faderift | SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part II

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SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part II

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.

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It is understandable, Radonis hopes, all of this cloak and dagger inconvenience, in a city where the walls may have all but literal ears, and where a man in power has no one he can rely on outright, only those he can rely on to be afraid of him and those he can rely on to take the first opportunity to stab him in the back, with significant overlap between the two groups. There is nowhere in the city to speak plainly, and nowhere in the palace to speak at all. A touch of symbolic flair, then—to match his sweeping robes and towering hat—that it's a mute slave who comes for the Inquisition's representatives, unable to share anything with them except the Archon's seal and a gesture to follow.

The streets she leads them down are labyrinthe, some as old as humanity's first Thedosian rulers, often unmarked. At night they might be intimidating, but the sun is bright, and at one point a pack of barefoot children runs through the group and ahead of them, pursued by a playful dog.

Beyond a high black-stone wall and a creaking gate, there's a spot of green and an enchanted fountain, shaded by a single draping tree, attached to a house whose deed Radonis' name does not appear on. A house beneath him, and rarely occupied, except for the cat, which comes and goes but has currently come to sit beside him on the bench and have its head scratched. The cat startles, when the gate opens, but Radonis does not, rising with his back to them to place his (ridiculous) hat on his head before he turns to face them.

"I apologize," he says, "that it has taken me so long to greet you."

OOC | this thread is closed to the chosen team. no tag order, but tag at least once a day or we'll have to leave you behind. this is set prior to the escape things below, but depending on the outcome here, your characters may not be able to participate in those prompts freely, so wait until we give you the go ahead!

The chaos and confusion in the city crest suddenly, as rumors and warnings suddenly crystallize into activity. Soldiers appear in the streets, most traveling in organized packs, but otherwise not easy to pick out on sight: many are robed, others in plain clothes, and some wear the uniforms of the city guard, or a noble's private force, or even the Imperial guard itself, making it all the more difficult to tell friend from foe (foe from foe?). Their numbers swell as they move through the city, shepherding people back into their homes. Those who go quietly are left with a stern warning to close their doors and remain inside until further notice. Those who do not are made examples of, surrounded without warning and beaten within an inch of their lives.

If the Inquisition is going to escape the city, it will have to be done fast, and carefully. There are still enough people milling in the streets in most neighborhoods for them to blend in, assuming they ditch anything that marks them as Inquisition and travel in small groups. Disguises of any kind would be wise, plus whatever other precautions people are capable of: stowing away in wagons, posing as people either too significant or too insignificant to be hassled, traveling over rooftops or through sewers, staying out of sight one way or another.

Making it through the city will not be easy—more and more of the enemy roam the streets, and it is clear by this point that no one can be trusted, no matter what their dayjob. As time passes the streets grow emptier, making discreet travel more difficult. The exceptions are the city's main market, which is filling with a crowd that has been steadily increasing in both size and anger. Violence breaks out in a flurry of lightning and fire, and spills rapidly into the surrounding streets. Smaller acts of resistance and riotin are scattered about, disorganized and opportunistic, a skirmish here, an ambush there. The streets are littered with shattered window glass and magical ice, chunks of half-melted cobblestone and charred wagons, random possessions dropped in the rush to comply or escape.

At first it's just a matter of avoiding being locked in somewhere, then of avoiding capture: word spreads through the populace that any known members of the Inquisition are to be captured and delivered alive to the palace. Finally, news comes via crystal that a few teams of agents, in the right place at the right time when all this began, are securing passage out of the city. All agents are directed to rendezvous at the nearest of three locations: one near the docks, one in the catacombs beneath the city, and the third at the dwarven Ambassadoria. Escape is possible, but first they have to get there.

Despite the many distractions, only those underground will miss his arrival. It's heralded by the dragon's bellow, the red lyrium that encrusts it glowing in the afternoon sun as it rears back in the air to announce his return. The beast's massive form casts shadows broad enough to throw entire blocks into darkness. It circles as if surveying the scene below, then stops above the palace, the dragon's wings sending great gouts of wind down onto those below as it hovers. Atop it, Corypheus lifts a hand.

