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

Julius is clearly interested in her staff, but resists the urge to ask for a closer look (at least so far). They're strangers, after all -- and it isn't as if he'd be eager to hand his own staff over to someone he'd just met, for all that Julius' is substantially less distinctive.

"Research," he supplies, in answer to her question, settling on his own bed with an ease that suggests he's had to sleep much less comfortable places. "I'm focusing on Corypheus' history, mainly, but I'm also doing some research on the Qun for the project planning to reach out to them. And you?"

"Likewise research though I tend to avoid the Gallows." Hardly a surprise either given how she looks or her reputation, whatever precedes her since she's not quite so interested in keeping track of that part of things. Most likely this one would have come from a Circle, once upon a time but then most of them do unless the Vallaslin says otherwise these days. "Elven artifacts. I have...particular knowledge gained that few elsewhere would have come across prior to now. Some of it might be of interest to the first one you work with."

Some conversations lately about Corypheus, Darkspawn, and old ancient things have been uncomfortable to say the least. "A mage reaching out to the Qun? How bold."

"Well, I haven't actually done it yet," he says, with a rueful smile. "We'll see how it goes. For now, I'm mainly trying to sort what we actually know from 'what we suspect' or 'what this one man told a friend of a friend one time, we're pretty sure he knew what he was on about.'" A mild exaggeration, but with the Qun especially, there's a lot of untrustworthy conjecture to sort through. He suspects it's not a problem she's unfamiliar with, researching elven history.

"I'd be interested, though, in what connection your work has to Corypheus' history. I'm a new enough arrival that I'm mainly doing a lot of note reading to catch up."

"I should like to be there if you do, I only knew one personally. Last I heard he'd become the Arishok. His views on mages...I would hardly hold my breath." Such an intriguing creature Sten was until there were times he'd open his mouth and she'd wish to stopper it so very quickly when it came to men, women, and their places, or things about mages. The iron bar though (no, she'll stop, that's distracting.) "Tight-lipped hardly begins to cover it, is it not something that can be hard to wrap the head around?"

Does she want others to suffer through the same struggles with ancient elven, interpreting the text, the meaning of the text, the intent, the spirit, if the vagueness or the poetry is intentional or not? Qunari would be something else entirely but some avenues of study are straightforward, others you think that you might learn by sleeping on top of the thing in the vain hope something might just happen to seep into the mind.

"There was a meeting recently between elven artifacts and the rifts and the veil project where Corypheus was mentioned; more than once his Venatori have come for eluvians. Elven artifacts lost almost entirely to time but of incredible value should one know how to use them. It cannot be a coincidence." It's not, Morrigan's tone might be light but she knows that it's not. Her brows draw together, mouth pulling into a frown again; thinking about it again isn't welcome when there's such a long way between Kirkwall and Skyhold.

Julius frowns, more serious as they speak of Corypheus in earnest. "Do you think you know what he wants them for, specifically?" he asks, before he can catch himself -- this probably is not the best time, truly, but it catches his ear all the same. "...sorry," he says, "perhaps you'd prefer to wait until we're somewhere a bit more secure."

...like Kirkwall.

Rising to her feet, Morrigan crosses to the door and peers out; she hasn't a rogue's subtlety at this but the care of someone who lived in Orlais for longer than anyone ever should, even the natives. A few people going back and forth, chatter and laughter in other rooms.

People know from the meeting already but when she closes the door behind her again and sits, then at least she seems happier to discuss it.

"Here is as good a place as anywhere, no longer are we in Skyhold." A pity that, isolated but there was an advantage to it that they don't have now. They're in Kirkwall. They're in the Gallows. They're where everything boiled over in the first place and Julius is probably better placed than she to see that. "Corypheus believes himself a magister of Old Tevinter," Morrigan says carefully without looking away. "And there are ways should one know how to open them to get to something not the Fade but close. The ancient elves left no roads yet so many ruins in far-flung corners, history forgot the truth of eluvians."

Which feels dangerous to say to a stranger but this one certainly isn't lacking in ambition or the willingness to apply himself.

Julius looks attentive, now that they're speaking together seriously. He'd heard a little about Corypheus' claims, though he's unsure how much it's wise to credit or discredit them just yet. The eluvians, though, he knows little of.

"I confess, I've run across mentions of them in old texts, occasionally, but nothing that indicates what they are for or how they're used. You're speaking, though, of a means of transportation?"

That could, indeed, be a game-changing advantage. A sobering thought, to imagine Corypheus having such a resource, for himself and his allies both.

What research must he have done to come across mentions of eluvians? She'll have to ask when they aren't discussing them directly since she doesn't want to let go now that she's found another who understands it so quickly, who realises what this means for all of them.

"When I came across them, I had to learn on my own, and my learning is from far outside the circles to begin with. This is something from the time of Arlathan; with it sunk, the Dales lost, the clans split apart much is lost including the truth to almost all." Oh if only people knew that Celene and Briala both knew about eluvians, imagine the furor that would erupt over that but it's not a thing to be said when it's not going to lead anywhere productive, when she's smiling with a measure of satisfaction that someone put it together again. (Others haven't, two years or near enough as makes no difference and so many others hadn't until the meeting.) "But yes, to go from one eluvian to another if one has the key."

