[closed] tiptoe through the tulips

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict, Wren, James, Simon, Hanzo, some new friends
WHAT: The time has finally come to return Benedict to his people. Something maybe goes a little bit wrong.
WHEN: Early Bloomingtide
WHERE: southern Tevinter
NOTES: Warnings for violence.

Three Templars, a magister's son, and a Shimada cross the border from Hasmal to the Tevinter Imperium: it sounds like a joke, and in many ways it probably is, but to Benedict it just seems like overkill.
His mother requested the Templars, ostensibly for protection against the southern apostates driven mad by their little war; Hanzo, a man whose name he recognizes but is too young to properly remember, presumably tagged along for the practical benefits of visiting Minrathous without the Inquisition's grandeur.

Magister Calpurnia Artemaeus awaits them at the family home, and all they have to do is get there. Surely the nightmare will soon be over.

Comments

I. Traveling

[altusimperius]

Benedict is not a pleasant travel companion, or an especially gracious one, which means the trip is taxing from the get-go. He's in relatively high spirits on account of finally being able to leave the accursed Kirkwall, but that doesn't make the walking any easier or the food any better.

There's discussion on whether to go north earlier, skirt a right at Hasmal and cut toward Perivantium before heading on northwest, but the Imperial Highway is right there if they move into Nevarra. The first way is more circuitous and inconvenient, but the second takes them through the Silent Plains, which means higher risk of shenanigans.

Being in a hurry, Benedict votes for the Highway, but he may not be the only one with an opinion.

II. Ambush!

[altusimperius]

It's the end of the day, the party is minutes away from deciding where to camp, and the dusty, unlit road is lit up by a glyph of paralysis. As everyone is abruptly rooted to the spot, the shadows in the bushes around them begin to converge into a group of hostile figures. "Tie them up, quick!" cries one, and ropes are cast from outside the glyph to lasso each traveler, cinching tightly around feet and midsections.

Benedict's shout is rather higher-pitched than he'd have liked.


[OOC note: feel free to fight! Please just remember that the plot won't progress until they're all captured, so at some point everyone is encouraged to mess up or be overpowered.]

[limier]

It's definitely overkill.

But she doesn't trust Ashlock or Norrington to this alone (alright — doesn't trust Simon not to abandon James in the desert and then have a heart attack from guilt —), and there's nothing in Kirkwall she doesn't want the back of just now. Perhaps it's folly, to push North again so soon after the last fucking disaster; Minrathous promises no more welcome than Salzklippe.

Owns as many teeth.

"Wyverns in the plains," And ghasts, and Blight, and storms. And little else. The sooner they've Artemaeus out of their hair, the better, but best of all not to lose a hostage. The Venatori have looked for him before. An eye to Shimada, Ashara: "Your thoughts?"

Benedict's don't particularly matter. Sorry buddy.

[limier]

Alright. Not overkill.

"Va te faire foutre," Spoken as though through treacle. Wasted energy to the words, save for the focus they carry, a shimmer of white light rippling up a frozen arm to flare at the end of a fingertip. The glyph shudders, disjoints itself — "Not again."

She manages to lay hands on her blade before the rope yanks, and she hits the dirt.

[eruit]

His own travels away from home had been ten years in the past; it's been a very long time since Hanzo has done any travel towards Tevinter whatsoever. It's not an easy road to take, especially not with a group of people that is as varied as their own is... He wants to see his homeland with enough longing that he has no desire to complain, but he is already feeling the budding edge of frustration at simply trying to choose a route to go.

"Toward Perivantium may not be faster," he says, voice low and quiet. It's carefully measured, as if designed not to give away any kind of feelings either way. "But there is a risk of danger in the Plains which may slow our travel. We are not here to seek a fight, we are here to make haste."

There's nothing to say that they won't be entirely free of the Venatori, either, which makes his brow drop as he grows a little more tense.

for Hanzo

[altusimperius]

Benedict has all sorts of theories on why Shimada joined their party at the last minute, and none of them are especially favorable. He's never met the man in person, or if he has he was simply one in a sea of faces at some party or another, but his being here in Kirkwall of his own volition and his apparent desire to go back to Minrathous raises some red flags. Especially since, even if he doesn't recognize Hanzo, Bene knows his name. He knows about the Shimadas. Any magister's son worth his salt would.

