EVENT: TRUTH BOMB

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: TRUTH BOMB
WHEN: Bloomingtide 15-17
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: OOC information. Use appropriate content warnings in your subject lines, please.

It’s an ordinary day—so not a very pleasant one. The weather is dreary and muggy, and the day’s lunch is a soup that’s a little too watery and bland. The griffons are being their usual level of noisy and swoopy. The work is its usual level of urgent and difficult.

But in the storage rooms, something wiggles. Then it hums. Then it pops.

Outside of the storage room, there’s no actual sound, no shift in the wind, and no visible sign of a change. But the pop might be felt—like the moment something finally clicks, or two ideas suddenly fit together, except the opposite. In the heads of everyone in the fortress, something is suddenly not connected quite right.

The first sign of what’s gone wrong is that someone immediately stands up and tells the cook how bad the soup is.

A lot of people’s days are about to get exponentially worse.

Comments

[overharrowed]

"I'm a mage, I don't see why wearing robes is especially offensive. I imagine the large staff would give it away regardless." It's not sarcastic so much as dry. Fighting is a dangerous way forward, though if they can keep sniping over mundane things, they may succeed in inching around everything.

He takes a step toward the door, but can't resist adding: "It's not as if you'd like me better with a different hairstyle or other clothes."

[wythersake]

"Of course not --" Is out of his mouth before he can bite on his tongue. "-- I don't know what you want."

His hand curls on itself, a curse of a gesture (self-directed), but it's freed a foot or two further between them.

"It matters. The robes. Like you've never had to bother,"

Hiding. Blending. The only mages at the Gallows to walk about in them lately: Wardens, Vints, Shivana. Even Anders, after a fashion, represents the old guard; hangs his neck on the safety it affords.

[overharrowed]

"Of course I had to bother," Julius says, more baffled than affronted. "If I'd thought the Inquisition needed a rather quiet scribe more than it needed an experienced mage, perhaps I'd have maintained the pretense after arriving. I'm useful because of what I am, I don't see what hiding it would get me in this particular circumstance."

Which is. Much more than he'd intended to say.

"No one who's prepared to dislike me would like me better without the robes," he adds, after an awkward pause. "I don't see why I should pretend otherwise now that I'm not hiding."