MOD PLOT: With Strides Immeasurable

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: Moving days
WHEN: August 9:50
WHERE: Everywhere, really
NOTES: OOC post. Use appropriate CWs in your subject lines. The image in this post that isn't just straight from the games/promotional images (Qarinus) is by Meggie Rock.

The world is too large and Riftwatch too small to be everywhere, involved in everything. The days of trying to keep their fingers in every pie across Thedas may be past, but the scope of the war still is what it is, rifts can still open on any corner of the continent, the enemy is active all over. So while much attention has naturally been on rebuilding and refortifying Kirkwall and the Gallows since the Venatori attack, they can't remain focused inward for too long. The reorganization of the eluvian network created a protected nexus in the Crossroads, eliminating the need for long journeys through the newly-volatile landscape. Now, Riftwatchers need only pass through the Gallows eluvian (secured in a guarded basement space in the central tower) to find themselves within steps of central Minrathous, Val Royeaux, or Antiva City. Other mirrors in the cluster provide access to new outposts in Qarinus, Nevarra City, and the Rivaini coast, or a long-neglected base in the Hunterhorns.

The priorities of turning outward now are clear: operations in Minrathous and Qarinus must be expanded, the better to marshal forces behind enemy lines. The existing base in Minrathous needs expanding, and a new one in Qarinus established. In Nevarra City, the Mortalitasi have requested assistance with a rift at the Necropolis that is hampering efforts to finally repopulate the city after its long undead occupation. Elsewhere, there are spaces to be dusted off or construction to be overseen, the lay of the land taken for future operations. While not an emergency situation, the work is urgent in the sense that all of their work is urgent. No one who might be unusually unsuited to passing as a local will be sent to Tevinter, where all work is inherently clandestine and therefore dangerous, but it's otherwise more or less all hands on deck, with the ease of travel meaning people can come and go on staggered schedules. Just make sure you've memorized the list of which eluvian is which.


I. MINRATHOUS

Riftwatch's base in Minrathous may be unfamiliar to those outside the Scouting Division, but expanding operations in the city means making space for more visitors. The eluvian is housed in a hidden room in the cellar of the Bear's Tooth tavern, a busy taproom on a middling market street near the center of the city. It's the sort of place that sees a constant stream of diverse customers but few regulars, where a minor nobleman on business might cross paths with a farmer bringing produce to market. The block behind the tavern is more residential, respectable if not quite fashionable, and home to Widow Tavisa's Boarding House, a fading but clean establishment similarly catering to short-term visitors of the mostly-middle classes. The two properties are secretly connected by a tunnel, an ancient winding servant's stair, and their owners' loyalty to Riftwatch.

The upper floor of the boarding house, with its steep eaves, dark velvet wallpaper, and inescapable scent of old flowers, has been kept available for visiting Riftwatch agents for some time now, but there's a secret expansion underway to add the bunk rooms and communal workspaces that will turn this into a proper outpost. Long ago, Widow Tavisa's extended to a second wing next door, but a fire burned most of it to the ground. Left untouched was a hidden basement—a taproom and smoking lounge only ever known to only a select few Tevinter hipsters—that now lies below the walled garden that was built on the ashes of the upper floors. Riftwatch is digging a couple short tunnels through the cellars to secretly connect this space to the other two buildings, and then performing clean-up and some light construction work to make it fit for use.

The place is all dark wood and marble and the over-gilded furnishings typical of Tevinter design trying a little too hard to look more luxurious than it is, now covered in layers of dust and ash. Some fire damaged areas will need to be repaired, and a few ruined walls are better demolished to create a space open enough to house a collection of salvaged tables, chairs, and desks for communal eating and working, centered around a large two-sided fireplace and a lightly singed Tevinter-billiards table. There are bunks to install in the adjoining private rooms, making each fit for at least three agents, and repairs to neglected plumbing in the shared bathroom.

But Minrathous is too large and dangerous a city for just a single safe house, no matter how large, especially now that the Venatori openly control the city, the streets crawling with people in silver-and-blood livery and stalked by fear of their patrolling guards and rumored spies. In addition to pitching in with construction, Riftwatch agents will be tasked with searching out and securing other spots throughout the city for potential future use. This will be good practice for those not yet familiar with moving about the city discreetly, and a chance to feel out the conditions in various neighborhoods.

Someone might be assigned to wander the fashionable cafe district around Tenquillis Square in disguise as an aristocrat's agent looking to secure a pied-à-terre for a mistress, watching the palanquin traffic and listening to the anxious edge to upper-class gossip about the Elder One's inner circle, or to pose as sailors looking to let rooms in the spindly tenements crammed between the canals of Waterside and keep an eye on the new quayside inspection patterns, as artisans in need of a new workshop in the Iron Heights where the surface dwarf community is rumbling about divisions in the Ambassadoria, or mages fallen on hard times looking for lodging in the worker slums near the magic forges of West Shrek where military recruiters haunt the street-corners and the able-bodied but unwary are sometimes snatched from alleys and pressed into service.