Just for a moment, it may seem an empty gesture, but then the shaking begins, a humming in the earth even those in the catacombs and the Deep Roads will feel in their teeth. And then, the Archon's palace rises, new stone sprouting up out of the earth, pushing its foundation upwards, the entire complex lifted as one to meet its new master. He waits, arms outstretched as if addressing an orchestra, until the Archon's private terrace atop the main tower has been carried upwards high enough to brush the dragon's feet. It perches on the rail, stone crumbling between its claws, and the Elder One disembarks.

OOC | make your own top-levels and have fun. (and there's time here for our tevinter citizens to quietly and sneakily check on their families if they need to be sure they're not in immediate danger in order to be willing to leave.)

The catacombs beneath the city are, for once, not a maze: while there are plenty of nooks and crannies in which to hide and corners to duck around at the sound of footsteps, they're systematically laid out, organized, home not only to death but to life, with enough stored and preserved food to feed the city for a year. That's the difficult part. Not finding one's way through the tunnels toward the outer edges of the city, unseen, but deciding what to do with the torch in your hand like a dagger and the stores of grains and cured meats before you like the city's exposed back.

The first to starve if the city were under siege would be the poor, the undervalued slaves. But they wouldn't be the last. Corypheus might be able to maintain order in the face of that threat, might make harsh choices to ensure his continued rule, or he might face a widespread revolt by citizens whose immediate interests suddenly are threatened after all, or even the capitulation of his own men--there's that old saying about armies and stomachs, after all.

Someone will have to decide which risk to take.

OOC | one thread, open to anyone who tags in. progress it on your own, but we may sneak in a gm tag or two to complicate your lives.

It is a reasonably safe bet that whatever is happening on the surface, if a Darkspawn Magister is involved, the dwarves will want no part in it, and those who make that bet will be proven correct: the ambassadors at the Ambassadoria usher them below with protective alarm, eager to offer respite from the chaos in exchange for news of what's occurring overhead.

But no one can linger here—for their own sake and for the dwarves', should they be found harboring fugitives if the conflict reaches them. The map of the Deep Roads they're provided lays out the safest known route beyond the Tevinter border, far enough that they can pop up in Nevarra if they're eager to get back above ground, or in the wilds of the Free Marches if they would like to be cautious.

That's a long walk, however, and safest is not the same as safe. Only hours away from the embassy, there's a contingent of twenty darkspawn, moving with unusually organized and determined purpose in the direction from which our heroes have come. The embassy is likely not entirely unprepared. Dwarves deal daily with the sort of darkspawn activity the surface sees only during Blights. But it also wouldn't be the kindest thank you for their assistance to let the troupe pass uninhibited.

OOC | one thread, open to anyone who tags in. progress it on your own, but we may sneak in a gm tag or two to complicate your lives.

The bridge is blocked, but the ports are still moving. Not freely: papers are being checked, boarders hassled, cargo inspected. But there are Antivans here, attempting to come or go with their trade vessels, and one of Thedas' cardinal rules is that antagonizing Antiva is a bad idea.

One ship in particular is nearly prepared to depart, when those among the Inquisition who have chosen this route arrive to spy on the harbor. It's small enough that they could man it themselves should the crew not prove cooperative once they make it to open water, with enough cargo crates still on the dock to promise places to hide, and a burly man missing half his jaw still managing to make perfectly clear how little he intends to let this Vint and his little clipboard interfere with his schedule.

The sun is setting, the shadows are long, and the port is riotous with noise. Move quickly.

OOC | one thread, open to anyone who tags in. progress it on your own, but we may sneak in a gm tag or two to complicate your lives.

The path here is fascinating, strange. There are times when the mazed streets and looming building remind her of home in strange ways, even if it is the evocation of feeling moreso than physical resemblence. She cannot help wondering how much of this is performance and manipulation; they are in Tevinter, after all. The Archon may not openly support the Venatori, but that did not mean he was not linked with them, a tool of their power.

"Archon Radonis," Herian replies, with a respectful bow. She is not at ease being here, but at least her posture is so generally rigid and upright that it's hard to specifically tell that she's not at ease. It's the same cool tone that carry her words in most settings.

