faderift | MOD PLOT ↠ Wings of Death

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MOD PLOT ↠ Wings of Death

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Griffon Patrol
(feel free to jump in as a co-rider if your PC is able, or a request air support from the ground)

Vanya volunteered for griffon rider training mainly because it seemed like they could use more griffon riders. He hadn't had any special attraction to them or designs on taking to the air for its own sake. But he unexpectedly found that in the process of gaining a griffon's trust, he'd become fond of her in turn. And, equally unexpectedly, he also found a true pleasure in taking to the air. Neither feeling seems very appropriate to him; they're in the middle of a war. But on the other hand, regular air patrol assignments are less of a hardship than they might be.

He's not much good at showy tricks yet, but Pamplemousse's penchant for play gave him some opportunities for public relations, especially with children. Mainly, though, if his patrol partner is up for some showier flying, he's the one who keeps an eye out for trouble. Inevitably, sometimes they find it. But sometimes it's a quieter evening, even allowing for a bit of conversation if his partner is so inclined.

Panic at the Rialto

Vanya's not alone when the elf runs into him, hard. She does pull his full focus for a moment as she scowls up at him, her sandy hair pulled back in a scarf and a large hoop earring in one ear. "Why don't you watch where you're going?" she says, louder than necessary.

As Vanya starts to apologize, his own voice even, she raises her voice further. "WHAT did you say about Antivan clumsiness?" Before he can catch up to what is happening, she adds, "We don't have to stand for this sort of thing from foreigners," and gives him a shove backwards. A muscular human appears at her shoulder, cracking his knuckles, and then a second, and Vanya doesn't have time to tell anyone with him when he clocks this as a setup because it is already well on its way to becoming a brawl. He can see the glint of a stiletto blade in the elf's hand, but it's hard to immediately do anything about it as bystanders feel evidently compelled to help defend Antiva's honor and Vanya's hands are full dodging their clumsier but more numerous blows.

Wildcard

[Choose your own adventure.]

That there's a ruckus isn't surprising. When there are this many people around and drinks flowing rather freely in every other venue, there's bound to be a brawl. Mobius would prefer not to get involved if he can't talk the situation down, but when there are Riftwatchers involved, it kind of warrants a little more action.

He doesn't know Vanya, really, other that he seems to be a fairly straightforward man and with Forces. Doesn't know if he's the troublemaking type, but doesn't stand out as one that would be. Much less the type that would say some unfortunately broad remarks about Antivans in Antiva. All the attention seems suddenly deliberate.

Which means it's not a pickpocketing, but something worse.

First thing's first: Mobius muscles his way into the fray. The woman is in on it and possibly the one to watch out for, but in the chaos, it would be easy for anyone else to join in and do something unwise.

"Let him be," he gruffs to some little shit he shoves out of the way. "Back to your business, or--" Someone turns their attention to him and throws an extremely telegraphed punch, easily ducked. "Okay, nevermind." They get an elbow to the throat, and he keeps pushing in, drawing the attention of some of the drawn in bystanders from Vanya directly. Which isn't great.

But it does get him into a position where he can barrel into one around the middle and shove himself and his not-companion toward the elf that started it all. When in doubt: distraction.

At this point, Mobius is mainly just a familiar face, but Vanya will take that much. If nothing else, it's clear Mobius isn't involved in whatever attempt is being made, and Vanya will take the help he can get. He holds his own until Mobius gets near him, but the real challenge is that he's fairly certain that most of these people are bystanders, who he's disinclined to hurt for personal reasons as well as in the name of Riftwatch's reputation. What he doesn't know is how many are working with the assassin who started the brawl.

When Mobius is close enough to him, he says, "I think that man with the notch in his ear is working with her," assuming he doesn't have to specify the her given the direction in which they're now pushing. "I can't be sure, but it seems like they're coordinating." Progress is frustratingly slow given that the altercation seems to have officially become a form of public entertainment. On the upside, the non-Crows are mainly interested in landing punches rather than anything more lethal. On the downside, there's a lot of them.

Mobius is far less concerned about pulling punches. He's not out to maim anyone, but the brawl has already started in a group of people who are, if nothing else, out for entertainment. Black eyes, fractured ribs, a bruised ego, it'll sting but it won't be life threatening. And as far as anyone who was actually paying attention is concerned, Riftwatch is already tarnishing the reputation by supposedly talking shit about Antiva.

How much anyone will remember when it's all said and done is another matter entirely. There's the possibility of help in the form of local enforcement coming, but there's also the possibility of them being spread so thin that it's unlikely, or even the possibility of being on the Crow's payroll and looking the other way.

There's another upside to the pack of bystanders: it makes it just as hard for the would-be assassins to get in and get their fair share of subtle flesh. "I don't care if they get away so long as they fail in their goal." Just so the priorities are clear. Disarming and maybe even detaining the elf woman would be nice. Likely? Not so much. "Air support?" He imagines nothing can get a crowd to disperse like the arrival of a griffon, but the problem would be making sure they survive until such an arrival.

Vanya tries to concentrate enough to remember who's currently on patrol, but it's hard to get a long enough break in the elbow-throwing. "We could try it, if you think you we'll be heard on the crystals. Can you reach yours?"

Vanya's is carefully stowed away, in that he'd been more concerned about pickpockets than assassins. He notes the reorganization in priorities for next time, but it doesn't make it any easier to get at right now.

