faderift | 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

"Oh wow, you can make us go faster?" he inquired in fascination as he began to move, keeping his sword out just in case as they begin to head for the exit. Or, at least the way that seemed like the exit.

"It's more that I can cause time to slow down for everything else around us, but I suppose it amounts to the same thing. But it also requires power that needs time to replenish, so I would rather not unless we must."

Garahel lifts his head and sniffs around, then growls at the direction they're going. Inessa grips her staff tighter at that. "More trouble?"

Prompto almost asks why it's called Haste and not... Slow? ~~If only he were from a Final Fantasy that actually had those spells~~. But he decides to just keep his mouth shut and nod.

He slows to a stop when Garahel's hackles raise. Around the bend up ahead, there's the faint sound of moans and other rather off putting noises that only the undead can manage. "Sounds like it."

"Get ready, then." Sighing, Inessa renews the barrier spell. As a cluster of undead emerge from the shadows, Garahel lunges at the nearest one when it's within range, snapping at it with his powerful jaws. As promised, Inessa casts her spell and a shimmering golden dome expands around them. The pace of the undead slows considerably, as a result.

Prompto nods, going into an offensive stance as he readies himself. Tightening his grip on his sword, he watches as the undead shamble towards them. Once they hit the barrier and are slowed, Prompto surges forward, blade at the ready. And hey, he manages not to trip as he slashes through one. He spins and guts it, before yanking his sword out and letting it collapse to the ground. One lunges at him, the nails on its decaying hand managing to catch his arm and leaving a few gashes and tearing at his clothes. Prompto shoves the shambler off, hissing as his arm stings from the wound.

Taking advantage of their enemies' slowed state, Inessa sends some healing energy Prompto's way. That done, she'll summon a blizzard to further slow and damage their foes. With the Barrier spell also up, she's not concerned for her companions. Garahel is thoroughly taking advantage of all this, and after killing his first goes after the shambler that struck Prompto, slamming into it.

Hilariously enough, Prompto's not unused to feeling the side effects of a spell like that. Noctis loved tossing spells at enemies will within range of his friends. He's lost count of how many times he's gotten covered in frost from a Blizzard spell. All the same, his teeth chatter as he backs away from the Blizzard spell she unleashes. Her healing spell manages to patch up the gash relatively well, enough to take the stinging away and make his arm usable. He shouts thanks to her before going after another shambler. He cuts through it, glancing over as it falls as Garahel goes to town on the one that attacked him. What a good doggy.

Prompto and Garahel make an effective team, Inessa decides with a small smile. She doesn't let herself get distracted or put the burden of combat solely on them, though. When some of the shamblers freeze under the raging blizzard, she sends a Stonefist spell at one. The boulder shatters on impact just as it shatters the shambler, staggering and weakening the nearest ones. At this rate, they should be able to cut them down fast enough to leave, assuming something else isn't attracted by the noise.

Inessa makes quicker work of them then Prompto can, but he downs his share of enemies as well. As the crowd thins, Prompto sees an opening to make a run for it. "I'll clear out these guys! You and Garahel go for it, I'll be right behind ya!" And off he goes to do just that.

"You'd better!" Inessa casts Fade Step, blurring forward on waves of magic to buy a little more time. Garahel follows along, though he checks to see that Prompto is making good on his word.

Luckily these shamblers are chumps, scarier looking than they are actually. While he still wishes he had his bow (or better a ding-dang gun, but that's a pipe dream), Prompto's still making decent work of them with his sword. When the last of them falls, he heaves out a breath, a bit winded. But he's still got a long way to go, so he doesn't dally long before he's running off after Inessa and Garahel.

"I'm a man of my word!" he says as he catches up, shooting her a little wink before strolling along. "Sounds quiet up ahead."

Garahel barks happily and rushes over to bump Prompto, affectionately. Inessa gestures for the mabari to keep it down but is likewise relieved and her smile says as much. "I'll take that as a good sign. Let's see if we can catch up with the others, at the very least."

Prompto scratches behind his ears, shooting the dog a grin. It's nice to know someone was worried. Not that he enjoys making people - and animals - worry, but it's a nice feeling. He glances up at Inessa, nodding to her plan. "Yeah, let's. They shouldn't be too much further up ahead, right?"

A SEA OF DEATH

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