The Venatori aren't the only thing setting the city on edge. Pockets of strange magical effects have begun to appear in the city. There are places where gravity abruptly ceases to function as expected, the world flipped on its head for 10 yards and then just as suddenly normal again. In others, it's time that is out of sorts, the walk from one end of a certain block to the other somehow taking an hour longer than it feels, the movement of clouds overhead slowing to a crawl until the next street is crossed. Some places have simply ceased to be—half of a building replaced with a mess of crumbling walls and stairs or jagged crags of rock that Riftwatch will recognize as pieces of the Crossroads or the Fade drawn physically into this world. Even where all appears normal, one may become aware of an uneasy sensation of something passing nearby unseen, of being watched, of sounds just on the edge of hearing, emotions surging suddenly out of nothing as if catching the mood of a non-existent mob.

Street prophets cry that only the Elder One can save the city from crumbling, the decay caused by centuries of worshiping the non-existent Maker and his false chantry, and restore the Imperium to its glory. Among the populace, a fair number believe these claims. Some also blame the southern Chantry for the damage, claiming they've sent their own barbaric mages or their Templars or both to disrupt the magic that's always held Minrathous together. Still others believe that this is the beginning of something wonderful—that the Elder One is restoring a greater magic, and soon Tevinter's nonmagical population will begin to exhibit magic themselves and bring Tevinter into a new era of equality and dominance. Meanwhile, iffy areas have been marked with signage, though that doesn't keep the curious out, and outright dangerous areas are under guard. An area near the docks around the old slave market has been quietly sealed off by soldiers with stories of some sort of dangerous enemy sabotage attempts, but there are whispers in nearby taverns of Wardens seen coming and going.

There are rifts, too. Ten years after the Breach they're not unprecedented, but the frequency with which they're opening in Minrathous right now is unusual, both to Riftwatch and to the locals. The sudden proliferation over the last few weeks will be a topic of nervous conversation (and sometimes fascinated conversation, in certain circles). Whether to help close them or let Minrathous suffer for Corypheus's choices might be a topic of debate within Riftwatch, but it turns out those aren't the only two options. Riftwatchers might come upon a team in Venatori colors arrayed around a rift with anchors outstretched, shutting it themselves as others hold the demons at bay. They might also notice some members of such a team being closely watched and ushered back into wagons for transport when the work is done.


II. QARINUS

In Ancient times when Tevinter ruled the known world, Qarinus was at the heart of the Imperium, its queen married Darinius, uniting their kingdoms to create the empire and make him the first Archon. But as borders shrunk in Ages past, it found itself more and more on the outskirts, nearer Antiva and Rivain than Minrathous and nearer Par Vollen than comfortable. Positioned at the gate to the Nocen Sea, it has been a magnet for both trade and conflict. It was conquered and occupied by the Qun for the better part of a century, was the last major city to be freed by the Exalted Marches of the Storm Age, and recently suffered the ignominy of being officially renamed 'Ventus' in honor of the commander of the fleet that drove off another attempted Qunari invasion in 9:12 (a name locals still defiantly refuse to use). This history, along with its location on the border, the danger of the surrounding seas, and the large population of foreign travelers and emigrants passing through, have given it a reputation as the frontier city of Tevinter, rustic and lawless, the Imperium's version of Llomerryn.

In reality, it's closer to a normal mid-sized Tevinter city than it is an outlaw haven. Its rocky coastline has certainly long been home to plenty of smugglers' dens and pirate hideaways and the crowded port is wound with narrow, ramshackle alleys leading up to dusty central plazas still showing damage from Qunari incursions. It does have a provincial air in places, but its rougher areas are also balanced by its share of lush palm-shaded gardens and lavish cliff-top villas, citrus trees and draconic statues lining the wide stone promenades around the floating Praetor's Palace, and an outpost of Orzammar's Ambassadoria. But its reputation has become a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, especially since Corypheus revealed himself and the Venatori began to imprison its opponents. The current praetor is Magister Havian Sulara, Venatori and a close ally of Calpernia. Even so, the city has less of a conspicuous Venatori presence, and since they've tightened their hold elsewhere the number of magisters coincidentally retreating to summer homes by the Straits has markedly increased. Rumors abound that several prominent opponents escaped to Qarinus and are still hiding out in the city, running a network of smugglers shuttling those targeted by the Venatori to safety in Qarinus and beyond.

