MOD PLOT ↠ Wings of Death

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone (more or less)
WHAT: A trip to Rialto, in pursuit of convincing Antiva to give up its famed neutrality, just this once, pleaaaase.
WHEN: Cloudreach/Bloomingtide 9:48
WHERE: Rialto, Antiva
NOTES: OOC post here. Remember to use warnings in your subject lines for gore, sexual content, or anything else people might not expect to find while casually reading this log on a work computer.

YOUR DESTINATION

Rialto is Antiva's second city in importance and in population, but in many ways it is first in sheer Antivanness. When foreigners imagine Antiva, they often conjure images of graceful bridges arching over turquoise canals, lovers on a romantic gondola ride serenaded by a soprano's aria, fiery young men in vibrant leathers dueling for the honor of their houses in the piazza while down at the docks pirates share tales over bowls of seafood pasta. All of this is to be found in Rialto. While Antiva City is a teeming, bustling center of world commerce, with all the clamor and diversity that creates, Rialto is popular more with the city's uppermost classes than its vast mercantile middle, particularly the old aristocracy who prefer Rialto for its relative peace and its proximity to King Fulgeno's favorite residence. This is not to suggest that Rialto is a Hightown without any Low—like all major cities, for every palazzo-lined canal where the wealthy rest are ten more waterways packed with delivery boats and shops and taverns of every degree and description, from the broad spans edged with rows of fashionable tailors and jewelers to narrow, winding alleys of water overhung by leaning buildings of smoke-stained stucco. The docks, though neither as large nor as busy as the capital's or Kirkwall's, are still large and busy by any other measure, packed with merchants and sailors and fishermen, along with some who—uniquely common in Antiva, a kingdom founded by pirates—skirt the line between honest seamen and buccaneers.

Antivans will argue it's always a good time to visit their country, but everyone else agrees that spring is the ideal. The weather is consistently mild and pleasant, warmer than Kirkwall but without yet edging into the heat of summer the way it is in Tevinter to the north. In the city's parks and piazzas, flowers and shrubby add a few splashes of greenery and warm breezes send occasional showers of petals down from the cherry and citrus trees just finishing their blooms. Climbing flowers and arbors of grapevines are common adornments.

For the king's birthday celebration the city's elegant pale stone buildings are all decorated, with public buildings and bridges hung with bunting in the crown's favored purple and banners depicting the arms of Antiva and the royal house Campagna: a golden ship, sails unfurled, beneath a crown, the shield supported by a seahorse on one side and a stallion on the other. Along the grand canals every palazzo is bedecked in some combination of the occupant's colors and the kingdom's purple, and the theme continues throughout the city, every district finding some means to demonstrate its festive mood. The effect is only slightly diminished by the few areas where graffiti conflicts with the decorations, and Riftwatch, at least, will be pleased to see it mostly takes the form of anti-Tevinter sentiment, ranging from a scrawled FUCK THE VINTS to a few choice quotes from certain popular pamphlets and puppet plays, to a large and surprisingly skillful mural of a dragon and a caricatured merchant prince sitting together on a heap of gold playing with toy ships and dolls while behind them a fire rages.

The king's birthday is always an extravagant occasion, even more so when he hits any age ending in a 0 or a 5, as he is this year. A full week of revelry has been decreed, with each day marked by pageants and parades and games of all sorts, and every night new and fabulous parties in his honor hosted by various houses, guilds, and societies. Knowing the king's love of masquerades, many of these balls are masked, with themes ranging from House Campagna's most celebrated ancestors, to sea creatures, to all gold everything. (While fancy dress is of course always encouraged, many will simply attend in their best finery, with the intention of visiting multiple parties in the same night.) The city is lit with lanterns, torches, and even the occasional bonfire, as the bacchanal spills into the canals and piazzas each evening and continues long into the night.


YOUR MISSION

Riftwatch arrives on this scene by ship, which garners a few approval points from the merchants and pirate-descendants populating the city. The ship remains anchored in the harbor for the duration of their stay, reachable by tender and doubling as a temporary home for the selection of griffons who have accompanied them north.

