faderift | The Cult of Andraste

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The Cult of Andraste

WHO: Dorian, Maria, Nerva and Twisted Fate
WHAT: War Table Mission: The Cult of Andraste
WHEN: Forward dated to Haring 5th, over a period of at least 3 days
WHERE: The ruins of the ancient temple of Andraste
NOTES: see original mission outline above, linked in 'what'. likely to involve a lot of violence and bickering and since dorian is here, sass

[Prompt below is for initial meeting / heading out on the quest thread. We can start other threads as we need them for later parts of the mission.]

It came as something of a relief, when Nerva was finally given a mission outside of the castle grounds. Skyhold had been something of a shock, despite her thinking that she had prepared for it. But the way the mages lived and worked here was unnerving, and dangerous, but she and her fellow templars were far outnumbered. Being able to get out into the world, do some real good, was an intoxicating idea. She was even smiling - albeit a small one - as she checked over her equipment and the gear they would require for the journey. She'd come to the gates early, just to make sure she had a good idea of everything that would be needed, what they were missing, and what would have to be done without. It was little more than a glorified scouting mission, but for Nerva, an important one. The loss of her connection to the Chantry had been a heavy blow, and anything she could do to help restore some of that connection, even if only for herself...

Well. She would gladly do it.

So she was far more devoted to the mission than mere duty necessitated.

However, that was very likely to change, once she found out exactly who was on the mission with her...

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Apparently, avoiding the general boggish misery of the Fallow Mire meant it was traded in for a hike through the icy, mountainways of the Frostbacks. Maybe Dorian would have reconsidered, had he known.

But the subject of this adventure is one of wide reaching interest for all that it could turn into a scavenger hunt just as easily, and so here he is. He's dressed in sturdy leathers and buckles and shining metal embellishments that seem to reflect firelight that isn't present, and at his back, a staff of dark wood and serpentstone. A thick, fur-lined cloak and cowl drapes about his shoulders, something gifted to him from the Inquisition's own provisions rather than anything as fancy as the rest of him.

He's made inquiry as to who he was meant to be travelling with already. Two unknowns, one of which has a reputation that precedes her. Dorian recognises her by way of process of elimination, and his smile, subtle as it is, is already crooked.

"It occurred to me that every route through the Frostbacks is the scenic route," he says, instead of a hello, in the midst of approach. "Because getting everywhere takes about as long as that implies, but it's very pretty, if you like that sort of thing. Dorian Pavus," he adds, swiftly.

He was dressed so obviously as a mage that it was almost helpful, if only because for once it wasn't a surprise. She turned at the voice, and the smile that she had been so carefully and delicately cultivating disappeared instantly. Mages. Of course they were sending mages, to such a religious and important place. Why not. And judging by his name--

A muscle in her neck twitched.

"Nerva Lecuyer," She replied, the Orlesian accent stronger for her being all the more aware of his. Her templar armour - which had recently been polished, again - didn't have the same odd firelight quality of Dorian's buckles, but still caught the sun with a good, decent shine. The pride would have been obvious a mile away.

"It will take as long as it requires," She replied to the rest of his statement - unable to completely ignore it, because she was doing her best to not be completely confrontational. Sort of. "You will not be forced to enjoy it."

"No?" Dorian says, with sarcastic italics and all, although there is enough good humour bright like a candle in his tone, guttering away irreverently. "But you strike me so immediately as particularly warming company."

Thankfully, none of the other inner circle are present to point out he'll be complaining about not being able to feel his extremities at least once every few hours during the worst of the hike. Nerva and the rest will just have to find that out for themselves.

"Never fear, I'll see to my own entertainment. Force won't be required."

"I am sure you will," She replied, the irreverent cheer in his voice only cementing the ice in hers. "You seem the sort to be happily entertained by very little."

So much for the civility. She bit her own tongue as she said it, pulling a face more for herself than for him, at having been dragged down so quickly into unprofessionalism.

She cleared her throat, but did not apologize. There was no point. "You have all the equipment that you will require?" She asked, the words grating against her throat. They weren't the ones she wanted to ask. How in the Maker's light had they thought sending a Tevinter Mage to the Temple of Andraste would be a good idea?

How, indeed?

"I've everything I need," he assures (his modest carry bag is modest but well packed, resting now at his feet) and then, because he is absolutely not letting her get away with that one, he drags the conversation back to where she left off like an alligator's dogged hauling of prey back into a swamp. "And you're absolutely right; I'll get hours out of my reflection bouncing off your remarkably shiny breastplate. Tell me, how do you get it to such a polish? Some sort of Orlesian remedy?" His tone drops down into a flatter affect; "The tears of your enemies?"

He glances over his shoulder, mindful of approach of the rest of their party. Just as lightly; "Or, perhaps, your mage charges."

