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.
mactears: (loghain | intense)

[personal profile] mactears 2017-11-28 08:46 pm (UTC)(link)
He gets it--rather lucky timing, all things considered.

Loghain's tactic, thus far, has involved incapacitating as many of the armed, armoured, and shockingly dextrous walking corpses as possible--which means going for the knees. If he can't kill the bloody things, he can at least make it harder for them to kill him.

Kicking one clawing corpse free of his leg, he lets out a taunting shout towards the others that are crowding around Anders and Nathaniel, which has the desired effect of drawing their attention back towards him. As they lurch and lumber towards him, he readies both sword and shield, preparing himself to face the onslaught with gritted teeth and fire in his eyes.
pinprick: (When the dark night seems endless)

[personal profile] pinprick 2017-11-28 09:02 pm (UTC)(link)
"I'm fine!" groans Nathaniel, still out of breath and in the second-most pain he's ever been in his life. No, third-most, the Joining was the second-most. It's important thoughts like this that cross a person's mind in the face of death. "Definitely some breakage," he squeezes out while one boot lashes at the shin of a nearby corpse. "Give me a--got you, bugger--"

The rest of the updates Anders gets are pure profanity while lashing out repeatedly because lying still, while less likely to make him into a shish kebab on his own rib-bones, is more likely to result in his death than kicking the shit out of the bastards when they come close.
justice_is_blond: (Hold still I've got this)

[personal profile] justice_is_blond 2017-11-28 09:35 pm (UTC)(link)
If Nate can answer, he can breathe despite the crushing. It makes some of the pressure in Anders' chest ease up as he tosses a barrier around Loghain.

"We'll get you out of here, love." He blasts a couple back more with force before trusting in Loghain enough to kneel and start stabilizing Nate. There's a few things that need to be done before they can move his husband if they don't want to risk puncturing lungs or worse.

"Shout if you're about to need help, please, Loghain." Better that his healing get interrupted than they get overrun.
earthbones: (Default)

[personal profile] earthbones 2017-11-28 09:59 pm (UTC)(link)
"Dogs where I was are taller. Lean. Hounds for chasing down elk and deer on the hunt, shaggier coats." Less meat on them when the ferals appear, when the bandits set them on her. If they were meant to be anything other than dog then it wasn't worth her time to learn it and no one bothered to catch her up on it. Always something else to take up her time. "It's a shit hunter then, isn't it?" A glutton. An overgrown lumbering mass. Might as well have a sabrecat for all the good it'd do you to try keeping it fed.

"Bosmer," after another mouthful. "I was in Skyrim before so no, they aren't my kin; elf is one word and it's what men calls us but we're mer. They're Altmer or near enough to look at them, maybe not from good pedigrees," someone would cut the tongue from her mouth for that if they heard her saying it, would drag her off to be taught a lesson but it's the truth to set eyes upon them as she has because she's many things but not a fool, "but close to it. You've got the ears but no face tattoos, seen some elves here with them. Of all the stupid things to do to yourself."
arcaneadvisor: (Default)

[personal profile] arcaneadvisor 2017-11-28 10:04 pm (UTC)(link)
"Soon enough his time will come, and then they shall come for the throne before his body is cold; to pick it all clean as scavengers do, squawking as the ravens will when ripping open a bloated cheek upon the battlefield." They're a buffer between everywhere else and Tevinter, which is convenient for all when the enemy has his Venatori draped in something taken from the pages of the oldest histories Morrigan had managed to see when growing up. (Where Flemeth had gotten them from, she never asked. One learnt to stop asking too many things of Flemeth at a young age when it wasn't relevant, when it was too folish to be given a voice.)

