faderifting: (Default)
Fade Rift Mods ([personal profile] faderifting) wrote in [community profile] faderift2017-11-19 11:21 pm

A SEA OF DEATH

WHO: Anyone/Everyone
WHAT: A trip to sunny Nevarra
WHEN: Mid-Firstfall
WHERE: Nevarra City
NOTES: Undead cw. OOC post. We highly encourage using the OOC post for plotting and especially for coordinating strategy among characters participating in Part III.



Following the successful defense of Perendale, the Nevarran crown has extended an invitation to the Inquisition to send representatives to Nevarra City to enjoy its hospitality and gratitude. Most signs point toward an uneventful, perhaps even pleasant, stay, one that could foster a closer relationship between the Inquisition and the Northeast's premier military power. Other signs, however, point toward trouble. The Inquisition has previously addressed early Venatori attempts to influence the king, but reports from agents embedded in Nevarra City indicate that these attempts have resumed. While no immediate danger is expected, everyone will be advised to be on their guard during the visit and keep an eye out for potential enemy activity.

I. TRAVEL & TAVERN

The swiftest route to Nevarra City is to first travel by sea to Cumberland, an uneventful voyage followed by half a day to rest and eat before heading up the Imperial Highway toward the capital. It isn't a large group, consisting only of staff from Kirkwall's outpost who volunteered or were ordered to make the journey, so once on land they're able to move swiftly with horses and carts and spend only one night sleeping aside the road in tents. If there are bandits along the highway, the sight of a uniformed, armed, and relatively organized force on the horizon makes them disappear long before they're reached, and the Inquisition is troubled by nothing but bad weather along the way. The paved highway makes for quick travel despite the rain, except for those who are tasked with detouring off the main road to collect a new party of rifters.

Still, the Inquisition reaches the Nevarra City well after nightfall on the second day, with no time to explore before heading straight to the tavern and inn where they'll be residing during the visit. The Crooked Bone is a large establishment near the center of the city and built for crowds, though it is clearly unprepared for quite this large a number of overnight guests, and the staff may be heard debating the wisdom of taking such a contract, having to cancel and refuse other guests to fit the whole Inquisition contingent, but apparently making a pretty penny and earning favor with some unnamed royal courtier in exchange. Even though the Inquisition has been granted exclusive use of the inn for its stay, it fills up the available rooms without anyone, no matter how high-ranking, permitted a room of their own.

But it isn't an altogether uncomfortable arrangement, and definitely preferable to sleeping in tents. There's hot food downstairs at nearly any hour, not to mention ale and wine, served at long tables in a large room with space at the center for dancing—when there's music, which there won't be now unless someone among the Inquisition wishes to provide it—and a cheery sort of atmosphere lingers despite the decor, which tends toward dark wood and skeleton motifs. It's warmed by the proliferation of lanterns of all shapes and sizes, and the fire burning merrily in every grate, which combined with the full house lends the place a surprisingly cozy feel. Plus, the Inquisition's takeover of the inn means it can maintain its own security and thus genuinely relax indoors, something that won't be so true upon venturing out into the city.

II. NEVARRA CITY

Nevarra's capital city sits on the banks of the Minanter, where the river winds down through the hills that mark the border between Nevarra and its rival Orlais. The city is tucked into a high valley, surrounded by sharp cliffs and studded with rocky spires. The few tributaries of the Minanter that once flowed through have been rerouted into a central channel that tumbles down a fake falls into a large reflecting pool in the city's main park, feeding a fountain in the shape of a trio of water-spewing dragons. The City is renowned for its art and culture, grand buildings and meticulously manicured landscaping, unusually clean cobbled streets and soaring halls carved with intricate adornment. Though no longer as large or as busy as Cumberland, it is a wealthy city, and the immaculately dressed majority will not hesitate to stare at the Inquisition interlopers in their midst. They are frank about their curiosity and also about their suspicions: Nevarra has no love for Orlais, and the Inquisition has far more close ties to the southern Empire than anyone here is comfortable with.

