[closed] don't go prison (breakin') my heart

[katabasis]

WHO: Benedict, Kitty, Kostos, Derrica, Lazar, Caspar, Poesia, Yseult, Flint
WHAT: The Gang Breaks a Guy Out of Prison
WHEN: Early Cloudreach
WHERE: Tevninter; a small island not far from Neromenian
NOTES: OOC Post; if you're in a group, I highly encourage flexible turn order. Feel free to self-assign where your character ends up once Things Get Real, but please don't have your lad or lady be two places at once. Prompts below are the main action of the plot, but feel free to do whatever you like before/after/adjacent to them.

Eione Island was once a staging ground for Tevinter forces eventually bound for the jungles of Seheron. Today, with the Imperium's attention and the bulk of its military might directed toward the South, the island fortress is an outpost in reserve - maintained by only a few dozen members of a private guard and overseen by Idothea Petrus, the third daughter of a Laetan family which has spent generations carefully navigating their way up Tevinter's social ladder. Much of the island is characterized by its challenging cliff faces with water too deep to cast anchor in. The only sure anchorage to be found is in Eione Bay itself, over which the fortress itself resides. Catapults at either end of the bay provide strong discouragement to anyone who might attempt a surprise landing to take the island by force. SO THEY'RE NOT ATTEMPTING TO SURPRISE ANYONE. Instead, Riftwatch is sailing straight into the bay in their own Tevinter ship, repainted in the reds, gold and blacks of the Artemaeus family and flying a flag of distress. The story? Benedict Artemaeus, son of a magister and heir to a textile trading empire, was returning from having overseen the sale of a large shipment when their ship was attacked by Nocen Sea pirates. Having barely escaped, the ship has put in here at Eione until the likelihood of further danger passes. Besides, wouldn't you know it? - Benedict's picked up some dreadful cough while doing business abroad and now requires the Petrus family's hospitality now more than ever as he recovers. The mages of the group in addition to Benedict are all to pose as semi-important mages in Benedict's company. The rest of Riftwatch's force will pose as servants and advisers and so on, including Yseult as Benedict's most devoted maid who is simply worried sick about her illness-stricken master and must keep close at hand at all times should he seem likely to tax himself overmuch by, say, spilling the beans, and so require the healing touch of a tender knife between the ribs. IF ALL GOES TO PLAN, Riftwatch will take advantage of Petrus' hospitality for the few days it takes to locate where their target, a once-prominent contact with the burgeoning enslaved rebellion in Tevinter who has been missing for two years, is being held. From there, Riftwatch's forces are to divide themselves into three groups: two groups will disable the catapults at each end of the bay in as flashy and dramatic a way as possible so as to draw attention; the third team will descend into the prison, locate Valeriantus, and then make their escape overland to the other side of the island where groups one and two, having made their own get away, will meet them with the ship for extraction. Simple, right?

Comments

flint, misc.

[katabasis]

i. snooping around

[The fortress itself is by no means a labyrinth. It's solid stone and slate and plaster, utilitarian in the way that so few things in Tevinter are - the sort of structure built by slaves and soldiers, not carved up out of the island by magic ans master stone masons. It is reasonable to think that there are only so many places a person might be held in captivity here. After all, what possible purpose could there be in make a cell secret in a place like this, so far removed from anyone who might care? It is reasonable to think that, given half the pretense to move around the compound, it should be easy to discover that place.

So:]

If anyone asks, we've been directed to resupply the ship from the stores here and are turned around.

[This, as they make their way systematically through the fortress, ferreting with no great rush down back corridors and around miscellaneous out-buildings.]

ii. aftermath
[In a day's time, they'll round the Eyes of Nocen. There, on the eastern side of the eyes, lies an inlet they'd made careful note of while en route to Eione, and it's there where they're to deliver Ambrose Valeriantus into the eager hands of the what surely can only be described as a fledgling rebellion effort. How organized can the reception possibly be? Not even Valeriantus can guess, given how long he's been living in a hole in the ground.

A half dozen able hands, is what Flint imagines will meet them there past the Eyes - ex-slaves who earned or escaped to their freedom but maintained connections to the place they'd come from. Maybe men and women like Valeriantus with sympathies. Maybe half baked Venatori. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

It's a cool night with the sea breeze behind them and the ship runs quietly before it like a toy boat over a mirror-still lake. Flint is standing after near the stern light, a dark figure against the gold lantern glow, with every appearance of considering the soft hum of the wind in the rigging. The air is fresher above decks than below and in the dark this is as good a place as any to give a problem some thought.]

ii

[extortionate]

[ None of this sits well. Maybe it's bug-eyed Ambrose Valeriantus, and maybe it's the way he talked on those cliffs (he's had better folks to talk to since); maybe it's just the premise of the thing. Why shovel a man into the ground that long? Why keep him there?

He's made up his mind not to ask. Nothing good comes of asking, and no good answer to it, anyway. ]

Can I ask you something?