It's in a low voice that he addresses him, just a day or so out of Kirkwall and still relatively energetic for the long journey ahead. "If you're hoping to win my mother's favor," Benedict murmurs, or rather drawls with a snide curl to his lip, "you'd better be ready to do some groveling."

[eruit]

There is something that Hanzo is well versed in and that is distrust; there is no one in this place that he trusts and no one that he believes trusts him and that is likely for the best. Trust means comfort and he has no desire to become comfortable in the fold of the Inquisition - that only breeds danger. The fact that he is on this trip in the first place is a mixture of a desire to see his home (as much as he can, given the nature of their travels) and to escape from the city walls, at least for a little while.

When spoken to Hanzo is, usually, quiet, but the very notion that he might be attempting to gain any kind of favour from any mother in Minrathous makes him laugh, a low, quiet chuckle as he shakes his head.

"I do not wish for favour from any parent, certainly not yours."

[judgemewhole]

James had no idea which would be the faster way, outside of reading a map. So when it came to deciding which way to go, he honestly would prefer to stick to the map. He held Dauntless's reins loosely, looking from Benedict, who he did not want to follow, to Wren, whom he knew was only along to keep Simon and himself from being left in the dessert to die.

So, in the interests of keeping this going, he glanced over at Hanzo. Then back to Simon. After that, he drawled out, "Well, I cannot speak for the rest of us, but staying out here in the heat will be bad for the mounts and the people riding them. Quicker would be wise."

[altusimperius]

Far from dissuaded, Benedict smirks along with him, watching Hanzo like a hawk even as he chuckles. "Well," the boy muses, "that explains a lot."
He couldn't be happier to be on his way back to his old life, which was the peak of comfort and privilege, and can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to do this.

[paladingus]

The glyph is dispelled before Simon has time to call forth the lyrium in his own blood, and he uses those extra precious seconds--half gathered by letting another templar handle the magic, half gleaned from the extra effort required to pull his immovable bulk off-balance--to keep his arms free of the rope and throw them back behind him for balance.

He can't keep the rope from jerking him off his feet, but he can put himself in a position to get back up as soon as he can free himself from it, and sets about doing just that with teeth gritted.

[eruit]

He moves as quickly as he can manage given the suddenness of the glyph; his hands are on his bow before he can do anything else, an arrow slipping through his fingers as he's pulled and hits the ground. It doesn't quite manage to stop Hanzo from grappling again with his weaponry and he shifts, awkward with the inability to use his feet. He stabs an arrow into the rope, hoping to cut it with the sharp edge.

"Move!" It's easy enough to shout to the others, even as he's trying desperately to cut and cut.

[judgemewhole]

It's all down to seconds, isn't it, in a battle?

James feels the glyph take place, and his hand is already going to his blade as the glyph slams into place and is just as suddenly gone thanks to Wren's quick thinking. He leans himself backwards, to keep the rope from cinching him or his arms as he swings the sword to help Hanzo slice through the rope.

He says nothing - just tries to roll away from the rope and follow the man's advice, coming around to his feet to fight off their attackers.

[altusimperius]

"The big one, the big-- AUGH"
One of their hooded attackers bends and clutches his head as a purple cloud forms and dissipates above him, rather resembling a skull; Benedict, a few feet away, looks very pleased with himself for the seconds it takes another attacker to whack him over the head with the flat of his sword.

The others heard the order, and an arrow flies at Simon while Hanzo's effort to break the rope is interrupted by a massive bulk of person slamming him onto the ground. Wren is looped with another rope while she's down by a fifth assailant, which puts the count at six in total: the last squares off against James, shifting from foot to foot and swapping which hand holds her dagger, her eyes fixed on his, trying to keep his attention.

[at this point I am gifting three of the bad guys to Liz, who can respond after this next round (before me)!]

