faderift | A SEA OF DEATH

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It has been some time, and for Inessa's part she's been immersed in her projects, attempting to learn all she can for the sake of the shard-bearers. Any time away from that or the red lyrium research triggers some guilt, but she's been telling herself Nevarra is the perfect place to gain more tomes toward that end. The parade was an unexpected diversion, not unwelcome until the eruption of feuding.

As Garahel moves to position himself between them and the shouting people, rumbling uneasily, she places a calming hand on him. "And then the chaos engulfs us before we have time to depart? That was not exactly the sort of visit I had intended.

...I did see them selling miniatures of the dragons and slayers, the way we had come. If you think Kieran would like them, I would purchase one." Why not, she has the money and everyone should have a Nevarran dragon of their own. As long as the chaos doesn't follow them, that is.

Livelier than Orlais where at most one might see a bard with a particularly public attempt at assassination, or one interrupting the other, a flock of harlequins brighter than any bird they might have taken feathers from for their masks. Most of it was a dull affair. Orlesian flapping over the usual nonsense she learned to close her ears to unless it might be her or some rumour that she'd best pay attention to. This is eye-catching at least. This is effort.

This is a colour palette that doesn't entirely offend.

"You are a Warden, a mage, and an elf," Morrigan guesses at the importance of those things in her life, at the things that stand out to her first at least. "Should you not expect a great may things? We are on the precipice of change, Nevarra is no different what with the state of the one on the throne, perhaps this is what they have instead of the plays in Orlais.

"I shall ask him, Gwenaëlle gifted him a dragon some time ago, a metal thing with joints that move and with jewels for eyes that he either places at the head of an army to be the Archdemon or to swoop down to vanquish all monsters before it." Kieran was raised on such tales, of course he liked to play games where there were Darkspawn when his mother who fought against them sat right there across the room. "You don't fancy one for yourself? You must have some trinket of your time here."

"Believe me, I'm well aware of what I am." Inessa manages a wry smile, since practically everywhere she goes, she is never allowed to forget that she is a Warden, elf or mage. Though for the most part, she doesn't want to; there's no shame in being any of those things, whatever common folk might think. However, standing out can become tiring when it colors every interaction she has in the world outside the Circle. Sometimes, she would just like to buy a drink and leave it at that. "I have heard about King Markus, yes. Do you believe that Inquisition intervention on the level of the Winter Palace will be on the horizon?" That is a thought she doesn't personally relish, but if Inquisition leadership believes it necessary, her own opinion will not matter.

Inessa raises her eyebrows at mention of Gwenaelle's impressive gift, not expecting to match that. Still, that doesn't mean Kieran can't have more dragons for his playtime. Considering the question, Inessa shrugs a little. "I might purchase one for Kain, he is far more interested in dragons than I. For myself, an exotic tea blend and some books unavailable elsewhere would be more my style." She pauses, about to ask something but the shouting is more insistent and the angry mutters of the crowd are hardly promising.

"I would hope not. I have no plans for such things," no gown packed, what a terrible shame she will be unable to attend any functions at all. "And given the talk of new rifters 'twould be foolish to take such a risk. Our first foray to Nevarra and one of them has us all thrown out?" Morrigan sighs, considering it before inclining her head just so since this isn't for the rabble listening in - how little she trusts folk these days - and extends a hand to Inessa, to the situation at hand. "We all of us know far more of Orlais than we do of Nevarra. There was a war there. An alienage burnt to ash and ruin. Allies we were sorely in need of in those days. For the most this seems stable so long as the old man has breath in his body."

How much of Thedas is still built upon old men and how much will change once they finally shuffle off?

Morrigan laughs at that, enough to turn a head or two their way. "The Reaver? I imagine he will likely be more a boy around such a thing than mine own. Though with what Corypheus has at his side and with the archdemons locked away still 'tis fitting enough. I had hoped I might find books myself. Rarer volumes." Close to Tevinter as they are compared to everywhere else, do you catch her drift Inessa? "Shall we?"