This last is true, and certain erstwhile Riftwatch leaders have had a key part in coordinating those escapes through a network of naval contacts operating in the Nocen, assisting not only in discreetly ferrying people out of Minrathous and other port cities, but helping identify those willing and able and direct them to an anti-Venatori organization based in the city called the Lucerni. Run by a woman called "Thanira," actually Magister Maevaris Tilani who has managed to slip the Venatori net, the group is quietly gathering itself in the shadows of Qarinus. The People of the Silent Plains are active here as well, with a cell in the city similarly dedicated to smuggling escaping slaves into Arlathan Forest and beyond (which they'll report used to be pretty easy before all these shem politicians started sneaking about). While the city does not share the pervasive anxiety shivering beneath the surface in Minrathous there is a restless energy to the place and its people, a chippy edge to everyday conflicts and minor disputes. Maybe it's just the sweltering weather and the crackle of daily thunderstorms, but there is an unspoken sense of something brewing.

It's time for Riftwatch to do more to help. The eluvian giving access to Qarinus is set into the wall of a sea cave, which floods with the high tide. While moving it without breaking the glass would be difficult (potentially impossible), the good news is that the cave was once used by smugglers and connects to several others, leading up to the cellar of an old lighthouse set atop the cliffs at one edge of the city. Riftwatch has taken over operation of the light and the ramshackle smuggling base hidden within it. Here most of the conversions have already been done by the prior occupants: there's a room full of bunks and hammocks for at least 12, kitchen and dining areas, and a surprisingly cozy space for off-hours relaxation full of furniture made primarily out of barrels, rope, and grain sacks.

Qarinus isn't large enough or hostile enough to require more than one or two auxiliary safe houses, but in addition to establishing those, there are allies to make contact with and intelligence to be gathered. Agents will be tasked with assisting in moving refugees both into and out of the city; escorting potential political prisoners, escaping slaves, and supply deliveries from smuggler's landings to meets with Lucerni or the People's agents at various places throughout the city; and helping others slip out onto ships bound for still-neutral Rivain, caravans into the mountains or toward Arlathan, or the ships or wagons of smugglers trading illicitly with Antiva.

While their presence is light compared to Minrathous, there are plenty of Venatori still running the city, on watch against both agents of the Qun and any rumored resistance movement. They're doing their best to prevent any enemies of the Elder One from passing through the city in either direction. Riftwatch agents will also be assigned passive surveillance missions, tracking Venatori movements and observing their operations to get the lay of the land will also help get Riftwatch up to speed, keeping a lookout especially for weaknesses that might be exploited in the future.


III. NEVARRA CITY

The crypt is mostly empty of corpses—some destroyed or missing, others relocated to the more prestigious Grand Necropolis now that there's so much empty space—but that doesn't stop the space from being unsettling to people who are unsettled by that kind of thing. The door to the crypt is set into a hill, with ancient windows that allow some tree-dappled sunlight to pass through into the entranceway, but further back there's no daylight, only a mix of fire and veilfire braziers that throw long, flickering shadows. The halls are lined with enclaves that seem like a mix between bedrooms in an inn and big-windowed storefronts: the possessed corpses that reside here do so on perpetual display, unconcerned with privacy. The materials used to construct these little houses echo the eras and preferences of their occupants, and while they're largely empty now—the furniture and belongings that once surrounded each body have been looted, reclaimed by families, or relocated—there's still something arguably disrespectful about settling into what are essentially abandoned graves. Anyone who stays here overnight will be advised to do so in the entrance hall.

But this isn't a place where Riftwatch might routinely need to settle in and hide. They only need a place for an eluvian that's safe from observation. Outside the crypt, Nevarra City and its environs are friendly and happy enough to see them; the inn along the road to the city proper will gladly put them up for its standard fee.

The royal palace and the city center are occupied by the Mortalitasi, who are still overseeing the city's reconstruction and making painstaking attempts to match abandoned corpses to their correct ancestors, but also taking their time with it to try to settle the situation between the Van Markhams and Pentaghasts before having to commit to handing the capital over to one or the other. There's no real danger left. If Riftwatch agents visit to meet with Mortalitasi allies, the narrow streets are quiet, eerily empty. The black marble statues of Nevarran ancestors and heroes dotting the public spaces might be the only new faces anyone comes across on a walk. But around the rim of the city, outside the older walls from when it was a much smaller place, citizens have returned to occupy the sprawl of smaller houses. Most of them are poorer folks who never found anything better in the intervening years, but a number of people employed by Nevarra's wealthy and noble families are living there too, essentially glamping in large tents filled with comfortable furniture, to make sure they can be among the first to reclaim their employers' property and fend off looters or squatters when the rest of the city reopens.