She does not say that it is no worry. Frankly, she is uncertain whether it was a deliberate tactic, a slight, or related to some other— concern. (Perhaps she is simply paranoid, after having been on other trips with the Inquisition. Not every mission and diplomatic effort she will be involved with ends in crisis and escape. That would be absurd.)

"I am honoured to present to you Provost Thranduil, the Head of the Inquisition's Division of Research, who has joined us through the rifts," an outsider, one of questioned status, a symbol of much that has intrigued the Venatori, protected Thedas, and an elf, in what is perhaps a somewhat defiant choice by Herian. "And Duke Romain de Coucy." Human, noble, utterly without magic but not without power, and one for whom Orlais is home, it's invasion a more personal matter than Herian can claim to call it.

(She spies the cat, and is briefly surprised by it.)

Romain bows as well, calculated as precisely as one would expect; the Archon is a powerful man, but an Orlesian duke does not owe him allegiance. There are forms to be observed, here as always.

He allows Herian to take the lead, for now, as the head of diplomacy. He is mainly watching, from behind his mask, intent and on guard. He is not here as a representative of Orlais, inasmuch as Celene has no say in his presence at all, but if the Archon doesn't already know that, Romain sees no need to enlighten him. He can serve as a visible reminder that even the empire under siege is not entirely helpless.

He cannot have worn the get-up through the street, Thranduil thinks, similar enough to his own inclination to hide the shape of his ears, his shard, his height in these streets, and to wear plain things. His thoughts are interrupted by Herian introducing him, and like Romain, he must bow, but by a scant few degrees deeper. His hands settle clasped behind his back, and he watches.

He has watched a great deal here, and said nothing throughout. Holding his tongue thus far has brought both resources to the Inquisition and the position of Provost, what is one more city? The courtyard is quiet enough that the feeling of separation from the rest of Minrathous is complete.

There's a flaming sword.

Some irony to that — the rune forged in streets not so far from here, the arms of the Ambassadoria that stretch beyond these buried troves. The life of a city before them; thousands by the crate.

The first sackful goes up like a torch before it even splits open, spills explosive grains of flour and fire outward.

"Search the rooms," Coughing against the sudden smoke. They could run out of air here, if they're not careful about this. "Look for fruit. Preserves."

Anything to ward against scurvy.

Edited (HOW MANY TIMES CAN I EDIT THIS FOR SPELLING ERRORS) 2018-08-05 03:09 (UTC)

I. Lunch in the Market

The weather in Tevinter was, above all things, very lovely. It was warm, sunny, and just humid enough to prevent everything from being utterly insufferable. Minrathous even had a wonderful sea breeze that traveled inland and kept the stench of city life off of the streets. Today, on this lovely day, Loki and Thor had decided to spend some time away from the Inquisition and instead with their mother. Their father, to no one's surprise, had avoided meeting with his sons during their visit to the capitol but their Mother had come all the way from Marnus Pell just to see them.

So, if one is walking through the marketplace or enjoying the street magicians, there are good odds they will see Thor, standing tall and clad in red and gold, and Loki, in his black and green regalia, escorting an older blonde woman about from shop to shop. She is dressed in fine cyan silks and golden jewelry and, unlike the rest of Tevinter, seems to have an inarguably friendly air about her. The two brothers have been agreeable and helpful to members of the Inquisition in Tevinter, so if one is lost they can provide direction, or if you know them well you may wish to meet the woman with them. In any case, they travel at a liesurely pace and, around noon, stop for a lunch at an open cafe near a very large, magical fountain.

II. Everything is suddenly on fire

The cafe plaza is a pleasant space, wide enough to contain a large fountain with an elegant marble statue, benches, and several trees, but still enclosed by a series of two and three story stone buildings, each with a few hundred years of history written into their architecture. The bushes are well trimmed, the ivy is lovely, and most of the windows have little planter boxes with decorative ironwork and tropical flowers growing out of them. It is a beautiful and pleasant place; there are birds singing and children playing in the sunshine. The number of guards that walk through the streets are more than usual, but hardly alarming...at first.