An eye on the hound, an ear to the crowds at their back, Morrigan leads the way through the street with no real destination iin mind since she doesn't know Nevarra. Not that it's ever troubled her much - when you can become something else to see a place better why would you worry - but it's new, and unlike Kirkwall this is a place that doesn't have her skin prickling uncomfortably. "If they serve there then they serve, the project has a budget of its own I imagine. No, I speak of how close we are to Tevinter - have you not given it thought? How very hard it is to find things, to put in requests only to have some dusty archivist tell you no in polite formalities? There are possibilites here." Morrigan smiles, her voice lifts, even her shoulders settle back at the idea with some of the seemingly perpetual knot that's been there the past several months slipping for the moment.
arlathvhen: (50)

[personal profile] arlathvhen 2017-11-28 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)
"Well," Beleth says cheerfully, standing up and starting to follow after Anders. "I suppose there's only one way for us to find out." It's exciting, getting to go out and try new things. And she definitely deserves a break.

It takes a few extra strides to get even with Anders, and as soon as she does, Beleth reaches up to gently pet Purrelden, giving her a warm smile. "Hello, da'len. Do you remember me?" A quick glance at Anders, "I gave her bits of meat when I was cooking, back in the Warden Camp. I think most people did, too. It's a wonder she isn't overweight."
arcaneadvisor: (Default)

[personal profile] arcaneadvisor 2017-11-28 11:10 pm (UTC)(link)
Even here, even now, her eyes alight upon Teren as a magpie might on something glittering in a dark place; is it precious or is it simply scrap, a magpie can't tell until it's dragged it out or prodded at it enough.

"You know them well then." A guess, carefully done but going from Ferelden to Orlais you can only say nobles are nobles to get you so far since she'd take a Landsmeet over a ball any day and gladly at that. "Must one watch for tripping over their skirts? Or swordbelt in your case," a gesture since well, a Warden is a Warden wherever they go.
circleprodigy: (yes?)

[personal profile] circleprodigy 2017-11-28 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Garahel instantly whines at Bronach's assessment of him, and Inessa reaches over to stroke his head. "Mabari are bred for war, not hunting. They're social and intelligent, able to understand much of our speech. I have seen him hunt before, and he is capable, but it is not his primary purpose."

Her tone is cool but civil, naturally defensive of her closest companion. Still, she knows Bronach is new and likely still in shock from being tossed into a different world. She deserves some amount of leniency for that, so Inessa won't leave just yet. It's not as though everyone in Thedas is a mabari-lover. "So, 'Mer' is the term for the overall race. What do 'Bosmer' and 'Altmer' mean, specifically? And no, I'm not Dalish. In Thedas, there are two facets of modern elven society. Those with the face tattoos are the nomadic Dalish, who still worship the Creators. Those of us without are city elves, often from an elven alienage in a larger human city. Most of us are Andrastian and worship the Maker."
circleprodigy: (head tilt)

[personal profile] circleprodigy 2017-11-28 11:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Inessa can only nod at mention of the king's fate; it's morbid, to be sure, but likely very apt. Politics aren't any less ruthless because they're not taking place in Orlais, it's just the flavoring that's different. She got a taste of that in the Anderfels, where the First Warden now rules and taints the reputation of the Grey Warden all over Thedas.

This corner of Nevarra is unfamiliar to Inessa as well, but once away from the press of the parade crowd, she relaxes slightly. Garahel has a good sense of smell and direction, so they're never truly lost, and should trouble arise, they are more than capable of defending themselves. "I...have, yes. Research can be limiting at times, when the Chantry has banned various works and made it difficult if not impossible to access them from southern lands. Even without the power to enforce such decrees now, distance and time can be a factor in discovering them. Whatever can be brought back from here can only improve our chances."

She glances to Morrigan, thoughtful. "I meant to seek your thoughts on a specific matter, actually. The orb my team found in the Blackmarsh was given to your project. Have you inspected it?"
rowancrowned: (044)

[personal profile] rowancrowned 2017-11-29 01:53 am (UTC)(link)
"We are here to see and be seen," he says. "To spend coin and not make a nuisance of ourselves."

