faderift | MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

WHO: Anyone who wants to attend
WHAT: THE GRAND TOURNEY
WHEN: Bloomingtide 20-27
WHERE: Wycome
NOTES: We'll be rolling one or two events per day, in the order listed, and posting the results here! That's also where you can find your diplomacy or espionage assignments and their results. There will be a second log post in about five days regarding the end of the tournament, to give people a place to RP about the competitions' results once they know them and to react to some other surprise developments, so leave some room for dessert.

The Grand Tourney is one of Thedas's greatest spectacles--all the nations of the world and plenty of others besides turned out to compete in this edition of the famous test of arms. The Duke of Wycome has granted the use of a broad plain outside the city, a vast open span of grass bounded on both sides by minor forks of the Minanter making their way to the sea, and split down the center by another. Scores of the duke's men have been hard at work since the announcement, constructing stands and arenas, the rough wooden rails and benches of the commons and luxurious boxes for the more exalted spectators, lifted above the masses and shaded by awnings, draped with bunting in Wycome's brilliant purple and gold.

Between and among the competition grounds are stalls and roving vendors selling anything and everything, most popular the vast open-sided tents filled with trestle tables and benches and neverending barrels of ale and wine as tall as a qunari. Stages of various sizes dot the grounds, hosting musicians, dancers, tumblers, performers of all kinds. Others wander through the crowds, putting on impromptu shows wherever it looks like there are enough people with free coin about.

A half-dozen new wooden bridges span the central river--more like a large stream, really--and connect the competition grounds to the camping grounds. Tents in all colors and styles are arrayed in rough groups, marked out with the banners of knights, houses, mercenary companies, kingdoms. The Inquisition has sprung for new tents for its delegation to make sure they look the part, dramatic black as a backdrop to the Inquisition banners that fly atop each of them, housing two to four people each. Nearest are some Orlesians with an array of brightly-colored silk structures, and on the opposite side, a mercenary company called the the Grizzly Legion, a particularly rowdy outfit, with banners market by a giant red bear, and bonfires and revelry late into the night every night.

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS

The general atmosphere of the tourney is raucous and celebratory, but the rivalries inherent in the occasion seem less good-natured than they might have in past years. Nevarra seems divided into two camps rather than one, with a (not-yet-literal) line down the middle of their encampment and their crowds that's bridged only by the brave and slightly awkward few who still haven't chosen between the Pentaghasts and Van Markhams. And the Orlesians, despite rumors that the Empire is still struggling in the wake of its own civil war, seem particularly delighted to see their rivals teetering on the brink—some are even taking odds on how soon they'll be able to get Perendale back. But, of course, no one can rival Tevinter for smugness. If there was a fancy sword awarded for that, they would win it every year, and there's no sitting near their delegation without "overhearing" an unnecessarily loud conversation about the sorry state of the rest of Thedas.

Of course, not everyone is caught up in the affairs of surfacer empires: there are delegations from both Orzammar and Kal-Sharok, each apparently pretending the other does not exist, and the odd Avvar and Chasind who seems to think everyone else is being a bit ridiculous about everything. The most isolated attendees are those from the Anderfels, who stick close together and rarely speak to anyone else—not that anyone else seems much inclined even if they did want to. At the other end of the spectrum are the Free Marchers; this is the one occasion every-few-years when they look to one another as brothers, rather than distinct and often competitive nations.

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

The Grand Tourney's official competitions are scheduled to take place over five days, culminating with the prestigious Grand Melee and awarding of the Celebrant. Before then, the tournament progresses day by day through unarmed combat, archery, armed combat, and jousting competitions, each heavily attended by delighted spectators cheering for their countrymen and any foreigner who strikes them as particularly charming, plus the odd equal-opportunity heckler. A few extra fights break out here and there when tempers flare, between both competitors and observers, and when the alcohol flows more liberally at night the chance of trouble rises. But for the most part, the competitions are fair and the mood around them is celebratory.

Away from the main grounds, a few additional staging areas have been provided for events focused on magic—these are more sparsely attended, due to their unofficial nature and the fears of much of the populace that they might catch a fireball to the face if they wander too close, but enough people's curiosity trumps fear to form a thinner, quieter crowd. The two events open to mages, combat against fade-touched creatures and a version of the melee with teams that allow mages, take place in the early mornings, when they won't be competing with the official events for attention, and are most heavily attended by Tevinter mages who are very, very certain that they can't be beat.

