Fade Rift Mods (
faderifting) wrote in
faderift2019-01-10 10:49 pm
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Entry tags:
- ! mod plot,
- ! open,
- alexandrie d'asgard,
- bastien,
- benedict quintus artemaeus,
- byerly rutyer,
- cosima niehaus,
- darras rivain,
- gwenaëlle baudin,
- isaac,
- john silver,
- julius,
- kostos averesch,
- loki,
- teren von skraedder,
- wysteria de foncé,
- yseult,
- { anders },
- { cade harimann },
- { clarke griffin },
- { finel },
- { fingon },
- { hanzo shimada },
- { helena },
- { herian amsel },
- { ilias fabria },
- { inessa serra },
- { leander },
- { myrobalan shivana },
- { nari dahlasanor },
- { sidony veranas },
- { silas caron },
- { six },
- { solas },
- { sorrelean ashara },
- { thor }
OPEN: Kirkwail
WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Ghosts
WHEN: Wintermarch 20
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: OOC post. More content warnings than you can shake a stick at, probably, including allusions to slavery and violence in the body of the log post. Please use appropriate warnings in the subject lines for your own threads.
WHAT: Ghosts
WHEN: Wintermarch 20
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: OOC post. More content warnings than you can shake a stick at, probably, including allusions to slavery and violence in the body of the log post. Please use appropriate warnings in the subject lines for your own threads.

The storm sweeps in like an assassin: unexpected, in the dark, and throwing sharp pricks of sleet at exposed eyes and noses with expert aim and enough force to almost draw blood if the angle is right. Half an hour after the clouds crest the cliffs is all it takes for the city to retract indoors and huddle around fireplaces, settling in for a long night that will, unforeseen, turn into a long two days.
The Gallows, too, is pelted with ice; the walls of the cliffs and the fortress protect much of it from the worst of the wind, but when it can find a path over or through the walls, it slams through windows or doors to scatter papers and snuff out fires.
In the dark, in the rain, hurrying between towers or already accustomed to jumping firelight casting strange shadows and the wind howling like a wounded animal, people might be forgiven if they don't notice at first. But there's a hanging in the courtyard, a dozen translucent wisps of bodies dangling from the idea of nooses, and there's a girl's voice in the basement of the templar tower screaming for her mother, and there's a ghostly man in the library holding the blade of a knife to his palm and whispering this is it, this is it—or maybe there isn't, actually, when you lift your head to pay closer attention.
But as the night wears on they multiply, and they brighten, and even if you haven't noticed them, they begin to notice you.
no subject
"Your oath is no concern of mine. Assuage your conscience however you like, but perhaps consider that the alternative is truthfully telling your queen you are no longer able to be of any use to her. As for your reports, you will tell me how they are delivered now and we will devise a satisfactory system."
no subject
His head tilts to the side. "You want something from me. I'm not opposed to giving it. Indeed, I'll cheerfully bend all of my not-inconsiderable skills to your cause - but not if doing so means I am forsworn. Besides - " A little flutter of his fingers. "You'll be reading over my reports, won't you? Don't you think you're keen enough to edit out any parts that might be sensitive?" And finally, a shrug - "And they already know about you, you know. I wrote about you months ago."
no subject
Her expression doesn't change and her mouth keeps moving, and she considers whether to correct him that she doesn't care about a pipeline to Ferelden, or the ten minutes it will take her to unmask each new replacement, she just needs warm bodies that know even a scrap about the work, but beneath it some part of her is clenched tight and quietly chanting shit. Of course he's written about her already. Because he was looking and she wasn't. Because she wanted to be useful too badly to conceal what use she would be. Was too sick of wearing someone else's skin to care about the danger to her own. And now there is some report filed away in Denerim with her real name and maybe her likeness too depending on his skills, something she has avoided for decades and now she's dropped it in the lap of some cut-rate seducer from Ferelden of all places. It's the stuff spy nightmares are made of.
"Look," she says, and her tone shifts, arms flattening on the tabletop to angle her forward over them. Cool, still, but a slight lessening of the distance in her tone, as well. He's made his priorities clear enough to necessitate a change in tactics, but she doesn't overplay it, still all business just with a thread of conviction now woven through. "You aren't sworn simply to tell your queen the truth; you are sworn, above all, to protect Ferelden and its interests. You were at Ghislain. You know what we face, and you know if Orlais falls the Frostbacks won't slow them long. I'm not asking you to work against your country. I'm asking you to keep a few irrelevant details from them in order to do work that will save Fereldan lives in the long-term. Or you can go back to drinking yourself to death and sending them bits of gossip about the people who do the real work."
no subject
Maker willing, at least. He has few doubts that he's going to make at least a half dozen mistakes in this conversation alone. Mistakes that would be fatal, if she had a hunger to carry out the death-blow. He is at her mercy; it is a sad fact that Ferelden's spies simply aren't what the ones up here are. Himself included. He's simply surviving off determination, improvisation, and a healthy dose of can-do pluck.
"Why are you so desperate to keep everyone hidden?" By asks. "I can think of no reason unless you intend to eventually turn your agents southwards. A prospect that inflicts upon me a most unpleasurable frisson."
no subject
The look she gives him is dry. "Those who volunteered for this cause don't deserve to be caught up in your Spymaster's files for their trouble. Especially the amateurs. And no one will ever trust you after you've spent months laying about spying on them when you could have been helping, but the least you can do is not compound the problem."
no subject
Still. He lets out a sigh, and sits back, arms crossed. "But - I must ask for clarification. Especially the amateurs, you say. Pray tell, just how many amateurs are we talking here? Or, more precisely, what percentage of your forces are amateurs?"
no subject
Thankfully, they are not the only intelligence service at the Inquisition's disposal--the Nightingale's agents, most of them highly trained, are spread far and wide across Thedas. But as the war has widened so too has their spread, and there are gaps now in that network that require filling. Kirkwall must pull its weight in this area as it has not before, and that brings them to this reluctant recruitment, and several others even more questionable. But she's not inclined to share her plans or her concerns with him.
"You would primarily work alone, so the others are my concern, not yours. If you agree to my terms." Which technically he hasn't done yet.
no subject
"No identifying information," he says after a moment. "Nothing my superiors could use to ferret them out. But I shall need to report on missions and movements - I am assigned here to ensure that the Queen is not surprised by anything the Inquisition does, and if I am not allowed to ensure that, then there truly is no point in me being here. So if you're not comfortable with me knowing something - Well. I am but a drunken fool. I should think you, with all your experience and skill, will be able to keep it from my bleary eyes, no?"