He has other tasks, meetings, reports from scouts, but even he has been able to carve out enough free time to attend to his own needs, to visit tailors, to overhear things in taverns. And to see the elves he's missed.

"I suspect our Pentaghast would shudder to hear me say so, but I cannot help but admit this has been... relaxing. I hope your wandering are pleasurable. Have you found anything of note yet?"
meds4sale: (Haughty and cruel)

[personal profile] meds4sale 2017-11-29 02:12 am (UTC)(link)
It was quite an amusing song and the Medicine Seller even had enough context of the world by now to find the humour in it (or perhaps it was just the mystery blend of herbs they were smoking). Whatever the case, it got a soft little chuckle out of him. Wren's question even moreso.

"An apprentice herbalist, of course," he said. It was an honest answer to the question, and yet the kind that didn't solve any mystery anyone actually cared to know.

He took a long hit from the pipe, surveying Beleth as he contemplated an interesting question. Or perhaps...

"A task, perhaps, for a skilled scout. To snatch a token from one of us within the next three rounds without being noticed. However, should you be discovered, you must down..."

He tapped his chin.

"...Five shots. Should you succeed, however, all of us must drink five apiece."
sulena: (32.)

[personal profile] sulena 2017-11-29 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
Although she faces forward once more, Saoirse cuts her eyes toward the noise and motions with a slight frown on her features. The thought of being an elf in the middle of a mob goes unspoken as she nods, brushing a strand of hair behind one ear and starting a pace away from where everything seems to be growing from.

"I haven't seen many, mind you. Mostly they were in Orlais and it was much more... like a fancy play, I suppose. More frills too."
rowancrowned: (013)

[personal profile] rowancrowned 2017-11-29 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
"Brónach," he says. "Mae l'ovannen," for all it is worth, but he will stand on ceremony between the two of them when he meters out use of his language and grander displays of his culture to the peoples of Thedas.

"Have you any questions that have yet gone unanswered?" The things he himself had struggled with, coaxed the answers out of books or other Inquisition members, displeased with his own inability to find the answers.

She is-- refreshing. Another example of his kin out in words beyond this one. That satisfies him. Her wariness is something he does not read into. It is not worth peeling back yet.
tar_minyatur: (twins of the star)

[personal profile] tar_minyatur 2017-11-29 04:19 am (UTC)(link)
"The full tale is a very long one, and I am not the best to tell it, as the worst of it occurred long before I was born." Elros follows her over and sits down with a sigh.

"It involves several people including two who would become very dear to me, making some incredibly stupid decisions in the heat of the moment, which ... well. While it might be normal here for the Dalish to stand aside from the other elves, in mine, it is unthinkable, the worst of sins. Or well. It was. Until Feanor and his sons, in grief and rage, swore an oath that would eventually set them against their own people, leading to no less than three slayings of elf by elf. The first time, as I understand it, was as much an accident as deliberate, but it resulted in the kinsmen of the Teleri, the sea-elves of Aman, to refuse alliance with the Noldor, the deep-elves, when they arrived in Middle-earth, despite that they were all fighting a common Enemy. All for the sake of their slain kin on the other side of the Sea."

He rubs his eyes.

"I am, on my mothers side, descended from those elves, the Sindar of Middle-earth. But on my father's side I am Noldor, and I was raised so, for in the third, and what many consider the worst of the kinslayings, the remaining sons of Feanor came down upon the refuge haven of Sirion, because the Queen of the Sindar held the weregild that they were sworn at all costs to retrieve and refused to yield it. She ...was my mother. And rather than give them the jewel for which her family had bled and died by their brother's hands, she... threw herself into the sea with it, and left my brother and I behind. I must assume she thought us as good as dead, for I cannot forgive her leaving, otherwise. We were six."

He sits hunched, eyes far away in the distance.

