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faderift2018-07-17 09:02 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2018-07-17 09:02 pm
MOD PLOT: SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part I
WHO: The Inquisition's Minrathous delegation
WHAT: A diplomatic visit to Tevinter's capital
WHEN: Mid Solace
WHERE: Minrathous, Tevinter
NOTES: Slavery cw. OOC post here.
WHAT: A diplomatic visit to Tevinter's capital
WHEN: Mid Solace
WHERE: Minrathous, Tevinter
NOTES: Slavery cw. OOC post here.
I. SWEET DIGS
The Archon's palace is a vast complex at the northeast of the island, buildings of stark black and white stone drawn straight up out of the ground and shaped by magic alone. Ringed by a wall of the same, it is made up of the palace proper and dozens of outbuildings, stables, barracks, baths, gardens, and the like. The Inquisition delegation is housed in the guest quarters, a single long hall in one wing of the palace. They are not its only occupants: special emissaries from the Anderfels occupy several rooms at one end of the hall, and other visitors are scattered throughout—trade envoys, out-of-town courtiers, relatives and guests of the Archon. There is also a veritable army of staff, constantly fetching, carrying, cleaning. Skyhold will have sent stern reminders for the Division Heads to pass down to the rest of the party: assume you are being watched at all times and mind your tongue accordingly.
The areas of the palace open to foreign visitors are somewhat limited: aside from the Archon's personal apartments, several wings apparently house massive bureaucracy behind the throne, and guests are not permitted without an appointment and an escort. The library and hall of treasures are free to be wandered, though they are carefully guarded against theft or vandalism, and the gardens are lovely and imposing testaments to the wonders magic can wring from nature.
II. GUIDED TOUR
The delegation's first day in Minrathous is fully booked, beginning with a guided tour after breakfast. The tour focuses on the nicer parts of the city and is led by a friendly elven mage, Caeso, who works for the Archon—someone is trying to make a point, perhaps, about how high elves can rise, as long as they're the right sort.
Minrathous is ancient, and it shows, with not even the care and pride Tevinter has in its heritage able to stave off signs of wear. The buildings are enormous and dark, made largely out of black stone and metals, but they indicate a majestic history more than a majestic present. There are also signs of magic, everywhere. The foundations of many buildings seem to have been pulled up straight from the earth, rather than built on top of it, and towers and bridges that should have collapsed ages ago are permanently enchanted to defy gravity. While he doesn't take them inside any of the buildings, Caeso points out the Argent Spire, the headquarters of the Imperial Chantry and Divine; the Minrathous Circle, the oldest in Thedas; and the Ambassadoria, where dwarven ambassadors work underground to preserve their castes. Then he guides them through a colorful central market where they're able to have lunch around a fountain and enjoy open displays of magic and enchanted objects by street performers and merchants. He's happy to answer basic questions about the city and Tevinter in general, and after lunch provides everyone with maps that are, possibly, designed for tourists who aren't particularly trusted (or aren't believed to be particularly bright). They only show significant landmarks and the streets required to reach them from the palace.
III. FANCY PARTY
That afternoon, everyone is due back in time to dress up, fix their hair, fix other people's hair as needed, and sit down for dinner with the Archon—distant, at the end of the table, and quiet—as well as a number of members of the Magisterium and other notable figures, with an over-the-top sixteen course meal served by a quiet, respectful staff that may be slaves or may be servants. Afterwards, and after a break to allow a little bit of digestion, the entire group migrates to join even more guests for an evening of music, dancing, and mingling in a ballroom adorned with floating lights.
The locals will shy away from discussing anything too sensitive, like Corypheus' origins or Tevinter religion and politics, but they'll be happy to discuss history and to ask questions of the delegation. A southerner is as rare a sight for them here are a Tevinter is in the south.
IV. FREE TIME
Under the Archon's protection as long as they remain his guests, and despite what the maps they're given might suggest, the delegation has been given more or less free rein in the capital, with only sensitive areas of the palace, naval yards, and the Circle and Spire off-limits for casual visits. Minrathous is a city like any other: tightly-packed buildings, bustling streets, opulent theaters and rundown shops, markets selling vegetables and flowers and fabrics, cafés packed with students arguing politics or beleaguered bureaucrats taking tea, pristine gardens filled with elaborate topiary, or small squares of green tucked between buildings, flowering vines draped down their walls. Of course it's also like nothing they've ever seen further south: street performers here make common use of magic, not just breathing fire but shaping it into a flock of birds or a dragon in flight. Slave markets are kept to the outskirts of the city but those near the docklands are vast and busy. In the harbor, among the forest of masts of trading vessels from every corner of Thedas, sits the Imperial Navy, four ships always on guard at the broad mouth of the harbor, a reminder that this is a nation at war.
