faderift | [Closed] The Bone Pit

WHO: Adasse Agassi, Sorrel Ashara, Cyril Ashara, and Ygnvi
WHAT: Three elves and a dwarf go to a creepy old former slaving mine. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?
WHEN: End of Kingsway
WHERE: THE BONE PIT
NOTES: Possible warnings for violence and derogatory terms about elves, dwarves, and the Inquisition.

The journey to the Bone Pit takes about as long as it would take to get to the Sundermount, so really not long at all. A few hours on horse, and the three elves have arrived at the entrance. Adasse climbs off the horse that James Kirk has left him, and pats the animal's neck fondly, before looking around the area, dark eyes sweeping, looking for threats.

He's trying to be all Scouting Business, considering that he's here for Beleth.

And yes, he might be trying to impress his current lover and his former one with just how professional he is. Mostly though, he's just trying to figure out if they have to deal with giant dragons.

"You know ..." He says almost conversationally, not looking over at the other two, but off into the setting sun. "I hear the Champion used to own these mines. Do you think that means it won't be cursed, or it'll be twice as cursed?"

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Sorrel rolls his eyes at all this, thinking with annoyance that this, of all things, would be what it took for him to want to defend Dalish mage politics. But he creeps along behind Adasse and doesn't say anything aloud; communicative grimaces are plenty enough, he figures.

It really is a strange smell, almost like burned chalk more than wood. Rotten-smelling, even, like... eggs?

There's another flash, up ahead of their little pincer maneuver, and it's accompanied by a fine mist, much attenuated by the shortening distance. Sorrel quints at it. Sparkles? It's not fire. It's just... sparkly.

"...Is this even magic?" He whispers, doubtfully, and glances at Adasse for confirmation.

Dalish mage politics had little to do with the Bone Pit, honestly. All of that could be taken to Sundermount, as far as Adasse knew. Er. Well. It could. Before, uh, the thing. With Merrill - he was just going to shut up in his own brain.

Adasse also frowns at this show of ... sparkles, tipping his head to the side as he breathes in. Sulfur, like in the swamps.

He glances back at Sorrel, before shaking his head in turn, whispering into the crystal as well. "I ... don't think so. Alchemy? Maybe?"

Something else lurches in his stomach, but he immediately calms it to ask more sanely, "Gaatlok is a lot more explosive, yes?"

Cyril has never really seen anything like this and doesn't have anything to really add to their speculation. He grows quiet as they watch the sparks. The smell doesn't help either.

He can't see the other elves any more so he looks over to Yngvi to see if he has anything to add.

"If this is that tit Javaris he's got some explaining to do, I call dibs on account of him being a dwarf." It's only fair to let a dwarf sort out another dwarf, turns into a bit of a scuffle usually about the sensitive regions on taller folk anyway. "We'd be buried if it was Gaatlok and the Qunari aren't sniffing around Kirkwall, they're protective about that, wasn't fun when they were there and everyone wanted a snifter of it."

Like it was port after the fancy dinner. Yes, Arishok, some of your finest Gaatlok we won't blow up half the city with it we know what we're doing. Yngvi rolls his eyes letting out a heavy - quiet - sigh. Kirkwall hadn't been a fun place to be for the end of his time there prior to the grand Inquisition homecoming.

"Dunno about alchemy," more to Cyril since they're underground and the crystals might carry now he's said his piece on the Gaatlok. "I only know the test subject side from my brother, he was more potions, salves, poisons, nothing that'd be drawing attention to dwarf lads in Kirkwall. Think there's some who do the throwing flask thing? Gets called something stupid, should be storm in a teacup it's all they are."

(They're lamer than artificers who know what true art is and his tone implies he's gotten into fights over it. Fights he's won because he's not throwing bottles of fancy piss at people in battle from a hundred yards back.)

Sorrel shakes his head with a grin when Yngvi singles out any potential troublemaker for a dwarf-on-dwarf sort of justice. They'll all have to write reports, of course, promise or no. And then the whole business is the Inquisition's problem, present work aside.

But it's a nice thought. Would that all troubles could be solved so straightforwardly.

They creep forward and find, in the cup of the Bone Pit's.... pit... a gaggle of humans. Or well, teenagers, really. They're doing what those possessed of more youthful exuberance than sense do; hooting and laughing and cheering with every throw— of the bombs. The latest one to be lobbed explodes in a shower of sparkles and a satisfying thoom, bursting impressively against a large flattish stone already caked and spattered with silver and pink and blue flecks. Glitter-bombs.

"Fenedhis lasa," Sorrel curses, with exasperation, and straightens from the crouch, "It's just a pack of kids."

"... if this is some damned alchemist throwing about things, you can have him. Cyril, Sorrel and I will head back to town with appropriate levels of 'you stupid frigging idiot blowing up things out here ...'"

He trails off as he peers over the top of the ridge with Sorrel, and then stands up as before he huffs out a breath.

"Maker's Balls. Yeah, of course it's stupid shem children." Even money they were about to get called racial epitaphs for breaking up this idiot's gaggle.

Adasse eyes his daggers, then eyes the kids, then eyes his daggers. "Could just go running in there, all armed and make them piss themselves."

"Crazy knife ear threatens to stab adorable young people just having a good wholesome time playing with fire, why does the Inquisition tolerate these degenerate thugs," Sorrel replies, in a tone of dry, painful sarcasm, "Better throw him in the prison forever."

And you're getting a look to go with it. No fun zone, Adasse, and here's you right at the middle of it, courtesy of Sorrelean Ashara.

The bombs are actually pretty impressive and Cyril kind of wants to figure out how they made them, but he doesn't say that. Instead, he tries to figure out what they should do now.

"Sorrel, your mom's the Keeper, can't you come up with your best 'I'm disappointed in you and you'll never amount to anything' voice and go talk to them?"

"I'm sorry, why am I always the Keeper One?" He whines, clearly already resigned to being just that, "If this were a proper clan, I'd just let Adasse do what he liked. I like Adasse's plan."

It was a nice, mean-spirited plan. And a proper clan would have the benefits of a defensive position and the ability to leg it at the first sign of trouble. And the benefit, of course, that none of this would be their problem in the first place.

"If I get exploded into sparkly bits, you are to avenge me immediately."

"And yet you shut down the 'frighten the piss out of the shem children' plan right away." Adasse drawled, smirking over his shoulder at Sorrel.

He hummed softly, before tipping his chin to the side. "All right, we're not allowed to scare them. Since Sorrel doesn't want to blow up, conversations are the way to go."

[Closed] The Bone Pit

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ugh sorry for the delay guys. this month has suucked.

work was wild apologies

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