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

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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.

Threaded | Flat

I. Such Good Company [closed to whoever is unfortunate enough to room with her]

This is not a pleased woman. It is not you personally—yet—so much as the very fact of a shared space under these circumstances. The Lady Alexandrie Lucette Seraphine Arienne De La Fontaine is absolutely not sleeping, or dressing, or having her hair or makeup done, or appearing in any other way to even exist as a woman who is not completely poised and perfect at every single moment where someone else can see her.

“Emile,” she says, turning her head slightly to address her lady's maid, “do make arrangements for some manner of screen that shall afford some bare modicum of privacy. I am sure the palace has some available.”

II. Get In, Losers

Lunch by the fountain is very agreeable, as is the entertainment. She will of course be 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing and applauding with polite enthusiasm as is appropriate for an impressible Orlesian noble interested in such things—the which she very obviously is, dressed closely to her usual (albeit with an inverted color palette that includes even the pearls in her hair and a silhouette that lands somewhere in between Orlais and Tevinter), half-masked to match and with parasol in gloved hand.

Given the time after lunch she will be perusing the markets with a keen eye for both whatever it is the Inquisition is looking for and some suitable souvenirs for those friends who were obliged to stay in Kirkwall.

Shopping buddies?

III a. Maybe She's Born With It

Time to dress is not what Alexandrie would consider this. She'd been given more time to prepare for her jaunt to the opera in Kirkwall—and had used each minute of it—than to attend dinner and dancing with the Archon and the rest of the upper echelons of Tevinter. Being cross for too long gives you wrinkles, however, so she is quietly and serenely resolved to make the best of it.

The banquet sees her in an elaborate gown that clings, and floats, and sparkles with both beading and the subtle shine of the enchanted threads currently in style—she'd been to a Tevene tailor of some repute, the natural consequence of being engaged in an affair with a terribly stylish Altus—with her bright copper hair an elaborate coif of weaving loops from which a few curling tendrils 'escape'. Her mask of earlier has been replaced by a half-veil, the cosmetics beneath it both immaculate and particularly expensive, if you are one of those who know what such things cost.

Really, when you're the only Orlesian noblewoman in attendance with the Inquisition, you have to show up.

Whoever her dining partner is, prepare to be engaged with sparkling wit and an effortless adherence to the required protocol of such a banquet. (And aided both magnanimously and surreptitiously in the latter if they are unfamiliar).

III b. Pam Shortt's Broken Both Her Legs, and I Wanna Dance With You

The back of her gown is cunningly constructed to be able to be let out to allow for proper dancing, and once it is, Alexandrie shall be on the floor for dance after dance, partner after partner, only ceasing to press her hand to her chest and affect breathlessness, laugh her musical laugh—carefully designed to both be lovely and have its sound carry—and beg both mercy and a drink so as to be able to engage in conversation.

For those who would like to dance, she is an effortless and graceful partner who is going to make you look good regardless of your skill level. Of course, if you have that skill, the both of you are going to look very good. For those who would not, she will eventually circulate around with a brilliant smile and a drink in her hand for you.

IV. Sunday in the Park With Alexandrie

The city's gardens are sweeping and lovely, of course, and Alexandrie will certainly find herself obliged to walk their paths for a time, but it is the afternoon shadows in the small patches between the buildings with their twining vines, the curling green of them and the bright of their newly born flowers in full summer bloom against the ancient darkness of the masonry they climb, that ultimately draw her eye.

Thus, it is there she can be found for a few hours each free afternoon, sitting behind an easel on a cloth-draped stool with her skirts arranged perfectly around it, Emile holding her parasol to shade her as she paints. There is a second seat nearby, open for curious viewers both native and southern or any of the previous who wish to make conversation as she works.