"I don't remember much of that time - we were hustled away by servants early, hidden away, although we heard the screaming, of course. But we were found by an elf with sad eyes and a golden voice, and although his armor and sword ran red with blood he was so gentle and patient with us. We should have died there, by rights, my brother and I. But he took us with him, and he and his brother raised us as if we were his own. To this day, my brother identifies as Noldor, not Sindar, a fact which must irritate that side of the family no end! And I, when the choice was put before me, I saw the deep divisions that had resulted in so many deaths, and I rejected my elven heritage entirely to cleave to my mortal grandfather's road instead. I am Elros Earendillion of the House of Hador, and I will walk out into the adventure of death, rather than linger."
rowancrowned: (004)

[personal profile] rowancrowned 2017-11-29 04:22 am (UTC)(link)
"I had no grasp of Thedas, then. Not the whole of it." He would not call himself naive, because that implied innocence. It had been more of an arrogance, but he had been quickly disabused of it. But not before-

"I confess I took some delight in affecting you so," Thranduil admits. "Your curiosity, your manner, your dress. Your newsletter."

How far away that all seemed, their petty bickering, the one-upsmanship. The sort of games he delighted in playing.

"Do you remember," he says, "what I said about my people, and kneeling?"
elegiaque: (073)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2017-11-29 04:28 am (UTC)(link)
She loses some of the easy softness of fond reminiscence, the way her spine straightens answering the question for her before she says a word; yes, of course. It was a remark that had lingered, and she doubts she'll soon (or ever) forget the way it had lodged somewhere between her ribs. She'd remembered it when she looked at her mother, standing steadily a few paces behind her-

“We still have a difference of opinion,” she says, a little more neutrally, “on the definition of 'your' people.”

He'd given her a pass on it, the way she lashed out in the library, absorbed in the deaths of her sisters. The fact remains that she doesn't feel differently when the heat of the moment has cooled, that it has always been a point of contention - if her blood doesn't make them her people, who's he to claim them? It isn't fair, and she's even less inclined to budge now he understands where her antipathy to it comes from.
lifeofendurance: (Intent)

[personal profile] lifeofendurance 2017-11-29 04:30 am (UTC)(link)
"We would do well to quit this place, immediately." What he's not willing to mention is the very obvious fact that they're surrounded and in the dead center of the necropolis. It would take hours to walk out, much less fight out.

Aleron promptly smashes the frozen corpses, shattering them. A quick prayer of gratitude for his wife's magic goes up as he continues slashing, and sometimes kicking, shambling foes. That settled, he looks around to orient himself then points off to the south. "Our exit is that way."
rowancrowned: (025)

[personal profile] rowancrowned 2017-11-29 04:34 am (UTC)(link)
"No." Simply, offering no room for disagreement. "I would prefer that none here know of that. It is unbelievable enough to look at us and know we carry ourselves without stooped shoulders, without fear of the whip or the swords of Men. That we ruled, that I had crown and kingdom... I would appear a madman. And beyond that, what king is a king without subjects? A treasury?"

He gestures, something short and sharp to indicate an absence, a dismissal. Nothing and no one.

"You will find it far easier, but the Dalish will take time to warm to you, if at all." A warning. "The Peredhel here favor the Mannish parent, always. There is no choice. They could render the elvhen extinct if they had a mind to it. The truth of your bloodline will anger them."
byblow: (95)

[personal profile] byblow 2017-11-29 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
"Sure, of course," Alistair says, changing course on a whim to sit beside her on the ground. He's not in any hurry. "The rain was my favorite part, but then I wound up sharing a room with all of Ser Thranduil's long-lost brothers, I assume, so now the rain is my second favorite."

He looks at the fire, then leans forward and cranes obviously sideways to examine the scar over Teren's eye.
tar_minyatur: (far seeing)

[personal profile] tar_minyatur 2017-11-29 04:49 am (UTC)(link)
"It will not be the first time I have been hated for things I cannot help."

Elros shrugs.