Originally a Tevinter stronghold, the oldest parts of the city are distinctly Imperial in style, all polished, seamless black marble, like the columns that line the boulevard leading from the heart of the city up to the Castrum Draconis, where King Markus holds court. The way to the royal fortress is lined with statues, the finest examples of the hundreds of figures that exist throughout the city, likenesses of every hero and dragon-slayer, kings and generals. At this time of year, each noble family honors its famous ancestors with processions, marching through the city to drape their family's statues in the house colors.

These parades take many forms, from the loud and gaudy to the solemn and torchlit, attended by thousands or just a handful. The richest houses hire troupes of actors to man the streets beside the statues of their predecessors, costumed and acting out the most famous triumphs of their subject's life. This year, as the king's health declines, the competing efforts of the Pentaghasts and Van Markhams and their respective supporters take on a new urgency. Every theater in Nevarra has been emptied and some further afield too, to fill the long, black marble boulevard before the castle with players staging elaborate recreations of dragon hunts and historic battles. Accusations of sabotage, petty turf wars, or players making impromptu cameos in their rivals' shows raise tempers ever higher and the unlucky or unwary may be caught in the midst of a street brawl as tensions threaten to spill over.

The situation in the court itself is no less fraught, though the simmering anxiety is more successfully kept behind closed doors. The King is old, and that he is failing is no longer a secret. His mind has not gone, but his strength has, and he is only capable of brief spates of sharp attention before the effort exhausts his resources and he begins to drift or doze. He is constantly attended by a rotating trio of Mortalitasi, his most trusted companions. He holds court for roughly an hour a day, perhaps two if he is feeling especially hale, and courtiers are in constant competition to be among the few blessed with the king's personal attention. All other business is handled by a handful of advisors, most of long standing. While the Inquisition's representatives are welcomed, and official gratitude expressed for the assistance at Perendale, they may find the reception rather cool overall. The nobility is particularly wary, of Orlesian influence, foreign or Chantry factions meddling in the succession, of the potential threat to Nevarra if the sleeping dragon of the Imperium is poked too hard. It will take careful and strategic mingling indeed to begin to truly win anyone here over.

III. THE NECROPOLIS

Toward the end of the Inquisition's stay, a rare invitation will be extended to its members: an opportunity to tour the Grand Necropolis outside of Nevarra City, proffered out of awareness that its customs are seen as barbaric to outsiders and in hopes that a better understanding of Nevarra's customs will facilitate a better working relationship. The Inquisition will not require any particular person to attend the tour. It is a delicate subject, and one that may rightly make many people squeamish or afraid. But it would be rude not to send representatives, so those who are willing and curious enough to agree will be sent to meet Tivadar Nancollas, one of the Mortalitasi, at the entrance.

Within the walls, the Necropolis is nearly large enough to be a city of its own, were any of its population alive. It is divided into a warren of countless crypts, wound through with passageways. Those maintained by Nevarra's ancient families are enormous and ornate, paths as wide as real streets leading through a maze of oversized statuary and gilded rooms fit for living nobility. Others are smaller and simpler. Some belong to families that have since died out entirely and have fallen into disrepair, though the Mortalitasi see still to the remains within. There are vast public crypts as well, where the inexpertly mummified bodies of Nevarra's poor and nameless are housed en masse if delivered to the Necropolis from outlying communities. The one constant is the smell: the pervasive spicy-sweet aroma of the incense burned in censers throughout the Necropolis, heavy enough to cling to clothes and hair for hours afterwards, and give headaches to those unused to the scent.

As the group passes each crypt, Tivadar names its owner and perhaps some of the better-known figures residing within. The Pentaghast crypt is particularly enormous, and he guides the group inside, past the crowd of still and staring dead, for a brief glimpse at King Caspar still and silent on his throne, crown atop the wispy remains of his hair, finery conspicuously new yet crafted in the style of ages past, the blade of the sword laid across his lap still razor-sharp.

