faderift | [open] Two Tevinter Mages Walk into Kirkwall

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[open] Two Tevinter Mages Walk into Kirkwall

WHO: Thor and Loki of House Asgard, you!
WHAT: Joining the Inquisition
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Racism likely.

1. Open - In the Gallows

It's bright and early when two unknown men stroll into the Gallows, heads high. The taller, blonder one seems cheerful as he looks around.

"Grim and cold! We are truly in the south now. Which ones do you suppose are the... servants?" It's a narrow save.

"The ones with the pointed ears, as always," the dark haired man replies and settles his arms across his chest. He regards the courtyard with open distaste and his expression becomes one of resignation, after a beat. "Though we are in the south, so perhaps it is merely the poor that serve them. Their shoes should be sufficient indication."

"Shoes. Of course." The blond man starts peering at people's feet openly, making no effort to hide his scrutiny or lower his voice. "All of their shoes are poor, so perhaps all of these are servants. You there! Who is in charge? Who do two new allies need to speak with when joining?" He points at someone mostly at random.

2. Closed to Beleth

Beleth Ashara. It is an elfy name. Thor holds his misgivings close to his chest as he leads the way up the stairs as directed. Has the Inquisition already started its fall? What aid will they be in the fight against Corypheus and the Venatori if they've begun to falter? They are questions he'll ask his brother later. For now, he's approaching the open door of an office and knocking hard on it, breaking into a wide smile despite his assumption proving true.

"Greetings! I am Thor of House Asgard, this is my brother Loki, and we are here to join the Inquisition! I have papers of introduction from my father." With full confidence he holds them out. There is no way an elf could find fault or flaw in the words of Odin.

3. Open - In Hightown

Kirkwall is...tolerable, in the right light and in the right neighborhood. Where the docks and the lower levels of the city had been unbearably diverse and grimy, the finer neighborhoods are far less of both. Hightown is decorous, lovely, and well manicured. The air is clearer, the sun is brighter, and there many, many fewer of the lower classes meandering about. It isn't Tevinter but, overall, it's not a terrible place to spend a few months...or however long this whole situation takes to resolve.

It can't be terribly long, not once they've contributed their own talents to the cause.

"I imagine the view would be excellent if we can see that portion of the harbor," Loki comments and gestures down toward the sprawling ocean view beyond. It is mostly obscured by mansions. Mansions that Loki would like to own in the near future (ideally to demolish to construct a proper villa, but that was a plan for another day).

"What say you, brother, shall we purchase that one?" Loki asks and Thor, at his side. Thor, to his credit, takes a moment to peer at the house, to give it a proper amount of scrutiny, and then all but shouts:

"Yes! I like it! We shall take it!"

The owners, leaving their house and headed toward the market, seem utterly confused by the announcement.

--

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What the fuck.

If the Inquisition were in better shape, if Beleth were in better shape, maybe she'd already know about the two Tevinter mages knocking on her office. As it stands, when she swings the door open, there's a surprise waiting for both parties. Beleth is not just an elfy name, she's an elfy person, and Dalish, to boot. And she is currently staring wearily at two (admittedly distractingly attractive) Tevinter men that have just appeared on her metaphorical doorstep.

For a moment, she stares, almost blankly, at the papers offered, then at the distractingly attractive faces, then at the papers, again. Is this a joke? Did Twisted Fate put them up to this? Did he think that she'd find this more amusing than stressful?

But there's nothing for it than to take them seriously, for now. Maybe if they start stripping or singing, she'll be able to throw them out of her office.

So the papers are accepted, and she realizes she should probably say...something.

"Greetings, Thor and Loki of House Asgard. I am Beleth Ashara, Scoutmaster to the Inquisition. Please, step into my office." And, starting to skim through the offered papers, she steps aside, squinting for any sign that this is just a particularly thorough prank.

So very, very elfy. With the face markings that mean she's one of the ones that run around in the forests, he's pretty sure, so why is she in a city? Maybe she got lost.

Thor steps into her office despite what she is, feeling a little amused as he watches her read the papers. That she even can read is a little bit of a surprise, but he had expected things to be somewhat backward here.

"Scoutmaster," he echoes before plopping uninvited into a chair. It creaks, but thankfully doesn't give. Thor rests an ankle on his knee as he looks up at her. The wood elfy sorts would be good scouts, he will grant that, so perhaps the Inquisition knows how to properly use her after all. It isn't like elves that can read are that easy to manage.

