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

[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!"