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

Those kind words provoke a warm smile from Inessa, who appreciates the reprieve from judgment. "Thank you. There are times when I miss a Circle library or consider the fact that I might have been an Enchanter by now had the Circles not fallen, but the chance to use my education to fight our ancient foe has made all hardship worthwhile. Not to mention I wouldn't have Garahel, otherwise."

She fondly rubs Garahel as he nuzzles her. "Becoming a Grey Warden meant I did not join in the rebellion as it unfolded, a fact which some resent. But I chose the path I could best live with, the one that meant the most to me. Even considering recent events, I don't regret joining. I could never, not when it was Wardens who had saved our tower." Whatever else Cousland and Alistair were and are, they were the heroes Kinloch Hold had needed, and Inessa will forever feel indebted to them for their actions.

"You certainly would have been an Enchanter by now," Julius said, wry. "I've known many of them stupider and less talented than you by a fair margin." Not that he's not proud of his rank (still, contrarily a bit now), but he's clear-eyed about the many ways people attained it aside from hard work or skill.

"And I think... well. I doubt you want to dive too deeply into mage politics over a friendly drink," he amends. "But I'll leave it at the observation that people who say they are fighting for mages to choose their own paths might have better grace when people take them at their word."

And, to be fair, Julius' feelings toward the Wardens are probably warmer than many, for much the same reason Inessa feels indebted. Wardens were the reason any mage at Kinloch Hold survived Uldred's rebellion; it's not something he's apt to forget.

That Julius believes in her, or at least what she could have been in another life, causes Inessa to smile anew. She nods, not about to provoke a deep political discussion when that's likely to open old or not-so-old wounds. Still, she seems reassured by his assessment, some tension within easing.

"Strange as it may sound, one of those instances was a rifter. As she possessed magic, I was doing my best to explain the circumstances we face, and what caused them. I suppose I said too much in my desire to educate and ensure she didn't walk Thedas blindly." The sudden and swift judgment stung, and still does a little, for all that Inessa tells herself not to judge the girl too harshly.

Julius tilts his head slightly. "If it's not painful to discuss... what do you mean by having said too much? Granted, my contact with rifters hasn't been extensive so far, so maybe that would be more obvious if I had."

He doesn't feel protective of Inessa, exactly -- she can clearly handle herself -- but he's never liked the potential of being blindsided. At least with Thedas natives, he can anticipate likely prejudices and grudges and work around them.

"It's not." Or at least it isn't enough for her to admit it. Inessa strokes Garahel, who looks up at them both. "I felt obliged to explain to her she ought to be careful with her magic in public, given how many perceive mages. That snowballed into explaining why we were feared and what measures have been taken to ensure that Tevinter's folly was not repeated in the south. It seems mages and magic are far freer, less stigmatized in her own lands, as she was quite appalled at the restrictions we faced. Mention of the rebellion seemed to please her, but I wasn't going to lie about my involvement, or lack of it. That is where I overstepped, and where tension rose."

"I'm sorry. Though it's useful to remember to watch my own step with rifters, now and then." Of course it makes sense that they wouldn't necessarily be sympathetic to one view or another -- they're people, and thus bound to a range of opinions -- but it's an easy thing to forget when he's had such little contact.

Ruefully, he adds, "I suppose you were too tactful to ask whether her land with its freer rules had problems like abominations or... Tevinter." Just... all of Tevinter.

Inessa shakes her head with a wry smile. "Not quite, though from what I could infer, abominations were at the very least not the issue they are here. Perhaps that makes all the difference, though I would find it difficult to believe that there isn't a counterpart to Tevinter in some fashion."

"In fairness, I suppose much of Tevinter is more a 'people with power' problem than a magic-specific problem." Perhaps not a perspective everyone would share, but it's not as if he thinks people with political or economic power do substantially better across the board.

That has Inessa nodding, staring off as her lips form a thin line. "I've seen how power can corrupt and drive mad, with and without magic. It will always be an issue of some kind, mage or not.

At any rate, I would definitely encourage speaking with rifters. My moment of awkwardness aside, they have as much to contribute as they do to learn."

"They fascinate me as a concept, but I confess I don't know quite where to begin. Then again, I suppose I didn't know where to begin with anyone who wasn't a mage or a templar until a few years ago, so I can learn."

He's been forced into adaptability, but took to it better than even he expected. Of the things he's disliked about travel, "meeting new people" has not usually made the list.

A SEA OF DEATH

omg, sorry for the format fail up there

Sorry for... vanishing, eheh

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