"What is the procedure here? I would like to be on the field as soon as possible." Why sit around idly?

Loki follows after Thor, his own gait with less swagger and more refinement. He is less shocked by an elven spy, but only just. One doesn't appoint elves to such positions, not in polite society and, he supposes, this means they are not in polite society.

"Greetings, Beleth Ashara," Loki says and settles more sedately into his own chair. His smile, charming and welcoming in equal parts, is entirely manufactured. She is fair, passably pretty for an elf, if he turned out the lights. He can work with that.

"You have a lovely office, the tapestry is an exceptional piece," he says and gestures idly toward the hanging decoration. It is awful, beyond hideous, but it suits to be polite.

"We have come to offer our aid to your Inquisition, as my brother has said. We wish to know how we might accomplish this."

Turning toward the rude interruption with visible irritation and a marked lack of interest in indulging whoever mistook her from behind for someone who has to tolerate such disrespect (or has any inclination to do so, regardless)—

of all the ghosts of her past she might have imagined (and there've been a few, here), Loki is one she's not spared so much as a thought for in years. Her expression shifts from annoyance to scrutiny to bemused surprise and with little regard left over for the clumsy thing beside him. Upon consideration, and very deliberately, she gathers her skirts (of far finer and costly make than most in the Gallows could attain—upon proper examination, she is very hard to take for a servant, even without the masks of Orlais and wearing her hair loose as she's taken to)—and turns again, walking with what looks like purpose in absolutely any direction but that one.

Give her a minute. Or don't.

Adalia's just minding her own business, walking through the courtyard all bundled up against the cold, Charis flying above her, when some booming voice catches her attention. When she looks up at the source of the voice and finds a large human pointing at her, she blinks, caught off-guard... but that only lasts a second.

"Maybe 'you there' isn't the way you want to address me, goodsir. Try again."

"Actually, most of Facilities are shemlen."

It's not in Myr's nature to cut in on another conversation, however loud. It's definitely not in his nature to be politically incendiary with Tevene-accented newcomers to the Inquisition. But he's desperately tired and so much of his overt nature is filters, always filters--

And he can still manage a sunny, earnest smile as he stops near the two Vints, softening the comment into something casual. "So you'll need to get to know them if you'd like to pick them out of a crowd so easily. Welcome to the Inquisition, by the by. You'll want to speak to one of our division heads about the formal sign-up process."

Edited 2018-01-22 06:12 (UTC)

People gave Kirk a wide berth as he moved through the houses. It wasn't that he looked out of place - he did dress well enough, and he wasn't unwashed. But anyone would give a wider berth to someone scribbling through the dirty, muttering to themselves. Some did stop to consider what it was he did, seeing only a long series of lines and dots, with numbers and letters written out beside certain ones.

They tended to hurry along quicker when they saw the glittering green gem embedded in his hand. A gem he had kept hidden for the better part of two years, brazenly on display as his mind tick-tick-ticked away at the problem. Covering up something like his shard simply didn't occur to him anymore as the fever ran its course.

All of this would be why Thor would suddenly find a staff butting against his boot, Kirk growling in frustration.

"Move. You're standing where Zentari Beta-4 should be."

Loki is nothing but a connoisseur of faces--he has never forgotten one, not in all his life, and today isn't the day he will begin to. He sees a flash of a familiar face and hears the whirl of skirts and he is moving while Thor is still shouting into the crowd. He moves deftly and with speed, almost alarming speed, and reaches out to grasp the upper arm of the woman currently fleeing him.

He takes her arm lightly, he is not a brute, but he doesn't just let her escape.

"Fancy seeing you here! Gwenaëlle, my darling," he croons and now that her forward motion has been halted, if only briefly, he releases her and steps around and before her. He is uncomfortably close.

"What in the world are you doing in Kirkwall of all places?"

"Strange," Loki comments offhandedly, taking the correction with such absolute stride that it doesn't even register as incendiary. He regards the elf who approaches them with some mild disdain which, fortunately, the man cannot see.

"Would you, kind ser, mind telling us where we might find them?" Loki asks, his own tone utterly divorced from his expression. He sounds polite, interested, and vaguely apologetic. He looks like precisely none of those things.

"I would rather not wander around and inconvenience facilities."