In contrast to the enraged corpses that may have climbed out of bogs or emerged from caves to attack Inquisition agents in their past travels, these possessed corpses are remarkably sedate. They do move: they may blink or turn their heads to watch someone pass, eyes (or eye sockets, depending on the age and wealth of the deceased) glowing with the presence of something otherworldly. But they seem content with watching, until—

(There's always an until.)

—deep in center of the Necropolis, where some of the oldest crypts are falling into ruin and even the Mortalitasi's careful work can't keep all the skin on the corpses' bones, Tivadar disappears—magic, perhaps, or a trick door, or some combination of the two—and the sealed door to a nearby crypt creaks open.

The corpses that lurch out of it are not sedate. They're rabid and grasping, red-eyed, and ready to claw and bite and pursue the Inquisition through the Necropolis' streets. These first enraged mummies count among the poor and poorly kept—they're numerous, but unarmed, brittle. As they push the Inquisition back through the streets, however, their presence seems to awaken the mummies that had previously sat or stood calmly elsewhere. Some of them retreat deeper into their crypts as if frightened. Others do not retreat, but join the swarm in attack. And the further the fighting progresses toward the doors, with the red-eyed corpses stirring each crypt they pass too close to to action, the better preserved and better armed the dead become, until they are wielding swords with names and clad in the dragon-scale armor of the royal houses themselves.
universal_charm: (Default)

Re: i

[personal profile] universal_charm 2017-11-27 04:00 am (UTC)(link)

"The ocean is even deeper and more fathomless. I wouldn't suggest it," Kirk shook his head, leaning against the rail beside James. He didn't say to much beyond that, wanting to draw James into conversation, into telling him what was on his mind. Though, given time, he would just outright ask. Trying to subtle route first.

circleprodigy: (neutral)

[personal profile] circleprodigy 2017-11-27 04:17 am (UTC)(link)
Mediation is a noble thought, though Inessa can't help but think it might sour Nevarran attitudes, for Inquisition folk to get involved. They had already played a major part in ending the war in Orlais; surely Nevarra would be wary of that level of influence here. Even so, chaos benefits no one. She responds to Kirk with a nod.

"I'm certain they must. Whether the guard is unbiased enough is another matter, but I believe they must be present somewhere nearby. It's a public event, after all."
circleprodigy: (earnest)

[personal profile] circleprodigy 2017-11-27 04:18 am (UTC)(link)
"Bias is always inherent to some degree, which is why I find it helpful to seek as many sources as possible. Speaking to just one or two members of a group only reveals a very limited view, whatever their opinions. The more context you have, the more you can see the bigger picture.

"It's true that there are deep divisions in Thedas, many of which have a long history and are not easily resolved. The matter of the elves is more of the same, really. I cannot speak of the Dalish as they are not my native culture, but I was originally from an alienage in Ferelden. The time I spent there before living in a Circle was short -I came into my magic young- but I remember enough to have that perspective as well."

Inessa shrugs and gestures for Garahel to approach the food cart alongside them. "He has behaved, I suppose there's no reason to deny him a treat." She rubs his head, and Garahel practically wiggles with excitement.
utulien_aure: Fingon with a sword (Sixty)

[personal profile] utulien_aure 2017-11-27 04:31 am (UTC)(link)
"Terrible, aren't they?" Fingon agrees, flashing him a bright grin. "Thankfully, now they can't protest while we give a critique of their work."

Elven eyes, less encumbered by the dark, sweep the room to assess their enemy.

"Don't be too disappointed; it's much harder here for us as well. I left my lamp at home, sadly, but-" he nods, "five of them to your left, ten yards away."
tar_minyatur: (young and bold)

[personal profile] tar_minyatur 2017-11-27 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
"You speak wisdom - tis a pity more do not bother to do so!" He nods, following along with her.

"An alienage? Forgive me, but the terms here are still somewhat odd to my ears. Would you tell me of those times, or is that too rude to ask?"

He grins.