Griffon riders will make the trip back and forth from the ship most often, as they'll be assigned to shifts that keep one or two of them in the air at all times, day or night. The outward justification for this is to entertain the Antivans below them; they're encouraged to fill some of the time with acrobatics over busy squares or particular parties, at times with banners and streamers to trail behind their mounts. Those with griffons who don't startle easily might be entrusted with a few fireworks to set off from the air. But the real purpose is surveillance, of course, and to serve as emergency back-up or ambulance for anyone who finds themselves caught in a tight spot and calls for help. Riders will be equipped with vials of antidotes to some common poisons, and particularly at night, anyone with healing magic or medical skills might be asked to ride along.

Meanwhile, down on the ground, a steady stream of influential merchants and socialites will want an interesting Riftwatcher or three at their dinners and private parties, each presenting an opportunity to impress upon influential people the importance of the war. These gatherings will range from stiff, formal affairs to wild bacchanals, depending on the host. Of note: a moonlit evening with a chamber quartet on Antonio Luppi's pleasure yacht, famously large enough to have a croquet pitch on the upper deck, a days-long Wicked Grace tournament with rising stakes where Marco "il Calabrone" Molinari defies anyone to beat him, and a race through the canals on gondalas owned by Antiva's who's-who. There are no rules, so finding ways–even magical or new-technological ways–to improve the odds of the more invested racers may win some favor, and a number of competitors are eager to see if Riftwatch has some arcane way to give them an edge.

Outside the city gates, on a grassy cliffside that overlooks the Amaranthine Ocean, there's a faire for the workers and peasantry. There's dancing, a series of field games (tug of war, footraces, horseshoes, wrestling, hammer throwing, blindfolded stick-dueling, mob football, and whatever the heck wallop is), a bonfire each evening, and young people goading one another into cliff diving and climbing back up, sopping wet, using stairs and handholds carved into the cliffside. While no single one of the participants is as influential as the better-heeled set hosting gathering elsewhere, it's still good politics to put in an appearance, play some games, and dispel any lingering perception of Riftwatch as a weird heretical sect or pack of wild demons.

They'll find similar opportunities scattered throughout the streets of Rialto: full tables at taverns who might listen raptly to their accounts of the war further south, minstrels and players who might be persuaded to change their tunes to whip up sympathy or anger for Corypheus' targets, and lower-level independent tradesman who might be persuaded to stop doing business with Tevinter or push for such an agreement within their guilds.

Riftwatchers who are especially active in outreach in these working-class quarters may find themselves approached quietly by representatives of I Figli Della Brace, an underground network of agitators that sprung up in the wake of Riftwatch's prior propaganda efforts and has been wreaking minor havoc by destroying Tevinter goods, carrying on the tradition of vandalism, and hassling those who do the most business with Tevinter and the Anderfels. They're loosely helmed by Vieri Fontana, who already trusts a few members of Riftwatch, and in exchange for Riftwatch's assistance with a few sneaky favors and quick but rowdy demonstrations of disobedience, they'll promise a strong showing of angry common folk outside the palace when it's most needed.

And through all of this, Riftwatch members will need to be looking over their shoulders, watching their drinks, avoiding dark alleys, keeping an eye out for snipers on rooftops, and staying wary of alluring strangers, because an untold number of Antivan Crows are out for their lives and/or anchors.

The purpose of all of this hobnobbing and sneaking around and dodging of murder attempts awaits at the end of Riftwatch's stay: King Fulgeno the Merry and all of the Merchant Princes have agreed to give a contingent of Riftwatch diplomats a moment, the day after the king's largest birthday feast, to plead their case against continuing to trade with Tevinter and the Anderfels. Winning them over would strike a significant blow to the enemy, already cut off from trade with much of the rest of Thedas, and bring Antiva that much closer to actively assisting with the war effort.

Should this meeting involve the support of a few more Merchant Princes, the dramatic unmasking of a traitor among the Princes and a conspiracy among the Crows, and shouts of support from people in the street echoing in through the windows, there's a good chance they'll pull it off.


