faderift | Player Plot | From Tevinter, With Love

WHO: Alexandrie, Benedict, Byerly, Fifi, Hanzo, Isaac, Loki, Merrill, Romain, Thor
WHAT: A diplomatic dinner and mysterious murder most foul
WHEN: Mid-Harvestmere
WHERE: the Asgard estate in Hightown
NOTES: OOC Poast, CW: rich people being garbage, elf related racism, other updates to come as they apply!

In the wake of the events in Minrathous, there has been a great deal of reshuffling of power and alliances both within the Imperium and between those within it and the surrounding powers. A particularly well-off Laetan merchant by the name of Flavius Aurelius is one such alliance shuffler. He has holdings in the south along the border and a number of cross-country trading caravans and has made overtures of aid in getting Inquisition personnel into (and around) the country in exchange for protection against having his lands occupied and used to do the precise opposite of what he's offering.

This is a rather good deal for the Inquisition, especially since it involves more risk on his part than theirs, and so all attempts are to be made to convince him that he'll be a valued member of the cause. By his countrymen in particular, who may enjoy particular success in doing so for a variety of reasons. Thus, the Tevene contingent of the Inquisition—as well as diplomatic representatives from Ferelden, Orlais, and a wayward Dalish elf—find themselves in the position of doing this due diligence, in the hopes that this will make things go smoothly—better than smoothly if possible—at the meeting established for the next day to discuss terms.

What better way than a small dinner party?

[ ooc: toplevels will be added beneath as they happen! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ah. This. The light feeling of disorientation—light, at least, for those who have over the years inured themselves to this particular substance as a consequence of their work—the shifting of shadow, the distinctive bitter taste far at the back of the mouth that lags behind the consumption of the poison itself. A favourite at parties, assuming what one enjoys at parties is brief and deadly chaos caused by those who'd imbibed it to violently hallucinate friends to foes and fears. Sometimes staircases to foes and fears.

And, suddenly, perhaps, it tastes a bit less bitter and a bit more like opportunity... albeit no more than an hour or so of it. That's both the deficit and charm of Discordia; it quickly leaves the dregs of wine, the cooling meal, the body of the afflicted with no trace left behind it. Although, in a room full of powerful mages, an hour is usually enough.

For now they’re still in the beginnings of it, the few precious minutes where everything slows while the poison takes hold. Those few precious minutes where lucid memory will gap and fuzz later. Benedict looks worst off, his eyes already entirely glazed. Isaac looks very nearly unaffected, and everyone else is somewhere in between.

And then there goes Benedict, up and out suddenly in some unknown distress—who’s to say what little horrible world it’s helped him dream for himself. The others are likely to follow soon...

[ happy satinalia, time’s a-wasting! ♥ ]

Loki knows the taste of this particular poison, the lilt of it that coats the mouth in a light sheen of brief insanity. It is a delightful little concoction and one he has employed on more than one occasion though--he realizes as he watches Bene rise and bolt from the room--not when in the presence of quite so many mages.

He debates, for a moment, what he should do. There is opportunity here--the chance to exact some revenge or some murder. He could stab Byerly, or Thor, or Bene if the mood strikes him...and claim insanity with the rest of them. Unfortunately he actually owns a considerable amount of Discordia and has it here at this estate. An investigation would be...inconvenient.

So, in an odd turn of events, he is charged with preventing too much mayhem. Or at least preventing Bene from setting his estate aflame.

He rises, his own affect played up in the dramatics of his stance, and chases after Bene at a sudden run. It would not do to appear entirely immune, particularly if he is.

Bene isn't about to set anything aflame-- for one thing, he's not too comfortable with the consequences of flame magic, preferring instead to deal in psychological harm and defense.

He's stumbling around like a drunken sailor when Loki reaches him, muttering to himself in a small, panicked voice, and only when he collapses into an open-doored room does he turn back and realize he's been pursued. There's no way Loki can know what he sees, because a Horror is flung his way before anyone can say anything. Fortunately, Benedict is hardly focused enough to make it too powerful; unfortunately, he's got enough raw talent that it'll still do something.

The cloud of purple and black bursts before him with a low fetid growl and Loki stumbles back at the door. A chill runs down his spine and his stomach tries to upend itself promptly. The wash of fear is impressive, at least for someone with as much skill as Bene, but he shuts it down and shakes off the effect.

He waves his hands to clear the smoke, the residual cloud from the spell and peers into the room. It is dark but he is fairly certain this is his reading room. There are only a few objects of note in here, at least sitting in the open, and he finds he is very eager to prevent Bene from stumbling into something more delicate.

"Don't go throwing spells around, you blundering idiot!" Loki snaps despite the fact that Bene will probably hear something else entirely.

"Stop, stop!" Benedict whimpers, crawling backwards on his elbows, trying to find his footing again but unable to do so with how the room spins. "He's at Skyhold!"

He looks to be on the verge of tears, clearly under some great duress that Loki is unable to see.

"Who?"

He really shouldn't ask. Bene doesn't know what he is saying or who he is talking to and, frankly, Loki doesn't care. But, then again, knowing what he is ranting about might help to manipulate him...assuming he was not wholly under the control of the discordia.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Loki lied and held his hands up. He was still approaching, and looming. It was not an effective posture.

Benedict pauses-- the question is unexpected, because obviously he's being interrogated about someone specific. He watches Loki, dazed and unfocused, long enough to recognize that he's still approaching, still very much a danger.

"NO!" he yelps, brokenly, and throws his hand forward again, this time unleashing an Anti-Magic Burst: whoever assails him, they're a mage.
Unfortunately, so is Loki.

Somehow the sound of his brother's voice, along with Benedict's, cuts through the chaos of the attacking Orlesians Thor is currently seeing (and attempting to deal with.) Loki should be safe, but Thor doesn't want to risk it. He's lost enough recently.

"I am coming!" he yells, still not 100% certain what's going on, and bursts into the room to find his magic stripped away.

Honestly, the fact that Bene keeps throwing spells at him is ridiculous but this one? Dispelling him? Is absolutely beyond the pale. The burst is spent almost as soon as it's thrown and Loki feels a sickening wash come over him. What a hideous sensation--it feels like his skin is trying to crawl off. Is this was normal people feel like?

He shakes it off as best he can (his head feels a bit off kilter but that is hardly surprising given he is without magic) and bridges the gap to where Bene lies sprawled on the ground. He kicks him in the side (not very gently but not with true vitriol) and scowls.

"Stop doing that you idiot!" He sounds hoarse, dear gods he's going to be feeling this all week. "I am not going to hurt you!"

He has hardly noticed that his skin has gone bluish grey, that his clothing strains a bit, that he is just ever so slightly taller than he is wont to be, or that he has a pair of horns protruding from his skull and curved back over his hair.

A yelp of surprise (perhaps pain?) and Bene rolls, covering his face-- but when he uncovers it, even his drunken hallucinations aren't enough to mask what unveils itself to him.
His look of nervous fear has transitioned to one of abject horror, staring at Loki like he's suddenly sprouted horns.

which.
he has

Player Plot | From Tevinter, With Love

Loki

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Now on the right journal.

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