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

[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.