Only she isn't so sure about Corypheus requiring one. Or if he would care. "Perhaps he might not require one - do we know how strong he truly is?"

"Well, hopefully us, if the project I'm working on does its job. Eventually. Still, I do take your point." He's not unconcerned, but his manner is more thoughtful than afraid. Deliberate.

"I assume it won't come as a revelation to anyone to observe that the various projects need to share information, but in the more immediate, I'd be interested in speaking more about what you determined at this meeting. It sounds like it has ramifications for working out Corypheus' long-term strategy, and while that's future rather than past, I rather think it ties in."

"Had I the time to look to another, 'twas that or the rifts project, given past work though should you have a question you need only ask." Her door was ever open in Skyrim, less easy to do that in Kirkwall yet making the offer should suffice.

"There was time spent on the map recovered from the island the Inquisition were shipwrecked on, the ramifications it might have, if the lines upon said map have bearing on the direction of eluvian travel. What, if anything, rifts and red lyrium have to do with it given that there was red lyrium present and a rift by the island." Pausing, Morrigan goes for her own grimoire, flipping through several pages to come to some hasty notes that had echoed some of what Pel had written, finger tracking down the page. "Elven ruins, eluvians, ley lines, weakened veil, other old and cursed civilisations. There were intersections upon the map, Kostos said they would cover miles. Pel thought of asking locals but imagine: asking locals about any of that? For any shred of truth you'd spend months at the very least sifting through the nonsense." There's such a thing as having far too much sitting at hand, for something like this the more they narrow it down the better, they don't need the esteemed opinions of every village idiot who thinks someone counting higher than their toes or knowing how to make a salve is some strange unnatural creature.

"It sounds like a lot of useful questions, at least, even if you're so far short on answers." He seems thoughtful, turning over what she's told him. "Really, it's not a bad idea to ask locals -- you just need specific locals. People with both ties to the area and the right kind of knowledge to make them likely to be helpful. Unfortunately, a lot of those kinds of people aren't known for staying still in today's Thedas." Mages, both longstanding apostates and Circle rebels; the Dalish; anyone with more knowledge of antique magic than the Chantry had been comfortable allowing.

"It seems for every person the Inqusition recruits, we could easily put five more to work," he adds, almost absently as he thinks it over.

"People who might be less than likely to wish to speak with a thing that calls itself an Inquisition." Or anyone under that banner. "I had a...personal reason to seek out the Chasind - a woman worries about her dear old mother in these times, she asks those who might know of her whereabouts."

(The last people were the Champion - missing, who knows, probably as dead as the Hero is now and the Inquisitor has been knowing how the luck of a person who becomes a title tends to turn - and their allies who Morrigan would prefer not to ask unless pressed. Not for this.)

"They were firm as to what they would give. No help to the Inquisition yet there is much that they know that has been passed down for ages. That we have so many Dalish has ever been a surprise yet that is but one clan for the most, the rest? My own dealings have been patchy at best."

It's frustrating to know that there's so much slipping through their fingers, and that's only what they know of, not all that they're missing yet. "You could work them to the pyre and still not have all that you seek." Morrigan please, why are you smirking when you say that, it's not funny.

"I will go on the record as stating I'm not working anyone to the pyre personally," Julius says, a bit arch but clearly not offended. "But yes. I'm a researcher, not a spy, but it's obvious even to me that the Inquisition can't get all the information it needs simply by asking openly and politely. It would be a truly oblivious mage who managed to get through life without noticing that many people are willing to hate you for things outside your control, let alone your own inevitable mistakes."

He's curious about her mother, a connection to the Chasind, but this doesn't seem to be the time. Perhaps another.

"Even here in Nevarra, I'd be surprised if our only business is official business."

"A few more bards might not go amiss. Before any of this began," and she means any of it, even before Halamshiral was put to the torch by Celene's hand in an utterly senseless move (are there still scorchmarks now, she wonders), "the Divine and empress would meet in secret to speak of the elves of Orlais and the mages. Still, there are some mages who I thought had gained some sense yet the bleating over the crystals..."

(Anders. Anders and his damned prattling over the Chantry as if that would do a single person but his own ego any good.)

"There have been no overtures in Nevarra yet." Well, there was Benevenuta for a time so who knows what parts of Nevarra at the very least might know. "I personally hoped that there might be texts not found so easily elsewhere given how close we are to Tevinter, or those who might know how to get hold of copies. After how things went in the Winter Palace, perhaps the hope 'tis for something rather more subtle." Less chance for sabotage though she's not entirely encouraged by the idea of it being pulled off given her own memories of the Winter Palace, not so much rose-tinted as bloody crimson.

He doesn't know that Morrigan means Anders, specifically, but it's who he immediately thinks of anyway. (He does not comment, though.)

"I heard a bit, about the Winter Palace. It sounds like it was an epic mess, if you'll pardon my frankness." It's a mild invitation to elaborate, one easily ignored by design. He's curious, but he's aware that the Inquisition as a whole -- and Morrigan in particular -- doubtless has better to do than satisfy his desire to know things. "Then again, there are always those who undervalue subtlety in any organization that grows large enough."

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A SEA OF DEATH

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