The Grand Necropolis is a hulking, glowing shape on the edge of the city. A long cobbled road flanked by statues of robed skeletons, each holding a lantern lit with green fire, leads to a towering onyx gate. It is a forbidding entryway despite that Riftwatch has been invited, their presence required to close a rift. A pair of Mortalitasi greet them and escort the way into a long hall, this too flanked by skeleton statues, now three stories tall. The shape of their ribs is echoed in the twisting striping of the even taller pillars and the loose arches of the ceiling above, the gaps between leaving the space open to the air. Mausoleums line this road, style and state of repair varying widely. These levels have been cleansed of rogue undead, the Mortalitasi explain, and those that could be returned have been, but restoration of the individual tombs themselves are the responsibility of the families. Their route curves gently, and slopes even more gently, enough that they may not realize they are winding their way underground until they pass through an arched tunnel overgrown with ivy and find themselves in a cavern beside a yawning pit, its squared sides marked out by a perimeter of more green lanterns and by a set of weeping willows, ghostly pale and tinged green only by the lantern-light, branches shifting in a draft from the deep.

Here they meet the Mourn Watch, a group of elite Mortalitasi (their escorts have explained) tasked with the protection and preservation of the Necropolis and its occupants. Johanna Hezenkoss, a 60-something woman with a sturdy build, long steel-gray hair, and minimal patience, and her recently-inducted apprentice, a young elf named Lukas Rutter who looks as if he'd like to smile but is too nervous, explain the rough outline of the problem as they ride the elevator cage down (how far is difficult to gauge). Efforts to fully restore and make safe the city have been long delayed by a continuing plague of rogue undead, new uncontrolled possessions, mostly demonic, continuing at a rate the Mourn Watch has eventually managed to contain to lower levels of the Necropolis but has been unable to stop, and which is straining their resources such that they cannot guarantee the city is safe to repopulate. The source of the problem eluded all manner of investigation and experiment. The Necropolis is vast and difficult to navigate even for experts and grows only more so the deeper you get, Hezenkoss will tersely and defensively explain. But finally, someone happened upon a corridor never before seen or recorded in the order's archives and blocked by a massive rift.

To get to it, Riftwatch and the Mourn Watchers (a larger group awaits them at the end of the lift journey) will have to fight their way through an uncommon volume of demons, some in pure demonic form but most in some sort of body: corpses in various states, collections of bones reconstituted in approximation of a skeleton, scrabbling limbs clawing their way up through the dirt, giant-sized golems formed of loose collections of bone and stone and matter. The rift, when they reach it, is a gaping slash in the center of what looks like elven architecture plucked from the Crossroads and inserted into the Necropolis, like a chunk of shrapnel lodged in a wound. It is a piece of a hallway lined with doors, and while none are passable, a breeze flows outward, and the sickly green light of the rift flickers off something through one arched doorway to create an impression of depth beyond. It will take an uncommon amount of time and effort to force closed the rift, even with the Mourn Watch assisting in keeping the demons occupied. When it is done, Riftwatch will be thanked (genuinely, if grudgingly by Hezenkoss) and escorted back to the surface. Any offer or attempt to scout beyond the now-cleared corridor will be firmly rebuffed, politely at first but less so if pressed. The Necropolis is a sacred place entrusted to the Mourn Watch's keeping. Should they be in need of any assistance in future, they will be in touch.


IV. ELSEWHERE

Val Royeaux is less in Riftwatch's crosshairs these days, having stepped back from attempting to keep up with The Game enough to exert influence on the imperial court's influencers. But Orlais remains a crucial ally in the fight against Corypheus and the Chantry is, well, the Chantry. An eluvian has been located here in the shop of a fashionable and sympathetic modiste, Cecelia Clavet, allowing Riftwatch quick travel into the central shopping districts and access to the wealth of court gossip ladies spill during fittings. The latest has drawn attention: not romantic rivalries or feuding families but a ball (Baroness de Dreux's biannual Mid-Summer Mummery) disrupted by spires of stone suddenly appearing in the ballroom and the dancers finding themselves suddenly on the ceiling. The baroness will be grateful for Riftwatch to investigate (it is, as suspected, an intrusion of the Fade into the physical world), but less grateful to be informed that this is a phenomenon they have encountered before but can do nothing about.

In Antiva City, a boathouse along the Canneti canal has an eluvian installed in its upper-floor apartment. The space is neither large nor luxurious but provides a secure and comfortable spot for Riftwatch to come and go, and for Anselmo Barzini, the owner, to keep an eye on passing traffic for Riftwatch when he isn't poling travelers through the canals on his gondola and eavesdropping on them for Riftwatch. It's an excellent way to gather information, and Barzini is eager to broker a partnership between Riftwatch and I Fratelli della Forcola, a quiet and discreet organization of gondoliers in Antiva City. That's still in its early stages, but Anselmo is certain that bringing a few Riftwatch members to an informal gathering and letting them mingle and participate in a few gondola races (at which they will presumably lose embarrassingly but hopefully with good humor) will win some goodwill.