He throws an arm up to deflect a small thrown blade aimed at Mobius. He's wearing leather and not his usual plate — it had seemed like overkill for a shopping day — but it's enough to keep him from getting injured while assisting. The bad news is that the Crows seem to be getting more creative about their inability to get near their targets.

Ellie's been riding nearly since she arrived, one with a clear affinity for the griffons. She still keeps a special place in her heart for horses, which she rode often before she moved to winged mounts, but she's taken to flying with gusto. It meshes well with her usual Scouting work.

She's paired with a few new flyers over the course of the trip, which she doesn't mind in the least. Artichoke enjoys showing off, and will do anything for sausages.

So she's flying with Vanya for now. As they take to the air over the water, Ellie spots a knot of children gathering along the other edge, waiting for the falling darkness of evening because they know that Ellie rarely misses an opportunity to play with fireworks.

Grinning, Ellie leans over Artichoke's back to urge him faster, and digs one of the handheld firecrackers out of her pack, giving a whistle to get Vanya's attention before she yells to him:

"Wanna make their night?"

"Does making their night involve watching me make a fool of myself?" he asks, though clearly in good humor. He's experienced with horses, though in fairness, he wouldn't generally set off firecrackers around them either.

Pamplemousse, for her part, is clearly interested in whatever Ellie is holding in her hand. Vanya keeps her securely reined, but adds, "She has an even chance of trying to dive for whatever you throw, so I hope it has a short fuse."

"Psh, you don't have to make it fancy."

Ellie gives him a big grin, though -- he's won a lot of points by being real about it instead of trying to show off. She wrinkles her nose playfully at Pamplemousse, knowing her from the aerie, and waggles the firecracker.

"And no worries, you can light it when you're ready."

She holds out the firecracker, then underhand-tosses it over. Hopefully everyone will keep their seats.

He's at least ready for it when Pamplemousse lunges, and he's able to guide her enough that he can catch the firecracker, but in retaliation (or maybe just a misguided effort to get it for herself), she takes him in a full loop de loop.

It gets a small smattering of applause from below.

Vanya does keep his seat and steadies her once he's upright again. "I don't have to make it fancy, but it seems she has other ideas," he calls back, sheepish but good-humored. "Are you ready?"

Ellie hoots with laughter and delight, loud as any of the kids below, and the smile brightens up her whole face, makes her look her age despite the scars.

"Dude, you did great. Sometimes it really is about keeping your ass in the saddle."

Beaming, she nods.

"On your count," she says, pulling out a firecracker of her own.

Not falling off his mount seems the least anyone should be expecting, but the flight element does make it a bit more impressive. He actually smiles a bit; perhaps surprisingly, it suits him.

"On three?" On her acknowledgement, he counts them down in a loud, clear tone that may be audible from the ground. When they reach the end, he holds on tight with his knees as he needs both hands to light the firecracker. While he is not a man suited for show business in almost any other way, Vanya does have a decently precise sense of timing.

"Three," Ellie agrees, grinning as she lets them count it down. Far below, small voices count with them, screaming in enthusiasm that crescendos into happy shrieks when the twin fireworks crackle to life, shooting out sparks and smoke. Ellie holds hers in the air, then yells "hold on!" and pulls Artie into a dive.

The sparks and smoke stream out behind them, painting twirling designs in the sky.

He lets his smile grow a bit, as Pamplemousse takes off after Artichoke; "race" is a game she knows and loves, and her rider's encouragement rather than a check is all the permission she needs. Eventually, he banks in order to make the pattern of the firework into a graceful curve, and ventures low enough that the wind of their passing can ruffle the spectators' hair before he starts to climb again.

One he gets high enough, he can't help a quick visual sweep to catch sight of Ellie and to make sure nothing else has happened that they can see. (Old habits.) But it's only a brief moment before he urges Pamplemousse into a corkscrew, trailing sparks, to close the distance he's created between himself and his fellow rider.

At first Ellie thinks he's overshot it. She's pulling Artie around, ready to go into a dive for the rescue, horrified by the vague idea of Vanya slamming into the water from a hundred feet up if she doesn't get to him in time, but then it hits.

That it's deliberate.

And it's awesome.

Ellie laughs aloud, whooping as loudly as any of the screaming children below, and is applauding as he pulls in close, the both of them gliding on an updraft over the water.

"You're a natural!"

"I give her most of the credit," he says, laughing a little himself. "She just wants encouragement to play, mostly, and now I have taught her that if she listens to me, I will let her sometimes."

It is a bit self-deprecating, but on the other hand, he's more relaxed than most of Riftwatch has ever seen him. Evidence suggests that he actually does enjoy this.

"The firecrackers were a good idea, though, listen to them." He gestures with his head down toward the crowd of children, still whooping in delight and calling for an encore.

"You are modest and also full of shit," Ellie calls back with a wide grin, but it turns wider as she looks down at their still-cheering audience.

She digs in her back for more firecrackers.

"You got one more of those in you before we call it a night?"

He is both of those things, though it's been awhile since anyone had cause to notice the latter.

He checks his own saddlebag. "I have one more. Do you have anything in mind for a thrilling finale?"

Ellie grins and pulls out a larger one. That are meant to be thrown in the air for a big pop and bang of sparks.

She tosses it to him.

"This one's the big boom. You don't want it to be in your hand when it goes off. Want to do the honors?"

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MOD PLOT ↠ Wings of Death

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