YOUR ACCOMMODATIONS

The canal-side palazzo where Riftwatch is residing during its visit is the summer property of Merchant Prince Amancio Vivas. Unlike some questionable accommodations provided to Riftwatch in the past, Palazzo Vivas is roomy and lavish, brimming with expensive decor and labelled artifacts and comfortable seating. Anyone needing space to work or plan will find multiple nooks and tables in the library, and Riftwatch has collectively commandeered a secondary dining room (there are several) for meetings.

For those needing a break from work, actually, Palazzo Vivas is well-stocked with books and all of the necessary equipment for parlor games, plus an echoing ballroom equipped with a pianoforte. There's a cabinet of decent wine and spirits available, or a locked cellar full of the very good stuff for the particularly enterprising. The palazzo encircles a central courtyard garden with enough tall hedges and trees that someone might disappear into it. Currently it's in full bloom, including some rare night-bloomers, and at all hours bustling with some combination of insects, birds, and bats. Also featured: two small fountains and a canal-fed wading pool.

The beds, unlike most of the Gallows', involve feathers rather than straw. The sheets are soft. Everything smells like lavender. Everyone can have a bed if they're willing to share with at least one other person; those who are unwilling will find themselves on the floor or a settee.

Everyone will be asked to take on some additional tasks in the palazzo. Most important is guard duty, including some overnight patrols to make sure there are no intruders or disturbances. But as only a skeleton staff is present in the palace, idle Riftwatchers might be sent out to Rialto's bustling markets for food and supplies and/or pressed into making vats of porridge, pasta, or seafood stew to keep everyone else fed while the single cook is attending festivities elsewhere.


YOUR LEISURE

Between assignments, Riftwatch members may find moments–or even several consecutive hours!--to enjoy Rialto. Cautiously, on account of the assassins. But still. In addition to partaking in the merriment, entertainment, and games purely for fun, there are street performances to watch, gondolas to hire for leisurely floats, markets and shops stuffed with goods from throughout Thedas, bath houses, and, only a short hike or shorter griffon ride away from the city, a pristine white sand beach on a calm cove, littered with sea shells, without a single decomposing shipwreck in sight. It's not something they're going to find in Kirkwall, so no one can be blamed for wanting a peek.

Comments

[sparklequeen]

Glimmer smiles. It's warm, kind, gentle. The sort that she learned from her mother, the sort that she wants to give to everyone she cares about as she does her best to help them through everything that they have to deal with. She watches for a moment as Abby starts shoveling food into her mouth--weirdly, it reminds her of the way Adora would close herself off when things got a little too personal or if she thought something else was more important.

"...There was someone at home I was into, too. Except the last time I saw him I said some really awful things to him and--and it's been like two years and I don't know if I'll get to tell him I'm sorry. So..." She trails off. "It wasn't a breakup, exactly. But I still care about him. So I get it," she says quietly, takes another gulp of tea because if she talks about Bow much more she might get a bit misty-eyed.

"...You wanna like, explore the city today?"

[nonvenomous]

He looks back to her at the question, a twinge of second guess in his pause even as his crow hits the wall to stay upright. Silas has one hand gripped to his own side, the point of a bolt poked through just beneath his collarbone. He’s still enough in his panting for the dribble from its tip to pitter-patter clear in the dark.

The thrown dagger ricochets off the wall.

Rather than confirm or deny -- there’s no time to elaborate -- he stoops to snatch up the dropped hand crossbow, a second bolt already seated in the groove.

He lifts it, aims, fires into the dark shape of a crow plunging into an alcove down the hallway. Once again, his attention is called back to the crow already plastered bug-to-windshield on the wall behind them. She’s wearing a belt, there are more bolts on her person, easier to search for once he’s slashed the knife out of her grasp.

[contritumella]

"She sees a lot of people. They say things with their bodies, their attention, their eyes; sometimes before their mouths catch up. Easier and harder with a mask on, as the Game is one played with tongues for knives."

