suited to doing excruciatingly boring tasks without complaint. It still beats having to pair up mismatched socks in the laundry room with Ser Mallorick.

The problem, as he soon discovers, is that what discrepancies seem to exist have so many potential alternative explanations that the important ones are difficult to narrow down. He's concerned about trusting his own judgment at the moment--it has not recently been working out all that well for him, and the spark of stubborn determination to prove Wren wrong about him is outweighed at the moment by the nagging what if I make it even worse, though?

He catches a fortuitous flash of red robe out of the corner of his eye, just in time, and jumps out of his chair to seize the opportunity. "Myr! Myr, c'mere a moment. I need another opinion on something."

[faithlikeaseed]

"What've you got?"

There's nothing he's doing that's so important it can't be interrupted to help a friend (not this friend, anyway)--and pacing the library between working on delicate spellwork is hardly important. Myr gravitates to the sound of Simon's voice, checking himself just shy of running into the other man. "--Ah, sorry. And what's it you're doing, anyhow? You don't usually haunt the library this time of day."

(There is a note in there that says you should more often, well-buried beneath the mage's usual overwhelming curiosity.)

[paladingus]

"Oh, no, you're all right--" From anyone else, that note might make him self-conscious about how few and far between his intellectual pursuits are, but from Myr, he can read it as an it would be nice to see you more often, and it warms him inside.

But there's work to be done, and he hastens back to it. "I'm supposed to be figuring out which of the million names on these rosters are fake ones for sneaking Venatori scum we might have lurking about. And I don't even know where to start. I've barely heard a one of them before. This one here, it's the list of everyone who's ever been tasked with bringing the prisoners food, and I just started with it because at least I could cross my own name off it and feel like I'd made progress. But I don't know what I'm doing. You're down in the dungeons often enough, too--"

So says the visitor log, anyway, and the rumor mill, and his own recollection on the rare occasions when he'd been on guard duty at the same time, but perhaps now isn't the ideal time to ask Myr why he's always visiting the Vints. (Or perhaps it is, but Simon doesn't want to include him even tangentially in the suspicion here.)

"If I read off the names, could you let me know if you know any of them? And what you know about them if you do?"

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr's usual pleasant expression fades to something altogether more serious as Simon explains what he's about; there'd been some word of the possibility, but it hadn't seemed real until now. "I have been," he volunteers, without any need for the question. "They're a resource for us in Research," which doesn't explain the frequency of his visits, but he's not even aware it might need explaining, "and I've been around a time or two during meals, so--sure."

The fact he's been busy making friends with everyone in the Inquisition might come in useful here. He edges closer to the workstation once Simon's seated again, leaning in with a hand resting on his friend's shoulder as if he could read along on the list as Simon begins working through the names. Many of them he recognizes, a few he doesn't but in passing, but he's quick to volunteer whatever he remembers--and his memory's long--that might be of use: When he'd last encountered them, what they did with the Inquisition, whether he'd ever met them in the dungeons...

Tedious work, but it needs done.

[minrathousian]

One name comes up twice--Guardswoman Lysaria Hendon--which in and of itself wouldn't be that unusual. It's the timing that is odd, and something that could easily be missed given just how many rosters exist, and how many different schedules there are throughout the Inquisition. However, Lysaria appears to have been in two different locations at the exact same time: bringing food and water down to the prisoners, while also out in the field... in Perendale.

INVESTIGATION; tracking the infiltrators

[minrathousian]

It is difficult to track someone while trying to give the impression that you aren't tracking them--but that is what you are all trying to do, now that you have more information regarding your targets.

[OOC: Threads will be updated after earlier investigation threads are completed.]

DUNGEONS; closed to Benedict and Atticus

[minrathousian]

Operating independently of each other, two different infiltrators make their way into the dungeons to engage with Benedict and Atticus.

Benedict's Terrible Horrible No Good Bad Day

[altusimperius]

Benedict spends 90% of his waking moments playing with the cards Kit gave him, because apart from reading the same books over and over again, there's nothing else to do.
That's what he's doing at present, smoking a cigarette and moving cards around, being both people and playing against himself. He lost last time but he'll win this one.

[venaterribles]

A young woman steps quietly into view before the bars.

Her approach must have been rather quiet; no conversation with any other guard preceded her, nor did the door creak on its hinges indicating that someone had come into the dungeons. She's plain-looking and wears the uniform of an Inquisition foot soldier. No one to write home about, really.

