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

[chainlightning]

Or... not.

There is a brief moment of confusion as Merrill stares at where Tamlen was, but then she turns on her heel to find Pol- Pol, who looks like he's crawled out from under the Varterral, who doesn't look alive at all.

Merrill rubs her hands over her eyes, her face, harshly. This can't be right - can't be. Unless... is his body possessed? Is there a spirit here, playing tricks?

[untiltheyarent]

Pol opens his mouth, his face twitching with malevolent rage, but all that Merrill hears is a loud and high-pitched shriek; it's not Pol's voice, but it seems to come from him, a scream of terror that seems to rattle all the finery in the room and darken the candlelight around them.
He runs at Merrill, an awful, unnatural, stilted run, his eyes wide and mouth open, blood pouring from his lips.

[chainlightning]

Merrill takes to a scream while a dead man runs at her pouring blood out of his mouth about as well as anyone - that is, not well. She shrieks her own shriek of terror, only belatedly realizing that she doesn't have her staff with her. It doesn't matter; she still tries to shove Entropy magic at Pol, to make him stop. It's not a conscious decision by any means; all Merrill can think, in this instance, is that Pol should be sleeping the long sleep, and the magic strikes from within her in response to her fear.

[untiltheyarent]

The spell lands and Pol is thrown onto his back, landing with a cracking sound as his skull hits the ground. Although it's impossible to tell what is and isn't magical or imaginary at the moment, there's something dreadfully tactile about the noise: whether or not it was actually Pol, someone just went down.

Merrill doesn't have a lot of time to dwell on it, however: a low, rumbling chuckle echoes in her ears and around the room, the sort one might associate with a Pride demon. Audacity, for instance.

[chainlightning]

No. No, no, no, no- "No!"

Merrill clamps her hands over her ears, nails digging into her skin. Audacity can't be here- he can't be. Not again. She doesn't think she can do that again, not by herself.

Sparks crawl over her skin, lightning threatening to explode but without the power able to do it. It wouldn't work on a Pride demon anyway, Merrill thinks as electricity chases itself over the bare skin of her arm - but as much as she can think that, she can't quite get a handle on everything else that is happening, on why this is wrong.

"Go away," she manages, drawing her hands over her face and then dropping them away. Louder, "Go away. I'm not yours!"