"But you speak wisdom, and I will make attempts to be discreet. But I will not pretend to be anything other than I am - I chose and I do not regret that choice, and I will not be ashamed of it."

Elrond understood, and in the end, for as many other people as matter to him, the only opinion that truly matters for Elros has always been his brother's.

His smile is a little sharp.

"And I think you underestimate yourself, cousin. A king you remain, even without a kingdom. No one could look at you and doubt it."

Maedhros was the same, although Elros doubts Thranduil would like that comparison.
rowancrowned: (008)

[personal profile] rowancrowned 2017-11-29 04:57 am (UTC)(link)
The room still smells faintly of the thick, heady incense that they’d burned during their little revelry the night before, but the bottles are all gone from the floor and the mattresses returned to the bedframes. Thranduil sat on his, a writing desk in his lap. He stands. The inkwell hits the floor first, the rest of it tumbling after—

He never thought to see her like this.

“Who?” he says, dismissing pleasantries faster than she did, crossing the room to close the door, a hand around her waist to take some of her weight with an intimacy he would never risk without her wounded. Who had been able to land a blow on her?

“I did not think to see you for a decade at least—” Because she hadn’t been gone. Not in the way Legolas was, or the Outsider. It was like her to disappear without a word, to turn up years later with no explanation or apology. He sits her down on the bed, stands beside her, looking down. “This is no mere wound." Despite the blood on her. "No healer could assist you.”
justice_is_blond: (Actually let's go with that idea)

[personal profile] justice_is_blond 2017-11-29 05:18 am (UTC)(link)
"Where I'm from they don't move either," he said with some amusement as Kirk stared back at one. "That particular corpse was a unique set of circumstances. Though it's... not absolutely dissimilar."

There's a definite bit of spirit magic and the Fade to this, but none of the corpses have anything like a spark of intelligence. Justice had been different. He exhales as he meets the gaze of another.

"I'll be honest. I don't see the point of this. They can't talk so there's no wisdom being passed down, they just... ugh."
universal_charm: (Default)

[personal profile] universal_charm 2017-11-29 05:31 am (UTC)(link)

“Can they feel anything?” He asked, watching the corpses and his stomach curdling. He looked away, ashamed of himself for it, and looked back.

“If they can feel something, this is nothing short of torture, cruel and unusual punishment,” he growled, clenching his fist, ignoring the tingle of the jewel on the back of his hand.

justice_is_blond: (A dark joy)

[personal profile] justice_is_blond 2017-11-29 05:36 am (UTC)(link)
He chuckles at the question, fond smile lingering as Purrelden pushes into Beleth's hand for continued attention. After a moment he's shifting the cat down to the crook of his arm so she's easier to reach.

"Thankfully she's rather active. But she's quite the sucker for treats, I've noticed." The Warden camp feels like so long ago, and he regrets how much time has passed since the last time he spent casual time with Beleth.

The cat tries to lick Beleth's hand and Anders has to shake his head. "I think it's safe to say she remembers." With his free hand he pushes open the tavern door for them both, letting in the air and light of late afternoon.
bouclier: (we're just savages)

[personal profile] bouclier 2017-11-29 05:44 am (UTC)(link)
The look on Evie's face is a peculiar one, especially as she just expressed reluctance about the field trip. But Jehan is her cousin, and she loves him dearly. She may make fun of him at times, but she has never tolerated others doing so.

"Brother Jehan may be many things, but an idiot is not one of them," she replies coolly while using his proper title rather than his nickname, eyes narrowed for a moment. "He decided to go on the tour because he has a desire for understanding cultures beyond our own. I am not so interested, but I will accompany him because if something does go wrong, it is my duty as a Chevalier to protect him and any others who may not be equipped for combat." Which is to say that yes, Evie does plan to bring her sword.

Her severe look relaxes a moment later, and she lifts a corner of her mouth. "I will of course have my crystal with me, and expect you to come rescue us if we face something I can't fight off."

Page 14 of 40