"Long live King Markus, then." Inessa's words are sincere, if not stemming from patriotism. However much time the old king has left, his continued existence will keep the kingdom stable, and that can only be a boon for them and the Inquisition. Which means that she wouldn't be especially surprised if Corypheus and his forces try to disrupt matters here, as well.

"Yes, indeed." Garahel helps clear the path away from the spreading ill-will of the rivals. Inessa stays close, tense until the invasion to her personal space by potential rioters is less of an issue. She keeps glancing back until the shouting grows faint, her hand remaining on Garahel. "Rarer volumes, to assist with the elven artifacts project?" Perhaps it's for something more personal, but if so, she doesn't feel it her place to ask.

"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.

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?"

"The Chantry," Morrigan echoes with a sneer in her voice, that of years ago and solving all the problems in a single village with snivelling Sisters and Chanters Boards, "what they permit is entirely for their comfort, nothing more. What might we know had the Chantry not decreed so much to be swept aside? Do you know that I found a grimoire in the private quarters of Kinloch Hold's First Enchanter?" Perhaps she's overstepping to mention that place but it's the truth, and Morrigan's never without any of the grimoires she keeps as Inessa's seen very personally at the last meeting they were at together; no matter what the Chantry might say, there's always an exception, but the Chantry will say it, and for all the Chantry has the deft Left Hand, it also has the Right. When it comes to what they're talking of, she'd take the dagger over the fist, they'd be able to salvage more from the ruin then.

No doubt thanks to the celebrations and with winter so close at hand, the scent of spiced wine is in the air from a stall or maybe a nearby tavern as she glances up at some of the signs that creak above their heads. "Not so much as I would like," she admits but given this is Morrigan, she generally would always like more time with something. "Were you aware of the artifact recovered in the Hinterlands, a year and more past now? 'Twas a strange thing, in a ruin with veilfire and demons yet from what I read of your report it might be worth looking at them together, in light of the last meeting."

It's strange; though Inessa has not openly disdained the Chantry, there's something of a thrill when she hears that sneer in Morrigan's voice. The Chantry's reach is so widespread and pervasive; that one apostate can so flaunt her lack of connection to it is something she's never in her live seen before. That it's a famous companion of the Hero of Ferelden and veteran of the Fifth Blight...well. It's inspiring in its own way, even as Inessa does not resent her Circle training.

"I agree to more of that than you might think. My passion is research; I want to uncover the truth of the past, whatever it may be. Hiding it, warping it, does a disservice to us all and affects us in the present." If they only knew the full picture of what had been lost of the elves, perhaps Inessa could find a part of elven culture that would appeal to her more than the Dalish version, or the alienage. She lifts an eyebrow, definitely curious. "A grimoire? Why would Irving keep such a thing for himself? Was is that dangerous...or subversive?"

The scent of the spiced wine reaches her and she lifts her head appreciatively. If it's a nearby stall, she won't mind pausing to purchase some. She's more in a mood to wander with wine in hand than she is to sit down somewhere, and Garahel still has plenty of energy to spare. "Its activation strengthens the Veil, yes? Investigating a possible connection between it and the orb sounds promising. I know it's not solely in the boundaries of my project anymore, but I would be very interested to see the results of this."

"What is knowledge? Knowledge is what it is, 'tis what one does with that knowledge." Not quite disappointment but something close to it flattens her tone, not that she expected much different from a Circle mage but this is a Warden, though maybe being around one who was fighting a Blight meant something different. Meant that there were things to be done differently. Rules and limits tested. Rules that were guidelines rather than anything else. "A grimoire is a book of magical instruction yet not one the Chantry or Circle would wish for you to see. Spells they believe should be forgotten. Knowledge stripped away. Lost."

