faderift | [CLOSED] Smoke & Mirrors: Kirkwall

[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.]

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'.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The scales were, mercifully, silent. Well, they turned a bit back and forth, rather like weather vanes, but they never once tilted.

The Medicine Seller tucked the raunchy novel back under the pillow he'd found it under and approached Araceli, examining the locket.

...It looked like something to do with the Chantry - not that he really knew the ins-and-outs of the various iterations of the insignia.

"I take it the symbol is of significance," he said, and meandered over to the chest to go peer around for clues or anything to indicate who it might belong to while others more knowledgeable than him sorted more important matters out.

The contents of the chest that the Medicine Seller rummages through appear to be fairly nondescript, besides the locket that Araceli has found. There is, however, a book of scouting techniques buried near the bottom of the stack of personal belongings, and upon opening it to inspect it for other details, a name is inscribed in the bottom: Aglaos Eratosthenes.

That name, coupled with the subject matter, would be enough on its own to indicate someone worth investigating. However, when Anders picks up a book atop the dresser, a slip of paper comes loose and flutters to the ground. Written on it appears to be a hastily scrawled note indicating shifts in the Rookery. One has been underlined as significant, for whatever reason... and should someone happen to note the time, they'd notice that that time is fast approaching.

"It's for the Imperial Chantry," Anders explains to the Medicine Seller as he takes it from Araceli, frowning. "Teinvter."

He bends down to pick up the piece of paper that's fallen as well, expression grim. They've found something, all right. That it's in the mage quarters... Maker. Non-mage agents get forgotten, but mages get extra scrutiny. This is not what they need and he's tense.

"This has times." There's an urgent note in his voice now. "Shifts at the Rookery, and it's nearly to the underlined time. We may need to relocate and see if we can catch whomever it is doing whatever... Mm. Or if we get there before they send a message out, that might be preferable. Catching them after could be too late."

Downing a bird would be a bad idea.

Cutting off the curse that almost threatens, Araceli looks at the times then away. It might be a gamble to split up but they'll be able to cover more ground if they do it, especially if there's now a time restriction being imposed on them.

"Do we all want to go to the rookery or does anyone want to keep looking while two of us go?" Araceli asks since that's going to be the biggest issue for them, the fallout of Tevinter symbols amongst mage possessions one that can come after. "I'd say I'd scout ahead but we wouldn't be able to stay in contact as easily, I'd have to stop to use the sending crystal if I'm climbing, and saying we're going on a legitimate reason looks better for going; extra details for a report that got missed from an assignment."

"I'd prefer if we all went. We might outnumber whomever is going, that way." And he'll no longer be skulking about snooping in mage quarters. It's definitely getting to him, demonstrated by the way he keeps looking at the door.

"What do you think?" It'll be the Medicine Seller's vote that decides it.

"If my inability to tell the insignia of the Tevinter Chantry from the Thedas Chantry is any indication..."

He narrowed his eyes as the scales flooded back into their drawer like a flock of white, jeweled starlings.

"...I will be quite useless staying behind here. Let us go."

Araceli nods, part of her used to splitting up but Venatori is still a wound more raw than she would like so she tucks the locket inside her coat; the best thing about being able to afford Orlesian tailoring isn't fancy dresses for whatever parties the Inquisition requires you attend, it's having pockets sewn inside that don't bulge awkwardly or show once you button yourself back up.

Lux hasn't made a noise outside the door so she clicks her tongue at the fox when she slips out, smiles as if this is all just another day. "Go chase some birds, ladrón," is all she says before he takes off.

Compared to how long it'd take to get from the barracks in Skyhold to the rookery, especially given the weather, the Gallows is a short jaunt but she's still waiting for eyes on them, for someone who might be out of place; there are odd crowds all the time here it's true but well, forgive her for being paranoid. "Venatori mages are sharp," it's more for the benefit of the Medicine Seller than Anders, as hushed as she can make her voice, "slipping in amongst the mages that way when any sign like that would still be fuel for so many fires is...it's a smart play. Terrible, but someone else happening across it, I don't think it takes much to light that one while still giving them plenty of room to move."