And near Seere, along the northern coast of Rivain, Riftwatch stashes an eluvian inside a wrecked ship in an isolated cove along the coast. Getting to and from shore requires either a rowboat or a short swim, and Seere itself is half a day's walk away. But much closer is a small village situated on a coastal cliff that overlooks the Northern passage, where Riftwatch has one friend in particular: an elderly Tal-Vashoth woman named Karaas who's as wary of the Qun as they come. She's spending her retirement from life at sea watching the horizon through a spyglass and keeping meticulous notes on any ships from Par Vollen in particular. It's easy enough for her to add Tevinter ships to her particular area of concern and keep an eye on their hidden eluvian for them, and she has a sailboat they can borrow to get to Seere faster if necessary. She'll also alert them to the presence of a young whale caught in yet another area of strange veil effects, trapped in a pocket of water now suspended in the air as if filling an invisible room. It will require some ingenuity, but if they can find a way to climb up, they might be able to use reality-reasserting magic, runes, Templar abilities, or anchors long enough to weaken the effect and help get the whale back down into the actual sea.

V. THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE

While most of Riftwatch's eluvians are dedicated to the need to reach the middle of a given city as quickly as possible, two are set aside for getting away from it all.

For the first: Riftwatch has long had access to a sparingly-used hunting lodge in the Blasted Hills, near the Hunterhorn Mountains and Anderfels border. It's a location that will be made infinitely more useful by trading its resident eluvian for one large enough for griffons to pass through—the transport of which requires volunteers to take a road trip with a slow-moving cart and team of draft horses and camping overnight in the Orlesian countryside rather than risk storing the enormous eluvian in a roadside inn's stables. But the ability to pull up the canvas in the cart and drop through the eluvian to trade shifts with those back at the Gallows in a matter of minutes makes it less miserable, maybe, for those who pull the short straw on any given day.

The hunting lodge itself, when reached, is unforgivably heavy on antler-based decor and covered in a year's worth of dust and cobwebs, but otherwise it's in serviceable condition. If anything it's too large; the previous owner frequently hosted guests and their horses and hounds, with spare bedrooms and an expansive stable to accommodate them, and the appointments are rustic in aesthetic only. (The fact that the woody decor and enormous murals of the chase are a bit overdone and, arguably, cringe in the capital this decade might have something to do with Riftwatch's uncontested possession of the property.) It will take some carpentry and heavy lifting to transform the existing stable into an eyrie that can comfortably house a couple of the griffons at a time. Once there's a place for them, griffon riders will need to begin practicing coaxing their griffons through the eluvians and short stretch of the Crossroads—unpleasant but blessedly quick, and something they're generally clever enough to learn to do efficiently—and can begin flying loops into Ander territory to accustom themselves to the landscape. Roving darkspawn are common in the Anderfels even between Blights, and the rule of Corypheus over the last few years has brought with it an increasing problem. A band of rogue Wardens, escaped from Tevinter-ruled Weisshaupt and living in a rough but well-established camp in the mountains, do their best to protect the villages of the area, but some help wouldn't go amiss. They'd also be struck by the sight of the griffons—previously thought to've been lost again as hatchlings during the First Warden's coup eight years ago—and will be eager (even jealous) to get the opportunity to work with them.

And on the opposite end of the continent, beneath in the southeastern reaches of Ferelden, Riftwatch has recently been granted use of an abandoned dwarven outpost. The quickest route for transporting a spare eluvian is to take a ship down the Fereldan coast to Gwaren. The isolated city was, in fact, built to support the shipping needs of the outpost in its heyday as the center of dwarven salt mining operations. After the mines were abandoned, old access points nearer to the port were walled up or collapsed for fear of darkspawn incursions. The remaining accessible entrance is a day's journey through the damp, foggy Brecilian Forest and down into a narrow, easily-overlooked cave that ends in a fortified door. Riftwatch has a key, but getting the heavy doors open also requires repairing a rusted-through chain and cranking some gears. Fortunately, once the eluvian is inside, they won't have to go through the doors every time, or possibly ever again.

Inside, they'll find the remnants of a village that was abandoned centuries ago when it became clear that darkspawn would ultimately make the Deep Roads between Gwaren and Orzammar impassable. The occupants had enough warning to pack up their valuables, and decay has had hundreds of years to do its work, so there's little in the way of personal belongings to find. But the homes were carved into the stone walls directly. Aside from a few that have been eroded by streams or drips of water, they show minimal signs of damage. Much of the furniture is stone as well: bedframes, tables, chairs, and desks all remain, though most will be improved by the addition of some kind of cushion. There's an open expanse that was once a pasture for brontos and nugs that's now been overtaken by the latter and a variety of mushroom species, a smithy just shy of still being operational, a network of mining tunnels that turn eerie and white when the salt deposits are reached, and a quiet mausoleum of stone tombs. Altogether, it's large enough to house all of Riftwatch, if that ever became necessary—it just needs cleaning and stocking, including removing debris from the underground streams and pond that could serve as a long-term water source and dealing with a giant spider and her many large children.

