SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part II

[faderifting]

WHO: Characters in Minrathous
WHAT: Daring escapes
WHEN: End of Solace
WHERE: Minrathous
NOTES: OOC plotting post!

It's become a running joke that wherever the Inquisition travels, disaster follows. It stops being funny somewhere around mid-afternoon: not long after a cadre of Inquisition representatives departs to speak with the Archon at a secretive location, the atmosphere in the palace shifts. The staff is watching the Inquisition's movements more openly, and guards are watching their own colleagues with more interest. In the late afternoon a woman arrives with a small entourage, and while she doesn't visit the visitors' quarters where the Inquisition is housed, she might be glimpsed through a window or cracked door, with twin blonde braids looped behind her ears and serious eyes above a gap-toothed smile. Only those who were at Haven would recognize her for certain.

In the meantime, back doors and side exits that were previously open and unguarded begin to close, here and there, with enough subtlety that it would be easy to miss at first, until the scattering of guards throughout the palace suddenly doubles. Most remain tight-lipped, offering only the most cursory explanation: routine security response. A few are willing to offer more, but their stories vary: rumors of a potential intruder on the grounds, a visiting petitioner causing trouble, unrest in the city over a recent vote, some sort of controversy in the Magisterium. It's increasingly clear that something is happening, but equally that those in the palace willing to speak of it have no idea what it is.

The main doors remain unbarred, and members of the Inquisition are not stopped from leaving, but warned that once they do, they're on their own. Those who venture out will find the city in a similar state: thrumming with unfocused anxiety, gossip flying, wild stories about attacks on the city gates, the harbor blockaded, a purge in the assembly, a slave revolt, armies on the march, fires on the mainland--too much to parse through and find any kernel of truth before it's too late.

Thankfully, there are sending crystals. Eventually, there comes a whispered warning: leave the city, now, without anything that might slow them down. There is no way for the entire delegation to safely meet, so instead spots are chosen both within the palace and without, places that small groups can congregate without drawing attention to arrange an escape toward the city gates.

It's as much advance notice as anyone could hope for, but it still isn't enough to make this simple.

Comments

D'Artagnan (disguised) | OTA

[mousquetaire]

i. BEFORE

---

The early part of the day is peaceful, though tense. It's subtle at first, but grows throughout the day. D'Artagnan, in disguise as Benedict Artemaeus, feels the weight of the fashion he's laced into more than ever before. His sword is at his belt, for all that it isn't very Benedict to wear it. If he's asked he'll insult the person asking and refuse to explain; he's learned that attitude works more often than it doesn't, which no doubt is why he sees it employed so frequently. He doesn't care, anyway. The rumours of trouble are only growing, and he'll not be unarmed when it comes true.

When he approaches others, he puts his manners aside. With his disguise in mind - for the time being, anyway - he lifts his chin and speaks with stolen authority.

"I'm hearing rumours of intruders," he sniffs, in his best approximation of Benedict's accent. What do you know? Tell me everything you know, I'll not be kept in the dark."

ii. ESCAPE

---

Chaos, all around.

D'Artagnan thought himself used to magic, used to the idea of it, used to what it could do. He'd been a fool. Windows have been broken, the street is littered with glass, buildings and rolling wagons and people are on fire, yet shards of ice crash around them. It's madness. And that's before the dragon appears.

He isn't focused on himself. The people around him are fighting, many in uniforms that would have marked them as allies half a day ago. He can't tell who to trust, and so he trusts no one. It's safe to say he's no longer thinking about his disguise, either. Sword and dagger are in his hands and he'll take task against any who stand in his way. The message over the crystals had ordered a clear retreat, and it's not in his blood. He wants to fight. Here, where the danger is, where people are in trouble, that's where he should be. There are women and children here, he thinks, and he throws himself into battle.

Then things change again. The dragon flies, ridden by a madman, and it couldn't be more obvious that this battle is lost. His sword stops mid-swing and he backs away, disbelieving his own eyes all over again. Magic is one thing. This is so much more.

"No choice," he mutters, finally registering the truth of that command. As the earth shakes, he leaves the battle behind. Anyone else fool enough to stay so long may find him in the chaos, moving fast, despite the guilt he feels at knowing the city's lost. "Hurry! The dwarves have promised aid. There's nothing more we can do."

Not for now. Even as he leaves, he promises himself he'll come back for these people. He'll not leave them to this fate.