"They have to be sharp," he says equally as quietly. "They're playing for power, and in Tevinter power is everything."

Not like power isn't important everywhere, but Tevinter takes it to extremes. Anders is frowning as he talks and walks. How easy would it be to slip in and pretend to be just another mage? Does he know the traitor? How do you verify that someone isn't a spy when you're trying to work on the future?

The walk isn't made easier by the regular looks he gets as they cross the space. Or how he doesn't know if the guy over in the corner is just sneaking around because he's some sort of agent, or that's how he walks naturally, or maybe, who knows, he's off to see a secret lover. How much time is enough time to spend suspicious, and how much is too much?

"And the mages are one of the easiest groups to direct suspicion and anger toward, and cause division in the Inquisition." It would be nice if they didn't need information out of this person. The Venatori are another obstacle in the path to mage freedom, and he'd much rather shove this one out a rookery window than keep them around. But maybe there will be use for them. "I've no doubt if they could manage to get one of their number a shard they'd go for that too."

They're nearing the tower now, and Anders is trying to watch everything and nothing at once and feeling a bit like he's going cross-eyed.

Once they reach the rookery within the tower, this is the following scene that will confront them:

There are about four or five Inquisition agents at their usual work sorting through messages and identifying intelligence that will need to be passed on to the division heads for further examination.
Nothing appears immediately amiss--except for one thing that Araceli may notice, given her skillset.

One of the agents is subtly watching them while he fastens a message to the leg of one of the crows, lifts it up, and lets it fly free through one of the rookery windows. Nonchalant as ever, he starts to make his way towards the staircase on the opposite side of the room.

A thief's lot is this: you feel eyes on you very quickly or you aren't a thief for very long, at least not without interruption. She doesn't turn, strains the corner of her vision instead to track his progress as she debates if it's worth telling either of the men what she's doing.

She trusts they'll be intelligent enough to figure out that there are a group of people up here who were with the person leaving, and that someone should maybe try getting the jump on them since three people tailing unless it's a game of find the target or cut the target off is a nightmare and there are people here to talk with. They can always catch up.

As quietly as the agent left, so does she.

He sees Araceli depart and is at a little bit of a loss. Not because he thinks she needs backup - she's capable and hadn't said anything as she parted, so she has whatever she's doing handled - but because he doesn't know how to proceed. Here he is, in the Rookery, Anders where there's potentially sensitive information, and the reputable one in the group has just departed.

"Good day?" he offers. It's the closest to stealthy Anders gets.

What Anders and the Medicine Seller may notice, however, is that another figure has paused in his work to look after Araceli as she departs. It's just a fraction of an instant when he glances next towards the two remaining individuals, before he turns quickly to focus on fastening a message to a bird's leg and coaxing it out the window--

"Are you suppose to be up here?" asks one of the young couriers imperiously, planting her hands on her hips. She's inconveniently placed to block Anders and the Medicine Seller from getting a good look at the individual by one of the windows.

For the briefest of moments he hesitates... but then it's gone and Anders straightens. The order came from the division heads. He's not here for his own reasons, he's here because he's actually supposed to be here.

"Yes," Anders answers, looking down at her as much as he can when he's not exactly tall. "We are. You may call Beleth if you'd like to verify this, but you'll need to step out of the way as you do so because you're impeding official business."

It's rather nice that this is the truth, because Anders can't lie for anything. He steps to the side himself and puts a barrier up on the outside of the window, blocking the bird from taking off without harming either bird or person while desperately hoping he's doing the right thing and not overstepping here.

"That bird cannot take off. The letter needs to go to the division heads first." His heart is pounding so hard in his chest he feels like it might rip free, but at least he's not saying that he needs to read the note. Please, Maker, let there be something shady in that message, because if it's some recipe for a casserole they're never going to trust him with anything again.

