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.

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"So, once mortality is chosen, it cannot be undone for yourself or your descendants?" Inessa's brow furrows, as she tries her best to follow along but the rules seem unlike anything she has ever encountered before. She quirks an eyebrow at mention of 'Powers' curious as to what that might mean, but she's already asking so many questions anyway. It's probably best not to unload them all at once, for the sake of manners.

"That must be difficult, being parted from family in such a way. And yet, while that is an inevitability, at least you have them here and now. Is that why you're alone, seeking a reprieve from the hovering?" Her smile is sympathetic. "I was almost always the youngest of my class, by a significant margin. Hovering is something I can understand, trust me." Garahel makes a questioning noise and she gives him some affectionate rubbing. "Not you, silly. You're always welcome."

She sighs, leaning back. "I am not the greatest person to ask about the elves, to be fair. Most of my life was spent in a Circle, not the alienage. And now I am part of a largely human organization, involved in a human. I will not have children either way, so the issue of elf-blooded is not a personal concern."

"Mmhmm. I assume there may be mitigating circumstances, as we still don't know if Grandmother Idril was successful in her bid to preserve the life of Grandfather Tuor, but the Gift of Men is from the One Himself, and once given cannot be revoked. Even Beren and Luthien died again for the second time after she won him back - but by all accounts they lived a full life and died happily in each others arms when the time came. Although as I said, Great-grandmother Luthien was always something of a special case."

He grimaces. "Aye - my foster fathers are especially bad about that, which... well. They're not... well - they never were, but it's far worse now than I remember, mostly on Maglor's part, but then, he's from my future apparently and... I don't even want to know what he was thinking, do to that to himself! Anyway. I don't begrudge it much, but it can get a little stifling."

Elros sighs. "Elrond and I... well. The fight, as you can imagine, was... epic, is I believe the best word. But in many ways the choices we made were inevitable, and both of us knew it. It's taken him... and me, but mostly him! - the better part of thirty years, but when I sailed for Elenna, we parted with affection and not anger. He'll be there for my children and my children's children, and I think that will help him, to see the legacy I leave behind." He flashes her a grin. "While I can understand not having children of your own, there's something to be said about that sort of legacy. What was life in the Circle like?"

"It must have been a weighty decision, one not chosen lightly if it cannot be revoked. I don't know that I would have dared as you did." So many names and terms; Inessa prides herself on her memory, but even she doesn't find it easy to keep up. But it's all interesting, and Elros doesn't seem to offer it with the condescending attitude that she fears from other elves. Even the Dalish can be like that, and the Arda elves...well, she suspects it's even more true in their case.

Her eyebrows raise a little, finding some alarm in what's said. "How are they not well, or is that too personal a question to ask? Is it something I will have to take into account when meeting them?" It's not usually in her to pry, but he brought it up, and she would rather know what to expect, if he's in a sharing mood.

She pauses, thoughtful. It's difficult to sum up life in the Circle without a lot of context, but she can try. "I have told you of the difficult lives in the alienage, the isolation and deprivation. Imagine going from that to a place where you had regular meals, warm clothes, an education. Many others cannot say the same and I am well aware, but for myself, I thrived in the Circle. Had they not fallen, I would have attained the rank of Enchanter by now. Sometimes I think about what might have been...but I also would not have been free to travel the world as I have with the Wardens. Nor would I have my mabari companion. There are trade-offs to both paths.

Within the Circles, there were different fraternities. Loyalists advocated loyalty and obedience to the Chantry. Libertarians were those who wanted to break free from the Chantry. Isolationists were a small group that advocated withdrawing to remote territories in order to avoid conflicts with the general populace. Lucrosians prioritized the accumulation of wealth, with the gaining of political influence a close second. Aequitarians advocated temperance, preferring to focus on a code of ethics. I had not been a formal member since I lacked sufficient rank, but I had Aequitarian leanings. I still do."

"Elrond says the same." Elros shrugs wryly.

"But I'm not one for the twilight, for looking back. I've always wanted the next great adventure, and what is greater than being able to escape the world entire and go beyond? I've never feared death - but death as the Eldar know it is to sleep in the Halls until you are healed enough to return to life. Not me! I don't want to be trapped in amber. I want to live, and when death comes for me, I want to go out and see what's on the other side."

He frowns, but it is thoughtful, not discouraging. "It's hard to explain, but you'd know what I meant if you met them and took time to get to know them. They're both masters at pretending to be fine, so most never notice. But... Maglor, especially... the idiot is damn close to Fading, I'm pretty sure. If you look at him in sunlight, I suspect he'd look just a little insubstantial around the edges. But it's in the eyes, for both of them. They're not terribly sane, any more. But still... the main driving factor for their madness is not here. And Fingon is here - he's good for Maedhros. Hopefully, it will be enough."

He nods, following along with her description.

"What were the Chantry?"

"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.

"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."

"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."

He grins, fierce and bright.

"Ah, an enemy to fight! That's another way of uniting peoples, although for a life of such courage to be loss in the effort is a deep blow. What's being done?"

"The Inquisition has a number of projects dedicated to understanding more about Corypheus, his goals, his methods, and his agents. I'm a member of the Red Lyrium project, which covers the threat of red lyrium and the Red Templars. In addition, I'm the project leader for Rifts and the Veil. We also have projects dedicated to uncovering Corypheus' past, Chantry relations, elven artifacts, northern powers relations, establishing a naval presence, and so on. If you seek a place in the Inquisition, I'm certain any of those projects would benefit by the addition of another."

"I was looking to help out with the navy - the sea's in my blood, if you like. I get restless too long on land! It sounds as if there's a good deal being done to investigate, which is a hopeful sign! But in whatever capacity I can be of aid, well - it's not as if I have much else to do right now!"

That gets a small, sympathetic smile from Inessa as she nods. "Quite understandable. Everyone needs a purpose of some kind, a reason to get up in the morning. Sailing the sea is as valid a reason as any for that, and a feasible outlet. Sometimes I wonder if I would adjust as well as some of the rifters have, were our positions reversed. But unless the rifts' one-way phenomenon works in reverse -and that has never happened- there is no means to tell."

"I hope they do - I have a kingdom to set up, and my steward is probably throwing fits." Elros smiles fondly.

"But as you say - since I am stuck here with no feasible means of return, might as well throw my hat in here, as it were. I'm sure you'd do fine - mostly I find people are quite adaptable, if they have to be."

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A SEA OF DEATH

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