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[He gives a short hum.] No, you wouldn't hold an event such as this around too much water and not enough land. You'd have everyone paddling about for their goods. [Even if it's an amusing mental image.]

Knights are the tradition, and though the definition of the rank has adjusted through the years, the tradition remains. Money perhaps had a hand in it, initially. But also, knights would be the ones already trained to fight horseback, to beat an opponent off of theirs. If a commoner has a horse, it's used for working the land, with no need nor time to truly learn a skill like that.

Turning it into a game was, I imagine, the doing of the very rich and very bored, as most things of this nature are. But the jousting tournament has since become an event for all who can make it to enjoy, with other events branching off of it, showcasing the pride of all countries.

And if you ask me, I think a ram is stretching the rules thinner than they ought to, but I'm not going to argue with an Avvar over what steed he can ride.

You don't have the thing here where people bet on a little duck then they unleash them - not real ducks, that's different, also it becomes impossible and borders on carnage - then they see what duck wins. There's a mark and a number on them so red thirty-two and someone wins the pot, vendor takes a cut of the winnings. They'd have those down part of waterway they cut off, it's meant to be for the little ones but you know just as many grown-ups are cutthroat about the whole business. [Nostalgic for little ducks, floating along with their creepy little fake-duck smiles (why do people paint little smiles on ducks, ducks don't smile) unaware of the princely sums they decide as they bob down a sunny stream.]

So that's what it is. Just continuing 'I have my lands and my swords and I'm going to beat you with it from my high horse' but the high horse is a very literal high horse. [Her smile tips into a smirk, a little tight at the edges somewhat but well, the Inquisition's been around for a good while now, they've seen some shit. War isn't the fun part of any of the job.] The too much money and too much time on their hands, now that doesn't surprise me, everyone everywhere finds a ridiculous thing to do to occupy themselves instead of something useful or helpful to the people helping them. Like the ones with the horses that do real work.

[Horses with fancy jobs and horses with scrub jobs. At least Lux gets to be worn as a stole to eat appetisers at parties, not even the Arishok could be doing that with a horse.]

You know, I've met the Avvar twice, and I don't think I can count the first time as a meeting. Rescuing kidnapped scouts? Mmm, not so much. The second time was getting nuggalopes so maybe that's their thing: we're up in the mountains, we'll ride these thanks, keep the horses with spindly legs. [Look. Horses were in books. Or ornaments. Then she came to Thedas, saw real horses, and was maybe a little horrified people trust their lives on beasts like that because the horror of those legs.]

[Malcolm can't help but actually laugh, looking like he's relaxing into the conversation in earnest.] You race toy ducks down a river and yet horses are so strange to you. I'm astonished sometimes, truly, at such seemingly small items that become a cause for concern.

Not that I blame the Avvar for their choices of steeds; they need something...bigger and hardier up in the wild mountains. They've horses, I believe, but larger. Everything is larger with them. But down here, normal-sized horses are far more common. Oh, we've rams, of course, but you won't find any the size of which you could reasonably ride. Honestly, I would prefer it if people choose something to ride other than dracolisks. Seeing any in the stalls makes me nervous. It's an accident waiting to happen. And I had thought nuggalopes to be the stuff of legends before witnessing one with my own eyes.

Then there's the one with the sword in its head. ...The less said on that one, the better.

I didn't see a living, breathing horse until I came here! The first one I rode was probably the least dignified I've ever been, why do you think I have The Walrus? He's a big roly-poly, if I swapped the feet and fists for flippers, flipped the horns down to his mouth so they're tusks? He's his namesake. [Look at that, he's smiling! Wonders may never cease so she has to lean close, all conspiratorial.] When I was fifteen, maybe sixteen? The ducks escaped. Made a grand bid for freedom. The howling that it was some plot lasted until the next year and after, it was incredible. There were duels, I fought in a few of them when I was asked for others unable to fight or when things spilled over the way duels do.

[The PassionTM.]

Maybe that's why Korrin was so friendly with them, I'll need to ask. Can you imagine Qunari horses? Or have you ever seen a Qunari horse? [The possibility they might come up with there, some Beefy Boy Muscle Horse, and Araceli laughs hard enough it almost hurts.] Were you there when Bruce's got out that one time? I was up on the battlements before I swung down, I have little trust of mysterious spiky horses who have no business having teeth like that in their mouths.