Edited 2018-07-19 18:50 (UTC)

I. Won't You Be My Neighbor

Though he comes from Minrathous, and his family occupies their own sizable mansion within walking distance, Benedict isn't fool enough to let the rest of the Inquisition garner all the Archon's attention within his own halls. He has taken up residence in one of the available rooms, which is shared only by the perpetually-masked Orlesian bodyguard he introduces to others as Gascon. Though he's clearly got things to do and people to see, it's easy enough to catch Bene in the hall en route to or from his chambers.
Or is it?

II. I Got Gas in the Tank, I Got Money in the Bank

Being back on his home turf has brought out the best in the Artemaeus Heir, and he's got all new clothes and a new attitude for the occasion. He's bright and lively on the dance floor and outright (perhaps uncharacteristically) charming elsewhere, as long as things are going his way.
At one party in particular, he's several cups in and the picture of hedonistic delight, with a warm and carefree grin to match. Ah, what a life.

III. She Said She Never Liked You From the Start
(closed to James, Simon, Hanzo, d'Artagnan, and perhaps Myr)

Perhaps they're alone, perhaps they're conferring together, but sooner or later both James and Simon are brought under arrest: it seems to do with the brand they both sport on their right hand (the one which Ser Coupe has wisely obscured). They're brought to a cell in the city dungeon to be dealt with once someone can get ahold of their owner.

[Feel free to play out your own capture, I'll jump in with Bene and his entourage after both James and Simon are in place.]

IV. Spending Every Dime for a Wonderful Time

Miscellaney, either hit me here or request something!

i. Bitches love libraries
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.

Edited 2018-07-20 03:01 (UTC)

I. Party

Kain is no stranger to fancy parties. He really did think he'd left this life behind when he'd joined the Wardens, but here he is, falling back into that whole scene yet again. He's all dressed up for the occasion in his finest Orlesian attire, which, of course, means it's quite elaborate and includes a mask, with his favorite dragon theme, of course. He definitely blends in well, even if he's holding back a lot on his true sentiments about Tevinter. But, he suspects, so many of the others feel the same way.

Stiff and serious, he at least maintains the politeness that's expected of him, though he mostly keeps quiet. He's no diplomat, after all. He'll leave that to those who have such skills. Still, he's trying his very best to "mingle", as much as he possibly can, especially as everyone moves to the ballroom.

At some point, he also finds time to slip off toward a balcony, wanting to get a bit of fresh air. He gives a greeting to whoever else is there, as he takes a look at the surroundings.

II. Free Time: Shopping

It's not everyday he'll be in this area, so Kain takes the opportunity to venture out and about, getting a feel for what it's like. He gets caught up in the area of the shops eventually, taking a look around curiously at what's there for sale. He's definitely keeping in mind the directive about looking for anything of value, as he picks up a trinket or other odd item here and there to take a closer look at.

III. Free Time: Wandering

Kain continues his wandering, going pretty much all over the place, within reason, of course. He sticks to main areas, not wanting to chance anything for the Inquisition's sake by venturing to the wrong place. He stops here and there to watch some of those street performers displaying their magic.

One set of performers have pulled quite a large crowd, so Kain pauses a little longer to watch their thrilling show. It's happening right by a massive dragon statue, which he can't help but look at curiously. The three performers are working up to a dramatic finale, with brilliant bursts of magic shooting all over the area.

I. SWEET DIGS

Hanzo is well used to the opulence of Tevinter; he had lived there for the first half of his life, a little more than that, and he had grown up with the wealth and the power of being an Altus and then a Magister. He knows what it is to be welcomed with Tevinter hospitality, so he does not expect anything less than the rooms they're given. He is careful to look at all the rooms, or as many as he can, even if he knows he is being assigned a bedmate: it does not do well to imagine that some of them won't have been given some form of 'extra protection' - but not to protect the occupants.