"He is very well behaved indeed!"
doneisdone: (scipio)

[personal profile] doneisdone 2017-11-27 04:49 am (UTC)(link)
Her expression is weary as she notices him sitting near her, but Teren doesn't stop her stitching. Great.
"I largely don't know what sort of town it is," she mutters, "I prefer not to know, if you must ask."
universal_charm: (Default)

[personal profile] universal_charm 2017-11-27 04:52 am (UTC)(link)

He glanced at her, arching a brow of his own this time.

"You're a very stern sort of woman, aren't you?" he inquired, sipping his drink finally. "Reminds me of an admiral of mine I served under. I quite liked her."

lyriumcarved: (little wolf)

[personal profile] lyriumcarved 2017-11-27 05:09 am (UTC)(link)
The fact that she seems to have missed out on reading Varric's account of things... is a very good thing, in Fenris' mind. It'll make things all the more tolerable, without those typical probing questions that most people have on first meeting him. Sure, it might be a bit frustrating having to fully explain certain things like the lyrium brands, but... well, at least she's not prying into that. That earns a small amount of respect points from him.

"Drinks sound like a good idea. Let's see what this place has to offer."
exequy: (15)

[personal profile] exequy 2017-11-27 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
[ Kostos' eyes stay mainly on his series of drinks, except when they're on Nell's face, for half-seconds at a time during the moments he's most confident she won't be looking back at him. He's the sort of angry that's inward-focused, the sort that makes him quiet, the sort he can sustain for months before he finally starts shouting. For the first several minutes, he takes the silence as a challenge and refuses to rise to it. After ten, between the alcohol and the breeze, he's removed enough to have decided otherwise, but it takes another five minutes and two shots for him to stop feeling awkward about how long it's taken him to speak up and actually do it— ]

How long had you been planning that?

[ —resentfully, more so than he really would like to sound, but once his mouth is open he can't help it. ]
circleprodigy: (observant)

[personal profile] circleprodigy 2017-11-27 05:15 am (UTC)(link)
"Thank you for asking, but I don't consider it impolite. And I will, afterward." Inessa purchases some grilled chicken for Garahel and roasted cashews for herself, not really wanting such details to be revealed in front of a random food vendor. She'll wait for Elros should he want to purchase anything, as well. Only when all snacks have been received, will she step away. Lowering a piece of chicken for Garahel, she smirks as he practically inhales it. Bottomless pit, indeed. After a handful of her own snack, she

"An alienage is an elven community within a larger city, walled off from the rest. They were established by Divine Renata I following the Exalted March upon the Dales, as a space within a human settlement set aside for those of the elven people who submitted to human rule. Those refused became the nomadic Dalish. Every city has an alienage, with the exception of Halamshiral, which was the capital of the Dales. It's remains largely elven in population; the humans that form the privileged minority live separately in the High Quarter."
tar_minyatur: (far seeing)

[personal profile] tar_minyatur 2017-11-27 05:46 am (UTC)(link)
"The absolute worst."

Elros grins at that, sharply.

"Hah! Good point. I wish Elrond was here though, he was always better at that sort of thing than me, even before we chose different fates."

He nods, almost bouncing in his eagerness.

"Thanks. I wonder if we could light them on fire... although I suppose that might be a little rude."
tar_minyatur: (tar minyatur)

[personal profile] tar_minyatur 2017-11-27 05:53 am (UTC)(link)
Elros buys some dried fruit and he's sharing with Garahel as much as he's eating himself as he follows her to a more private location.

He frowns as he listens.

"But why wall you away? And I take it there was a war, if the elves are considered subjected people."
faithlikeaseed: (blind - :T)

[personal profile] faithlikeaseed 2017-11-27 05:55 am (UTC)(link)
"No trouble," Myr replies with a smile--a tired smile, but a smile all the same. It's nice to have people not act strange about it, especially when he hasn't got much in the way of filters. "Sorry for running into you in turn. --I've had occasion to," he's in the habit of following walls with his fingertips, "and they are quite fine, but the motif's not quite to my tastes."