Sometimes, you get lost, and the only thing to do is to learn to read, take over the Inquisition, and then hang hideous tapestries on the walls. It could happen to anyone.

Beleth, meanwhile, makes her way to her desk, leaning against it for now as she continues to skim through. If this is a joke, it is a very thorough one, and the letter from this Odin looks worryingly authentic. She glances up over the paper, from brother to brother--there isn't much resemblance, save for charming smiles--and waits while they speak, hoping that one of them will give this farce away.

But no. This is serious, they are serious, and she'll have to decide whether or not to let two random Tevinter mages off the street into the Inqusition in the middle of a mysterious sickness, while she's the only leader who has not turned an alarming shade of blue.

"Thank you, I'm glad you appreciate the decor." She glances at Loki, then down, a rather pleased smile on her face. Charisma check successful! He should, probably, never see the inside of her bedroom. Or maybe he should, so he can test just how bare faced he can lie. "As for your joining the Inquisition..." She manages not to sigh, but only just, while she sets the papers aside, and folds her hands together, on her lap.

"...Unfortunately, the other three leaders are currently...indisposed." She's not telling random strangers about this possible plague. That she's the only leader currently left. "The Inquisition welcomes all aid, but...you have arrived at a time that might not have been the most fortuitous."

Should she just...kick them out? Tell them to come back later? That seems rude. And they aren't Venatori, or don't seem to be. Maybe she should fetch Kostos and Val for opinions. But not at the moment, she doesn't want to seem like she needs advisors to make every decision.

He looked at the obvious madman poking at his very nice boots, catching sight of the shard. A Rifter, then. A Rifter, alone in Hightown, spouting gibberish. How had he even gotten here? Did the Inquisition hold such sway that no one dared put their madmen out of sight?

Thor reached down to firmly move the man's hand (and staff) away from him.

"I am Thor of House Asgard. You do not tell me to move." He did step out of the way, though, once clear of the staff. "Does the Inquisition not look after you?"

Shemlen. The little elf is deliberately trying to be offensive. Thor grins, wishing the blindfolded elf could see it. His grin widens further at the gap between his brother's tone and expression - this is absolutely entertaining.

"Facilities," he echoes with some delight. Such a pretty title for the ones who clean privies. Maybe he should suggest it to his father in the future. "How formal is the process of signing up?"

The Inquisition can hardly be choosers, he's fairly certain.

Loki makes exactly no move to prevent Thor from being prodded or the madman from drawing along the ground between them. All in all, he is rather fond of things that inconvenience Thor and, if he has no hand in them, he can enjoy them as they are.

"You did say the Inquisition was in need of our aid, did you not, brother?"

Thor shrugs. He can try again.

"Elf! Where are your superiors?" Much better. "And are you growing dragons here for future contests?"

Loki, for what it's worth, is rather more fascinated by her flying companion than her or Thor's questioning. He is distracted and watches the small dragon dip and weave through the air. After a long moment he waves Thor's question off and (quite forcibly) tears his attention away from the beast to aim it at his brother.

"Now, now, no need to be overly insulting. She is obviously the beast's caretaker." He glances sidelong at the woman and then turns to face her.

"We wish to join this rabble, tell me, where might we find the leaders of this Inquisition?"

It dawns on Thor that Loki has suddenly left him, which sets off all of his 'I'm about to be stabbed again' senses and has him rapidly pursuing the shifting in the crowd which suggest that's the way his brother has gone. He is trying to make a good impression. He doesn't need to be bleeding on the stones on the first day here.

Much to his surprise, Thor finds he is not Loki's target. Rather, it's a woman who looks vaguely familiar and is well-dressed.

"Brother!" he calls as he approaches. "You know this woman?" He hopes Loki does. He hopes Loki isn't just grabbing someone.

Kirk tilted his head. It was true the fever was burning in him, but he was not completely mad just yet.

"Not part of the Inquisition," he countered, a truth he kept close to himself, because he was not. True, he did 'work' for the research group, but the truth was he had no faith in Thranduil and no trust in him either. He was there for his own purposes, and sometimes those happened to align with the Inquisition itself.

He turned his head back down, drawing a circle where Thor had been standing, rather large, and began to make a notation of the star's coordinates. The movements and choice of letters and numbers was quite deliberate - hardly the notation of a madman.

"The Inquisition cannot help me get home."

