Crossing the Crossroads

[arlathvhen]

WHO: Beleth Ashara, Fern Doirnáin, Solas, Thranduil, Fifi Mariette, Galadriel, and Herian Amsel
WHAT: Time to go mess around in the crossroads and stick our fingers in Orlesian politics.
WHEN: Mid-Drakonis
WHERE: Some random small town in the Free Marches
NOTES: None atm!

A small town has requested help from the Inquisition--A roving band of armed soldiers has been seen near the edges of the town, lurking in the woods. They haven't made any moves against the people there, but after the events of Perendale, the residents are nervous. The soldiers clearly aren't from any of the local lords, and must have some reason for being there.

Beleth has taken a small group to first scout the area, to locate, assess, and then deal with the group of soldiers, if possible or necessary.

Comments

[dirth]

Throughout the fight, Solas had mostly played on the defensive - barriers around his allies, ice and Rift magic to stop people from getting too close to those that weren't mages, making sure that the damage to his group was as minimal as he could make it. His interest int he soldiers themselves seems to falter once the fight comes to a close and he moves forward, stepping up to where the eluvian stands and gazing at it in awe.

He's not exactly keen to reveal why he's so interested in something as simple as the elven mirror, but he assumes that most people will imagine it's something to do with his interest in elven lore and little else.

"Have they been using this?" Slowly, he turns his head to look over at where Beleth and the soldier are, tilting his head. He has no desire to see the man die, currently - bandits and soldiers do what they're told and paid to do, even if it is not the moral choice - but he needs the information that he thinks the man might have. Slowly, he lowers his staff and tilts his head.

"If this is a working eluvian then there may well be a code to unlock it. We must make sure that we find it, from him or from anything else that might be left around." If anyone knows Solas well it might be clear that he's almost... Excited.

[arlathvhen]

"Using that?" The soldier asks, frowning at Solas and the eluvian. "What would we do with a mirror, tidy our hair?" He snorts at that--it might be a dig at Solas.

"I'm assuming that's a no." Beleth offers, looking up at Solas as well. "Though, I guess he could just be lying to us." She looks down at the soldier, and presses her foot down harder on his hand. "What do you know about the eluvian? What have you been told about it?"

"I said I wasn't going to tell you knife ears shit." He insists, and Beleth responds with an annoyed frown, then looks around.

"But Solas is right, we should look around for if there's anything that will unlock the eluvian. It'll be useful for the Inquisition, if nothing else." Maybe they could drag it back to the Gallows, somehow? That'd be a pain, but. A useful one.

[rowancrowned]

Thranduil, who has very tidy hair, even after a fight, had gone to the eluvian to stare into its depths, remembering the last time he had ventured through the Crossroads. He thought of Morrigan, and her own eluvian, about codes and locks and keys, and then walked back over to Beleth, dropping neatly to a crouch before the prisoner (out of headbutting range) his arm draped over his knee.

“The Inquisition does not have the resources to support imprisonment of low-ranking soldiers,” he says, to the man. “If you tell us nothing, you will be brought to the nearest camp, tried, and sentenced. Not to death,” he demurs. “But perhaps you will lose a few toes. Fingers. Something that will make you unusable by any mercenary band or army. You will be unable to trouble the Inquisition further, and you will have your life. You are the last of your band. If you have something worth telling me, now would be the time. Knife-ear or not, I can help you. We will find what we came for, but if were faster, I would appreciate that.”

Simply, carefully put. He finds that pain is a tricky motivator. No challenge, no chance to make a martyr of oneself, just simply—a choice. One he hopes Beleth will indulge him in. And there is always Galadriel, if need be.

[untiltheyarent]

After her close brush with violence in her lame attempt at defending Fern, Fifi has withdrawn to press against the wall of the chamber, where she stares fixedly into the eluvian as though trying to solve some ineffable puzzle. The shems don't bother her, dead or alive, but this strangeness rattles her. It feels familiar somehow, though she's never seen anything like it in her life.

[wheretheferngrows]

Fifi has company where she's pressed back against the wall; she's singed and bruised from the fighting and white-faced from the violence that she'd seen meted out in front of her, which makes it all too easy for her to stare at what is transpiring between Thranduil, Beleth, and the human on the ground.

She looks away from the scene and shifts closer to Fifi, bumping into her shoulder. "I don't like this," she whispers to her, ashen.