[ Lazar scratches the side of his beard, idle, and waits to be told to fuck off. ]

[katabasis]

[If there were just a single thing the division head of Forces is good at, is well practiced in, it would be telling people who to mind their own fucking business. But in this moment it's something of a welcome relief to put the thought he's been turning around in the back of his head on a shelf. He shifts up by a half degree from the stern rail; there is very little in the way of sharpness as the point of his attention swings to meet Lazar.]

Go on.

[extortionate]

There anyone else down there?

[ in the gross hole ]

ii

[rathercommon]

[ Kitty doesn't know what she's going to say when she approaches him. She assumes that it'll come to her - Because they need to talk about it. She's sure that by now, Flint will have heard about Ambrose's allegiance, his ties to one of their most dreaded enemies. And she needs to know where he stands. Whether they'll follow through on this rescue, or whether they'll...

Well.

She stands behind Flint. Clears her throat. Waits for the thing she needs to say to come to her.

It doesn't. ]

[katabasis]

[He turns.

Her part in this - and she has played one, that much is undeniable - has up until this point been one managed and guided (as much as anything Kitty Jones chooses to do) by Yseult. He has made good on that promise he gave to her those many months ago: 'What you think is not my responsibility, and what you want is no longer my concern.' For all that the ship is small, for all that has passed in the last days, he has done the same admirable job of being blind to her existence here and in Kirkwall.

But here, with his hand still on the taffrail, he looks to regard her and seems to find the revelation of her presence unsurprising.]

Miss Jones.

[rathercommon]

[ And it's hurt. The indifference has hurt dreadfully. To be treated as nothing, a non-being, is crueler and harder by far than being scolded, hated, openly scorned. It makes you feel like you're worth no more than an apple core, a scrap of paper, a hacked-out glob of spittle landing on the street. At least if someone lashes at you, you know that they're listening. But to be simply ignored makes you feel like -

Well. Who gives a shit? Not her, that's for sure.

Miss Jones doesn't give her much more of an idea of how to speak or proceed. The struggle to find something continues, and the best she can manage is - ]

Captain Flint.

[katabasis]

[She looks small there in the flickering lamplight, against the dark night and under the breath of the wind. Not like a child (though she is one), but not like a hard nosed barrier either.

(There is some latitude here in which he can work.)

He waits for her to say something more. When she doesn't, what Flint eventually does is tip his head in silent invitation and lets his attention slide back to the black sea in their wake. Well?, says that turn of the head. She may as well join him here at the rail if she's so set on lingering.]

[rathercommon]

[ Is it an invitation, or a dismissal? She can't quite tell in the dark. The latter is devastating, but the former is frightening. When your heart is hard, when you don't care any longer, that's miserable, but it's safe. Any easing of tension is in theory a reason to celebrate, but in practice...In practice, it's just a chance to be torn to bits again. That's how it always is. Let down your guard, and hurt follows.

But - Whatever. This is just a chat by the railing. They've chatted before. Who cares.

She steps forward, then. Doesn't look at him. Finally finds one of her many, many questions. ]

What're you going to do with him, then?

[katabasis]

I haven't decided yet.

[he says without looking at her. It sounds like the truth, a kind of bald honesty that lives only in night dark places like this one. He's been considering it - at length, becoming more fixed on the question with every nautical mile they log behind them.

It isn't just his decision to make. Obviously. But also: it is. Given his place on this ship and his familiarity with the men working it, his small but absolute form of power in this place, he could make it his decision if he cared to. Surely that much is obvious.]

[rathercommon]

[ It is. She knows it is. There are things she can do, to be sure - smuggle him off in a lifeboat, stand before him with her knife drawn - but anything will just be a reaction to his decision. The next move is his, and she knows it well.

So: Start with the most rational arguments. ]

Having an alliance with Calpurnia when he went into that place - It's not the same thing as having an alliance with her now. She's clearly changed.

[katabasis]

It's possible that's so.

[Anything is possible. It's possible that when Valeriantus is reintroduced to the world, he will be in a unique position to see what it is. To recognize it.]

Morever, it's possible that our part in this today outweighs whatever sympathy he had for her yesterday. But it doesn't escape me that if we're wrong ['we'; what a word that is, regardless of where his gaze is fixed], then we're delivering a sure weapon directly into Corypheus' hands.

i

[bloodandsand]

[ Poesia has all the subtlety of an Orlesian cake, but if there is one thing she was trained to be from a young age, it was pretty and pleasing. Even if she had never managed to retain all the lessons in the art of speaking in vague prettiness, she herself is both vague and pretty. It always helped enormously to convince people one was a harmless simpleton if one was, in truth, a little bit of a simpleton naturally.

So the tone she uses is light and airy when she says:]

Wouldn't it be faster to kill them?

[ But there's a feral canniness to the way she tips her head to look at Flint, not unlike a large dog testing the grip on their lead. ]

[katabasis]

Then we'd have a body to contend with and no convenient hole to dump them down.

[Later, after the discovery of the oubliette, he may recall this irony of this wording.]

There will be plenty of time for that later.

[bloodandsand]

This place does seem to lack a reasonable amount of wardrobes. How very troublesome.