She stretches, still upside-down, until some of her joints pop loudly.

"Right now she only sees you."

[contritumella]

[ It is what she means. If she doesn't practice or spar or dance every day her brain goes incredibly haywire, it's... not fun. ]

It's never good enough. The death of someone who hurt you. [ She knows, oh boy does she know. ] But it is good.

[favoriteanalyst]

There. It's that, put into words, and somehow it feels so good to know that someone else understands. "We're thankfully a long way from Orlais." Not that the Game stops at her borders, but still.

"A dangerous gift to be blessed with. You could be a bard." And then she pops, and he laughs. "Or maybe not, if that's how your joints sound." There's the briefest temptation to ask what River sees when she sees him. But having been on the receiving end of that question so many times before, he knows better.

[contritumella]

"Could be. Trained for it." She can be very quiet when it's called for. "Would rather not, though." Killing people for someone else's fun and profit? Not exactly River's scene.

She wants to do good, as difficult of a thing as that is. Help Thedas become a slightly better place. She doesn't think being a Bard would bring her much closer to that ideal, really.

[favoriteanalyst]

"Yeah?" Maybe that shouldn't be surprising. Makes her dangerous, but is that any more dangerous than any of the rest of them are? (It's a sliding scale. There are those who seem to be as dangerous as a kitten fighting a basket. But there's more than one way to be dangerous.) "Part of you choosing to turn over a new leaf, huh? Do you like this you better so far?"

[contritumella]

"Yes. More friends. Less blood." All in all? Better. She reaches out and ruffles his hair again. "Is Riftwatch better than the Chantry?"

[favoriteanalyst]

He reaches up to take her hand lightly. Good thing his hair is short enough that a ruffle doesn't really bother. "Do you think I was in the Chantry before?" Had he said that? He doesn't think he said that to her. So she's seen something. It's not a stretch at all to make the connection.

Less blood, certainly. More friends? Not yet, in a sense, but also...hm, more than he's had in several years. "I'd say the results are inconclusive so far. But looking positive."

[contritumella]

"Yes. You don't say where you were, and you move like a fighter. Too much moral high ground to be pay for play." She squeezes his hand. "She's good at keeping secrets, if it's a secret to be kept."

A smile. "Inconclusive is better than terrible."

[favoriteanalyst]

"Could be I'm just a wandering vagabond. With morals." He doesn't want to confirm or deny anything. Is that cheating? "A former soldier, devout to the Chant, who likes his privacy. Sellsword with a conscience. Part of a clandestine order of Chantry assassins who somehow made it to retirement instead of death." He purses his lips, cants his head. "Disillusioned bard."

[contritumella]

It is cheating, at least a little bit. Though honestly? River doesn't mind. She does, however, laugh at his laundry list of things he could be.

"She used to wish for magic." A purpose, a structured life. "Second child, nothing to inherit anyway." Now she's seen blood magic up close and personal and she'd... rather not.

[indissection]

I did not imagine you would leave me here, but I've no desire to be abandoned in my cousin's home.

[ Which, perhaps, is not the best way to discuss the fact that Kostos is her cousin, all things considered, but she's hardly the peak of rational thinking at the moment. She feels much better, and warmth is coming back to her skin, and when she lifts her head to look at Adra she can focus a little better.

It feels nice, and she tilts her head for a moment before she reaches up to touch the other woman's face again, all tenderness and warmth. ]

Much better. I think I can stand now.

[favoriteanalyst]

It's nice, comfortable, that she laughs and doesn't press the issue. She isn't likely to just say what she thinks about him to anyone at random. Wishing for magic is unusual, just as a whole, but at the same time, for someone young, he could see that being an easy childhood wish. To make fire, lightning, on command, making life easier. Using the magic and not letting it use you.

He swings their hands lightly. "And what does the little stream wish for now?"

[contritumella]

Little stream, she likes that a lot. Simon was forever and a day coming up with nicknames for her, and she misses that. She misses Simon but that's an impossible, looming thing that she can't focus on at any given moment, or she'd never stop crying.

