the Black Divine || closed

[staysail]

WHO: Yseult, Marisol, Vandelin, Darras
WHAT: Seeking information on the Black Divine, Urian Nahalias, the Gang goes to three cities in Tevinter to visit three Grand Clerics with ties to the Black Divine. and there’s a fake wedding.
WHEN: Harvestmere - Firstfall somewhere in there
WHERE: Tevinter
NOTES: none yet!!

Comments

[misdirection_hex]

The wedding planner doesn't wait for the Brother to make a decision one way or another with regards to the papers, sweeping past him as if accustomed to taking up far more space than his undersized elven frame actually does.

He does not, however, deign to pick up any of the sheets. His attention is absorbed wholly in his two clients, divided between the two of them, trying to manage the obvious offense the groom has caused him without speaking out of turn or above his station while simultaneously providing the bride with his utmost reassurance.

"I assure you, milord, I oversaw the letter's posting myself. Nobody under my employ would let a detail of such import escape notice. And milady has my solemn promise that her flowers will outshine Andraste's own garden at the Maker's own summer chateau." Vandelin strides further into the Chantry as if the clergy are entirely absent, holding his hands up as if to frame a section of wall.

"Embrium, I think, and lots of it. To negate the smell of incense."

[staysail]

"Courage, my dove." Darinius presses his fiancee's hand against his forearm. It is not enough to keep her from grabbing at the sleeve of the taller brother, who is distracted already by the piece of paper that flutters past him, by the wedding planner who steps, neatly, confidently, between himself and the other brother.

"That's," he starts, but then must give attention to the quaking bride-to-be-- "No, I do not recall having seen anyone of that-- Your pardon. But the Grand Cleric is not here, and--"

"Embrium?" The other brother--younger, shorter, pink in the cheeks--turns to look where the wedding planner is indicating. "I love the smell of embrium. Brother Marel does, too--it is his favorite, actually--here, let me help you--"

This is to the assistant, who is struggling with her satchel and papers. He stoops to pick up another few, leaving the wedding planner to progress further down the center aisle. Brother Marel--the tall one--looks over at the younger brother with a flash of irritation. He keeps his commentary to himself, somehow, and turns back to the bride and groom.

"Brother Brus and I can do no more than allow you to enter the Chantry," he says, with great patience, as he tries to extricate his sleeve from the bride's grasp. "All are welcome within. We cannot speak for the Grand Cleric, or authorize any plans, or confirm the receipt of a letter."

"Good enough for me," Darinius says brusquely, and sweeps past Brother Marel to enter the Chantry proper, pulling along his fiancee (if she lets him). To the wedding planner, now, as if they are quite alone: "What's embrium smell like? Not too powerful, I bloody hope. I've got allergies."

[hassaran]

As Vandelin and Darras push past the bemused brothers and into the chantry proper, Yseult follows, dropping to one knee to collect the pages she "carelessly" "dropped" onto the floor. She takes her time about it, fumbling and straightening them, putting pages back in order, using the opportunity to listen in as the brothers whisper to each other, having evidently forgotten her presence already as the louder members of the party continue to discuss the appeal of various floral options up ahead. Brother Marel is remonstrating with the younger Brother Brus in an exasperated whisper that carries more than he seems to care, while Brus apologizes half-heartedly, clearly distracted by the visitors and secretly a bit pleased to have the night interrupted.

When she is content that neither seems to suspect anything or have any intention of waking the Grand Cleric--a notion put tentatively forward by Brus and mercilessly rejected by Marel, as it is the middle of the night and perhaps he would like to go and drag the Grand Cleric from his bed himself--she rises, stuffing the pages into her satchel and hurrying to catch up with the others.

"Lord Darinius," she looks to Darras, but then back to Vandelin and Marisol as well, as if seeking the approval of all, "Would you care to inspect the mezzanine's suitability for the choir, and the preparation facilities for the performers? While your betrothed and Master Planner Aculeo discuss the structural requirements of the decorative artistry arrangements with the brothers?"

[champions]

The bride-to-be lets herself be guided by her much relied-upon betrothed, moving wherever he might dictate (although, naturally, with the utmost poise and elegance).

"Oh yes my love," she implores Darinius, "we must. And then I can keep a few surprise for you amongst the arrangements. I'm sure," and she smiles sweetly at Brother Brus, (and Marel, but especially Brus) "that the good Brothers won't mind keeping a few secrets for the good of romance?"

She squeezes her dearest's arm, before beginning to walk in the direction of an archway. "This, I think, should be bathed pearls, for one, arranged in our family crests. Brother Brus, do you think that could be done?"