faderift | OTHER PEOPLE'S PROBLEMS.

WHO: Fitcher, Mhavos Dalat, Lino Nieri, Derrica, Leander, Laura Kint.
WHAT: Some rich dicks got dicked around.
WHEN: Early Kingsway.
WHERE: The Wounded Coast.
NOTES: Violence, probably. Will update if More Happens.

To Review,

Mhavos recieves word from former employers, the wealthy d'Antret family, that their ship to Kirkwall has run ground on the wounded coast.
He's stopped from throwing the letter in the fire by Fitcher, who ~~bullies~~ convinces him to assemble a search party.
Lino Nieri, Derrica, Laura Kint and Leander end up volunteering.
When the wreck is found, it's not all that wrecked; the ship is largely intact, just beached. The wealthy nobles are nowhere to be found.
However, there are some supplies of tea, coffee and sugar, only lightly damaged. There's also a ledger indicating a d'Antret heirloom (a Dalish amulet) should be on the ship, but can't be found.
Everyone outvotes Mhavos, and the party decides to try and find the missing nobles.
They track them to a cave filled with bandits, planning to ransom the nobles back to Orlais for a lot of cash.
The bandits aren't too difficult to defeat, and the nobles are... moderately grateful. And not giving up their amulet or any of the stuff still on the ship.
...Unless you feel like stealing it / cajoling them more? Only Time Will Tell.

Please feel free to make top levels at various points in the mission for maximum versatility.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Do you think that's-" Wise. But instead, Mhavos' voice is drowned out by the Lady d'Antret, rushing over in ruined skirts.

"Get that woman away from my children!" She yells in Mhavos' direction, and he sighs, expression dull, and turns to look at Derrica. She's an adult, she can do what she wants.

Mhavos suspects the family does not think him in charge, so much as a center-point of familiarity with which to caterwaul.

"I'm a healer."

It's not untrue, though it certainly isn't the first identifier Derrica usually relies on.

"Please, we're all here to help you."

Also true on a technicality. Derrica had come for Mhavos' sake, and there's sugar and tea weighing down her bag. She's certainly prospered in ways that don't need to be shared with this family. Her eyes move from the children to the Lady d'Antret's face, and she steps back, flanking Mhavos.

She can't ask him discreetly if he'd rather strand them here for a few hours to reconsider their treatment of him. But she thinks about it very intensely.

Mhavos, with a calmness that could border on insult, slowly raises his hands, palms up. "She is a healer." And then, "Please. We are all here to help you."

The woman before him fumes.

He says, "would you like me to repeat it in en Orlesien?"

The Lady d'Antret lets out a groan of frustration, and points a finger directly at Mhavos' nose. Mhavos, clearly finding the situation obliquely, and perhaps depressingly, humorous, crosses his eyes to stare at her finger.

"You," Lady d'Antret says, "I always knew there was something wrong with you! The way my husband talked to you late at night! You're sick!"

Of all the things he could be accused of- he fights to keep a laugh down. It's not hard. He'll laugh later.

"And you!" She wheels on Derrica, turning toward her-- looking at her-- for the first time. Mhavos deftly steps between them, hands still up, but d'Antret speaks as though he is not there: "If my darlings report so much as a toothache-"

She's winding herself up for a real rant. Mhavos lets out a sigh.

This woman is—

A number of descriptors run through Derrica's mind. Mhavos is unflinchingly clam, and that only makes her angrier. He shouldn't take this in stride, even if they all know there's little point in provoking these people further.

Perhaps it was foolish to think that there would be even mild appreciation, but Derrica finds herself taken aback by the sheer venom being directed at them.

"They won't," Derrica snaps, because she cannot summon the same patience at Mhavos. "Are you through?"

But she doesn't reach back for her staff. She's sure any spellwork would incite a real fight between these people and Mhavos, and Derrica doesn't want that. She thinks it may likely be better to let them throw their tantrum and tire themselves out.

The yelling makes one of the younger children start to sob, and the Lady d'Antret screeches, turning to Mhavos once more. "See what you've done, you little- you-" She doesn't know many insults in Trade, and clearly wants to keep the conversation to Trade so it can be heard by all, or perhaps so her children don't understand her- "you catamite!"

Mhavos finally cracks, letting out a helpless babble of laughter. Catamite, of all things... If only she knew the real reason he'd sit up late with her husband. (It's a good thing she doesn't. And yet, still.)

Lady d'Antret only gets angrier. "How dare you laugh at me? After everything you put us through?" She raises her hand to strike, and Mhavos, caught in his laughter, lets the blow land. He's still standing between her and Derrica, so it's all fine, really.

It upsets the children worse, however, and more cries rise up.

On the sliding scale of terrible things Derrica has witnessed, this is fairly benign. No one's in real danger, and the injuries are minor. But the aspects of this interaction that speak to habit and entitlement wedge under her skin. (Is this what his life had been before Mhavos had come to Riftwatch?) Despite Mhavos' assurances, she can't take this in stride.

Putting her staff away had been an attempt to seem less threatening. She draws it from her back now, brings the butt of it down on the cave floor with enough force that the sound of it echoes.

"That is enough," she cautions. There is no need for this woman to know that Derrica is a healer above all else; the only spell she knows that could inflict pain isn't an option in such close quarters. It's a toothless threat. "I won't hear any more of this."

She would have been happy to go to the children. This all could have gone easily, but now they've come to this point.

"You're scaring the children," Derrica adds, voice softening. "Please, think of them."

Mhavos is sitting on the floor, knees up, his face in his hands. It would be a posture of abject despair, if not for the way his shoulders are still shaking with repressed laughter.

Lady d'Antret stumbles back at seeing a mage in full strength, staff and all, clearly angry. In a moment of fear rather than anger, her face goes blank, and she begins to scurry around the both of them, attempting to grab her children and flee. She has no words for anyone.

Mhavos looks up, one eye peeking above his fingers. "I'd let her go. If the brats die, it's her fault."

With a sigh, Derrica sits down beside Mhavos. She folds both hands over her staff, lays it across her knees.

"That's not how I wanted it to go. I thought she'd be happy someone was here to see to the children."

There's genuine confusion in Derrica's voice as she watches the Lady d'Antret half drag her children from the cave. Belatedly, Derrica considers the trip back will be awkward, but it's too late to do anything about it now.

"I'm sorry that she directed her anger at you instead of me."

Mhavos shrugs. "I'd prefer it to them attacking you. It would have ended worse for all parties."

He considers Derrica's words. Should they have been grateful? Yes. Happy? Yes. But was that remotely likely?

"You must understand, Orlesian nobility likes nothing if it is not entirely under their control, and perfectly to their specification. Your attempt at aid was admirable, but it was not their design."

"So I should have waited until they got done yelling at you, and then let her order me around?"

It's a rhetorical question. Derrica's pretty confident she can guess the answer.

"At least we got some tea. And sugar."

Is this the silver lining? It feels worthless set against Mhavos having to be dragged here to face these people and their cruelty.

OTHER PEOPLE'S PROBLEMS.

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