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.
laurenande: (pic#9667156)

[personal profile] laurenande 2017-12-01 09:24 am (UTC)(link)
"I see," Galadriel agreed and glanced at the gown Gwenaëlle wore now. It was hard to say if any part of it had been hers once, she did not often dye her clothing, but there was a familiar quality to what the younger woman had on. Galadriel could not place it, not at the moment, so she let it pass without comment.

"Then I shall assist as I can, though I fear my stitching will not be nearly so deft as it usually is."
galvanising: (063)

[personal profile] galvanising 2017-12-01 01:33 pm (UTC)(link)
It's not ours. It was never ours, nothing in there was ever ours, we weren't ours, it was a fucking prison, Kostos.

[ She sets her mug down but keeps her hands wrapped around it, knuckles white. ]

It's a fucking prison but people are going to look at it and say see, it wasn't so bad, look at this place, it's beautiful, who wouldn't be happy here, what are they whining about, and people are tempted and they compromise and that's how we lose. That's why I had to.

[ She's not at her most eloquent, emotion tangling thoughts in ways drink rarely does. She shakes her head, reaching up to scrape one hand through her hair. ]

Stop looking at me like I tore down your home. That place wasn't home.
exequy: (19)

[personal profile] exequy 2017-12-01 04:11 pm (UTC)(link)
While Simon and Nell are arguing—which is fortunate, perhaps, because this is all Kostos’ version of behaving politely for strangers, and hearing the word hangups might have quickly shifted him to not giving a damn about Petrana’s serene presence or Melys’ relative innocence—Kostos is looking at Melys in a way that’s genuinely baffled, though probably not any less insulting for it.

“You can manage egalitarian,” he says, “but not bruschetta.”

But he also lights the nearest candle on the nearest flat surface, with his hand, in absentminded obedience.
galvanising: (022)

[personal profile] galvanising 2017-12-01 04:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"Hangups," Nell is echoing, voice and color rising abruptly and dangerously, taking a step toward Simon. There's no crackle of gathered power or whiff of smoke to go with it, so that's something.

"HANGups-- how about I hang you up by your gigantic, blighted--"

(Someone interrupt her, please.)
circleprodigy: (wry smile)

[personal profile] circleprodigy 2017-12-01 04:40 pm (UTC)(link)
"It's a bit strange for me, to think of death as a different experience between the races. Andrastians are taught that upon death, our souls cross over into the Fade, to dwell at the Maker's side. At least, that is our belief. There is no way of proving it, no sleeping in halls until we return." Inessa shrugs, not sure how much stock she puts in it, though it's a comforting idea.

"...Fading? He might literally fade?" Her eyebrows raise at that, instantly curious but reminding herself of her manners. At least she's warned of it now, so that Maglor will not be subjected to her intent staring, no matter how much she wants to inspect him. "I hope Thedas will be good for them, then, mentally-speaking. We have our own problems and I don't know how those will affect them, but perhaps distance from what ails them will be sufficient."

She tilts her head, caught off-guard. "No one has defined the Chantry for you until now?" Well, that has to change. "It is the dominant religion of Thedas and based on the Chant of Light, a series of teachings written by Andraste, the bride and prophet of the Maker. The Chantry's followers are known as Andrastians. The Chantry's goal is to spread the Chant of Light to all four corners of the world and to all races. It is believed that once all peoples have accepted the Chant and practice its teachings, the Maker will return and restore the world to its former glory.

One of the Chantry's tenants is that magic has great potential to be a corrupting influence in the world. This is because of the Tevinter Imperium, a magocracy even more powerful in ancient times. It is because of Tevinter's excess -mages dominating over those born without magic, widespread sacrifice to fuel blood magic, and slavery- and pride that lead to a group of powerful magisters to physically cross over into the Fade, where no mortal was meant to go before death. The magisters who did so forever tainted the Golden City, seat of the Maker. Because of their pride, it is now known as the Black City and their act created the darkspawn, the embodiment of their sin. Not only that, but Tevinter once dominated the whole of Thedas. The Nevarran Accord signed in 1:20 Divine brought the Inquisition and the newly created Circles of Magi under the Chantry's authority and was essentially a backlash to this. 'Magic is meant to serve man and never to rule over him.' Thus it remained until the mage rebellion a few years ago. I suppose it's fair to say that Thedosians aren't well-versed in moderation." Inessa's lips twitch briefly.
circleprodigy: (stoic)

[personal profile] circleprodigy 2017-12-01 04:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Noting that flattened tone, Inessa briefly raises an eyebrow, not certain where that came from but not seeing the need to apologize for anything that was said. So she focuses on the rest, and glances to where Morrigan looks, spotting the stall shortly afterward. Garahel clears the way for them, a friendly wall of muscle that no one wants to be bowled over by. The stronger scent brought by closer proximity has her eager for some by now.

