[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

[tender]

Derrica doesn't attempt to hide her smile.

"That is good to know."

It doesn't account for the three others. But it solidifies her trust in him, and that is enough for the moment.

"I want more than what they promised the Inquisition," she says, which cannot be a revelation to him. He isn't a mage and he came from Tevinter, but he must have dealt with enough Southern mages to guess at her opinions. Perhaps he doesn't divine how far more stretches, what retribution she wants from those dwelling in the Grand Cathedral. "But I don't really think they plan on honoring anything they've offered after this war is over."

[katabasis]

"They were promises made by an institution without any leader," he agrees. "Given the Divine's March will be facing a nation of free mages, I doubt those left on the ground will be in the temper to entertain the possibilities proposed by formerly rebel mages once they return home either. I suggested as much to Averesch once - that now is the time to prepare while the Chantry is still dependent on you."

But, says the tip of his head, the quirk of his brow, and how he look briefly beyond her down the length of the ship.

"Theories of a man only recently acquainted with Southern politics, I'll admit."

[tender]

"You should talk of it to Marcus Rowantree."

Sorry, Kostos.

"The way they raise mages in the south is..."

She trails off, struggling between a polite descriptor and something more visceral.

"They teach them to be terrified of themselves. It shocked me, when I realized that."

The implication goes unspoken: there are mages who are cautious in their bargaining, who believe what they have been raised to believe, and it inevitably tempers what they are willing to reach for. They are taught the worst of themselves, and never what they could be otherwise. There is a reason why Marcus Rowantree is who Derrica selects as an effective advocate.

"I'm not a strategist or much versed in politics, but I hope someone has told you the truth of the Chantry. They won't want any future for mages that teaches them they are anything other than a breath away from becoming a demon."

[katabasis]

"The Southern Chantry isn't as different from its sibling in the north as it thinks. Trade out the particulars of the people, yes. But their approach to solving who and what they have deem difficult and dangerous is much the same. Fear makes an impressively ready weapon for anyone with the willingness to wield it, and it is a difficult hold from which to break free for those who have known little alternative."

There is an easiness in the shape of it, in how he says it. This is rational, undisputed fact. What seems to him less so is:

"Rowntree was raised in the south, but you don't believe he has that fear. Why?"

[tender]

It is at this moment she is reminded, again, that she is not speaking to another mage. The pause that comes in the wake of his question can be mistaken for Derrica gathering her thoughts, choosing her words, and it is that, but it is also the moment where she tries to assess how much she should tell this man.

Nell deemed him trustworthy. He keeps Matthias at his elbow. He has not flinched from anything she's said to him. Derrica spreads her hands out on the rail, breathing deep.

"It is my own judgement," she admits, whatever that is worth to Commander Flint. "We've had a conversation similar to this one."

Glancingly similar. Discussing Dairsmuid, the young and unprepared mages that had been tilted into a war—

That was not the same. She could tell Commander Flint how she used Dairsmuid as a sounding board, but she doesn't want to talk about Dairsmuid with this man.

"He isn't afraid. Not of the Chantry, and not of his own magic, or mine, or anyone else's."

[katabasis]

What a dangerous thing that is, he doesn't say. The sound of it, he suspects, would not ring how he would like it to.

"How happy for Rowntree. And how unfortunate for anyone who might disagree with him."

The tip of his head is not dismissive - just easy, like they are turning a page in a book and Marcus Rowntree isn't actually the point on which this chapter closes. Well. There is a more compelling point hidden here than who that man might be.

"You mentioned wanting more from the Chantry than what they promised the Inquisition. Have you decided how much more?"

[tender]

In the passing years, Derrica's had some time to consider what could balance the scales. What penance could the Chantry undertake to repair what had been done at Dairsmuid?

And moreover, can she speak openly of that to this man?

"Yes."

Anger flattens that answer. Yes, Derrica knows a little of what she would take in return. She'd had a breath of it that night, the instant, sickening retribution of a templar's skull cracking under her stave, the force of the blow laying him flat. It hadn't been enough to stop anything, not the Annulment, and not her grief and anger afterwards.

She clears her throat. When she raises her eyes back to him the anger is still there, if quieter, carefully separate from the tone of her voice.

"It's more than I think they're willing to give up, without being forced into it."

An answer that allows him to think of all the usual requests, and not that she would see the Grand Cathedral crumbled into the dirt.

[katabasis]

And yet, here they are on the dark mirror of a Northern sea making their way toward a remote inlet of an enemy coast to rid themselves of a man all but resurrected out of a Tevinter dungeon. Maybe it is the place, all that water devoid of context, allowing the question to be asked or maybe it is simply this man and his impulses, but either way:

"Such as?"

Now there is something dangerous.

[tender]

Such as?

That prompting could be a welcome thing. It could be a show of interest, an overture meant to garner trust. The silence is stretching further and further, filled with implication. Perhaps he could guess at what she will say.