His tone is dry for the understatement.
doneisdone: (thoughtful)

[personal profile] doneisdone 2017-11-27 05:58 am (UTC)(link)
Focusing on her work again, Teren angles her head slightly, glancing at Kirk out of the corner of her eye and otherwise not looking at him. "Mm," she intones, "lucky her."
It's a wonder she doesn't have more friends.
faithlikeaseed: (blind - happy)

[personal profile] faithlikeaseed 2017-11-27 06:25 am (UTC)(link)
He'd definitely get in trouble for that. They both would--Myr for not stopping him, now that the shape of this fine little encounter's begun to unfold. (At one point he'd've been credulous enough to take them up on the offer and not see the teeth behind it; thank Kirkwall he's not, now.)

Best to try talking, first; it's what he's good at. "I'm afraid I've got to back my friend up here, gentlemen," he answers, with a sweet and apologetic smile. It looks unfeigned, and that's what matters. "We've neither of us the wherewithal to purchase a guide, but we certainly appreciate the offer."

He reaches out a hand to rest on Gareth's shoulder, like he's steadying the other mage. Practically it's an opportunity to tag Gareth with a fragment of a tracker glyph (Myr should ask before doing that, he knows, but now's not the time with the situation as brittle as it is--and if he's got to play support it will help to pick Lúcio in this meta know where he's casting).
exequy: (41)

[personal profile] exequy 2017-11-27 06:34 am (UTC)(link)
Kostos comes closer to take the cup without sitting down and tilts it to look at its contents as best he can, with the shadows cast by the firelight, and says, “I don’t like them.”

He might not be serious. At minimum he’s self-aware about how unfair that is and how he shouldn’t go around saying it to near-strangers, in a way that borders on humor even if it doesn’t quite cross over into it. Looking up from the cup, he likewise borders on a smile: not quite there, but there’s something friendly tucked in the corners of his eyes.

“I’m Kostos Averesch,” he says, “and you are Loghain Mac Tir.”

Famous, infamous—but Kostos isn’t a trophy hunter. There won’t be any bragging in any taverns.

He hasn’t touched the contents of the cup yet, but he shifts it absently, a slow-motion swirl. “I have heard that Grey Wardens are lonely. I have also heard that they cannot walk through a village without being propositioned twice.” He raises the cup halfway, then pauses, and goes on with the air of a man genuinely thinking it through as he goes, not delivering a speech: “Both can be true.”
rowancrowned: (004)

[personal profile] rowancrowned 2017-11-27 06:39 am (UTC)(link)
“All will be returned to normal soon enough,” he assures her with a glance over his shoulder as she urges her horse faster.

She comes closer to join him, and he indicates something to the southeast, something beyond even his sight. “There is a grove,” Thranduil says. “A bed of soft moss—flowers. Crystal grace. It is quiet, and remote enough that we will not be interrupted for the several hours I intend to keep you there.”

He would wrap a girdle around it, just to be safe. He will not risk the library incident occurring a second time.
circleprodigy: (more arm-crossing)

[personal profile] circleprodigy 2017-11-27 06:48 am (UTC)(link)
Between Inessa and Elros -literally- Garahel is one happy mabari. He quickly gobbles whatever is faster to drop and goes back for the rest, contently chomping away. "There was, in the form of the Exalted March I mentioned. The Chantry's forces saw to the end of the Dales as a sovereign nation; since then, it has been under the governance of the empire of Orlais. It was not the first homeland of the elven people; that was Arlathan, long since destroyed. But, back to alienages--"

