closed; Thieves candles for sale

[arcaneadvisor]

WHO: Morrigan, Iorveth
WHAT: Grim Orlesian corpse imbibing
WHEN: Waves a hand at Solace
WHERE: Orlais
NOTES: People are eating mummies, that's it, that's the plot. Skip this if human remains being sprinkled in the ratatouille like some fine garnish isn't your deal.

Obtaining a list isn't difficult. Morrigan would even go so far as to say that it's embarrassingly easy but then she did know these people up close and personally for some time, and while Iorveth's visage is something to gasp over more than her own for once, the list of uses is...she reads. Again.

"To restore the ardour of the male especially in advanced years," which precedes one lengthy preparation, "for indigestion and complaints of that nature combine with warm milk from a goat though the cow will do and honey. These people, what fools!"

Not a shout. An exasperated whisper. Since they're en route to where the operation is after all for a good poke about; who says no to a pair such as them?

Comments

[aenseidhe]

Now all we need is Orlesian Salt Bae. For Iorveth to murder.

While investigating this particularly offensive and fucking ridiculous case, Morrigan, with her much more agreeable features, handles the social aspects in gaining the list, hearing gossip, rooting out the connections. Iorveth examines the scenes, slipping through the shadows at night to visit the exhumed graves, tracking humans as he would animals in a forest - so, about exactly what he's used to, really.

As Morrigan reads, Iorveth's lips curl, clearly personally disgusted, both at the act and the level of moron one has to be to do something like this. A modern equivalent: eating Tide Pods.

"Just when you think you've witnessed the greatest rank of stupidity possible, an over-achiever comes along. Or several." A whole group buys into this. And people with money too? Why is this the height of society for humans? "Would it be too much to hope the last ancient ash they ingest came from one who died of plague?"

[arcaneadvisor]

One day, unless Iorveth's heard it already because there are better things Morrigan has to do with her time than keep up with what tales and rumours people associate with her, she could tell him of the work with Celene. For Celene. Her fascination with baubles. If an Empress is any indication of her people, then this is little surprise.

"They decked themselves in quillback spines and worse one season," which could be neither here nor there but there is an obsession with the dead, with making them a part of them, and in Nevarra at least they treat them better. (Another reason perhaps that they might resolve this well given the state of reputations there.) "The ancient elves underwent Uthenera when they tired of life, 'tis highly unlikely, however...I have seen the corpses of ancient elves come alive from possession. I can only imagine the consequences."

Mmm, she's rather enjoying it with a little smirk on her face, the same one a person might get if armour-roasted chevalier was downwind.

"I've seen many sites, knowing them for true or not shall be simple enough but how to stop them. Worse than children. A child takes a telling and spits a foul thing out." She should know, she's got a teenager.

[aenseidhe]

There's a good chance he's already heard about Morrigan, because Iorveth likes to know everything about everyone, but who knows, it is a mystery.

"Any chance you might know the spell to bring them alive again?" Iorveth isn't from a place where such kinds of magic are so frowned on, and whether or not someone approves of magic at all is basically 'tough shit'. At least, before the Lodge screwed everyone over and inspired all the witch hunts and burnings. Before that, Morrigan likely would've fit in nicely with the rest of them.

Suffice to say, it's a good thing the woman is on his side today. He wouldn't mind the scent of armour-roasted chevalier either.

"Perhaps the appropriate level of fear would manage it." Like, possessing an ancient elf corpse to have them all shitting themselves. He's just saying.

[arcaneadvisor]

"Necromancy is not a skill I have learnt. For all the rumours that might abound." Honestly who can keep track of the rumours these days, the way folk talk of this and that but she pauses, considers. "There are hexes that might addle the mind, though not in a way that might work."

Misdirection is for battle, affliction will not, alas, sicken them as she would hope. A temptation lies in disorient, as does horror though with the latter she would be loath to go so far unless they are truly left without option even as she nods in agreement with him.

"Orlesians go with the winds of fashion, the sooner this is put from their minds, the better though...I wonder, might you manage a part in a deception?" She smiles, sounds almost coy which combined with the sidelong glance will hopefully get exactly what she wants from this whole situation which is twofold: him to agree, and her chance to horrify Orlesians into submission. "If we were to have a short ruse before them and one of us were a shapeshifter…"

Now Iorveth, imagine all the things that come from corpses and the limitless imaginations of witches.

[aenseidhe]

A sly, sharp smirk is shot Morrigan's way, and Iorveth has decided he likes this mage. Suffice to say, he's picking up what she's putting down, and he's all about it. Horrifying pretty much any humans into submission is basically Iorveth's favorite pastime, so Morrigan finds no resistance from him.

"Though I doubt they'll have much interest in paying heed to an elf, I'm certain I can hold their attention long enough to allow for it." However long it takes her to get her shapeshifting done and get into position. The details they can sort out along the way, but he is interested in getting an idea of it.

"What shape did you have in mind?"

[arcaneadvisor]

Funny how the elves Morrigan's been friends with aren't elves from this world. It's always the elves with a bolder, more daring streak in them, who aren't nearly so defensive as the rest get about what she might touch or speak of.

"If you say it well, they might. In some corners," her voice drops just enough to say that this is politics, and distasteful, she doesn't know what he might know of Celene, "elves are very much wanted in a certain way and certain light."

Not always beneath it or in the day. (Impossible not to think of Gwenaëlle when she says these sort of things, especially when Morrigan was still at Court when Celene and Briala came tumbling out, when Halamshiral was put to the torch.

Morrigan is adept at recovering well.)

"A swarm. Stinging, usually but the appearance alone shall suffice when erupting from that which they've supped on." There's a morbid streak running through every witch, Morrigan is no exception as she smiles grimly at him, tapping her staff that curls with cold. "You have the stomach for it, I'm certain. I doubt even their new favoured remedies will help them."