He doesn't spend a great deal of time in the guest quarters after that. He's in his room barely enough to catch a few hours of sleep and then he is off and out, bow and arrows strung over his back and his outfit looking formal but easy to move in, attention focussed on drinking in as much of the palace and the rooms as he can. He doesn't know, after all, when he will next be allowed in Tevinter. His self-exile had denied him for ten years, but he could not resist the chance to see his homeland again and be protected by untoward whispers, especially if he keeps his head down and says little about himself.

Who would expect a Shimada Magister to be wandering as an Inquisition scout? No one.

II. GUIDED TOUR

The tour is lacking as far as Hanzo is concerned. He knows enough of Minrathous to know that what they are being given is minimal at best, and he cannot truly blame them - he would not want strange foreigners wandering around his cities without an escort, being privy to any and all secrets that might be laid bare. It's especially true for a place in Tevinter, where the secrets of magic are a deep and wondrous thing... But also incredibly dangerous.

There are more dangers in the back streets of Minrathous than there are in the average city and he's aware enough of that to take precautions.

He does separate from the group eventually, taking his very badly drawn map and moving to sit somewhere quietly, drawing some charcoal from his belt and beginning to fill in the gaps. He's been here before; he knows where other streets are, where winding roads lead, and he adds notes as he draws, curling in on himself to keep his work away from prying eyes as much as possible.

III. PARTY

While he doesn't spend a great deal of time fixing his own appearance - he is particular about his looks most days, so he is already more than presentable - he does spend time making sure he looks as un-Tevene as he possibly can. He wears nothing of the traditional clothing one might expect, he keeps his hair up in a knot, dismissing his golden ribbon for something more subdued. He looks like a slightly more dressed up version of any other Inquisition scout, and that should be enough to allow him some level of being hidden.

He had exiled himself, after all. Anyone who recognised him might offer him a welcome. It's what he tells himself, time and time again, as his fingers run over the dragon tattoos on his arm. Slowly, he lowers a sleeve over them, pained and hurting at the idea of hiding something that means so much to him - but it is for the best. If anyone was to notice them it would be at this event and he knows it would not do anything good for the Inquisition itself.

The meal is traditional, at least, and Hanzo eats little enough. It's the rest of the celebration that grates on him; the dancing, the drinking, the mingling. The magic. He stands to one side, trying to blend in with the backgrounds and appear as a shadow more than anything else, sipping at a glass of something strong and wondering when he might be allowed to leave. He doesn't think anyone would care, particularly, but there's always a risk of being scolded for being rude, especially on a mission like this.

Overall, he looks bored.

IV. FREE TIME

There's no hesitation in where Hanzo goes in his free time, at least at first. He spends a little time in the baths each day, allowing himself that level of decadence before he spends a few hours in the library, studying anything he can of his people's history, whatever things he can, not making notes but memorising anything that he thinks might be useful in the future. He doubts that he would be able to attend any meetings with any people with power, but having more knowledge is not necessarily a problem. The very last thing he does with his time is sit out in the beautiful garden, surrounded with magic and power, tilting his head forward and closing his eyes as he meditates.

He has the ability to speak the language of these people so when he does venture outside the rooms and centre of the palace it means that he can speak to anyone he deems interesting enough. It's obvious that they're somewhat familiar with the idea of foreigners knowing Tevinter, but the very fact that Hanzo looks like someone from their country lends itself to him fitting in very well. He might not admit his heritage completely, but there's no denying it. Blood speaks for itself.

While it might not be the best idea he does, at times, scramble up onto the tops of buildings, hiding in the shadows, settling down comfortably to listen to the world below. If he can find anyone who might be willing to return with them then he will have done his duty, and that is paramount to Hanzo.

Malcolm, for all his questions about how the Chantry goes about its business and how it interprets various iterations of the Chant of Light, has always been a good Chantry boy. Growing up as he should, and then joining the Templars, only to then be scooped up by the Seekers and devoting his life to the Divine and to the cause of the Seekers of Truth. Even if it leaves him feeling distinctly alone sometimes in Kirkwall. It means that while individual Vints have their redeeming qualities, Tevinter as a whole strikes him as a wicked place, people who spit on the Maker's words, whose ancestors marched into the Golden City and turned it black and defiled.