In the end, is this not what it will come down to? Deciding to trust one of these people? Out of all the possibilities, Flint seems to continue the least unknowns. He is a Tevene pirate. And Nell had said—

"I want their Circles torn down," Derrica says slowly, eyes intent on him. "And their templars disbanded."

It feels so important that her voice doesn't waver. If she says this calmly, then maybe it'll diminish the weight of what she's proposing. A bitter smile twitches at the corner of her mouth before she can stop it.

"They've had power over us for too long, and I want that to end."

Gently avoiding what Derrica thinks should come after that.

[katabasis]

It should be funny, that this is the first time he might hear it put in such plain terms. For all the arguing in the Gallows, for all this talk of what mages have been made to endure, for all that Riftwatch's reputation with the world tends to walk some uneasy line between useful fighting force and haven for reprobates, for all that there is no single person save perhaps those shackled with an anchor who didn't come to Riftwatch for some reason or obligation, they all of them have inclination to stop well short of speaking the thing, don't they?

(Has he spoken a word of Nascere since arriving in Kirkwall? In parts and in pieces, here and there, but these are all complicated things. The impulse to keep them abstract in a dangerous place weighs like a shackle on a broken limb.)

But this is simple enough.

"The fear of power you're powerless to check is a compelling motivator."

Her study has such a measuring quality to it. He allows his attention to stray - casting down the length of the ship in the dark. There is something sweet in the tuneless melody of the wind in the rigging.

"In the south, they fear the realities of the Imperium. In Tevinter, it is the Qun. In the Qun, the Chant. That much is abundantly clear. But you're right." He looks to her, and this is steady too. "Someone taught the South to be frightened, as did someone teach so much of Tevinter to be grateful, and it seems to me convenient that those people are so rarely required to account for the power it affords them. If we're to fight this war for anything more than the right to count up dead after Corypheus is pushed back, I see no resolution that allows those people to go on as if they weren't instrumental to him."

[tender]

The strength of her own reaction takes her by surprise. She can't say anything immediately because the fervor of her reply would be too telling. After all, she has tried to be so careful not to give too much of herself away. (Perhaps he has already divined what lies beyond the frank, blunt statements she's given; Flint is a perceptive man.) Instead, she breathes deep, takes a moment to follow his example and focus on the swell of the sea beneath them and the way the ship rocks gently under their feet.

She has missed the sea. But she will leave it behind when they reach Kirkwall because she wants the thing they're dancing around in this conversation more: to break the hold of the Chantry on mages, and everyone else.

"I have wondered whether the war will resume after Corypheus is gone," Derrica says, lifting that concern from her conversations with Matthias. "I don't see how it won't, if nothing else changes between now and then."

And this time she will be here for it, whatever her presence counted for in the grand scheme of things.

"Do the other Division Heads feel as you do?"

[katabasis]

When you hunt a ship on open through the dark, you are playing a game. Where will she go? In this weather, under these wind conditions, knowing who is faster and where the coast lies and what challenging passages waits before them - is it smarter to run to open sea, or to wear it toward the promise of the continent and a sea breeze? Is it better to heave to, to wait and see what daybreak brings? What does prey - witting or otherwise - do, and can it be estimated with enough accuracy so that there will be something to show for the trouble of chasing after it?

It's a question with infinite answers. What he settles on is, because it promises something that will be necessary, is--

"Not yet."

[tender]

Flint's answer is not a surprise. It's confirmation of her suspicions, but Derrica hadn't even really needed to hear it aloud.

But she does wonder a little at what makes him different. What has he seen that makes him echo back to her a sentiment she's carried with her since she'd fled Dairsmuid? She almost thinks to ask, but cannot bring herself to formulate the question. It would be like putting her fingers in a wound, she thinks. She knows a little of what that feels like.

"Will they?" she asks instead.

It is not an invitation to excuse them, or apologize for them. His estimation is valuable, if only to set against her own assessment. The Commander would know better, presumably.

[katabasis]

"With enough motivation among the division personnel, they'd have little choice otherwise."

It's tempting to claim that as the extent of their powers in this, but it paints a grim picture. Puts three members of Riftwafth in a room and you will find yourself with six different opinions on any one thing.

"I don't doubt that they would all prefer to be done with war once Corypheus is finished. And were it to become clear that there could be further conflict waiting on the other side of it, I believe they would act to avoid it. The question you should be asking yourself is how to convince them in which direction it is best to lean."

[tender]

"I know."

Derrica's voice sounds as if she had bitten down on broken glass. Yes, that is sensible, but it is galling. Must they persuade these people to fight and argue on their behalf? After all this time living and battling together?

"But I had hoped..."

For what? That perhaps her suspicions were wrong? She should have known better.

"I hoped we wouldn't have to bargain with Riftwatch too. That's all."