"Benedict Artemaeus?"

It's the accent that might give her away, though. She masks it well, but it's Tevene, to an ear that has grown up hearing it.

[altusimperius]

In order to catch the accent, Benedict would have to be paying attention. He's now so used to people coming and going at all hours that he barely looks up, grunting a dismissive "mm," of confirmation as he flips a card.

[venaterribles]

She watches him through the bars, considering him in silence. Then she reaches for a key ring on her pocket and thumbs through them, searching for the correct one. "You're being transferred," she informs him. "To Skyhold. Get up--it's time to go."

[altusimperius]

"What?" That gets his attention, and Bene looks up at her, incredulous. "Why?" Skyhold is the Inquisition's base. Going there means... well, he doesn't know what it means, but it's bad. More important people, bigger trouble.
He doesn't move yet, hoping to buy time by dragging his feet.

afternoon;

[minrathousian]

There's nothing left for Atticus to do, at this stage, but wait and see what result his gamble yields him.

After spending a morning at work in the library, he has been returned to his cell in the jail and left to his thoughts for the interminable hours until nightfall. He alternates between sorting through his notes, making additional annotations to work that has been brought to him, and, of course, letting his mind ghost along the periphery of sleep; stepping into the Fade is one way to alleviate the wretched tedium of his present condition.

Now, however, he's very much awake, and grimacing at the broken state of his spectacles (courtesy of Ser Coupe).

[venaterribles]

There's a small commotion in the hall just before Atticus' cell: a visitor entering and offering his pleasant greetings, a scuffle, a thump. The Templar guard's groaning exhale as he slumps against the adjacent wall indicates he's still very much alive, if not currently uncomfortable and most likely unconscious. His impact is prelude to footsteps that come around him and to the bars of Atticus' cell, where a humbly-dressed dockworker stands.

"Magister," he whispers in pleasant surprise, the pilfered keys in his hands jangling as he begins to try them in the lock. "Glad to see you looking so well, ser. I'll have you out momentarily and we'll be on our way." Rufus offers a reassuring smile, quite convincing coming from him.

[minrathousian]

The commotion draws Atticus' attention in a way that few other visitors to the dungeons have so far--not because he is especially concerned for the fate of the Templar who has now been rendered unconscious, but because for what purpose might someone within the Inquisition do such a thing? He sits very still, guardedly watching for the arrival of his latest 'guest'.

Then he sees him, and though his expression registers very little change, it takes tremendous effort to still his outrage over this unexpected wrench thrown into the gears of his machinations.

"Basco," he says flatly, eyes flicking from his face to the key ring he fumbles with. "On our way to where, exactly?"

[venaterribles]

Though he looks slightly confused by the question, Rufus offers a good-natured, reassuring smile. Atticus has been in captivity for a time, perhaps he's been addled by the experience.
"To Minrathous," he replies, finding the right key and turning it with a click, and now his smile fades. "Magister Artemaeus has taken Octavius and Otho into her custody, and won't release them until you and Benedict have returned." Letting himself into the cell, he steals a look around. "Is he held nearby?"

[minrathousian]

"Magister Artemaeus has taken Octavius and Otho into her custody--"

The rest of what the captain of his household guard says to him doesn't register at first. Atticus feels a great ringing in his ears suddenly, and remembers clearly a dream of a black, cavernous chamber, of a floor pooling with blood, and the sight of his son, so young and small, standing in the middle of it, his face streaked with tears, the keening of his cries triggering an animalistic reaction from Atticus that he still hates recalling--

(He bridles under the sudden onslaught of Uncomfortable Thoughts and jerks his attention to the present, to matters he can actually attend--and wouldn't that be an excellent ploy, he muses, staring back at Basco with cold, pale eyes. Yes, Calpurnia would have known what weaknesses to exploit, she has always been admirably ruthless in that capacity. Was Basco capable of it? Atticus curses himself for not paying the man more attention when it mattered.)

"No," he replies carefully, "he is not. I'm unsure where he's currently quartered; we've been separated for some time now." His thoughts race; he must stall for time, but to what end? To determine whether this is some trick on the part of his previous associates to lure him out of the relative safety of his current imprisonment? It must be, he concludes, for no one in his family could possibly be stupid enough to send the captain of his household guard to the heart of bloody southern Thedas just to fetch him back to the Imperium.

He presses. "How did you discover my whereabouts?"