They are decadent and full of splendor, with their own Chantry and their own Divine, and he can't help but to think of Tevinter like Orlais, a flip side of the coin. It makes it a little easier to swallow, as well as his own particular interest in the diplomatic side of things. Watch everything. Be pleasant. Laugh at the right jokes, compliment the food, don't bring up politics. He's seen the Game played often enough that while they might not call it such here in Minrathous, he can recognize the similarities enough to play along. So. Naturally. He's going to take this opportunity to explore as he can, as much as he's allowed. One of the few countries he's never been to in his duties, he can't let this opportunity go to waste.

At the party, he fits in perhaps more than he'd like. His formal wear had often leaned toward black with a few accents and deliberate shine. He's updated this particular wardrobe a few times, be it for wear and tear, actual combat, or changing fashions, but the primarily black cut of top and trousers with the Eye of Truth stitched to the back in such a way with such a fabric that it catches the light without demanding attention, that stays the same. The details change with every ball, though, between Ferelden and Orlais and elsewhere. Here, it is gold that always shines brightest, so it is gold that he has seen fit to decorate himself with. Epaulets, a brooch of the Inquisition's seal upon his breast with a chain looping decoratively from it, a thin but glittering golden sash low across his hips. When in Tevinter...

As ever, he is someone with the ability to dance, and not too shabbily, but infrequently asks to do so. One might have to approach him first. But he's willing to eat, drink, and hold conversations, rather than stand stoically aside.

The library sees frequent use, making note of titles and authors, occasionally pulling out books to peruse through. He could spend a year in here straight pouring over it all, to get a glean of what they think, what they teach, what education they hold dear here. But he'll have to make due with what he can feasibly accomplish.

Naturally, he'll wander off the pitiable trail set out in the map into the city proper. He's a fine sense of direction, after all, and staying within the lines will do them no good. Smalltalk has never been his best skill, but he makes an effort, frequently, in the cafes of students or benches of those resting and watching the casual magic shows, the clerks in stores as he peruses the items. Whoever seems willing to talk to him, he talks to. Knowing who they might be able to trust--or use, at the very least--is paramount here, and he'll not take it lightly. But he'll not ignore a fellow member of the delegation should they want to catch his eye or ear.

Edited 2018-07-21 20:18 (UTC)

i. he's dying happy

To anyone who actually knows Gareth, it's no surprise that the Library draws him in with its siren call of an absurd amount of rare books. A decent portion of his free time is spent flitting among the shelves, pulling out a book or two that looks interesting, and adding it to the pile. Occasionally, he can be heard muttering commentary on whatever he's grabbed.

"I thought the Chantry ordered all copies of this destroyed." or "I bet this book is worth more than Hightown itself."

And, of course, he spends plenty of time reading the books, and even has a notepad where he scratches anything of note that he finds interesting--after all, it's not like he can take these back to consult with later. As tempting as it is, Gareth is no idiot, and has no desire to jeopardize their entire mission over a few books.

And throughout it all, this is one of the times when Gareth seems genuinely, truly happy. It is, really, as if they'd unleashed a child on a candy store and let them have at it. The amount of knowledge stored here is beyond his comprehension, more than any one person could acquire in a lifetime--but he wouldn't mind giving it his best shot.

iii. party party party

Gareth can, under dire circumstances, scrub up nicely. Not nice enough to pass for a noble, but enough to pass, perhaps, as an eccentric but comfortable sage from a mysterious land, and that is good enough for the job.

The job being rubbing elbows with the various well-to-do locals. It's something that Gareth is surprisingly good at--though perhaps not in the traditional way. Certainly, in Orlais he'd never be able to join a group of scholars and engage in a friendly debate over the various categories nested within primal magic, and what kinds of magic deserve the label.