"A dangerous tome to keep, politically-speaking. The Chantry would most likely have seen it destroyed, rather than simply locked away. That Irving kept it perhaps indicates he did not tell them, for whatever reason." Now it's even more frustrating that she doesn't Irving's present fate. He could be another who had fallen to the mage rebellion, leaving such motivations forever a mystery. Why keep an apostate's tome? How did one manage to reach him, anyway?

At mention of Thranduil, she nods almost immediately. Informing the division head is only proper, and though he is not Thedosian, it might be that an outsider's perspective is exactly what's needed for a breakthrough. "He has my report on the Blackmarsh and what came of it. Whatever insight he has to offer is certainly welcome, of course. The potential for both those items is too great to be set aside."
lyriumcarved: (little wolf)

[personal profile] lyriumcarved 2017-12-01 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)
By now, at least he's gotten used to Carver, and maybe even appreciates him in his way. He's predictable, and that's a good thing... but he doesn't seem to complain as much as he used to. Maybe being in the Wardens was good for someone.

Fenris' eyebrows lower at the last of the names, because yes, it does have a bit of an uncomfortable similarity to Danarius... but... well, this isn't someone he knows.

"I don't know. There aren't any Tevinter magisters among us," and he would know because he'd be the first to protest it, "but the sound of that name..." Well. He'll reserve judgment until he meets this person. "Ellana is fine. She helped me rid the mansion of demons and magisters."
lyriumcarved: (we should move on)

[personal profile] lyriumcarved 2017-12-01 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)
"The Inquisition does have its share of questionable membership, I won't deny that. Mostly, you can find ways to avoid the worst of them." He wouldn't have stuck around if he couldn't keep well away from certain individuals. Though he'll manage if he had to be stuck with someone unpleasant, he always did before. Somehow. "What does being you here, to this group? You must have some motivation, to leave your land behind..."
iceblade: (15)

[personal profile] iceblade 2017-12-01 05:56 pm (UTC)(link)
"Is this enough motivation?" Skadi lifts her hand, revealing the shard in her palm. She glances to the green glow with distaste. "I never asked for this, never wanted it, and want it gone. If there's a way for that to happen, I want to be there for it."
ipseite: (088)

[personal profile] ipseite 2017-12-01 08:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, absolutely not--

(She hasn't even heard about Beleth losing her temper with a rifter in public yet. This is her life, now.)

Petrana is on her feet in moments, managing to be more authoritative in bare feet and a robe than many are fully dressed, inserting herself between them without a hint of trepidation.

"An ill-thought choice of words I am sure Ser Ashlock regrets," she says, stressing how sure she is with a look up toward him that leaves no ambiguity as to this being an order if he needs it to be, "we need not make it a matter we're obliged to account for to our hosts. We shall put the beds together. Ser Ashlock may sleep on the left, and yourselves the right. Are we not all satisfied with this?"
tar_minyatur: (tar minyatur)

[personal profile] tar_minyatur 2017-12-01 11:58 pm (UTC)(link)
"Maybe?" Elros allows.

"I've never seen it happen, but you hear stories of what happens when you push an Eldar to live when they actually want to die. Apparently their spirit just sort of... burns away the flesh until it can't sustain them any more. And I suppose that's a difference, between your world and mine. The Eldar - well. Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer returned to Life, and to Middle-earth, not long before I headed off to Elenna - so there's proof! And well. When your foster-fathers learnt at the feet of the Powers, it's rather hard to argue about belief!"

He frowns thoughtfully as he listens.

"That's ... yeah, there does seem to be a bit of wild swinging from one extreme to another, although I suppose I can understand that sort of impulsive reaction. It seems to me what you really need is someone from both sides who can be moderate, and who has enough political oomph to basically force people to sit down and negotiate something that no one is happy with but everyone can live with because it is fair."
circleprodigy: (finger tent)

[personal profile] circleprodigy 2017-12-02 01:54 am (UTC)(link)
"That was the plan, actually. Divine Justinia -the head of the Chantry- formed a conclave to sit down the mages and templars for negotiation. However, Corypheus arrived and used her as a sacrifice to trigger his orb, thus creating the Breach. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was utterly obliterated as a result, with only one survivor, the Herald of Andraste. The Chantry's leadership was eliminated and thus the issue persists. Only when a new Divine is elected will the issue be resolved...but while Corypheus is at large, I doubt anyone wants to step into Divine Justinia's shoes."
hallabackdir: (Murder)

[personal profile] hallabackdir 2017-12-02 03:06 am (UTC)(link)
Haldir had been doing what most would consider eavesdropping for several minutes, but at this point he was sure of one thing. This woman needed to watch her tone.