[altusimperius]

"What's that," muses Bene snidely, "a Templar said something intelligent for once?" He directs the comment at... no one, really, because he's surrounded by Templars and a former magister he considers beneath him, but someone has to appreciate his scathing wit. Maybe the fennecs will.

[limier]

"Perivantium." As though that settles it — perhaps Benedict has a budding career in reverse psychology — "We can trade horses in Hasmal if need be."

Unless Ashlock has a compelling argument otherwise. One sandstorm was enough for the year.

[limier]

For her part, Wren bypasses attempting to cut the rope, and settles for trying to stab the living shit out of the legs of anyone who gets close.

There's probably a more poetic way to put that. Poetry isn't exactly on her mind.

[judgemewhole]

"Which would still put me ahead of you by one." James muttered under his breath, before he nodded at Wren. "Agreed. I'll ride vanguard, if that's all right with everyone."

Anything to be as far away from Benedict as possible. Honestly sometimes he just wanted to throttle the boy. This would take away the temptation.

[judgemewhole]

James eyes the dagger and pulls his shield free as he prepares to parry with the blade against any daggers that might come flying at him. He's done enough training with Beleth to know they can stay in your hand or they can sink into your throat if you aren't on guard.

Ice climbs over his weapon and shield, and his green eyes narrowed. She wanted his complete attention? She has it.

[paladingus]

Simon doesn't have time to react to the target that's been painted on him, not for longer than a split second before the arrow finds the glaring target his bulk has provided it with. The archer strikes true, bypassing the plate armor encasing his torso and aiming straight for his dominant sword-arm, the barbed point punching straight through the leather that protects his bicep, the skin, the muscle underneath it, and lodging right in the bone.

But battle-adrenaline and lyrium make a powerful brew when combined with sheer stubborn spite, and by the Maker's grace, he refuses to go down without at least taking a respectable number of Vints with him. He snaps the arrow off at the shaft, crushing the thin wood in his gauntlet, shifts his sword to his uninjured arm--he can bear its weight in one hand for a few valuable minutes--and rejoins the fray.

[eruit]

"Perivantium, then." Hanzo, truly, doesn't mind either way. He is more than capable of defending himself, protecting himself, and he can do his duty and extend that protection to the people around him if necessary. The sooner they get to the Imperium the better; he can see his home, briefly, drink it in once more, before returning to the Inquisition as though he has not lost anything at all in the journey.

"There will be many stables along the way. I doubt we will have issue." His knowledge of the area is old enough that he's not entirely certain, but he doesn't think that it's too novel an idea.

[eruit]

It's like bantering with a child and Hanzo only has patience enough to resist the urge to roll his eyes quite heavily. It has been some time since he was home, true, but he can remember the pride and arrogance that comes hand in hand with Tevinter blood and magic - he still carries some of that weight himself.

"Is there something you want from me?"

[eruit]

Being crushed by the weight of an ambusher is not something that Hanzo was prepared for and the wind is knocked squarely out of him - he does his best to regain himself, to push up, but there's very little he can do other than twist his body and attempt to stab the arrow into the man weighing him. Instead of trying to break free - he's strong enough, but not while he's being smothered and crushed, he thinks - he twists and tries to reach for his bow instead.

If he can reach the bow he can reach his dragons. If he can reach his dragons, his Honour -

It's out of reach and he shouts in frustration, stabbing again.

[altusimperius]

Benedict considers the question, strolling easily along as though he and Hanzo are long-time friends. "Mm... no," he concludes after a time, "but surely you want something from me, since you're here." He's made it his life's mission to ferret it out.

[eruit]

It's clear that he's a little frustrated, but he manages to shake his head, facing forward and playing ignorant of the fool at his side.

"No. Nothing from you." He is taking advantage of a situation - he doesn't care at all for Benedict himself.

[altusimperius]

Who wouldn't care for Benedict? That's unthinkable.

Sensing that he's getting to Hanzo, Bene continues to needle him, because it's a long trip and there's no such thing as state license plates to count. "You just wanted to spend some quality time with the Templars," he guesses with a little smirk, "no sense in setting out on your own when there are three heavily armored imbeciles to watch your back."