When they begin attempting to empty the plaza is when events start to turn. The most popular of the street magicians does not go quietly and the peace of the surrounding area is shattered as the guards surround him and begin beating him. A scream rings out down an adjacent street and very rapidly the buildings begin to close. A second group of guards, these wearing Imperial colors, enter from the south and bark orders to capture the Inquisition. Clearly something has gone terribly awry.

(OOC: The violence kicks off and this thread will have a lot of it. Fight guards run through the streets or find safety with the Brother's Asgard who are known fighters and friendly to the Inquisition.)

III. Not Quite Like Ninja

Smoke is still hanging in the air from the fighting in the plaza, marble and iron chunks strewn about the area along with more than a few corpses. Some of them are in Imperial colors. Some were clearly enjoying their day in the market before chaos broke out, humans and elves alike. Thor's cape is torn and his hair is a mess, Loki's green has brown-red spatters, and some of Freya's golden jewelry is now metal junk fused to the ground. That doesn't change how they stand, tall and proud. Nothing is going to plan, but they are House Asgard.

Thor looks at those gathered around, frowning. They cannot ask for shelter from anyone here in Minrathous; loyalty can be bought and it is clear that Inquisition heads are a valuable commodity at the moment. They also cannot simply commandeer a house for there is no way to know what ones have children and what ones do not. There's already a very small corpse by the fountain. There do not need to be more.

"We need to get out," he says to Loki, as much command as request. Old habits and all that. "We need to get them out," he amends. This is his home and these are his people. He will leave for now, but he will be back. This will be sorted out.

Loki looks around, seemingly unbothered by Thor's statements, either of them. "The catacombs," he suggests, pointing down an alley.

They're not a glamorous choice, and Thor would rather not slink... but they need to get out without too much attention. Imperial soldiers are powerful forces and Thor would prefer to not burn too many bridges today. A roar from above draws the group's attention and adds haste to the plan - there's a dragon flying in, corrupted, and there's no doubt as to the identity of the figure on top of it.

"Quickly," Thor snarls, glaring at the sky. The city may be lost for now, but Corypheus will not prevail in the end. They'll slip away to fight another day.

Freya takes the lead. "Quickly," she echoes warmly, heading for the entrance they all know. "This way, follow me."

(OOC: Joined us in the violence? Not joined us yet? This thread is for traveling to the catacombs and evading the guard. We're gonna sneak with the help of two powerful illusion mages and one guy with lightning. Let the Asgards save you before we head to the catacombs catch all.)

You know ... James is going to be glad to never come back to Tevinter again as long as he lives. If he does in fact, manage to survive getting out of Tevinter in the first place. He is following down into the catacombs, surprising flashing over his face when he sees food is being stored here.

Which is why his back is turned when he hears the first fwoooosh of fire catching onto cloth, and suddenly there is burning flour in the air, making it smell like bread. He turns to Wren, his gaze going wide.

"What in the name of the Maker are you doing!? The people will starve without this food!"

"The people just became the enemy."

For whatever unknown value they've held to this point — a distraction to split the Venatori, a potential ally — they've none of it now. A short flight through the city streets shows soldier after soldier, legions of private guards; to say little of rank and file citizens that might be pressed into arms, of slaves without option for peace, of an impossible multitude of trained mages.

Even the deadliest men need to eat. They won't have this chance again.

"Burn what you find," Praise the Maker for old-fashioned fire, and not the glowlights so common above, "Or stay out of the way."

Edited 2018-08-05 03:36 (UTC)

"Yes, but not our enemy - or are you forgetting that we are not trying to solidify the position of the Venatori?" They might be fighting above, but in the war for hearts and minds, he is fairly certain the people of Minrathos are going to remember who starved them to death first. He steps in front of her, holding out his hand.

"Give me one good Maker be damned reason why we are starving these people to death - and do not tell me because they are the enemy. I've seen our enemy and they are not the poor and the mistreated."

RESISTANCE

There's a boy throwing rocks.