He sat hunched on the roof, brooding next to a smallish window meant to bring in light from the sky above. He used one of his smaller knives to lift the pane open in an effort to discretely relay his observations of the surrounding city to the Lady, but he stopped to listen when the woman clamored into the room.

With a wicked grin, he moved through the window, and silently tip-toed along the rafters until he was just above the woman who clucked like a hen.

With smirk, he stepped off the rafter and dropped with a great thud right behind her.
Edited 2017-12-02 03:08 (UTC)
elegiaque: (069)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2017-12-02 03:31 am (UTC)(link)
When the dust settles, Gwenaëlle will-

probably not apologise, frankly. Certainly, she won't be particularly sorry; violently startle a perfect stranger whose situation you don't know, contend with the consequences as they fall. Nevertheless, she doesn't intend what happens next - the shock is too sudden, and she's too on edge, her usual protectors out of earshot, running on too little sleep even after Thranduil had let her rest in the grove, carried her back to the tavern. It's pure instinct that has her spinning on her heel, the pleated skirts of her gown flaring around her legs, the shard-bearing hand coming up to protect herself, and

Well, one might call what comes out of her hand a pain laser, but it isn't to close a rift - it's a sharp, sudden bolt of energy, and if he doesn't move fast enough it's going to slam him into the wall.
Edited 2017-12-02 03:32 (UTC)
sunshinethroughgrey: (Uhm what?)

[personal profile] sunshinethroughgrey 2017-12-02 04:13 am (UTC)(link)
Bethany raised her staff, and sent a stream of sparks into the air, to let the others know that they were making a break for the exit and to follow them if they were able. Then she was throwing another barrier over all three of them.

"Right, let's go." She took off in a run, knowing that her lighter armor meant she was going to be faster than the two of them, so she set her pace accordingly so she could keep dropping barriers ontop all three of them.

They were coming out of so many buildings, even while others were fleeing for their ...lives? Unlives? She wasn't quite sure. She huffed out to the other two, "Whatever spell is making these creatures attack -- it seems to be degrading, or at least isn't as effective as they think it is. Aleron, do you have any abilities that dispel, darling? If you do, Carver and I could hold them off while you cast it."
ichaer: DO NOT TAKE. (03)

tavern

[personal profile] ichaer 2017-12-02 06:06 am (UTC)(link)
Ciri appears, dressed down and with a flagon of ale in hand, flopping into a nearby chair with a low chuckle. The mood in the tavern isn't awful considering Inquisition make up most of (if not all) of the numbers here but she can't help but wish to find somewhere more local. Nevertheless the music is good and familiar, so she hums along before leaning over to bump her shoulder into Inessa's own.

"We should dance. When was the last time we danced?"
Edited 2017-12-02 06:06 (UTC)
arlathvhen: (50)

[personal profile] arlathvhen 2017-12-02 06:12 am (UTC)(link)
“From what I’ve noticed, most cats are.” Beleth replies, a small smile on her face as she continues to pet Purrelden. Not that she’s met a whole lot of cats on a personal level, mind. “I’m glad she remembers me, though.” Always nice to be appreciated, even by a cat.

Stepping into the light, Beleth blinks, shaking her head. “It really is a lovely city. One of the nicer places the Inquisition has sent us, I think.” Anders gets a small, wry smile. “You joined after the Fallow Mire, right? You’re lucky, that place was terrible. I’m sure some of my clothes still have the mud on them. Made me wonder if I’d made a horrible decision.” A quiet laugh follows that. A good thing she hadn’t been deterred by a little mud, plague, and undead.
ichaer: (intuitive)

parades

[personal profile] ichaer 2017-12-02 06:18 am (UTC)(link)
"I think so." Ciri whispers in turn, arms folded and frowning with a narrowed look.

She's been trying to figure out that question for a long minute now but has little in the way of an answer. In fact, she has left most of her question up in the air since she was never well-versed in Nevarra and its history.

"I think these folks are even more members of the Pentaghasts so that would make sense, right? They were dragon slayers or something like that."
justice_is_blond: (Spider hunting is a sort of fun)

[personal profile] justice_is_blond 2017-12-02 06:19 am (UTC)(link)
He chuckles, shaking his head.