I...I try not to look at that 'horse'. [Araceli crooks her fingers, a sucking lemons face appearing.] It's an upsetting creature, is it possessed? You're a Seeker, is that a thing that can happen to horses? Or would necromancers do some sort of spell to keep a horse like that alive? It'd do very well here as a power move to upset opponents or even other horses, I almost wish someone had dared to enter on it just to see the reaction.

Ah--yes, I believe I know the one you mean! Walrus, you say? A sea creature, I assume, with flippers? [yo what the fuck's a walrus is it a Mysterious Sea Monster] Alas, I can't say we duel as frequently as your people do. I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse; people tend to find other manners in which to get revenge if they're a little more dishonourable. [Or, if you're Cade, you just get a better score in something and be happy with that.]

He never seemed to actually like the beast, but as it had attached itself to him, I tried to impress upon him the need for proper training. Even if it was not, shall we say, a suitable mount. Ah well, I suppose we've stranger things. The Wardens have brought back griffons to the world, after all! I'd only heard of them in old tales. So long as the grown ones don't see to take off with Charles or Milady, I'm content to leave them well enough alone, but they are certainly impressive.

As for the...thing. I suppose you could use necromancy on anything dead. No reason you couldn't. I've a theory that the sword itself might have a kind of enchantment on it, rather than the creature. Do you suppose anyone has tried to kill it again? ...Though if anyone had brought it, it wouldn't need a rider to joust. It could simply lower its head.

Have you seen seals? [Bioware give me the aquatic fauna ffs I am dying.] They're much larger than that, oh and whiskers [both hands up, helpfully demonstrating the whiskers because a walrus is a sight to behold in all honesty, and she'd very much like to see one here.] There's the code for duels, even the private or street duels; no matter who you are you, you still have to live with your honour, your name, and your reputation, people who dishonour themselves? That's accounted for one day, and after we're gone, it's a long long time. Better to do it with the rules, have it done with, rather than let the pot simmer until one day it boils over. Less messy. A little blood if it's to that comes out better than some eruptions. [Or you can also do what Araceli does in her day job back home but when she can still count on one hand the people who know about that, she's in the clear.]

They're a little alarming. [She phrases it politely, since it's apparently a miracle, and something from a tale, but no they aren't for her and she'd rather not.] I keep Lux away for the same reason, he'd be the right size for one of them to eat.

A few people seem fond of it, I don't know if it's the oddity - there are those attracted to it, the same way a person collects the exotic or makes the attempt to - or pity. Is it the right height for jousting? I thought people were-- [Someone, snorts at her as she hoists her arm up the way she'd seen someone do in what was a practice session before she'd gotten bored because you can only watch someone parade around with a lance smacking a dummy so many times] so it'd be the wrong height? I think that blade is rusted, no one wants to be the person to go in and take a whetstone and oil to it, you don't know what'll give a horse intentions.

Seals. [that is to say no he has not seen seals either but he kind of likes the sound of these things? please let him meet a seal someday he'll be so enamored] Goodness but these beasts sound...er, they're ferocious, are they not? Vicious in the water, don't let them smell blood or they'll turn absolutely ravenous? [Like most wildlife in Thedas!]

And it's not to say duels don't happen here. Of course they do. With rules, even. It just doesn't seem as common. They're fairly popular in Orlais as I recall when an exchange of money simply won't do, but honestly, it's a lot of bluster and for show much of the time. Easier for them to play the Game.

...You know, I don't know who laid claim to it? Someone must have, but I can't say I would be terribly surprised if they just dumped it at the stables in the dead of night to terrify everyone.

The males fight when it's breeding season and all of them are crammed on a beach but I've gone swimming with them, sunbathed when it's not busy. You know they're like dogs in the sea? Inquisitive and curious. They want to get involved but it's like most things: do something stupid, don't think, then oh no you get hurt and no one has sympathy because you should have some sense not to be stupid.

The Game is what happens in the world if it goes to an extreme. There's always a mask. A performance. A role to be played. Balancing. [A tightness to her mouth that doesn't belong there at twenty-two yet there it is; this is the world, you carve your place in it and even saying fuck the rules is an admission to their existence, that you see them, that they play some part in your life.]

You may tell me it's none of my business Seeker, but what troubles you that you were so eager to away with me to come bother these horses? [One dappled mare is nosing her hair, maybe the oil that was in it intrigues horses.]

[The horses do make him calmer as well their conversation. Charles is down a few stalls yet, but the bugger's got a calm enough demeanor so long as he's had a chance to stretch his legs, not too impatient to see his master. Seals do sound so fascinating; he should love to meet one. Even if they're aquatic.