Edited 2015-11-30 13:43 (UTC)

"All the work of my own hands," she snapped back - the irritation immediate, unable to keep herself from rising to his ribbing. "Though that must seem like an impossible concept, for you. Do you miss your entourage?"

There was no playful humour in her tone - ice and ash. "I collect no tears, nor keep my new allies as charges. But if you are interested in shedding some, I will be happy to assist."

"With no one to carry me aloft on velvet cushions all the way to the Temple? I'm inconsolable."

His tone remains as is, save for the edge sharpened and hidden, just detectable in the consonants knived off with shiny, symmetrical teeth. Still, it won't do, probably, for Dorian to have to explain to someone why Nerva stormed off in a fury or why he was left behind, and so his hands raise, offering his palms in a show of surrender.

He sort of a little bit got what he wanted, anyway. "And doubtless you are, but I'll avoid giving you cause, if it's all the same. I prefer to do my weeping only during Inquisition assignments, not before."

The fact that he could keep his tone so simpering and sarcastic and light while her own was so sharp and obvious in its frustration only served to make it worse. Flaunting the fact that he knew her hands were tied - that she was forced to put up with his behaviour no matter how snide, or dangerous, or reckless - was a subtle power he held over her that made her want to put her fist through a wall.

So merely standing firm and glaring at him was the best behaviour she could manage to offer, in the moment.

"If you act within reason and honour, Mage, perhaps you will find you need not shed any at all."

The tone made it all too obvious how likely she thought it was that any Mage could act with either reason or honour, but she managed to hold her tongue beyond that.

"We have the honor of entering Andraste's temple. In light of that, I'm sure we'll all be on our best behavior."

She'd only caught the other templar's most recent reply, but it didn't take much to put together the all too familiar scene before her. Pavus had his hands raised, Nerva was glaring. All in all signs of a fantastic start.

Accustomed to traveling in the cold and often unforgiving terrain of Ferelden, a thick traveling cloak mostly covered her own well kept Templar armor and the sword at her side. The hood was down at the moment, thus the warning glance thrown to the both of them as she set down her pack was not hidden. Maria was aware she had no rank or right to act like a scolding parent, but the urge came too naturally to ignore. They would all be on their best behavior or so help her no one would be having religious artifacts for dessert.

"So nice to know that we're warming up to each other so quickly. I knew you could stand to be so social, little lady."

This is probably as well as any group of people could be. A Tevinter mage, a Dalish elf, a crabby Orlesian templar, and a somewhat reasonable Fereldan templar. Really, it's like something out of one of Varric's books. All manner of hijinks, banter, and unlikely friendships ready to brew as they're forced to work together.

Quaint idea, really.

"Best behavior, yes. That's us all right." Fate chuckles softly. "Off to a grand start."

By the time Maria arrives, Dorian maintains eye contact with Nerva a little like a dog not yet called to heel, an implicit aggression steely beneath cavalier affect and surrender jazzhands. But said hands lower and he looks towards the other Templar, who he likes better despite being all even-handed about calling them off -- but it's more credit given to him than most in Skyhold would spare.

So, no complaints.

"I'll try to contain myself," he pledges, grandly, with a sweeping glance that includes the Dalish in address. "But no one need fuss -- we were simply making our introductions. Who's next?"

Nerva turns immediately when she hears Maria's voice - the heckles that had been raised, like a hissing cat to Dorian's dog, immediately soothing upon catching sight of the other templar.

"Yes, Ser," She replied with a crisp form, and respect. Regardless of their rank in the inquisition, Maria had outranked her when they'd first met, and likely did so still, and Nerva was ever a creature of habit when it came to rank.

"Of course."

But then the elf had to speak and the heckles raised again, kept only in moderate check by the fact that Nerva actually really did want to follow the order she had literally just been given. The little lady earned him a pure, steel glare.

"I do not think further introductions are necessary," Nerva said instead, bluntly, not really caring if Twisted Fate got to introduce himself properly because really, what kind of name was that anyway.

"There'll be time enough on the road."

Her pack had barely had time to gather dirt on it and she's already slinging it back over her shoulder. The little lady earned the new coming his own disapproving look, but there was nothing to gain by squabbling on the doorstep. They could at least make it outside Skyhold's walls for that.

"I trust you're all prepared."

Trusted it enough she's turned to being walking without waiting for the answers.

The cold and disapproving looks merely earn a cheeky smile in return from the elf, and he winks at Nerva. Because that certainly will earn him some approval from her, won't it?

He's following Maria, but he spares a glance over to Dorian, winking at him. "I go by Twisted Fate. Though whatever you feel like calling me is entirely up to you. Heard 'em all by now, really. It's a pleasure."

Or in as much as it can be, in such conditions.

Dorian's interest adopts a keen edge as he watches the exchange between Templars, not all the time privy to demonstrations of rank, informal or not. Fascinating! Potentially useful.