Knowledge such as Flemeth's for what she would do with you, one half of her heart whispers, the part that has hooks and barbs from where she snatched it back. Knowledge that might stop so many of you from offering yourself up as lambs to the slaughter, the other half snaps, the part that ran and learnt and grew in secret for ten long years and lived in a world where the magic rippled across her skin.

Glancing at Inessa, Morrigan cranes her neck and-- ah, there it is, three stalls ahead, she can see a small crowd milling about that can only mean they're being served and she quickens her step towards it. "I can speak with Thranduil, the head of research would be the best placed regarding both these things and he has a greater understanding than many others, I'm certain he would be interested to be a part of it or to know what might come of it." And after their last discussion of the eluvians, it certainly feels relevant to bring him into this rather than Pel. "Your work is on the rifts, this is...well. Who can say what might come of it."

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."

Former arcane advisor to Empress Celene that she was, the stipend was a generous thing for how little Morrigan ever required coin in her life of mending, making, living off of what was around her so with a smile to the vendor and the interruption to pay, to say that why yes she is so fond of Nevarra, that she hasn't been to the Necropolis yet but she plans to tour elsewhere ends with her paying for two spiced wines. Passing one to Inessa, the head is a shock for a moment to fingers so used to a chill that eats into her bones. A hazard of favouring frost spells and entropy magic.

"A thing that came from the Chantry is a thing that has grown from glutting itself on hypocrisy, writing and rewriting much. Likely he would have had it destroyed in time." Back then she would have been content to leave the Circle to its fate or to go along with the mages too full of their own fear to defend themselves but there's no sense in dredging any of that up to someone who lived through it.

Blowing steam from her wine before taking a careful sip (cinnamon bursts across her tongue, cloves, mace, even nutmeg) she glances at Inessa, at the people busy in the street though there's always a chance for Venatori lurking around or Tevinter presence who'd be only too happy to report back. "The meeting, if it can be called that with far too many voices," Church should come with an interpreter, he gives her a migraine when he speaks too long, "I wondered what you made of it, in light of the Blackmarsh." Inessa had stepped through an eluvian too, is a Warden, is an elf, is a mage, is working rifts and the veil; there are possibilities here that Morrigan isn't about to put aside.

"Thank you." Inessa nods politely as she takes the spiced wine, giving it a moment to cool slightly before daring a sip. She also slips a mabari crunch to Garahel, so he won't whine about how severely she's neglecting him. As he happily crunches away, she steps aside so that others who thirst won't be impeded by them.

Her lips twitch slightly at Morrigan's assessment of the meeting, unable to disagree on that front. It was akin to herding cats, though Church in particular didn't provoke her irritation. "Our initial assumption upon discovery was that it might be an eluvian network. I'm still not entirely willing to discount that it may be that, in part. However, I suspect there is a greater significance at work." She takes a moment to sip and savor that wine; the warmth and the cinnamon is exactly what she's been craving.

"The orb was discovered in the Blackmarsh, it's true, but I don't know if the First found it there or brought it from elsewhere. Anders didn't know, and there was no evidence either way. It's quite possible that it was, though, or at least discovered nearby, since the awakened darkspawn were only active in the Amarantine area. If that has any relevance to the map, we could be looking at the locations of other orbs." It's a thrilling and then terrifying thought. Corypheus already has one, to their knowledge. What he could do with more at his disposal, she doesn't want to envision. "That, or locations where it is most ideal to use them, due to the nature of the Veil. If orbs or eluvians have nothing to do with them, then perhaps it is the map of a grand-scale experiment. They could have been seeking new ways to manipulate the Veil, for whatever purpose." What if the elves of old had attempted something similar to the Tevinter magisters, only without the massive blood sacrifice? "But all this is speculation without a solid lead as to the locations of those intersections."

When people were already going out of their way to move around her past the obligatory gawping was over and done with, Morrigan is happy enough to be away.