He considers her question, rather than debate the finer points of the Game, gently pushing the curious nose gently away before Araceli has to deal with horse spit in her hair.]

...Ah. Well. It's an unfortunate and...cowardly thing.

My family. We...do not speak much. And for the most part, I'd prefer to keep it that way. Ah, but who doesn't have one problem or another with their kin, hm?

Family can be difficult for many people; to be a Seeker I imagine you had to leave them?

[Educated guesswork, there's much less written on Seekers than Templars but it has to be something similar. A child leaves home to be the hand of faith, the family don't approve.

There's a luxury in parents who hold out hands to support but never tug one way or the other, Araceli's had that all her. Given options but always free to choose whatever path she saw fit before her feet.]

I knew nobles at home or wealthy merchant daughters so it made little difference, they weren't so free to choose. Life was a path chosen for them sometimes before they were born. All the expectations of other people.

Father would have loved if that had been the case for me. [He laughs with some mirth and slowly moves down the line of horses until he stops at his own. A dark brown muzzle appears, and Malcolm gives Charles a good petting.] It's such a strange thing. To be so estranged and yet still feel so strongly.

Tell me, are you aware of the reputation of the Seekers of Truth? The way we are viewed, outside of being an extension of the will of the Divine?

[A little hesitant around so many horses she doesn't know, Araceli clicks her tongue to one near Charles whose ears flick forward attentively for her hand to stroke a velvet nose.] Everyone is entitled to feel the way that they feel, and to feel it to whatever depth that they do, trying to push it down or deny it it, I've seen it make people not ill, I don't think that's the proper word for it, but unwell. As if there's a hurt so deep in them that it has to be felt somewhere else in the body. [She's seen that in Thedas where the hurts are old, carried in the bones, passed down longer than they are at home. Not something that can be healed with any spell or potion but hard work, plenty of it.]

Very little, only what I've read and of that, there's little. [Most if not all from the mouth of the Chantry who of course will paint it how they please, but she's not about to say just that.] You keep the Templars in check, or did prior to the Templars stepping away from the Chantry as they did, I can't imagine that garnered many friends.

[Araceli is a wise woman for her age, and he lets her thoughts on hurts linger in the air. He's so tired of carrying it, but what more can he do? What would digging it up accomplish? It's something to think about.]

You're right. The Templars as a whole did not look kindly on the Seekers. If one shows up, it means you've failed in your duties somehow. Either a dangerous apostate they can't catch is loose, or one of their order has failed in a dramatic way. They weren't doing their jobs. They did not like anyone telling them that. And to the people, we were heroic but mysterious. An elite force, in a sense. Watchmen. Respected and feared in equal measure, at least until the Lord Seeker went and destroyed everything we stood for in one fell swoop.

My family history is littered with Templars and soldiers of all sorts. But never a Seeker. Father took it rather personally, like I was spitting on my ancestry.

...I make it sound so simple, as though we fell out merely over a job. [Or maybe he makes the hatred of the Seekers by the Templars sound simple. Cade will never forgive him of stripping him of his title.]

[Share it. A chest is a heavy thing until you open it, divvy up the contents between you, someone else, maybe another, however many you have or feel comfortable with the contents. Then it's not so heavy. And that'd be coming from someone who's partly a thief where she came from.]

Aren't there checks and balances in every system? [Araceli could play it a different way, could be more shrewd after so long here since this is Thedas, of course there aren't, but there are times when you can learn something by nodding along, smiling, taking a moment to look every inch the young woman you are.] I could understand if they felt threatened, their duties were difficult, and I understand that there was an increasing amount of sympathy for Mages leading up to the war, but equally, was that not their purpose, sworn before the Chantry? To do their duty? To hold themselves to a certain standard? They are knights. Knights are meant to be honourable. [Herian Amsel, taught Araceli Bonaventura y Castell about holding yourself to so much honour swords and shields would shatter in your wake etc.] What...What did the Lord Seeker do that could destroy your whole Order more than the war did?

[Did the war not destroy enough?]