She glances around the foreign city, her gaze lingering on the statues of dragonslayers. "The walls keep out more than they keep in. While there are rarely laws preventing integration, an elf or elven family who moves into a human area can be subjected to harassment and violence. The saying 'safety in numbers' applies in some sense to alienages, where they can preserve their culture and are less of a target." She says all this in a calm, matter-of-fact manner. This is the way it's been for several ages, and she is no immortal elf; for her, this has been the status quo all her life.
elegiaque: (103)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2017-11-27 07:00 am (UTC)(link)
Although she'd considered it - and although an argument could have been made, particularly when Thranduil had gifted her with the beast for the express purpose of her protection - Hardie did not accompany Gwenaëlle to Nevarra and as such does not mirror whatever the name is of the animal accompanying Loghain. In all likelihood, he is now under Kieran's bed, as he is wont to be when not trotting after her, and

none of that is particularly meaningful, but judging from the way she's sat up in bed, hands folded neatly in her lap and gaze resting blankly on the dog, she hasn't actually been to sleep at all. It's just noise to fill her mind, the quiet shifts of everyone else in the room rendering it impossible to relax even the incremental amounts she's used to forcing to sleep.

Her still wakefulness is, historically, mildly unsettling; the moreso when it's like this, stiff and brittle, a small shadow in the flicker of firelight, expressionless.
tar_minyatur: (tar minyatur)

[personal profile] tar_minyatur 2017-11-27 07:18 am (UTC)(link)
The frown deepens.

"That seems very foolish on everyone's part - surely, it would be better for a subjugated nation to either be properly integrated, or... well. Left alone, subject to ... taxes, or whatever. As it stands, it sounds like all that has happened is that resentment and isolationism has been allowed to build."
in_death_sacrifice: (repairing the rift)

[personal profile] in_death_sacrifice 2017-11-27 07:20 am (UTC)(link)
"You're full of suggestions and ideas tonight, aren't you? Not that it's such a bad thing..." He sighs, knowing that he does tend to overdo it on the armor. Quite a bit. There were a couple of balls he'd been forced to back home, mostly for Cecil and Rosa's sake, where he'd worn the armor and been pestered by the two until he changed his attire.

"Well, fine, fine, if you insist." He doesn't seem too upset by it, given who's doing the asking. She gets away with a lot, that others never could. He heads over to start removing pieces of it, one by one, starting with the easier bits like gauntlets first. "And is the request? Would you prefer me shirtless?" There's even a sort of teasing note to his tone there, something he's still getting used to doing, with her, but it comes more naturally these days.
arlathvhen: (19)

[personal profile] arlathvhen 2017-11-27 07:28 am (UTC)(link)
Two things occur to Beleth at once—First, this is not who she thought it was. Second, that Herian appears to be doing something roughly similar to smiling, if you squint. A lot.

Her knee jerk reaction tells her to be vitriolic, that memory of Sina’s pained face lingering. But Sina has changed her mind since then, and seems fine with Herian now. So...she’s probably not too bad. And besides, this is no place to bring up old, petty grudges, and she is expected to behave better than that. So instead, Beleth flashes a small smile of her own.

“Do you mean that we aren’t dead, or aren’t Nevarran? Neither will be changing any time soon, I imagine.” As much as Beleth makes jokes otherwise. “I’m finding Nevarra...fascinating, really. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m enjoying the chance to expand my worldview.” The longer she stays with the Inquisition, the more of the world she sees, things that she never could have imagined seeing, when her world was the forests her clan travelled. She’s constantly reminded of just how little she really knows—and perhaps, that’s a good thing to be reminded of, now and again.
misdirection_hex: (don't fucking go there)

[personal profile] misdirection_hex 2017-11-27 07:33 am (UTC)(link)
There is a difference, Vandelin has assumed, between undesired and unexpected corpses out in the open, corpses you wish you hadn't seen (or made), and corpses at stately peace in what Nevarrans, in their infinite fucked-upedness, consider a respectful way of laying them to rest. He's been looking forward to exploring that difference. Death as a theory is well and good, his lifelong bread and butter, and death in brutal wartime practice is a horror he's uncomfortable with his own discomfort with--but death as ceremony seems like just the happy medium he needs. And for the duration of their guided tour, where he drifts over to his cousin's side and spends the latter half providing murmured commentary and sharing absurd old jokes about Hasmali politics, it is.

