faderift | 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.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Alexandrie had not properly expected Benedict to enter the fray, but oh how glad she is that he did. With that dual implication he'd delivered, he's given her the perfect excuse to become a true free agent in this scenario. She has a brief moment of sympathy for him, as she'd dropped him into something quite unlike what she'd floated, but brief is the operative term: after all, he had just called her a two-bit whore and then dared to take her hand again, so honestly, he's earned the next attention he'll be receiving from her.

But ah, nothing really compares to that very last parting shot. Loki really does get her the nicest things. Alexandrie builds her posture to a full statuesque rage to accept the serve, the frigidity she exudes nearly palpable, her voice dripping with derision as she replies as evenly as Loki had been harsh: "They are."

Lest any of the onlookers think she means House Artemaeus, she follows this statement with a clean whip of her hand from Bene's, then from her glove, followed by the truly aesthetically pleasing crack of a well-executed slap full across his face. (In small theatrical mercies, it sounds much more painful than it actually is.)

Immediately thereafter she whirls, her skirts blossoming beautifully as she does so, and stalks off like an angry cat in the direction opposite to the one Loki had taken, glove loose in one fist, and as soon as she passes someone with a tray, a glass in the other which, after the time it takes for an angry Orlesian noblewoman to down such that it contains, will find itself in crystalline and quickly disappearing shards on the floor with an impressive shatter as she makes her way to the balcony to await how the chips fall into place.

Exit Alexandrie.

Benedict's mind is fluttering from one jab to another, and he's gearing up to respond with no doubt scathing wit to Loki's remark about purse strings, when instead he finds his face turned with a stinging slap that merits an undignified, puppy-like yelp. It's only the second time he's ever been struck in such a way-- the first time being when Atticus split his lip-- and he clasps his hand to the spot with a look of abject shock, watching Lexie storm away like he actually genuinely cannot imagine why that just happened.
He looks to Loki, bewildered. An Orlesian woman of moderate influence just struck an Altus in public: can... can she do that?
His chin trembles.

It takes a truly impressive amount of self control not to start cackling at the show they'd just put on. His smirk is mild as she stalks off and, smoothly, Loki turns to regard Bene again. Oh dear, is he going to cry?

Loki stares, a bit disdainfully, and gestures to the exit of the room. He makes no move to comfort Bene, whatsoever, before downing his wine and stalking off toward the manor and not the balconies.

Good job everyone, what a delightful spectale.

Blessedly, Benedict doesn't cry, but he keeps his hand pressed against the red mark left by Lexie's hand as though a viper bit him. He stalks after Loki, waiting until they're out the door of the ballroom before he properly explodes.

"How dare she," he hisses through gritted teeth, "how-- I could ruin her for this, that little slut, who does she think she's trifling with?" Being that he isn't exactly in on the joke, it's safe to say Benedict's ire is genuine.

As soon as the doors close and Bene starts seething, Loki loses his composure and snorts a quick, sharp laugh into his glass. He grins at Bene over the rim, eyes delighted, and shakes his head.

"You can cease complaining," Loki assures him idly and shakes his head. "It was all for show, I'm sure she will be by with a suitable apology at some point during our stay here."

Of course he isn't about to detail their plan but he does produce a black silk handkerchief from his sleeve and holds it out for Bene. If he had both hands free he'd have conjured some ice for it already, but he can't well put down his wine.

Well, he won't put it down.

"Assuming I don't tell her that you called her a slut in earnest, that is."

The laughter only fuels the flame, and Benedict shoots a death glare at Loki, bristling. He slaps the handkerchief away, not about to be condescended-- at least not willingly.

"Go ahead then," he snaps, "since you're so desperate for her approval, can't be seen without your little Orlesian lapdog. Or is it you who's the pet?" He turns toward Loki, as though squaring off with him, shoulders quivering with anger. "You deserve each other."

Loki doesn't fight the momentum as his hand is slapped aside and simply arches a brow at Bene. He stares at him like an adult watching a toddler have a melt down. The only major difference here is the amount of wine Loki has already had.

"Feeling melodramatic tonight, Artemaeus?" Loki asks and shakes out the handkerchief. It bursts into green, smokeless flame and is consumed as he drops it.

"I can't say I'm disappointed she didn't include you in the scheming," Loki sneers. "But I didn't think you were this dull.

"My mistake." Loki pauses then to finish his wine and cast his class aside. Some slave will be by to collect it. "I was nearly proud of your acting for a while there, for that clever double insult that earned you a slap across the face. Odd that you didn't even consider that a possibility."

The visit to Minrathous had started out so splendidly, with Benedict back in his element and having the time of his life. Little by little it's going sour, and the jealousy that wells up in his chest at how readily Loki defends his-- and apparently Alexandrie's-- scheme is almost suffocating.

It's not that he doesn't recognize the truth in this revelation: of course, it makes sense now. They were never on the outs, he was just a convenient tool to make them stronger. Together. And here he'd thought getting rid of her might pull a little of Loki's attention, something he's wanted since... well, before he knew what it meant.

He stands there silently, staring at him, hurt and humiliation coursing through his being.

He really isn't any good at this.

MOD PLOT: SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part I

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