"Peace."

[favoriteanalyst]

"That's a good wish. I wish for that, too. Pretty common wish, I think, but no less important." Whole point of all of this, to make that wish come true. "What about something tangible? A nice dress, a well-roasted turkey leg, an enchanted sword?"

[contritumella]

And yet she knows she means something a little different than Mobius does in that moment, because she wishes for peace for herself, first and foremost. The knowledge that her own body won't be used as a pawn against the people she's come to care about. To scrub her mind free of the influences blood magic has put there.

But she's not going to say any of that.

Instead she tilts her chin down (up?) toward her chest and peers at her dress. Shrugs. "What kind of enchanted sword?"

[favoriteanalyst]

"I dunno, that's up to you. It's your wish we're pondering. I wish for a really nice jacket. Something fancy but not too flashy, thick enough to be nice on a chilly morning but not too heavy. Maybe literally heavy, with some secret armor sewn in the lining. Or enchanted to act like armor..." He trails off, pondering the out of the blue wish and wondering if that's an actual thing he could get. Enchanted armor jacket. That'd be cool. Man, that'd be so cool.

"Or maybe you just wish I'd stop asking you inane questions."

[armd]

Abby grunts in wordless acknowledgement, not necessarily agreeing... it's very very difficult to catch her off guard, that's all.

"I'm glad Vanya was there." She can admit that much, clenching her teeth at the warm sting of the cloth. And, "Barrow too. He kept the worse of the blows off me."

[contritumella]

If Mobius doesn't think that River is taking somewhat haphazard mental notes for Satinalia, he's got another think coming.

Still. He trails off and she laughs.

"Grew up with lots of stuff. No need for lots of stuff now." A noise of consideration. "A good set of daggers would not be remiss."

[kantikoy]

Then I'll stay with you there.

[ She has a roommate, in the palazzo, along with everyone else, and she'd rather not explain what's happened here, or why she and Sidony are so close, with prying eyes.

Later, she'll put two and two together, in regards to who Sidony's related to. For now the other woman's well-being, safety, comfort all take a priority. ]

Alright. [ Adrasteia kisses Sidony again and then pulls away, taking her hands in her own. ] Try now?

[favoriteanalyst]

"I'm used to having either not enough space or not enough coin or both for lots of stuff." There's something to be said about when he was much much younger, but...no real point on commenting on that.

"What about handmade stuff? Or a good meal? Or, a halfway decent meal you don't have to pay for?"

[doggish]

[Oh, right. Not everyone is used to that. Whoops. Fenris grimaces a little in vague apology as she dry-heaves, standing awkwardly while she takes a breath. He does fear for a moment that she might truly run, and he cannot say he would blame her if she did— but no. A minute, maybe more, and she returns to herself.]

My markings.

[He lifts a bloody hand, where, indeed, those lyrium marks blaze right through. They shine through everything, clothing included; it's part of the reason he'd be hopeless as a spy.]

They enable me to become intangible, slipping in and out of the Fade at a whim. I was transparent as I stuck my hand in his chest, and then I . . . was not.

[And then, with that dry sense of humor:]

It is a useful trick. No one seems to ever expect it.

[But, ah—]

A question for a question. You were golden. What was it?

[contritumella]

"Prefer the company over the food." She doesn't know, about handmade stuff. What kind of handmade stuff? She thinks this what-if exercise may have gotten away from Mobius a little bit, if she's being honest with herself.

"Dunno. Why?"

[indissection]

Thank you. I am sure I could persuade him to let me use another room alone, if necessary.

[ Kostos is fond of her, she's sure, in his own way, and he would let her hide away - especially after being attacked. She doesn't doubt him for even a moment, trusting him the way she does few other people in Riftwatch, because he is what little family she has left.

Shifting, she leans a little against Adrasteia, breathing out. The wound is healed, yes, but she still feels weak - and, in part, she is content to take whatever liberties she can with her partner now.

Leaning up, she steals another kiss, this one slower, softer, before she nods her head. ]

Shall we?