Player Plot | From Tevinter, With Love

[coquettish_trees]

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! ]

Comments

Byerly

[coquettish_trees]

They’re whispering behind you again. Quiet laughter accompanies it this time. It’s not real. No-one is there. You know this because it’s only a few steps from this chair to the wall, and you know this because this is not unfamiliar happenstance (although usually self-induced rather than unceremoniously gifted), but it’s still every bit as viscerally real as it is deniable.

Someone gets up, but it’s too fast to tell who. Another, but it’s too slow to focus on properly.

There’s a quiet feminine sob somewhere over the same shoulder as those damnable voices. They must be in the same place (nowhere. They aren’t anywhere, because they aren’t real, are they?) because at the sounding of it the laughter shifts and darkens in tone. Becomes cruel.

[bouchonne]

It was - unwary of him. Stupid. He should have recognized it - recognized that the wine was off, but he'd blamed it on the doubtless subpar taste of the Tevinters in charge of this household - but who could have done it? The Vints haven't anything to profit from it - it had to have been Aurelius, the man's intentions not so virtuous, come to gather information or something more from the Inquisition. Snake. Absolute snake. They're -

They are snakes, all of them, whispering to one another. Mouths full of poison, spreading it around. He stands -

Stop it. Stop it, you fool -

And feels them grinning at the fool standing there, feels them grinning at him. But he can take it. He can take their scorn, take their innuendo. Didn't you hear what Rutyer did? Truly beyond the pale. Truly hideous. And the girl, she seems sweet, but clearly she's twisted deep down, if she'll do that -

He needs to go find her. He doesn't care what they say later. He needs to find her, and help her - to figure something out, to stop their mouths, to save her from the disgrace...He doesn't know what, but he'll figure it out if he just gets to her -

This isn't real. None of it is real. Sit down, and wait for it to pass, you idiot...

He walks on in search of her.

[coquettish_trees]

The halls look wrong as he walks them, but feel all too familiar. Then they look all too familiar. The distinctive architecture of Tevinter gives way to the solidity of Fereldan stone. It's always been this way (It hasn't. It isn't this way at all. But the harder he tries to look at it, to make it return to the Asgard mansion, the faster and more insistently it turns back to the stone of his erstwhile home in Dragonmount.)

Down the hallway opposite where the voices seem to issue: a flash of white, the ripple of skirts, gone as fast as it had appeared.

A wrathful male voice rises from the susurrus of whispers, somehow doing nothing to drown out the soft persistent sobbing.

[bouchonne]

Is that his father? It's not your father. It sounds like him. It's not. But if it is, what would induce him to shout like that? He'd so rarely shouted, his voice either low and indifferent or quietly poisonous. Only one had Byerly heard his father shouting, during that last fight when Byerly had said let his inheritance come to nothing, let this family come to nothing, let the whole branch be cut from the tree as one would remove diseased wood, because he would stand it no longer.

You idiot, you stupid piece of shit, it's not your father. Put down your knife. Take your knife from your belt, put it on the ground - you're dosed enough that you won't know your friends in this state - it'll wear off, but a stabbing won't -

He finds himself, inexplicably, setting his knife on the ground before he moves on, pursuing the voice. "Hoy!" he calls out. "Leave her alone. Leave her alone, I said, or you'll have me to answer to."

[coquettish_trees]

The shadows stretch and flicker—someone moving past a lantern quickly, or is it slowly? Or is it only the natural glow of the candles. If they're candles, why doesn't the light change? Has time stopped entirely?

Abruptly, behind you, the sounds of struggle and then the unmistakable sickening thud of flesh hitting stone followed almost immediately (was it immediate?) by a high piercing shriek of feminine horror that cuts sharply through everything else like a honed blade. It rings from everywhere, directionless in its origin.

[bouchonne]

Oh. Oh. Oh, this is a bad - By squeezes his eyes shut, and leans his head against the wall, and tries to get control of himself. It's not real, none of it is real...

"Where are you," he mumbles weakly, and leans to press his head against the wall. "Where are you - " With more force, he taps his head against the wall - just enough to hurt - trying to shock himself back to lucidity with pain. "Where are you. Please."

[coquettish_trees]

In horrible reply to your question a second scream rings out. While still fearful, this one is more urgent and has direction to it; back down the hall.