"Thankfully, yes, I joined after everyone was clearing out the Fallow Mire. But I've been through some awful places due to orders and I imagine the Fallow Mire wasn't too dissimilar from the Black Marsh from stories I've heard. Though I'll take more stories if you'd like to share them."

After a moment he tilts his head to the left and starts walking that way. The road widens and has more stalls that way, from what he can see.

"My favorite of where I've been sent will always be the Anderfels, though I assume that's no surprise."
hallabackdir: (Much murder)

[personal profile] hallabackdir 2017-12-02 06:34 am (UTC)(link)
Haldir was suddenly very appreciative of the extensive training that honed his reflexes. They kicked in immediately after she raised her hand, and they were the only reason he was lying on the floor smoldering in a pile of pain. Instead, he was left with singed armor, a slight burning in his left shoulder, and a very odd tingling sensation down his fingertips.

He bit back a snarl, but he continued passed her on the right. He was quick to get out of the way of another attack. However, instead of any retaliation, he decided to ignore her completely. A few long, confident strides brought him to Galadriel, and he knelt at her feet.

“Alla, Melda heri.” he said in greeting. He didn’t even try to hide the satisfied smirk on his face as he looked up at her.
Edited 2017-12-02 06:46 (UTC)
laurenande: (pic#10101583)

[personal profile] laurenande 2017-12-02 06:49 am (UTC)(link)
Galadriel watches the antics with a neutral expression and only a mild flash of surprise as Gwenaëlle fired a bolt of green at Haldir and summarily destroyed the chair in the corner of the room. Haldir, still smoldering, knelt before her and cast a smirk up at her. Her expression shifted from blank to a bit flat and, while she did not scold him aloud, she did not leave it unsaid.

She is assisting me so that I might not dress as Thranduil does. Was that necessary?

It was a gentle question, she trusted his judgement, but Haldir was often mercurial, despite his stoicism.

"Haldir."
elegiaque: (073)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2017-12-02 06:50 am (UTC)(link)
If he'd responded to her, she'd have had a target to lash out at - a focus to narrow that rush of terror into rage and shout at - but he bypasses her entirely as if she's nothing and instead she's left looking at the wreckage of the chair that had taken the worst of the blow in Haldir's place, humiliated and afraid, shaking with adrenaline that has no where to go.

She doesn't turn to see what they do; snatches up with trembling hands the dress she'd undone and begun, blindly shoving things back into her sewing basket to be sorted when she's returned to her own room, pressing a hand underneath her spectacles

it's fine it's fine it's fine just breathe out nothing's happening it's fine it's fine it's fine

- hopefully she remembers, later, that she was trying to make Galadriel a dress. She gathers it up to her and - she walks. She walks steadily, without looking at either of them, and closes the door very gently behind her.

She makes herself walk, and not run.
hallabackdir: (Sads)

[personal profile] hallabackdir 2017-12-02 07:22 am (UTC)(link)
His face fell at her criticism, no matter how softly given. He instantly retreated, both physically and mentally as he bowed his head.

”Her voice dripped with distain, Lady. Each word held a carefully crafted barb. Her venom grated against my ears. I could not let her continue. You deserve respect, and she gave you none. “ he stopped, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. He couldn’t help but think of the same type of barbs he’d endured himself.

”I sought to teach her a lesson. Throw her off her guard a little. I didn’t expect her to react... in such a way.”
laurenande: (Lady of Light 2.)

[personal profile] laurenande 2017-12-02 07:33 am (UTC)(link)
She is no threat, not to the likes of you, nor I, and you can be a terrifying presence when the mood takes you.

Galadriel's admonishment was soft and neutral, and not entirely because she was exhausted. She bid him rise with a motion of her hand--even with his head down, she had no doubt he would heed her command.

"You need not apologize now," she croaked, sounding as dreadful as she felt. "I expect she would not tolerate it."

Thank you, Haldir, your regard is appreciated, if somewhat unconventional.
hallabackdir: (Bitch Im Out)

[personal profile] hallabackdir 2017-12-02 07:48 am (UTC)(link)
He stood, nodding slowly. He kept his head down, unwilling to let his gaze reach hers. “I apologize, Lady. I will attempt to remedy the situation if the opportunity is presented. I did not wish to cause you trouble. Especially now.”

He moved back again. “Is there anything I can do for you, Lady? I…” he felt his throat tighten, and he tried to swallow it down. “I am sorry I failed you.”

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