Spider aside, there's no sign of serious danger. The rune-encrusted, fortified entrance to the Deep Roads is still holding strong. There's no sign darkspawn have ever managed to breach the outpost itself, once it was closed up for the last time, and no sign of scavengers ever finding the entrance in the Brecilian Forest. It might be the most secure secret clubhouse ever.

Comments

[brennvin]

It’s a good thing they are in Minrathous; a place where that casual bit of practiced magic won’t be looked at askance. Astrid watches the gesture a little owl-eyed, though, clocking the wand. Not using a rune lighter. Not using a staff. Innnnteresting.

Probably should’ve chosen someone else for this quick little retrieval mission if she wanted muscle, but she was pressed for time: Avigd is here and getting drunker and the risk growing the longer he’s able to marinate on his own. High time someone showed up, put the fear of the Maker back into him.

“Maybe the bodyguard angle won’t work,” she concedes. “But he’s a dwarf, he’ll be smaller than you. Most important thing, I’ve found, is to just act like it; that mean stern look you said. What’s your name, anyway? I’m Astrid.”

[reparo]

They're definitely doing this backwards, off on some mission first, introductions after, but whatever. Riftwatch is built different.

Hermione still brightens, even if she doesn't outwardly smile. (Something tells her smiling isn't done much in Minrathous.) "I'm Hermione." She'd add her surname but Astrid did not give her one, so she doesn't.

Immediately after, she peers through the window into the tavern and then turns to face Astrid again. Purses her lips into a flat line, narrows her eyes, tips her chin down and crosses her arms. Looks downright furious, if not necessarily dangerous.

Then her features relax. "How was that, good enough?"

[brennvin]

Astrid doesn’t much go in for surnames anyhow. Runasdotten says something more about her mum than about her —

But she looks back in time to catch Hermione’s display and laughs, which perhaps isn’t the most ringing endorsement, but she’d seen the girl with her hair tied up for work and clothes dusty from the excavations at the safehouse, which is an unfair advantage. It is a good, frightening look.

“More than. He’s a coward anyway,” she declares, and then moves forward to push her shoulder against the door, knocking it open and leading the way indoors.

Inside: it’s not a place for magisters. It’s a bar for dock workers, merchants passing through, tired Ambassadoria employees clocking out and needing a drink, other human civil servants without a drop of magical ability, the cogs which keep the city running. A lot of dwarves, a lot of sailors. Perhaps there’s a down-on-their-luck Laetan or two, but they’re by far the minority.

And— there, in the corner, Avigd Nista. A burly dwarf guard off-duty and seated at a table, deep in his cups in the way that’s not really fun anymore, and his companions are looking a little weary of it while he opines. As the women approach the table, he stops and stares at Astrid in clear recognition, struggling through the haze to figure out why he knows her.

Then, spooked, like he’s seen a ghost: “Lavina,” he hisses, jerking and spilling some more beer on his shirt.

Astrid stares back in blank cluelessness for a moment before it clicks into place — oh, right, that was her pseudonym at the time, wasn’t it, fuck, spywork is hard. “We need a chat with our friend here,” she announces, sliding onto the bench beside Avigd and slinging an arm over the back of his seat, temporarily blocking his exit. There are a couple other dwarves seated at the table which Hermione will need to shake loose to clear their chairs.

[reparo]

What works: the smell is acrid inside the tavern, all sweat and bad beer mixed together (not that, mind you, Hermione knows what good beer is) so it helps to set the mood. Her stern look becomes armour she wears, displeasure at having to be here to drag this dwarf out, at having to be here - what have you.

It's by far not her first time in a run-down tavern, so she doesn't have the deer in headlights look about her this time. She will follow behind Astrid for now, because Astrid knows what she's doing and Hermione does not. In the past, sticking to the side of the tallest and meanest looking woman has worked for her, so she's happy to repeat performance.

The diversity of species here is fascinating, from elves (and elfblooded, she remembers that name) to qunari (which...damn, they are tall), but the dwarves are new. Right now, they are new, anyway.

(Not that much taller, she'd point out to Astrid, but they're busy.)

"Well, off you go," she tells the dwarves lingering at the table with Avigd, raising one hand to make a generic little shoo-shoo motion with it. They do not seem very impressed by this, so Hermione improvises - which has always gone Perfectly Fine in the past, thanks - and leans over to tell them in confidence: "Trust me, you don't want to witness this mess. Jilted lovers are bad enough, but when they're her?"

(Sorry, Astrid, so sorry.)