Outside of specific missions, everyone is free to wander the city and explore, though they are given strict instructions to stay out of trouble—no matter what. They are also asked to keep their eyes and ears open as they do, to mingle and talk with anyone who seems willing, and to keep watch for anything unique on sale in the markets. Rare books, unknown potions, unusual enchanted objects should all be purchased if spotted: this may be the Inquisition's only opportunity to get its hands on the wealth of magical and historical knowledge hoarded by Tevinter (and reimbursements will be offered, within reason).
Potential agents are another invaluable commodity, and the delegation is charged with taking note of anyone who seems sympathetic to the Inquisition's cause and bringing their names and information to the attention of the Scoutmaster and her aides. Those capable of carefully sussing out the depth of that interest are to do so, but given the delicacy of the situation everyone should proceed with the utmost caution, and under no circumstances is any non-member of the Inquisition—no matter how friendly—to be trusted.
Kitty Jones
The best part of all of Minrathous is the library. Spending time in that library, however, is absolute torture. The problem is that she simply can't read most of the things here. She knows that there's good stuff in these books, vital information, but the script that these books are written in might as well be squiggles, and even when she knows the script the language is completely unfamiliar.
And so - she never thought she'd do this - she goes in search of a mage. The Commander had said to her that it's mages who were most likely to have language skills, especially skills in the ancient languages. The problem here is that Kitty's not entirely sure who's a mage and who isn't; back home, she had an eye for it, a sense based on the fineness of someone's clothes and the trendiness of the tailoring, but here she's absolutely lost.
So, in the end, she goes up to anyone who's Inquisition-affiliated and looks either suitably intellectual or suitably weird and says, "Don't suppose you could help me."
ii. Dancing? Blergh
Kitty has never worn something nice in her life. Sure, she's worn clothes to make her look respectable, skirts and blouses that suited her father's fussily middle-class aspirations, but that's quite different from what's on display here. Here, men and women both are - Honestly, they're made into works of art, with dazzling colours and mad patterns and impossible accessories turning them into something that doesn't even look fully human anymore.
Yet somehow - perhaps because there are so many of them, and they carry themselves so confidently - they don't look laughable. Kitty would have expected to sniff at this sort of decadence, but instead what happens is she ends up feeling outrageous and ridiculous. She watches them, standing in her plain skirt and sensible shoes and her hair held back with a simple ribbon, the sole adornment a silver pendant at her neck, and - she just feels silly and embarrassed and conspicuous and very very clumsy.
So, at the very first opportunity, she turns to slip away, to find somewhere to hide away from this riotous crowd.
iii. Fuck Tevinter honestly
She had thought she'd be all right with it. Kitty's not innocent, after all. She's seen cruelty in all its forms - seen slavery, even, though she'd not recognized it at the time. She'd thought that she'd be able to look upon the slave markets and see them as a mark of Tevinter's wickedness, as a symbol of the injustice that they've all got to fight in this world.
She's not all right. She's really not all right. Maybe it's the number of them, just the sheer quantity of people that are being bought and sold as property. She's never seen anything on this scale before - only ever met spirits by the handful at most, never by the hundreds. Or maybe it's that they're more recognizably like her - maybe (and she'll hate herself if this is true) she only really cares when they're humanoid, maybe that's what's needed for her to really feel it. Or maybe it's that there are children in there, too...
Or maybe it's the way they look. Maybe it's their hopelessness. Bartimaeus, when she'd talked with Bartimaeus, he still had spirit and ferocity. He still had hope. All the spirits she'd encountered, they still had hope of escape. But this place is a place of the darkest, most choking despair. These aren't people who have a spirit world to retreat to when they're dismissed. These aren't people who'll have a refuge once they've completed their work. These are their lives, and they're trapped here, imprisoned by their own skin and bones and the chains that fasten around them. Earthly, and anchored.
So she thought she could handle it, but instead, she finds herself looking upon them and becoming short of breath. She tries to control herself, tries to stay disciplined, but it's too much. Rage makes her hands shake, grief makes her head swim: she wants to reach for her knife, wants to leap upon the nearest Tevinter bastard and cut him to pieces. She wants to bomb this place, wants to burn it to the ground - but she can't, she can't.