My father is a captain and a pirate, my mother is a courtesan; they're a holy man and woman in the ways of my people. [If Malcolm wants to ask after that he can, but there's no shame in Araceli's voice when she says it, maybe the same quiet note of loss anyone has when home is so far behind them that going back is never an option.] I'm young but I haven't done any of the things they've done yet they're still happy for me and proud of me, I find it so strange that your father wouldn't be. If there are Templars in your family, and you chose to become a Seeker, is it not your way of building upon their work? To make sure that what comes after won't be a stain upon their good names if there are terrible deeds done? We were both there in Dairsmuid, we saw what those Templars were going to do to the mages there that had broken away from the Chantry, you helped to put an end to that.

There are things that must be done in order to make the world a better place, and jobs that must be carried out by someone. People will not love you for them, but they have to be done or else what happens to the world? And you have to decide what you can swallow more easily; their scorn, or knowing what happens if you don't get up, don't do your part.

It was the war that broke us. In a sense. The Circles disbanded and chaos all around, Lord Seeker Lambert dissolved the Nevarran Accord. For hundreds of years, the Accord has stood, the document that constructed the Circles, the Templars, and the Seekers, to keep the mages safe and to disband the original Inquisition. To create order in a time of anarchy! And because he didn't think the Divine was doing enough, he declared that neither the Seekers nor the Templars were beholden to the Chantry anymore, and they would end the war how they saw fit.

I do not know what happened--what became of Lambert. Dead, we presume. Lord Seeker Lucius took over, apparently agreed with Lambert, and swanned off with the rest of the Seekers. No one has seen them since. No one knows if they're lying in wait, or dead, or in the clutches of Corypheus-- [He cuts himself off, tries to recenter himself. They were his brothers and sisters, and they just went along with it, abandoned their duties. Cassandra saw better. Were they just following orders? Just like in Dairsmuid? If he runs into battle and finds a familiar face against him, what will he do?

What he must. Always what he must. He clears his throat, a lump in it, pain and anger all rolled up tight, and rummages a brush from the stall. Anything physical to distract.

So he breathes through the tight knot and the flare of embarrassment of divulging any of these weaknesses to someone he is not especially close to. She isn't going to stab him in the back, and he has to remember that.]

It isn't about what I do, the greater picture of it. It's about tradition. It's about the...assumption that Templars cannot be trusted, that they can't do their jobs, that I am somehow better than them. And it's not just about that, either. Father is...he is a...stern man. Difficult, perhaps. You could say. His views on the world are a little more...ah...conservative? Perhaps that's the best word for it. Honestly, I'm almost surprised he bothered to show up, given that mages are given a platform to fight as well. Ah, no, sorry, it wouldn't be mages--apostates, he would say.

It's--we argued quite a bit. Our letters to one another, when he would reply, were rarely kind. We've ideological differences, along with the wounded pride, you see. I suppose...that that's something of his I come by honestly, an overabundance of pride.

It's admirable for it to have stood the testament of time in such a way; Thedas has been through terrible things in all of that where the borders of countries have changed, empires risen and fallen, yet there has been this Accord. I can respect that. What it must have taken to hash that out in those early days...it must have been terrible, documents that stand the test of time that way can only come when those writing them have seen things they never wish to see repeated. When they know that the ink on their fingers will wash out easier than more blood shed. The ache in their hands from the writing, their heads and throats from the deliberations are trifles to that of battle. They heal. They always heal. [One war. One war at home not even in the living memory for them to say never again. Never again will we do this, never will we stain our fields, our forests, our deserts, our waters with the blood of the people in such a way, instead we will bind ourselves in friendship and careful politics that we might snipe at but better that than see such chaos again.

Such grief even now still healing.

Araceli has stood once in The Western Approach where the arid heat set the world to shimmering about her at the edge of the Abyssal Rift, stood there wondering if a wound ran through the whole of Thedas as deep as that. Or deeper still. Her glance at Malcolm is sidelong, is not a thief's glance, nor a bard's glance, is the one in Leandra's shadow with a hand on a rapier in the court.]

I'm sorry. [She turns to face him, doesn't even stop herself when she sets a hand on his arm and squeezes, because she has the queensguard, and it's not the same, but to not know-- it would eat at her.] Is there any way they can be found that isn't what anyone does in these times, listening to the rumours, waiting and hoping? All of it must be maddening and inadequate when there are so many to be found.

[And there's always work to be done, isn't there. You can't just sit by the door forever in the vain hope something will turn up or chase every lead when the Gallows is staffed only by them and a skeleton crew. It's not Skyhold.]