The lack of Briala or knowledge of any of her spies puts them on the back foot with this, and Morrigan can't imagine that Empress or Marquise is likely to be forthcoming about anything further. Why would they when matters are settled, Celene attempting to right her course. "I know the eluvian network well," better than anyone else since it was through her own efforts, her blood, sweat, and tears that she learnt of it, "and there are some things that might be tested though not without risk. Skyhold is far from us now though checking on the Dragonbone Wastes... Wardens would be required for that." Does Inessa pick up on her reluctance? Wardens and eluvians both sought by Corypheus for different reasons at different times, what a mad risk it seems.

Sometimes it must be done. Sometimes there's no other way and it could help to test the map if they planned it, if spells could be done.

Better to listen to Inessa. To write it down later for speaking with Thranduil who'd understand it all. "I might see to having a copy made, not the same materials mind but one to overlap with my travels. You might do the same and add this." If she gives one to Ellana, asks her to add ruins she's been to so she can quickly check for whenever it comes up again- "Strange. The Veil. The Blight. Ancient magic. We lack blood or lyrium or both, unless we no longer recognise them."

That's the thing, isn't it? Morrigan knows what could be called blood magic. Ancient magical artifacts undoubtedly required lyrium in their making. Blood to pull the Veil thin in the first place. All of it there. Was there any of it on the island?

Inessa somehow manages not to visibly recoil at mention of blood magic, to consider this from all angles no matter how much she detests the concept. Grey Wardens use it in their Joinings, after all, a fact which she's very grudgingly accepted in service to their cause. Any use beyond that, is going to be a tough sell for her, though it's all only speculation for now. Reminding herself of that -and taking another sip of the wine- helps her focus and remain calm.

"There are connections, I'm certain. What we're lacking is the means to see them, and that must change if any progress is to be made. I'll have my own copy made." She frowns in thought, considering what else Morrigan has said. That reluctance did not go unnoticed, but still-- "If you need Wardens, I would be willing. This touches on my project, and so I would see it through if there is a chance that the reward outweighs the risk. That is not to say I'm in favor of martyrdom, however. If said risks can be minimized, I would appreciate taking measures to do so."

There is an argument that Morrigan has raised too many times to bring it up again about what magic is, about what blood magic is, about lineages, and stains, and older things that. There is what Kieran said to this elven woman that even Morrigan had turned over in her head as one might a piece from a puzzle to see where it fits but she still can't, not quite, she isn't her son and what resides within him. Still, there isn't an argument so Morrigan inclines her head, sips her wine, considers it not quite a stalemate then but moving forward if it can at least go without further comment. Progress. Good progress. She approves.

"I have studied ancient elven that the Dalish have lost for so few of them study the written language or know it," which is what it is, and it seems a foolishness to pass it to only Keeper and First. Flemeth had the excuse of only having the one daughter to pass on her knowledge to, and since Morrigan's met the Chasind and their shamans, she's no reason to doubt the veracity of whom they learnt their magic from at least in the first days. "With this, we have no idea how much we are missing but if we were to bring in others...I would recommend the young elven mage Myrobalan, a very sharp lad. At least for looking into the map portion. Are there other Wardens in your project or is it you alone?" Better to know what she might have to work with before asking for recommendations or looking to reach out for suitable candidates.

It seems ironic, to be in the company of a human that knows the language of her people when Inessa herself knows but a few words and badly-accented phrases. Far from resentful, she's grateful that the expertise is present somewhere. Such study takes time, time that Inessa herself doesn't have given so many other topics that need attention. Mention of Myrobalan has her nodding promptly, a warm smile forming.

"Myrobalan is my second, and I've come to rely on his perspective. He would be a fine addition. And...yes, it is just myself. Other Wardens are largely in the Red Lyrium, Norther Powers or Corypheus' history projects, I believe." Understandably so, of course. Inessa don't fault them their focus, though she nonetheless looks regretful at not having more of an overlap to offer Morrigan. That would be rather useful about now.