If she'd looked pissed when Thor spoke to her the first time, it's nothing compared to how she looks now — nevermind that she's only half an elf, she's accepted that screaming that from the top of the Gallows won't convince anyone who's determined only to see that her ears aren't blunt, but being called elf as though that's what, something inferior? She has half a mind to strike the human in front of her with a lightning bolt.

His companion interjects before she can make up the other half of her mind, and Adalia narrows her eyes at him, considering. After a long moment, she whistles sharply and Charis dives down to land next to her, looking between Adalia and the humans warily.

"The division heads are who you'd like to speak to generally. Tell me, is your companion always so buffoonish and insulting, or is it the travel that's done him in?"

Indisposed. They have come all of this way to gain assistance with taking Corypheus down and the leadership is indisposed. Thor's smile fades a little as he sits back as he glances at Loki. If there is a game here, he does not know the rules or shape of it. After a moment, his smile returns.

"On the contrary! Perhaps we have arrived at exactly the time we are needed! If the leaders are disposed you could use the two of us even more. There have been plenty of times when the qunari viewed our holdings as weak and made moves to attack us. Every time they have been thrown back! You will not regret allowing us entry."

Or she might. His brother is clearly lying to her already and she's swallowing it whole, though he cannot blame her. Loki is skilled.

"Indeed, it seems it can do precious little," Loki agrees and casts a long, slow look at his brother. This? This is what he wants to assist?

Loki had expected some measure of disarray, most armies are understaffed and overstretched, but this was--this is just ridiculous. So far they have encountered a crumbling, crime-ridden outpost city, the organization is set up in a former mage prison named after a hangman's platform, and everyone they have encountered has been some impoverished fool or a madman.

Loki was willing to assist but this was beginning to seem like a task of some difficulty. He was not willing to restructure a southern army just because Thor was on a mission to satisfy his ego and appear properly contrite.

"Then do tell me, my good man, what is the point of...this?" Loki gestures to the floor, his idle curiosity piqued.

If Myr gets the sense at all he's being made sport of, he doesn't show it; rather, leans casually on his staff, fingers laced together as he listens to one and then the other of the pair.

"I wouldn't mind," he replies gamely, "but that I don't know where they all might be this time of day. Your best bet would be to stop by their offices in the central tower and see if you might secure an appointment to with one of them."

Which is all strictly true, so far as it goes. They don't need to know that three-quarters of the leadership is collectively off their nut, nor that Beleth's alone in the wheelhouse (and she certainly doesn't deserve this pair delivered right into her lap with everything else she's got to do). "Which I don't think will take too long if you've your introductions in order, serah," this, to Thor.

He knows what the look Loki is giving him means. It is unsettling. If he loses the faith of his brother, he loses his sole ally out here and Thor knows he is not as politically adept as he needs to be to survive long in the south. Not ever threat can be struck down by lightning and hammer.

"It has forces," Thor murmurs, trying to keep his face and voice confident. It's not a difficult task, but he knows it likely that Loki can see through it. "Manpower. It has made some progress."

Loki, despite himself, smiles on reflex. He bites back the expression, sure enough, but she has already seen it. He politely clears his throat and, once he has, his face is the very picture of polite disinterest.

"My brother has...a large personality." He looks back at Thor and then regards the beast between them. At least he hasn't tried to wrestle it to the ground yet.

"Would you tell us of the division heads? We are very keen on providing what aid we can and, in truth, we have the ability to provide a great deal. My brother is eager to get on with it."

Bristling slightly at having been grabbed and loomed over and subsequently referred to as 'this woman'—she directs her answer past Loki to his brother, her eyebrows slightly raised and her jaw firm.

“As your brother has apparently forgotten what manners I take it you weren't taught at all,” and that is an unmistakably Orlesian accent, polished like a cut gem; only one of them would have ever seen her without the mask, prior, and Thor she doesn't recognise at all...but Gwenaëlle was never as much of a social butterfly, or paying much attention to that which didn't purposefully command it, “allow me to introduce myself. Lady Gwenaëlle Vauquelin.”

You there. Maker's sake.

She's adorable. She's angry. She's angry about being called what she is, no less, and that is a mark of the conflict in the South more than anything else. Thor grins at her.

"There is much to do," Thor confirms, letting Loki work his words. It is what his brother does best, and why he'd wanted Loki along so very much.

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[open] Two Tevinter Mages Walk into Kirkwall

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the gallows.

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Hightown

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