[ The canny look doesn't fade so much as shift, the relentless energy under her skin settling just a little. She smiles at Flint. ]

Promises, promises. I've been so terribly curious to know what you would have me do, dear Commander.

[katabasis]

Right this moment, I would have you act like a bumbling servant so that we can find what we've come here for.

[Is presently as broad as he's willing to go with this discussion as they make their back up from the lower level of the fortress, climbing a series of limestone stairs up from what was actually the places store house with its flour and wine casks.]

[bloodandsand]

[ Going up the stairs at least means she has to stop circling him like some wild predator. She does throw him a look over her shoulder, wide eyed and guileless. ]

Why, sir, I am only here to be of service to my master! I should hope he finds me more pleasing than bumbling.

ii

[tender]

There's the sound of soft footsteps, and then a quiet—

"Commander Flint?"

Even without any paperwork, without any clear task holding his attention, Derrica still has the sense that she's interrupting.

puts hand over timestamps

[katabasis]

His turn toward her is a matter of small degrees, the lowering of his slightly upturned face where a moment ago he had been regarding the rigging and canvas above them. For a split second, it casts his countenance in the darkest shadow. Then, with some changed angle of the line of his shoulders or a half step back, the stern lamp finds him and he is human again - unoccupied, with nothing more pressing than this before him.

(That's a lie. But the weather is fine and no one on their side of things died horribly while escaping the island, so let's pretend there are no immediate demands on his attention.)

"Is there something you need?"

i see no time stamps.

[tender]

"Yes."

It is important to say this firmly, and not allow herself room to dawdle and retreat. Indecision is getting her nowhere. If she hesitates because Commander Flint is no mage, then she must consider the other reasons for trusting him— he is head of her division, Tevene and a pirate. If she comes away from this conversation with nothing but a better understanding of him, that is still progress.

"Just your guidance, for now. Maybe more," she offers, moving towards the rail to stand beside him. "Do you know much about phylacteries?"

As good a place to start as any.

[katabasis]

"They see little use in the North," is near to saying, 'not much.' "But I know their purpose if not their specifics, and that they were the subject of some negotiation before I came to the Inquisition. I have been doing some reading."

Thanks in part to Madame de Cedoux's involvement in the whole affair.

"I take it you have concerns."

Is not a question, but is certainly a lead.

[tender]

"I want mine back."

Her voice is steady, but there is some tremor of emotion underscoring each word. There is weight to this demand. Quiet, patient anger guides the directness of it.

"If my phylactery was salvaged from Dairsmuid, and they have it, I want them to give it back to me."

What she wants is more than that. She wants someone to bleed for what was done at Dairsmuid, but she'll take this first.

"I know I can make a request. But I don't know that it's smart to call the Chantry's attention to us for...for something so personal."

[katabasis]

"That seems reasonable," he says as if it's quite simple.

In the lamplight there, it is hard to fix whether his expression shifts or if it is just a change in how the shadow falls in answer to a minor tilt of the head. Some call of the sailing master from forward - some order to ease sheets and fall off the wind - should draw his attention from her, but doesn't.

"We're allied with the Inquisition, and so the Chantry. I see now reason why they should expect anything less given the provisions they agreed to, save for if the new Divine has seen fit to change their opinion on it. In which case,"--with his eyebrows doing the work of a shrug--"Prudence would dictate we find out sooner rather than later."

[tender]

Lukas comes to mind again, face lit in the miserable glow of their campfire as he admitted he'd been tasked with finding her. Derrica hadn't asked what the Chantry had intended to do with her if they'd uncovered her location, but she had enough memories of the fall of Dairsmuid to guess.

Her hands fold over each other where she's let them rest on the rail. Flint is watching her, so intent that she has the urge to turn away.

"What would Riftwatch do if the Chantry wrote a letter back saying, give us all your rebel mages or we'll come get them ourselves?"

But the question really is: What would you do? What would the fearsome Captain Flint do if the Chantry offered to come and put the Gallows back into working order?

[katabasis]

His exhale is low, some curl of lopsided humor. Ah.

"If the Chantry cared to have a tighter rein on Riftwatch's forces than they do already, I have every belief that we would have seen some indication of it when we first moved to separate from the Inquisition. If that is the kind of attention you're concerned over drawing, I would estimate that requesting that they honor a deal they themselves made - albeit with the Inquisition - is unlikely to remind the Chantry of anything it hasn't already taken measure of."

The 'But' is in the angling of his shoulder. So, very well. If they are to speak on hypotheticals--

"However, should the Chantry be foolish enough to make such a request then I would expect a the contingent of the company that would balk at complying to be large enough that Riftwatch would be forced to deny the Chantry else risk dissolution. Further, given what that might imply for any other deal brokered over the past four years between the Inquisition and the Chantry, and given what is evidently waning support among ranks of the Inquisition mages in favor of defection, the Grand Enchanter would likely also find some points of contention with such a request."

He squints at her in the uneven light, line of his mouth slanting behind the auburn of his beard. "There wouldn't be much of a choice but to tell the Chantry to go fuck themselves."