faderift | [CLOSED] Smoke & Mirrors: Kirkwall

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[CLOSED] Smoke & Mirrors: Kirkwall

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.

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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.

Thank the Maker. Anders couldn't see any way in which having to chase after or attack the man would have gone well. Suspicion and instinct are fine and dandy for other people to claim. He'd be on very thin ice, and it's entirely possible Medicine Seller would be too.

"Someone please catch the bird? Carefully. And then you can send its note and what was to go out during his shift to a department head by trusted runner, please." Anders glances at Medicine Seller to make sure they're on the same page there while giving him room to command their surrendered agent if he'd like.

The Medicine Seller paid little heed now that the man had surrendered, and instead focused on luring the agitated raven with the promise of some dried meat from his medicine pack.

He was, on the whole, good with most animals that didn't bark, and the bird was gobbling the jerky from his palm while he retrieved the note from the bird's leg.

"I'll see to it they take these -" he gestured vaguely to all the correspondence in progress "-To the aproppriate head. Will you be able to handle this man?"

He blinks, but a second later Anders nods. Considering how much time he's spent in custody, and escaping, he thinks he can handle one prisoner.

"Come along," he says to the man, gesturing to move in front of him. "I escaped from the Circle seven times, so don't think you're going to surprise me." The staff comes off his back just in case. This is no time to be taking unneeded risks.

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.

He probably does deserve it.

And he deserves more than a knife to the back of his calf, but--call it good luck or divine intervention on Araceli's behalf, if that's your jam, but regardless, that knife sinks right into the thick flesh of his leg, and with a shout of pain he goes down. He lands hard on his knees and whips around to look at the injury with wide eyes; likely this is the first time he's ever experienced a wound of this calibre, but his horror is short-lived. With outrage in his eyes, he decides to do the only thing a self-respecting Venatori cultist ought to do in a situation like this: leverage blood magic.

There's a sudden hiss from his leg wound, with what looks like red steam rising from the injury, before he looks back at her, clearly drawing upon the power of his own blood to work a spell.

All things considered, it speaks favourably of the company Araceli keeps despite how varied it is - so many apostates after all - that this is the first time she's seen blood magic in two years of living in Thedas. (The aftermath of the kidnapping might have involved it but dazed as she was, those memories she hasn't ever been in a hurry to recollect.)

No one has ever told her what to do in the face of blood magic. Maybe no one ever anticipated that she'd need to learn too much about it. Silkdart is comfortably secure beneath her sleeve though she's no chance for stealth in this situation, he won't know that it's there. If she can get to the side, if she can move past him.

That's always been where her advantages are. Being small, being fast, being light on her feet.

She still has four knives are her disposal, throwing another one hard to have it clattering past him in the opposite distraction she moves in, drawing her rapier in the right hand as she goes. (She grits her teeth for the inevitable. Blood magic isn't going to be pleasant. Hopefully better than a head full of lyrium the being tossed through the air by a fucking werewolf.)

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[CLOSED] Smoke & Mirrors: Kirkwall

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