She can't. All she can do is feel herself choke. She turns away, and goes blindly away, far away, grinding the heels of her hands into her eyes to smear away the tears - but she can still hear it, the chatter of voices, the slave buyers' cheerful chatter, they're so happy -
She slams into someone as she goes. Struggles to regain her balance. Doesn't apologize, just goes on, choking back sobs.
III
Kitty. Kitty, stop.
[ In that moment he forgets, briefly, that he doesn't look like himself. He's walking these streets as Benedict Artemaeus, in loose, expensively tailored clothes, lacking any facial hair, and with freshly cut hair made to look like Benedict's. The small differences between them are inevitably, deliberately harder to see.
His voice is hushed and rushed, and that at least is his own. ]
Someone will see, and we can't draw attention. [ Pause. He moves closer, frowning. ]
What happened?
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[ She looks up. For a moment, she thinks that it's D'Artagnan, but that's not right at all: the clothes, the hair, everything; it's that Tevinter bastard Artimaeus, having the audacity to lecture her about not drawing attention to herself. She looks at him a moment, eyes brimming with tears, mouth hardening with fury, and then jerks her arm hard against his grip. ]
Let me go. You haven't got any right to tell me to quiet down about this.
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About what? What happened? If someone's hurt you…
[ They're supposed to be behaving, all of them are. Upholding the Inquisition's reputation, trying to make a better name for it here. Still, if someone has done her some harm, he'll not be slow to take it up with them. ]
Look, don't run off. Please, let me help.
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[ Her fists clench. For a moment, she genuinely considers punching him in his shapely bloody jaw. ]
You can help by going down there and ordering all those slaves released from the marketplace.
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What?
[ D'Artagnan blinks. How in God's name is he supposed to--?
But he's not, is he. Because he's not himself, of course he's not. He curses, inwardly. Now that he's actually remembered, he's going to have to play the damned part. Thankfully, he doesn't expect Benedict would want her to make a scene any more than he would himself, though for very different reasons. He makes his accent more polished. His imitation isn't perfect, but practice has made it decent, and he clearly looks the part already. He presses his lips together. ]
You know perfectly well that's not how it works. [ That's good, he thinks. He should maybe sound a little more superior. Also, more narcissistic. He straightens his shoulders, standing taller, and downgrades his voice to a fierce whisper. ] You're not here to change how we do things. You are here because the Inquisition permits it. Don't let your vanity ruin all our hard work.
[ The words are sour in his mouth. He hates seeing the display of slavery as much as she does, despite it being technically legal in France, too. Even so, it wouldn't look like it does here. Still, that isn't the point of this mission, and they can't afford to step out of line. Rifters, in particular, cannot afford to step out of line. ]
I hope this is okay xoxo
She slaps him, viciously, across the face. Using all her strength. Her hand hurts like hell after she does, and it's not like the slap did anything to change the state of the world, but oh, it does make her feel a little better. ]
How you do things is wicked and inhumane.
I love it it's perfect!
Ouch.
He probably deserved that. Also, this is miserable. He turns back to her, aware of people looking, and one or two starting to move closer. He acts on instinct, less thoughtful about his words, but he does reach to try and grab her upper arm. ]
For God's sake, I'm trying to help you. [ Muttered, fiercely, under his breath. ] Come with me before you hang us all. They're watching, Kitty.
no subject
Fine.
[ And she stalks forward in some random direction, hoping there's some privacy that way. ]
no subject
One can hope.
He follows Kitty, not quite catching up with her until they round a corner away from the crowd, and then he hurries to walk alongside.
He has to be careful what he says. ]
I don't blame you for hating what you saw. Considering that, the more influence the Inquisition can have here the better, don't you think? We must take care.
...but still, I know you're upset. I know it's hard, and I'm sorry for that.
(no subject)
(no subject)
II
Hasmali robes, pressed and starched and augmented with a little lace, look enough like what an altus might wear he's not so out-of-place--except all of those worthies are dressed to the nines tonight in ways that make mere robes out as the workaday stuff they actually are. It's a good thing he's got nothing more than descriptions to go on, doesn't have to behold all of that himself.
The Circle doesn't prepare you for being underdressed. Nor being set loose in a room with a hundred people who you've been taught from the cradle to regard as predators, who'd as soon pay for you and yours to be kidnapped and sold north as look at you. Dealing with Kirkwall's elite was one thing--their fortunes were only incidentally built on the blood and bone of suffering elves--but this is wholly another. And yet that's no excuse for cowardice, he's in the midst of chiding himself; if anything it's a reason to go out there more boldly-- The thought's cut short by the sound of someone coming, footsteps down the hall lighter than anyone he recognizes.