Small, lifted first with his hands and then sped by some other, unseen force —

Past the rioters, mostly. An apprentice hasn't the aim. An apprentice he must be, someone's student run loose at the wrong time. Miniature robes flap in the smoky breeze, small face pinched into severe determination. He's stooping to pick up another, a melted cobblestone when she reaches him, arm wrapped hard about his middle to hoist up.

Wren's running before he's quite off the ground (screaming, kicking, biting). They sprint for an open doorway. Maybe it's yours.

DRAGON!!!

The sky blackens, the dragon bellows.

She stops short, knife still raised over the form of the city guard below. Half the street does — frozen in some bizarre stasis of stupid, awe-struck wonder —

Terror? Something like it, the sort of overwhelming something that roots her to the breaking earth, sends a spike of raw impression up her spine: A god. They're witnessing a god.

There are no gods, but that won't lower a quaking fist to throat, or raise her courage as it's risen this monstrosity of stone before them, towering and pulled from the earth with only slightest effort. She freezes,

The man beneath her doesn't. Seizing a chance at life he grapples at the knife, and in less than a second the scene's up-ended, the two of them wrestling for control. Help a bro out?

Audra spent the better part of two years moving around, after Ostwick Circle fell. She is good at avoiding being seen, and moving with groups of people. She has a hodge podge of people looking to escape with her, a native of the city helping guide their way to the catacombs while Audra provides muscle, as unusual as that may seem for a mage with a soft face and large blue eyes.

But when she holds her obsidian staff in her hand it generates a faint wind that ruffles her cloak and her cloak alone, and there's sometimes a small crack of lightning that lances over the surface. There are also walking corpses with her, guarding the group, and she sends them in different directions when an Imperial approaches. They are wearing the colors of Imperial soldiers, which speaks to how they came into Audra's service.

She isn't the first to spot the group being led by the three Tevinters, two of which are familiar to her only because she's seen them around the Gallows, but she is the first to speak. When she does, her voice echoes oddly, a side-effect of the enchantment upon her staff, a deeper more menacing voice chasing her own.

"Are you escaping the city?"

The question bears such a weight. This is Tevinter. This is his home, a place he should be welcome in, not a place he should be fleeing. But he has been attacked, and more will be hurt if they stay here. Thor looks down briefly, pride fading.

"Yes." They have to leave to fight another day no matter how much it feels like cowardice. "We do not have the means to defeat that monster right now, and..."

He gestures at the plaza with his hammer. The city is lost. "We know how to get people out. We know this city. It is the best we can do right now."

"A very good reason." It's an angry voice behind them, a large form holding a body in silks over his shoulder. "Some of the people have been working alongside you, Commander."

That's the head of his division suggesting making his people suffer more than what they're already about to go through, and Thor is glaring at full might. Tevinter has lost enough today.

"Hate mages, hate my country as you will, but if you try to harm my people even more than the Venatori then we will have an issue here and now."

Loki would argue, he would point out the logic to burning the stores and starving these mad bastards--collateral damage was fine, in the long run--but he finds it hard to look at Thor, let alone argue with him. The body draped over his shoulder is too heavy, literally and figuratively, and Loki moved past him toward the others as they come upon them.

"If you need another reason to avoid committing atrocities today, the smoke will likely suffocate us before we reach the exits." He points to the low ceilings and how they vary as they wind into the darkness. "I rather like breathing and would prefer to continue doing it."

[ There is, out of nowhere, a crunching sound, the kind that begins with a crack of something hard against something harder, and then a wet, smacking thump, almost like a boiled egg dropped on the table, except much louder. The man goes still, a look of confusion forming just before his eyes roll back and he drops face-first onto Wren's chest. There is a chunk of cobblestone lodged in what used to be the back of his skull, and the blood and liquefied brain that had begun to run down his back is now channeled off to the side as well, a heavy drip onto her front.

Behind him is a woman in Venatori robes, staff lowered, advancing. She holds out the butt of the weapon instead of her hands; beneath the cowl is Nell. ]

Tussling in the street? I hadn't taken you for an exhibitionist, Commander.