People in positions of power and responsibility should be held to account for their charges. Magic is powerful, but the Templars were originally to guard the mages. To watch over them. How many came as frightened young people? If there is an assumption, that assumption started somewhere and it lies with the Templars remaining now to remove the chip from their shoulder and work together with everyone to make something better for the future. The past is to be learnt from, salvaged from, not repeated. Not after what's happened. I came here after the war had happened but I've seen-- I've seen terrible things, and heard far worse. [That's true for a great many too but Araceli's met more than her fair share of Templars who need to bloody get over themselves and move on.] Old men can be set in their ways, but this world isn't going to be their world, and I think the more some of them see that, the more determined they are to dig their heels in and shout about it. As if that's going to do any good. Would seeing any of what we're doing change him at all?

The old man is going to die at some point. [And he doesn't know how he feels about that. He should take comfort in the thought, shouldn't he? And yet.] I--that's unfair of me. [Guilty, maybe, is how he'd feel given the guilt that washes over him now.] I'm not going to just...invite him to Kirkwall. I fear he's too set in his ways, and that's...not my fault, nor my problem. And yet.

[And it feels like both. He shakes his head, gives her a small smile of thanks for her encouragement.] As for my people, alas, if I could follow more than rumour, I would do so. That's mostly all their is. And if I were to act on more go find more? I would have to leave. One of my fellow Seekers, Aleron, perhaps you've met? He went off to supposedly, hopefully meet another of our number. His letters had been fairly steady, at least once a month, but now those, too, have stopped. It's like they've all fallen off the map, and to see one or another pop up now and again, in a blue moon, is a blessing. But more and more I've been wondering if it's worth keeping up the name. ...Pride, perhaps, keeps me to it.

[How can her mouth not turn down at the corners when she hears that? Malcolm's father isn't hers but who doesn't think, even for one heartbeat, of their own father? (Felix swaggering off a ship, still able to hoist his daughter in one arm, hat stolen to go on her own head.) My father the holy man, but there are myriad ways to be holy, Thedas has shown her that again and again and again.] We have many others in Kirkwall all with voices, then again that tends to be something of a problem: we have many people in Kirkwall, all of them with voices.

[Some of them who could maybe do with having their sending crystals taken off them because all they do is cause trouble with them but that's not the matter at hand.]

Your job isn't to live to change his mind though, not yours alone. You get to live. To do your work for the Inquisition, the Seekers, whatever comes after. Find a good man or good woman if either of those are your thing. Or another dog. [From her tone, guess which of those ones Araceli thinks is most likely (or she just lay awake after some revellers were hollering Andraste's Mabari, her with nothing to toss at them).] I'd wondered where Seeker Darton went to, I knew more of him before his marriage.

[Had been surprised, quite frankly, that a Seeker would marry. That a Seeker would marry a mage. A Warden mage. Then of course there was the Gallows bother they were both caught up in so...]

A name is-- I used to not use my whole name here because people would stumble over it, and I was new. I was younger. Scared. But now I use the whole name given to me by my mother and my father because it's my name, it's who I am. Your name is who you are, and if you are a Seeker, then that is who you are. Seeker Reed with the Inquisition so those who might look for anyone else or hold out hope will always know where at least one other of you is.

[For a fair time, Malcolm is quiet, tending to Charles with more scrutiny than is warranted. (Because of course he made sure the horse was fine and fit as a fiddle even before coming, and naturally looking handsome upon arrival.) If she looks hard enough, she might even see a shade of pink on his high cheeks at her suggestion of man, woman, or dog.

He had never thought he'd be discussing some of this with, well, someone like her. Or most anyone outside of Aleron or Cassandra. The details are still glossed over, feeling she isn't privy to some of it, but still... It's a discrepancy he's vaguely aware of. Advice he might so give to another if he heard such a tale, advice he apparently doesn't think to take for himself. Easy to say 'ignore it and keep moving', another to do it.

Eventually, Charles shakes his head with an indignant snort and a short back away, having enough of all the attention thanks. It leaves Malcolm momentarily at a loss, with nothing to distract. But it means he can focus on Araceli instead.]

...Thank you. For the words of wisdom. I'm a Seeker at heart, and I'll not turn my back on the years I dedicated to the cause, even if the order doesn't technically exist at the moment.

And I doubt he and I will see eye to eye before one of us dies, but...I should at least speak with my sister. I have no quarrel with her. She merely would like to see me take what she thinks is my rightful place in this family again instead of being something of a black sheep.

Shame. Black suits me well. [If his ballroom attire says anything, surely it's that.]

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MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

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jfc html fail how did i miss that?

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