A SEA OF DEATH

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

As you can see, I have no room to comment

[utulien_aure]

"To Nevarra? The Inquisition was coming here, of course, and Kirkwall is a city best appreciated in as small doses as one can arrange."

Not the question Haldir was really asking, of course, which Fingon acknowledges with a slight shrug before he answers. "There are many native elves among the Inquisition's company, but few of the Quendi. We would have run across each other eventually, I suppose, but I thought it best to introduce myself and settle the matter now."

He's genuinely curious as he follows it up: "Would you have preferred to handle the matter in a different fashion?"

[hallabackdir]

There was another panicked moment where Haldir worried he had insulted Fingon. Had he been rude? He put up his hands, hoping to correct the mistake.

"No, no, my Lord. I did not mean to offer any criticism, I just-I did not expect any attention at all." He swallowed hard, trying to think about how to phrase this next sentence. "I am honored you sought me out. I have heard much about you from Lady Galadriel, and also from our histories. I admit I am a little overwhelmed meeting you in person, but I am not in any way unhappy."

He had come to idolize him after he read about him. But he couldn't let him know. That would be far too embarrassing.

[foundmyselfagain]

It's comforting, that Myr doesn't want him to die. Plenty of people think that they don't want him to die, but that number drastically decreases if they find out what he is, what kind of horrible things he's had to do to keep from dying. His life isn't worth it, to them.

He's still not sure where Myr stands on this, and it's not the time to dig into it. He wants Gareth alive, and that'll be enough for right now.

Mouth already opened to tell Myr that he can't control people quite like that (maybe others could? Someone more skilled than him? Blood magic is inexact, clumsy. You learn from your teacher, and trial and error), but Myr seems to have figured that out already. What he suggests in place makes Gareth frown, give pause.

That pause is in and of itself a show of Gareth's amity for Myr. There were plenty others he wouldn't bother to heed, not when there are Templars to kill. Gareth carries many scars from the Gallows, and some of them are not plain to see. Some wait, biding their time, and then when he is reminded of what he was subjected to, they call for blood.

But Gareth thinks.

"Right now, it looks like they killed each other. If we tie them up, that introduces a third party. Which--we didn't leave any marks of magic. But if they're questioned, and they forgot...I could try putting in new memories?" He hums in thought, arms crossed. "I've never tried it before. I can't say how well it'd hold up. Not to mention--think about what the guard will see, when they arrive. Templars killed or trussed up. Even if they're clearly lyrium-addled nutcases, there will be no proof that they've done anything wrong. Even if we left a nice note explaining everything."

He's pacing, now, carefully stepping around the corpses with an ease of someone who has spent plenty of time around them, and is unbothered. "Maybe they could make them confess? I have no idea how competent the guard is here. Nor what the penalty would be, even if they were caught. If it could be proved that they have murdered people, they might stay behind bars for good--even be executed, maybe. But this isn't Hard in Hightown."

He pulls to a stop now, turning to Myr. "Is it really that bad, to do justice by our own hands? Ensure they pay for their crimes, instead of risking the Nevarran guard doesn't bother?" The words sound rhetorical, like he's simply pushing his view, but the tone is genuinely curious. The other mage clearly has hesitation to take life--which should be normal. Gareth knows that, in the distant kind of way he knows that most people have lives far different than his, and are happier for it. He wants to hear that different viewpoint, see if there's another way around this.

Things are different, now. He should at least begin taking steps towards that change.

[rowancrowned]

“I would be loathe to lose you so soon after meeting you,” he says, and moves his attention from her to the crowds. The next few days will not be peaceful ones, he has snatched so much time from the jaws of the Inquisition’s plans already. This is no vacation, as idle as he has allowed himself to be. For all his eventual intentions, he is also a division head and owes the Inquisition work.

Sloth is not his chiefest failing.

“Be well,” he bids her—salutes her in the elven manner, fingertips brushing over his head and a bowed head, before he turns his back and makes for the tavern. She knows where to find him—perhaps she will make use of it.