Edited 2018-08-05 04:48 (UTC)

"The Venatori," Her voice cracks up sharp. She draws herself to full height, chin jutting directly into James' face. The point of the sword doesn't stray from earth — not a threat. Not yet. "Will not discriminate! Poor, mistreated; rich, empowered! Mage, slave, freeman and noble,"

A vicious jab of the hand to Thor, Loki. Yes, very well that they suffer at established hands,

"Do you think the hungry will look to the Inquisition? They will look to their rulers. If you wish your nation to live, you will not entrench its occupiers now."

"We are past the time of small decisions. Men and women will die here, for siege, or for Darkspawn rule. We choose how many more will die beyond these walls. We choose whether this comes to us."

"Come, join us and we shall lead you to what safety there is," Frigga says from between the two brothers Asgard. She speaks plainly and doesn't look afraid, for what that is worth, though she does give the corpses at Audra's side a long look before turning her back.

"There are stores of food and hiding places," Loki explains, almost offhandedly, seeming far less concerned by the corpses than the people alongside Audra. He gives them a shrewd glance and then continues: "A few routes lead to the outskirts of the city, but they are easily barricaded. We should hurry before they're sealed."

Frigga is leading them back toward their Minrathous estate. Their family were known sympathizers with the Inquisition, so the building has probably been ransacked if not set aflame, but the contents of their home were not the goal. The catacombs that lead out from their estate are familiar and the entrances are well hidden. This property had been used for dirty business, slaving not the least of it, and the hidden routes beneath it are worth the risk of approach.

"Do not lecture me on death," Loki snaps, his tone abrupt and loud, enough so that it resounds through the room. "Or the fates of our people," he adds, a little quieter but only just. He is very pale, even for him, but he does not know this woman well and doubts she would recognize it in him.

"Not while we carry--" His voice falters slightly and he has to clear his throat but does not stop to do so. "Not while we take my mother to safety.

"We are not fools and neither are our people. Punish them and they will flock to Corypheus to avoid starvation, their devotion will be real for lack of options. Leave them free and we shall see how little they tolerate this occupation."

[ There aren't gods. There are sometimes miracles — ]

One must, [ She's no breath left in her lungs. Reality might have ripped back, but everything feels rent askew. She shovels the remains of his skull aside, tips the unwieldy weight of him over to throw off a still-twitching arm. Feels a touch better now about not finding one with a helmet. ] Adapt.

[ She sounds thrown. A bare palm to grip the staff, slick with a mealy handful of brains, glove lost somewhere in the tumult of an hour. Pulls up to her knees, begins undoing the man's mail. The one advantage to robes: Bloody simpler to put on.

(She might be dead now. She might be dead for the misfortune of a moment, for a dragon overhead, for Voss did she wish it —) ]

What do you know?

The smile Audra gives the woman before she turns is genuine, and she gestures for those she's leading to join with the group of others already en route. She leaves her corpses where they are, guarding the flank of the people she's been protecting, moving up to better see the route they're following. Her staff remains in her hand, giving her her vaguely threatening air, but she needs it to keep control of the spirits she's called.

"I'd studied a few maps of the city before coming. I and a few others escaped the palace before it was... levitated. We found more people looking to escape, but members of the Inquisition are clearly who they're trying to find."

Levitated. The palace has been levitated, the city has been invaded, and now they have to flee their country. Thor exhales heavily as he joins with the group heading toward the catacombs. There are no front lines to fight on here, only confusing messes where civilians could be hurt or killed in the crossfire.

"The Inquisition is his enemy. He does not care what happens to the rest. He is not Tevene." He's heard the story about Corypheus being an ancient magister, but what magister would come to Tevinter and tear it apart without addressing the country's enemies? Thor refuses to believe it.

"But we will still get the civilians out that we can. They should not have to live under him, in a city that will be re-attacked before long." He sends lightning arching through the courtyard to cover the sound of a tunnel entry being pulled open, taking the rear of the group naturally and trusting the others to secure the front.

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SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part II

THE ARCHON (Closed)

THE CITY (Open Free-For-All)

ESCAPE: THE CATACOMBS (Open, One Log)

ESCAPE: THE DEEP ROADS (Open, One Log)

ESCAPE: STOWAWAYS (Open, One Log)

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The Brothers Asgard

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OTA

iii

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DRAGON!!!

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