She lets out a whistle under her breath, to illustrate, and lets the dwarves fill the silence with their own backwards ideas for what Astrid might do to Avigd - honestly, it didn't look like the more sober dwarves are fans, so she's hoping they'll leave out of a sense of pure second-hand embarrassment.

Which, 'lo and behold, they do. As the table clears, Hermione takes a seat across from the drunken dwarf and shoots a quick triumphant smirk at Astrid before letting her take the lead on the chat. She's the muscle here, after all.

[brennvin]

As soon as the rest of the table leaves, Astrid shoots Hermione a mildly aggrieved look because excuse you, she likes her exes big enough to climb,

oh, she’s really not great at this undercover work herself either, is she?

but she eventually turns her attention back to the dwarf beside her. Avigd seems to shrink in on himself, slumping in on the seat like a wilting flower. “Already did what you asked,” he says, still too loud. “You want to talk to Lemmit ‘bout the Ambassadoria, not me—”

“Shhhh.” Distressed, Astrid claps her hand over his mouth (very damp, ugh, gross) to shut him up; gods, he needs to stop talking so much in public. She nods to her companion. “You got any coins on you? We’re gonna pay your bill, Avigd, and then get you out of here to sober up. We’re just gettin’ you home nice and safe, like.”

If that sounds a little threatening, that’s on purpose.

She doesn’t actually want to hurt him; not this time, at least. But if they don’t get him back in line, someone else might realise outsiders have eyes and ears inside the Ambassadoria and that ain’t going to end well.

[reparo]

Aren't new officers notoriously paid peanuts? Of course she doesn't have enough coin on her to cover whatever tab was necessary to make the dwarf this drunk.

But after clenching her jaw for one frustrated moment, she sighs and crosses her arms. "Fine, but your ex," - loudly, this; she was never good at pretending to be someone else - "will owe me big time."

She glares at the dwarf in question. "So better behave yourself."

[brennvin]

Astrid flashes her a big, shit-eating grin: “Thanks, luv,” while Avigd makes another disgruntled noise. He’s staring at the door as if he’s considering making a run for it, but he’d tried that with her last time and it hadn’t worked.

So Astrid fishes around in her own pockets — she doesn’t do a lot of shopping — and drops some of her own coin on the table to contribute with whatever Hermione feels like chipping in. This is the after-work pub; he’ll be back, so the rest of his tab can stay. She eventually stands up, fingers knotted in the neck of his shirt, hauling him along like a stray puppy as they head for the exit together.

Her voice low, for Hermione’s benefit: “There’s a rain barrel outside. Say we dunk him before we start getting him home. Get the idiot sober.”

[reparo]

Alright, so Astrid is Ms Moneybags here - message received. Hermione is not so proud as to not take the coin when offered, and make her way to the barkeep to pay Avdig's tab. Some of it, anyway, though not all - the man will return tomorrow.

As she watches the barkeep make a whole spectacle of counting the coin, she can feel the looks she is getting from the two dwarves now sitting at the bar - previously from the table.

"She's not exactly his type, is she?" one of the dwarves mutters - partly to Hermione. "Never seen him with one of the tall folk."

Hermione doesn't want the cover to be blown, even if the cover is shaky, so she scrambles mentally for a quick response. Physically, however, she shrugs one shoulder casually. "Doesn't matter if she's not your type, does it? If you're hers...she has a way to change your mind."

Merlin, what's the name Astrid has? She keeps repeating to herself don't call her Astrid.

"That so? And dwarves are...her type?" This question from the other dwarf, who is stroking his beard with interest.

Nope, she's not turning this into some bachelorette chase across Tevinter. Objectively, yes, Astrid is pretty. Attractive. Tall, even. Certainly impressive, and worthy of attention, and all that - but not from their contact's friends (sources?)!

She whips her head over to said friends of Avdig and snaps, "She's taken." She catches the barkeep pocket the coins from the corner of her eyes, and flicks her hair over her shoulder haughtily, turning away to go back to the table. "And it's short people in general. Not that it matters, I'm not the sharing kind."

Kill her now.

Moments later, she's back at the table to pick Avdig up from the other side and nods quickly to Astrid's suggestion. "Yes, for sure, let's make haste though because I may have unintentionally made you up to be a prized catch for his friends." A beat, and more rushed, "Also implied your my - erm - romance partner?" squeaky at the end.

[brennvin]

Avigd makes one token attempt at wriggling out from under Astrid’s elbow, but he’s drunk enough that his heels drag and stumble, and instead he does wind up having to lean on them for support as the two women start to walk him out. Like two friends helping a third out so he doesn’t pass out with his head on the table.

(Look, Riftwatch isn’t only bullying this dwarf.)