"A fine choice, I hardly expected a mage who lived all his life in a Circle to have such candour about him." When speaking with her at least, then again her company is rather strictly chosen to avoid the Circle mages at the best of times when so often they want to leash themselves and insist on making the leash too. There's a shudder of revulsion she doesn't bother hiding at the mention of red lyrium; why should she, it horrifies all and she has a child to consider in this world.

(She has a child who had the most terrible nightmares each night he had to spend in the Gallows before he moved to Gwenaëlle's.)

"Alistair then, he might have a suitable list of those he would trust to travel to such a place without my wishing to leave them there or to arrange for a tragic mishap on the way."

That shudder is met with a grim nod, Inessa just as repulsed by the substance. That's why she's a part of that project as well, to see to its eventual destruction. Morrigan's comment on the Circle is not unexpected; it would be stranger if she had a positive opinion to share, given her apostate status. While Inessa doesn't share it, she has no interested in starting a debate when there are far more important issues at hand.

Her lips twitch, knowing that the Wardens have an...interesting collection of personalities, to put it mildly. It's a wonder they aren't more dysfunctional at times, given the potential for clashes. "As Senior Warden, he will be able to best advise on such matters. If I had to guess, the Hawke twins might be mentioned. I get the impression that whatever rough edges Carver has, his sister will be able to provide balance."

She smiles as friendly passerby ask to pet Garahel, pleased when people take the time to ask instead of just assuming. So she nods, and her mabari basks in the attention.

If it were only the personalities. It's the presence. It's her son and what he is, what he carries in him. The questions Weisshaupt were still asking of how all three Wardens at the ending of the Fifth Blight yet drew breath; how can she trust Wardens who hold their secrets and harbour a thing like Anders in their midst, how can she trust them after all that came out with the False Calling if more comes out about her son. About the ending of the Fifth Blight.

There are nights when her heart freezes in her chest to think of what she did to save her skin and three others, as she weighs her love now against such selfishness, wondering if that might ever be forgiven as she does all she can not to be be the mother her own was. What would they do to her son and would killing him be the kindest thing if the truth ever came out? They aren't part of the Inquisition after all, not the same as the rest. What do you do with independent allies when push comes to shove?

"I would prefer not to involve the Hawkes as far as possible." Even if they aren't the Champion, it draws attention to attach the weight of that name to things after all, especially given the damned book by the thrice-damned dwarf she's searched through time and time again for shreds of truth. "The sister struck me as rather empty-minded, and that was long before she married the Seeker."

In all honestly, there's not a lot Inessa could to do reassure Morrigan when it comes to Wardens and trust. Her own faith in the order has been severely tested, first at Weisshaupt, then Ansburg. So, she wouldn't pull a Kaisa and mount an all-out defense against the first sign of a sour opinion of them. If she spent all her time doing so, the young Warden would never have time for anything else.

A white eyebrow arches at Morrigan's opinion of Bethany, and she takes another sip while gathering her thoughts. "She is a capable mage, but the Hawkes have a high enough profile. If they aren't included, perhaps it is for the best." She pauses, then glances over to Garahel, happily people-watching. "...when I was imprisoned at Weisshaupt for refusing Clarel, I realized how few people I could truly trust within the order. At the time, it was limited to Garahel, Ciri and Kain. It has grown since, but when I am in need, they are the first to come to mind. Take that for what it is worth, if anything."

"Now Ciri is a name I might see to. The Reaver perhaps not, there is blood enough without that." For all that Morrigan doesn't mind him, it still poses a risk but the woman is agreeable from the little Morrigan recalls but best of all she's a Warden with a name that doesn't sound alarm bells of recognition for some attachment to another name, for deeds they've done that aren't those they'd prefer to be known widely. (Inquisition gossip of course, how jealously must the Wardens guard what secrets they have now?)