Faint amusement glimmers in his expression as Maria drags momentum forward, Dorian hefting up his own luggage, looking towards Twisted Fate with the same thought in time to at least forge the missing link in who knows who, falling into step with the elf. "What a fascinating moniker. You'll have to regale me with how you came by it at some especially boring patch of hiking. Or, if that's strictly classified, make something up.

"Dorian," he adds, focus settling back forwards. "Of House Pavus."

"Of Tevinter." Nerva helpfully finishes for him, somehow managing to keep eighty percent of the spite from her voice. Still. Twenty percent left a lot of spite. She picked up her own bags - mostly loaded down with things that they would need that weren't necessarily personally items, as well as a shield nearly as tall as she was.

She fell in line last - not because of laziness, but so that she could take a vanguard position. She didn't even think about it - it was simply second nature. Maria at point, her at vanguard - protect the mages.

Even if she daydreamed darkly about both of them falling off a cliff on the way.

"Maria Hill."

They were on the move at least, so she throws her name out over her shoulder for the benefit of 'Fate.' Like Dorian, she's sure it was an assumed name- made her think of Iron Bull and his Chargers- but she'd leave asking after the tale to the mage. The Inquisition was nothing if not full of eccentrics.

"Of Tevinter? Scary." The elf lets out a quiet chuckle, keeping his grin as he follows Maria's march. "However will I sleep tonight, knowing I'm traveling with templars and a dashing man from Tevinter?"

Fate adjusts his hat and looks on ahead to their path ahead of them. This certainly will be a journey, won't it?

"Ah, well. I assure you the truth is far less enjoyable than any lie I could tell you. But I promise tales nonetheless."

Though he can only see primarily her back, he does offer to Maria politely, "Well met, then."

"Yes, I really ought to have a sign made to hang around my neck. Of Tevinter."

Dorian turns a step mostly to track where Nerva is settling, before reorienting in Maria's lead with some resignation for having the less friendly one at his back. He might, later, confirm his sense of feeling like he's being herded in some way, but for now-- "The dashing part goes without saying."

"No flirting." The words come out as if she were a babysitter, telling the children not to bite each other. An equal mix annoyance and exasperation. Of course they were both flirts. Of course they were. She had better put a stop to it now.

(Her mind could easily go from flirting to much worse, and she had absolutely no need to fight a desire demon if she could help it.)

"Yes, Well met."

It was a good thing she's facing forward and thus away from the group, because she can't help the rueful smile that comes with Nerva's admonishment. This was no Templar march of clear rank and order. After that comment, Maria could only resign herself to listening to endless, unsubtle flirtation (more so than would have occurred anyway) for the march.

"I trust no artifacts will be sent to the Black Divine for Feastday."

That earns a low laugh. "Flirting? Figured I was just describing the obvious. If I was flirting, I'd probably have said somethin' more like your sense of style lets me look at you in all of the right places and probably something including the word ravishing. Either in the you look ravishing or I'd like to ravish you, take your pick, really."

Either way, expecting Fate to behave himself is a tall order indeed.

Walking as they are, Nerva doesn't herself get the satisfaction of witnessing a flash of irritation show true across Dorian's features, and a glance aside spares Fate of it as well as the jest continues on. It's hard to say, whether it's too early to pick his battles, or if it is best to establish how he will and will not be talked to.

Instead, focusing on Maria's contribution--

"Certainly not, thrilled as His Most Holy might be. To have, for the sake of having. No, trusting that sacrilegious bandits have not yet ravished the holy grounds themselves, we're going to make two White Divine Hands immensely happy."

Edited 2015-12-02 09:17 (UTC)

Twisted Fate earns himself a Disgusted Sound, but that really had been all she had intended to say on the subject, and since Dorian doesn't encourage it, she doesn't repeat herself. She just contents herself to glaring at his back.

The talk of Tevinter's black divine makes her twitch, though. At least Dorian knows better than to tease too far on that subject, with two templars marching with him.

But considering that the Hands in question seemed, for some reason, to trust him, she had to assume that he really didn't have any ties to the Black Divine.

"If we could, we should be securing the site against intrusion and leaving the artifacts where they are," She offered instead, her voice only just loud enough for the three of them to catch it. She didn't bother to say that she knew that they couldn't - that the manpower alone made it impossible, and that they had more important things to focus on. Maria knew. It didn't matter if the mages knew. "I only hope that something still remains."

Maria made a non-committal noise in response to the other Templar. There were a great number of things that could be done, ideally, but as it was they had to deal with the reality and restrictions of their situation. Facts she was sure they were all too familiar with.

"The place must have some defenses left to it, to have anything worth investigating after all this time. The Nightingale wouldn't have dedicated resources to nothing."

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wickedchase - 2015-12-03 05:50 (UTC) - Expand

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The Cult of Andraste

initial meeting.

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