It's not an environment he'd ever pictured himself in. While the opulence isn't quite his speed, there's something so familiar to it. Almost like the Circle, if they'd been allowed to throw fancy parties.

He does break away on occasion, grabbing food, drink, and air as needed, and he's happy to chat with anyone who approaches.

iv. dance magic dance

While no one could describe Gareth as well off, he's brought with him a reasonable amount of coin, and he's happy to find excuses to spend it here. From book store to food stall, he flits around, ducking into anything that looks interesting. He doesn't plan on spending all his money in one place, though, and spends more time simply window gazing than shopping.

And, of course, he takes time to enjoy the street performers. Grabbing a skewer of some kind of grilled meat or another, he plops on a half wall and watches one of the fire dancers. It's not just entertainment, though. There's an intensity to the way that he stares, consideration at each hand movement.

Occasionally, he summons a little flame of his own, mimicking the movements of the performers.

It's strange, watching this, watching the people react. Not with fear or caution, but enjoyment. They know that the street performer isn't going to suddenly turn his flames on them, they trust that he'll keep the street from burning down around him. Does it even occur to them to worry? What must it be like, to simply accept magic as a part of life, as something that can bring joy and wonder, instead of a weapon wielded by someone to be feared?

Several doors down but it's not difficult for Brónach to find Herian, to knock on the door with the suggestion: shall we go out, shall we walk the city, see it with our own eyes. Scouting not her division but there's enough in her through two resistances to fancy she knows the same look no matter where she might go when she suggests it.

(What she wouldn't say: Herian is a mage and looks human, all of it more easily accomplished than Brónach walking alone in an unfamiliar land with her flesh set to crawling.)

"Is this the first time away to a foreign land since they hung a new title above your head?" Brónach asks, a glance over to her (an elf she doesn't look up or down at, a rare moment in her life) with her hood down to not draw the eye or ire of these Tevinters. They're headed to where someone said books are, if that's a surprise to Herian she's free to say, who knows where a Bosmer spends her time after all. "With all that's gone it...surprised me. To see three of four come here with one left behind to keep the place set."

Beleth left makes sense. Obviously elven, obviously Dalish. Thranduil-- well, ambitious. (Thalmor, her mouth doesn't snarl but wants to.)

Even without the impending death of one of the other patrons hanging over the evening like a circling vulture, the entire situation might be something out of one of Kostos' nightmares. Not the drinks, not the half-dressed people climbing onto one another's laps in dark corners, that's all fine, but the ring in the center, with its unapologetic and unrestrained demonstration of why mages are dangerous, and the fact that his brother is here, somewhere, and whose idea was that—

it was possibly Kostos' idea, but that doesn't make it a good one

—and the Templar Commander, also somewhere, and so many Tevinters that he's fairly certain the air tastes like blood magic. Not like blood. Like blood magic. He's decided it has a taste. And that's what justifies the second drink he's nursing, despite knowing he needs his head clear. The taste, and calming his nerves, and looking like he's here to have a good time.

But the taste lingers, and he rarely looks like he's having a good time even when he is. It's only his nerves that are helped, until he’s watching the ring with his head propped over the table in one hand, chin hooked by his thumb and fingers curled over his mouth, which never quite bends into a smile despite an occasional indication of the urge around his eyes—a decent overall job hiding the flickers of pride whenever Nell lays someone out, but not a perfect one.

Further evidence: he briefly breaks his hand away and tips his head toward the ring to say, "Watch," to whoever has gotten stuck sitting with him, familiarity with her rhythms enabling a bit of prescience shortly before a flurry of fire and force ends the fight.

[ Anyone who wants to be around is welcome to wander in and out with no tag order or whatever xoxo. ]

Threaded | Flat

Alexandrie De La Fontaine

Benedict Artemaeus

Kitty Jones