Weisshaupt isn't so much of a secret as it was, cracked open, the griffons taken (what a sign to see such old creatures live again, what proof for her particular work at that) but the young woman had mentioned it to her in passing. Kieran had been there. Morrigan hadn't pressed at the time. "Imprisoned by your commander...we never had the chance to speak much of Weisshaupt when first we met." It could just be a comment, Morrigan isn't pressing exactly but Morrigan is curious, is ever the bird with beady eyes that set upon things and look.

Inessa won't insist on Kain; her own feelings aside, she's aware that the task is less likely to suit him, plus they don't know how his shard will react. So she'll be content with the thought of having at least Garahel and Ciri alongside her then. It'd almost be like old times.

Her lips form a thin line as her thoughts linger on Weisshaupt. It's never a pleasant subject, but she did bring it up first. "I was quite idealistic, in the beginning. Joining the Grey Wardens was my way of repaying a perceived debt, and I was pleased to contribute to their cause. I had no reason to doubt any of my superiors at first, but Warden-Commander Clarel's grand plan changed everything.

I wasn't made aware of its full extent at first, but as friends among the order began disappearing or were no longer themselves, I dug deeper and was horrified by what I found. The Calling scared me, scared all of us...but Clarel's plan wasn't a solution; it was pure madness. Taking the lead of an obviously scheming magister, allowing blood sacrifice for the purpose of summoning a demon army? It would have made us enemies of all Thedas. I refused to assist, naively believing that few would stand for it. Unfortunately, I was wrong and those I had trusted imprisoned us." Garahel growls quietly at that, all sorts of tense as he remembers it, too. "If the Inquisition's agents had not intervened when they had, we would have remained at their 'mercy'."

"What were the words the dwarf put in the mouth of my mother? That there is always a catch? That life is a catch?" Something to that effect, and that's something she can hear in Flemeth's voice so annoyingly enough she can't doubt that he was there to hear her say it to whichever one heard it, and how misguided. To leap from the Circle to the Wardens. She wonders how old the girl might have been then. Young. Very young. The Wardens still saviours and heroes, nothing to tarnish them at all, nothing from the Circles to teach her better.

When she had told Myr that none of them were born of ewes or rams, she'd meant it though there are times she's sorely tested.

"When you are given your life even by another, I would suggest that you take it, however much of it that you have. Should the opportunity arise in the future." The words of someone who was half-gifted hers, who tore the rest free without looking back more than she had to then never stopped even with the bits missing that people don't think about until they're raw, jagged, the edge of a scar. "There are things that happen when the demons come," and there are always demons of a kind, are there not, "and one is taught fear."

Continuing to walk down a side street with less footfall than before to prevent an audience, she turns Inessa's way, a question on her lips. "And how, exactly, did she justify this? Wardens must do a great many things to defeat a Blight but what allows for abominations?"

At twenty-one years old, Inessa is still quite young...and yet thanks to all she's endured and experienced, there's no youthful merriment or impulsiveness to her. She's all focus, which has certainly been of aid at times, but it's cost her something as well. Whether or not she realizes it herself is another matter. As they walk, Garahel adopts a quieter tread, surprisingly quiet for one of his bulk. Though he usually prefers to draw attention, the mabari takes his cue from the ladies this time.

Her lips form a thin line, still furious that Clarel lives while so many other good Wardens do not. "Oh, it was 'sacrifice' this and 'duty' that. She truly seemed to believe that even the loss of the Warden mages' will was an acceptable loss, as long as it meant fulfilling the order's purpose before the Calling took us all. After all, a demon army doesn't have the needs of a mortal one. I knew a great many rules were bent or broken in service to the cause, but those words rang hollow the moment I saw the results myself. I saw a friend who had joined alongside me, from a different Circle. He had the same goals I did, he would have served them well...but the last time I saw him, he was but a shell on himself. Worse than Tranquil. He died at Adamant, I am told."

A SEA OF DEATH

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