"Perhaps it would, in fact, be best if all current correspondence be brought to them," the Medicine Seller suggested, peering around the courier so as not to take his eyes off the messenger.

He was the most suspicious in the room, but a few curious glances at three infrequent guests to the rookery and trying to do his job efficiently was hardly the most compelling evidence for treachery.

For all the Medicine Seller knew, the worst he could be up to is making personal correspondence with inquisition resources.

"Operations may be... compromised."

He said it softly enough that only Anders and the courier could hear.

A little bit of authority looks quite good on Anders--or at the very least, it conveys the appearance of command with sufficient believability that the little courier backs down quite quickly, blinking and retreating. "All right, all right."

The bird lets out a squawk as it encounters a barrier, flapping haplessly in place for a moment before twisting in the air and flitting back into the rookery, the message still attached to its ankle. The agent looks after it with a scowl, then looks to both Anders and the Medicine Seller; there's an undeniable line of nervous sweat across his brows now, and he fidgets in place. Whatever he was doing, it wasn't good.

...then, very slowly (and a bit pathetically), he starts to lift both his hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

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justice_is_blond - 2017-11-30 22:06 (UTC) - Expand

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justice_is_blond - 2017-12-01 03:25 (UTC) - Expand

He knows he's being followed, and as soon as he's on the staircase, he breaks out into a full fledged run, taking the stairs three at a time with startling dexterity--but then again,
he likely wouldn't make for a very successful agent if he weren't capable of some physical prowess. All illusion has been discarded in this moment--he knows he's been found out, and the best means of survival at this moment is to escape, to get away, and leave the Inquisition wondering over just how much intelligence he's managed to share with his master's forces--

He bursts through the first available door that he finds and continues his mad sprint away from his pursuer--but over his shoulder, he hurls an ice bolt that flies through the air towards Araceli's legs.

Gritting her teeth, Araceli chases him down. She knows rooftops, the decks of ships, shifting rope bridges and sands, bargepoles and little boats when the bridges weren't there and she runs without any sort of fear. Instinct takes over, a hand out to help keep her balance with the other on the hilt of her rapier as her heart hammers.

Two years in Thedas and she knows magic well enough that the spell grazes her, makes her stumble when it catches her trailing leg as she keeps going. There are throwing knives on her so she uses the moment she has to toss one not to strike but to see what it'll make him do, if she can force him to pay attention to her, not his surroundings.

The thrown knife has the desired effect, and the Venatori agent stumbles apace, throws a glance backward over his shoulder, and has to stagger to avoid bumping into the wall. He's quick to speed up again and bolt around the corner, then stops to whirl around and fling down a fire mine--it's done swiftly, but not so swiftly that Araceli can't twist past it, if she's quick--

Again, Araceli misses the solid weight of a pistol. Even a warning shot fired just right to panic someone, confuse them, have one or both of their ears ringing so they don't know what they're doing or where they're going. Instead she's got knives, her rapiers that she's too far away from and--

Then the world is bursting around her in an explosion of heat that has her crying out, shaking her head as she struggles back to her feet. You've done worse, she thinks as her ears ring, as the heat licks at her fingers, you had broken bones and a head full of lyrium and you still went and fought Venatori like him. So she pushes herself up, swears and throws a second knife when she takes cover at the corner to hold herself up, breathe some air that doesn't taste scorched on her tongue.

A wild shot, aiming for his legs but she doesn't honestly care.

"The last Venatori I fought were braver than you, cabrón," she spits. And then she's singing because he deserves it.

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minrathousian - 2017-11-30 20:08 (UTC) - Expand

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foxsays - 2017-12-02 23:41 (UTC) - Expand

[CLOSED] Smoke & Mirrors: Kirkwall

The barracks

MS - Open (he's helping rly)

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