But as they work on shuffling him to the exit, Astrid looks at Hermione over his head, instantly amused. “How the fuck did that even come up? Sounds like I need you to go round all the pubs hyping me up, you can tell them all how good I am in the sack—”

[reparo]

Why does she looks amused? Because Hermione is mortified at - if nothing else - not being able to improvise worth a damn when these sort of things catch her by surprise. She doesn't appreciate the how good I am in the sack, not when it makes her blush beet red.

"Because," she cuts in, kind of squeaky, "I didn't want them to remember a bunch of Riftwatchers coming in and leaving with their friend." This bit added under her breath. "And there was one who looked like he wanted to be your type - or she? I know the beards can happen regardless of - well, anyway."

She hoists Avdig's arm in hers with a bit too much emphasis, and nods towards the barrel of rainwater. "Let's get you some closure from this tragically short relationship."

[brennvin]

“Wait, I don’t need—” the dwarf splutters, finally realising where they’re headed and digging in his heels as they drag him along, but they’re at the barrel now. He thrashes a little, but Astrid seizes his belt and hauls up, and with Hermione’s help the women are able to lift him and tip him facefirst into the barrel. Dunk.

Avigd eventually comes up spitting, cold water dripping from his hair and beard and braids, furious— but more clear-eyed. “You fucking nug-humpers, why would you—”

“Listen. Your brother sent us. You fuckin’ know there’s bound to be Carta folks around, and that means trouble with you flapping your lips like you have been lately. Y’need to cool off and head on home and keep a better leash on your tongue, mate. Or,” Astrid adds with a mischievous glint in her eye, fists on her hips, “I’m gonna sic my girlfriend on you and all your friends.”

[reparo]

It's funny, to Avigd at least, because even though the dwarf is dripping water from his hair and has just been forced into sobriety, his gaze cuts over to the short human and he snorts.

"What, this one?" he asks, gesturing at Hermione.

To which Hermione crosses her arms, cocks one eyebrow up and looks him dead in the eye. "I would avoid that if I were you. I am fucking crazy."

She's also feeling really good about the improvising right now, Astrid, thanks for the confidence boost with the whole recall of the girlfriend scheme. She would flash Astrid a grin and a delighted thumbs up, except she is acting instense and crazy right now. Acting.

"I like to set my enemies' clothes on fire with them still wearing them." Not entirely a lie, given what she did to Professor Snape - though, perhaps an exaggeration to call him an enemy. What Avigd doesn't know, however...

[brennvin]

Hermione’s impression of the crazy-eyes are very good — and trust her, Astrid’s known a few — and it does the job.

Avigd frowns. There’s the dwarven inexperience with magic, the inherent mistrust carved even deeper. “Fucking Stone-blasted mages,” he mutters, and wrings out some of his beard. His words are tighter around the edges, clearer than when they first met him in the tavern: “Fine. Tell Lemmit to mind his own business, I’ll clean it up a bit.”

It’s only a brief compress on the wound, she suspects. A temporary staunching of the bleeding. She’s known alcoholics in the hold, the ones who get too deep in their potato vodka in the depths of winter when there’s little to do and the long nights and darkness are taking their toll, and they found too much solace in the bottom of the bottle.

So they’ll need to come back here, maybe, but in the meantime…

“You gonna be able to find your way home?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, girl,” he grouses. And, desperate to be away from these two problem children, he squares his shoulders and marches off into the night, still dripping water. At least it’s summer in Tevinter; it’s so warm up here he won’t freeze to death or anything. Would’ve been a problem back home.

Astrid watches him go. After a moment, “Thanks,” she says.

[reparo]

She lasts a full five seconds, until the dwarf turns the corner, before her expression breaks into a grin, her hand reaching out to grab onto Astrid's arm. Her knees feel week, all the adrenaline of that subterfuge rushing out of her, and she is lightheaded for a moment - but laughing?

"Oh my god, I can't believe that worked." She lets Astrid go, all of a sudden aware that she did not exactly ask permission to do that - there's a little blush, mostly because she is feeling sheepish again for the whole girlfriend deceipt.

"I mean, ah - you're most welcome. Let's head back, before the bartender comes to claim more coin we don't have."

[brennvin]

Hermione’s giddy relief is contagious, and that brief pall over Astrid’s mood soon clears as she automatically turns at that touch on her arm, a smile echoing back. The grab is companionable, comfortable; maybe a very large part of Astrid misses that time in her life when she could easily seize a friend’s hand or collapse into giggles half-leaning on them, because she reaches out and pats Hermione’s upper arm in turn. Welcoming it. Trying to banish that sheepishness.

“I’m shit at that sort of thing,” she admits, turning to start the walk back to the safehouse, her hand slipping down to tug the girl along, “but you thought quick on your feet. Definitely shows I needed someone with me, ‘cos my first idea would’ve been just going in and smashing a tankard on his head and dragging him out unconscious. Which probably works but isn’t discreet, like—”