(closed) make like a tree and wreak havoc on unsuspecting villagers for generations

[exequy]

WHO: Pietro, Solas, Kostos
WHAT: Investigating rumors of elven burial grounds cursing villagers in the Dales
WHEN: Sometime pre-Tevinter
WHERE: Orlais
NOTES: For this assignment!

Comments

[exequy]

Four doors have been shut in their faces so far. Two of them without a word. One after only I don't like beggars, which Kostos is choosing to blame on Solas, whose overall aesthetic would be a problem even if his ears were rounded. The last switched targets and asked first if they were foreigners, because once some closed-minded Orlesians bore themselves disdaining nonhumans they move on to humans with dark skin, but at least that gave them an in to explain that they were from the Inquisition and here regarding the rumors of a curse before that door, too, slammed shut.

Four doors is Kostos' pre-drink limit. He stops on the side of the dirt road that cuts between the scattered, colorful houses and their picturesque fields and gardens to pull a wineskin out of his pack. Something is wrong here—he can feel it, in fits and starts, like an unpredictable breeze, if breezes were made of rage—but that seems increasingly not his problem.

Poised to drink, he pauses to ask, "Are there ancient elven artifacts that turn people into assholes?"

(If so, maybe that explains him, too.)

[dirth]

Solas is well used to the prejudices of strangers - it's not as though he has any reason not to be. Being an elven apostate and dressing as he does inspires a little bit of ire. He's unconcerned by it, of course, as his dress is part of the nature of everything that he has been trying to do since the foundation of the Inquisition. He has long since become somewhat numb to commentary on his appearance, his clothing, his style; it is meaningless now.

He might follow the others into the side of the road, but there's no inclination to drink himself. If anything he seems a little distant, slipping away from the idea and standing to peer out at the world, to see what people might say and do when they're not being so obviously stared out. He can learn a great deal from these things; it wouldn't be the first time.

"No, I fear they are naturally that way. Nothing elvhen would have changed that."

[supersonic]

Pietro has not weathered today's rebuffs with Solas's grace, but then, he rarely weathers so much as an ill-timed cough without a rude retort; the fact that he's kept his mouth shut and his commentary restricted to elaborate eyebrow movements says something for the measure of respect he holds for their mission, and for whatever piece of the past may be at its heart. At least until Kostos breaks ranks.

"I would bet something elven could make it worse." ...Him, he means him. Just offering, in case escalation is starting to sound like a more satisfying plan to anyone else. Having scuffed to a stop in the dirt, Pietro lets his head fall back into a stretch, directing the rest to the sky. "Perhaps if we camped out on one of their doorsteps until they answered our questions, or chased us away with pitchforks and torches."

"Even if there is something here—" sliding an eye to his companions; look, it's not his sensitivity anyone's relying on here; "How are we meant to find it if we do not even know for certain what it's doing?"

[exequy]

Kostos' first instinct is a helpful shrug, while his mouth is otherwise occupied by the wine. He's doing them all a favor, honestly, or making an attempt—alcohol takes the edge off his temper a long time before it makes him unsteady or careless—but he's not generous enough to offer to share.

When he lowers the skin, he says, "Something is here," and gestures ahead, where the little houses grow closer together and mix with a few public establishments. Perhaps there, perhaps beyond the village altogether, perhaps somewhere in the woods they carved it out of. Definitely in that direction, however. "Whether it is worth the trouble is another question."

The rumors are—what? Illnesses, stillbirths? Nothing they would want to keep in the Gallows, and planting it among the enemy would be both difficult and cruel.

[dirth]

"They would not be so desperate to keep their secrets if it was not a dangerous one to share," Solas comments, stepping away for a moment to look around the houses. It's clear that there is something unspoken here, something that they're unwilling to share nor discuss, and his instinct is to get to the bottom of it with an awkward, fiery rage that's tucked below his stern demeanour. He isn't one for violent outbursts, exactly, but neither is he willing to keep silent on this if the People are being harmed.

Even if it might be ashes, or artefacts, or - whatever these people have deemed necessary to do to the life that had died over the centuries. He is not going to allow it to continue, whatever the risk it might put on himself. Rushing straight in to a fight is not on his list of decisions either, however, and so he relents, turning back to his companions with a small frown, trying to play as though he is not so frustrated.

"We might be asking both the wrong people and the wrong questions." And he is willing to admit that, perhaps, his guise is not beneficial to his mission. "It might be more... Understandable if you had an elven ally rather than an elven apostate." It wouldn't be the first time he had played that game. Ally, servant, slave... Solas is not comfortable, but he is willing, at least for now.

[supersonic]

Pietro's eyes do a sort of slow pan over to Solas, not missing the implication. Solas may be willing, but Pietro isn't quite so accommodating. At least, not without being reasonably certain they'd get anything out of it, and, well. "Even if we do make Kostos play fancy rich human, he's still got the wrong accent for this lot."

That last closed door hadn't been over the shape of anyone's ears, after all. But whatever their shortcomings as a team, or in Pietro's opinion the shortcomings of the residents of this town, it's not as if they've got anything else to work with. Just perhaps not quite like that.

"Come on," he says to Kostos, with a nod in the direction he indicated. "The least you can do is play compass. Dangerous to them may not necessarily mean useful to us, but if it is elven, I am certainly not just letting them keep it."