Footsteps mean company, however temporary. Myr draws a breath, grips his staff tighter, fixes a brave smile on his face and stands up square--no telling who might see him--before calling out brightly, "Hello! Looking to get away from the noise?"
no subject
Maybe it's something else? Kitty's been blindfolded before, herself. As part of their training in the Resistance, they'd go about blindfolded, learning how to navigate by touch and by sound, learning how to fight in the dark. But this is a weird bloody time to be training, isn't it, in the midst of a party.
Unless - oh. Oh. It must be some avant-garde fashion statement. The elf is dressed in rather plain robes himself. So it must be indicating that...that he can't even see all the effort others have put into their own clothes, and everything is just vanity that has no importance or relevance to someone who can't even see, that they're nothing to him...Right. That makes sense. And from the miserable look he's sporting, his look must have completely flopped.
"Yeah, a bit," she says, after the pause during which she deciphers his appearance. Her voice is a little quiet and a little embarrassed. "Erm - is there room in there for two?" He's clearly a mage, true, which makes her nervous - but he's an elf, too, so he can't be too dreadful, right?
i am so delighted by her introspection here
"Absolutely, please--" He gestures in roughly her direction, beckoning. "I even think there's a chair or two in here, if you'd like to get off your feet." There is, in fact, a chair, pushed a little off-center toward the back of the nook (possibly by the action of a blind mage bumping right into it). "And while I've heard your voice before on the crystals I can't say I've a name to put to it; I'm Myr."
barking up the wrong tree something fierce
"So - " She hesitates a moment, then forges forward with asking, "What do you think of everything? Everything here." Since apparently he's Inquisition, rather than Tevinter - which is a relief, honestly. Yeah, she'd be doing her job with diplomacy better if she were engaging with a Tevinter mage, but honestly, she just doesn't want to.
I love her
Which is what gives him pause before answering her question, weighing how much the unvarnished truth of his opinion might cost them all if the wrong person hears it. (That he’s GOT such an unvarnished opinion is plain in his face; despite though silence he looks—eager, and faintly melancholy, not at all offended.) Probably, the Archon’s people expect a certain amount of anti-Imperial sentiment out of the southerners; and just as probably they’re all supposed to pretend no such emotions exist, whatever justified cause there is for it.
Diplomacy. Myr gives a faint rueful huff at the thought; he’s no good at the grand variety of that, the sort that keeps the peace between nations, but you sure as hell learn to talk indirectly in the Circles. “I’ve heard that there are high dragons out there so stunningly beautiful you can’t help but stop and admire their terrifying majesty—the awesomeness of the Maker’s creation—even though you know they’ve killed scores of people and ruined entire villages. I imagine it’s a little like that, except someone’s decked the dragon in gold so you don’t notice she’s dying—or how bloody her fangs are.”
Still, perhaps, a little more direct than he ought to be. But it’s deniable, he thinks. That’s all they need.
"How have you found it?"
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Well. Honest-ish.
"Upsetting," she answers. "It's a grand place, and a place of real wealth and beauty and power. So the fact that they're not doing a bloody thing to wipe away Corypheus - whose existence is a blight on their nation - it either means that they're weaker than I thought or more cowardly."
no subject
Well, right back at 'em.
"Though I'd not think so poorly of our hosts; the Archon's been gracious enough to welcome us into his home to show off all the wonders of the Imperium. And without so much artifice as I'd expect to conceal its--mm--workings from casual inspection." Slavery, he means. Slavery, and the way mages have the run of the place (though not in the way he'd expected, not at all, and that if nothing else tugs at him in a way he doesn't want to examine so closely).
I
"It depends on how you need assistance, but I'll certainly make the attempt. What do you need?"
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She holds out a book to Inessa. It's heavy and thick, written in old Tevene.
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"I've heard of lyrium before," she says as Inessa gets settled. "What's blood magic?"
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"Blood magic is an...alternate...source when it comes to magic, one not taught in a Circle but through demons. Instead of the spell being powered by lyrium, it is powered by blood...yours or another's. The reasons it's forbidden are many, and I'll admit right now that you will not get an unbiased opinion from me. I have seen the dangers firsthand, and the mages who became corrupted because they were prideful or desperate enough to engage in such a foul practice."
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"What's the punishment for using it?"
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"Annulment. That's - when they kill everyone, right?"
(no subject)