He ought to have known better. Pessimism pays off in preparation; he should have remembered that. The one blessing he'll count, as he yanks his staff from his back and defends himself with a pale and short-lived echo of his cousin's barrier, is that their enemies' nature is a double-edged sword. Insensible they may be to any mental torment he might conceive, and there's no cursing them with mortality when they're already dead--but there's no place an entropy mage can feel stronger or more indestructible than inside a massive crypt.

The air hangs tense and heavy with potential energy, every single once-person in this crypt lingering in the Fade in a way he can claim, consume, demand and turn back on them eye-for-eye. He doesn't bother with another barrier when his winks out, snagged like a bubble and torn to pieces by a single flailing smack from a headless mummy. He reaches past it instead, grabs for its Fadeself, extends his arm for that animating force and drinks it in as if he could absorb it through his skin. It falls to pieces all at once, spent--and when its companion strikes out at him with a long-rusted dagger still sharp enough to cut, the gash closes again as quickly as it had opened.

Inessa has a more practical idea. The wave of heat and force is their best chance at thinning the horde enough to press through it, better against these flammable dead things than any blizzard Vandelin could create and more efficient than a single spirit blade, but the mummies can't feel pain as they burn, and it doesn't stop them. Racking his brain for a solution, watching Myr fight illuminated by the flames, a memory stirs--

"Did Enchanter Sharona ever show you how to do this with creation magic? Look, nobody will miss those barrels, but you have to see what happens--"

He thinks himself into the Fade, forces what he needs to take clumsy shape--he's never needed this spell in such quantity before, but Myr always told him it could supply twelve gallons. He gets ten, drenching the oncoming corpses with pure, slick accelerant, priming them for Inessa's fire.
elegiaque: (127)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2017-11-27 08:31 am (UTC)(link)
Not the end of it, at least.

“I could get used to being surprised by you,” she says, speculative, imagining it - she needn't, when she'll see it soon enough, but she does all the same. “If the surprises are like this one.”

Nevarra is-

difficult. She'd grown used to Thranduil's companionship, steady breathing beside her lulling an unfamiliar ease into her; to return so abruptly to nights spent wakeful and distracted has been challenging enough, without adding to it the stresses of travel and of being forced to share her space with as good as strangers. Yva is no comfort to her, only another interloper in her privacy that she's accustomed to being able to dismiss and now cannot - she sleeps poorly, rises weary and irritable, misses her house and her dog and Kieran and quiet, most of all.

Complaining would help nothing and only make her feel worse, so she doesn't. She doesn't ask for anything she wishes for, either, a habit she's never quite got into - demanding the things she knows can't be denied her, certainly, but admitting the small vulnerability of needing anything?

No.

She will go without, rather than admit the wants that don't fit the picture of her others have painted; she never told Asher she wouldn't have minded if he'd lifted her and spun her about like a peasant girl, and she'd never have asked Thranduil for what he's arranged, but it is a particular gift for it to be so specifically what she would wish, if she were of a mind to do the asking.
dashing: (♛ coimhead.)

[personal profile] dashing 2017-11-27 08:58 am (UTC)(link)
“Both - and you cannot forget the grave sin of not being nobles.”

Not being human and not being human enough were too different to be muddled together, even if they were a related problem, so to speak. Besides, there was more the issue that she wasn’t the right type of human, and that way lay a trail of self-loathing and potential debate she’d sooner not dip into hastily, not at this present moment. If she were feeling more positively self-reflective, rather than needling at herself with impressive thoroughness and efficiency, this would be the moment to reflect that it’s good she isn’t close to shaking, so engaged with one of the Dalish. No positive self-reflection today, though, not for a fairly meager accomplishment of basic functionality.

Despite this thorough angst and internal dramatics, Herian mostly just looks as serious as she ever does.

“I am awed, in turns, by how vastly different and the same things can be across Thedas. Whether matters are irreconcilable or whether there is common ground seems like to vary dramatically, depending what light they are viewed under.”

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