faderift | LOG: Scoring an Own Goal(em) [closed]

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LOG: Scoring an Own Goal(em) [closed]

WHO: Astrid, Clarisse, Hermione, Katia, and Vaclav
WHAT: Carefully extracting a piece of Minrathous' defenses, WITH EXPLOSIONS.
WHEN: Toward the end of the mod plot timespan
WHERE: Minrathous
NOTES: OOC post for reference.

Standing at the gates of Minrathous are two fearsome stone golems. These beings, gifts from dwarven craftsmen generations back, are guardians of the city; their intimidating presence has done much to dissuade would-be invaders from ever attempting to break through the city’s walls. One Juggernaut, truly, would be enough to crush a good-sized army, while two make defeat all but certain.

But the thing about a golem is that it’s only loyal to one person: whoever’s holding its control rod. And a control rod’s just a thing. It can be stolen.

So that’s what they’re here to do.

This plan was not hatched by Riftwatchers themselves. Rather, it’s come from two descendants of those very same dwarves who once gave Minrathous its terrifying protection. The first, Vaclav, is a well-dressed and well-bearded Ambassadoria member who elbowed his way into contact with Astrid and Riftwatch in turn to lay out a proposal like he was proposing a trade of eggs for tomatoes. And the second, Vaclav’s near-opposite, is Katia, a wary young woman in nondescript clothing, who keeps her hand on her knife and speaks with few words. The two of them seem not to know each other well — but nor do they seem all that keen on sharing details of their relationship with Riftwatch’s representatives.

This is a two-pronged operation. Vaclav, Hermione, and Astrid will be carrying out the theft and replacing the golems’ control rods with decoys. But opening the vault where the control rods are held will set off a building-wide alarm, and it’s imperative that no one ever knows the control rods were touched. And so this is where the second team comes in — Clarisse and Katia will be leading an attack on the treasury chamber on the other end of the building. This attack will be very public, so that the alarm sounds and draws all attention, giving the first team a chance to do their business undetected.

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The team of thieves goes into the building first. The distraction team has to wait for their signal. This is unfortunate, because it's clear that nearly no one on said team is good at waiting: Katia is perched on a bench, tearing a sweet bun into progressively smaller pieces, while Georg (a human man in his early twenties) keeps smoothing down his wispy mustache and Cato (an elf with a general air of droopiness) stares at the door they'll be going through shortly.

"You're not going to make it any thicker like that," Katia finally snaps at Georg, after the hundredth time he runs his fingertips over his facial hair. "Honestly, you're probably yanking half of it out."

Then Katia looks to Clarisse with a grimace, apparently of apology. Unclear, though, if she's apologizing for her sharpness or for her companions.

No, she's not good at waiting, but Clarisse is doing her fucking best not to make it obvious that they're up to something. She'd love to pace, get her blood flowing a bit before they start, but that would be too noticeable. Instead she leans back against a post, idly rubbing the calluses on her fingers with the pad of her thumb.

Her gaze darts from the two men to Katia, who seems apologetic. Clarisse gives her a shrug, no worries. She's waited for missions to start with far more annoying companions, many of them her own siblings. This is fine.

"She's right," she says, figuring it'll look better if they talk a bit. Kind of weird to have four people waiting around in silence, right? "And then you won't be able to grow it back."

"That's such crap," Georg replies - but he also immediately stops what he's doing and sets his hands at his sides. Even if he doesn't believe them, he's clearly not willing to risk it.

Cato apparently notices, too, because he gives a soft and melancholy sort of laugh. "Humans are vain over the strangest things," he says, and though the sentiment is lighthearted, he looks morose while saying it.

"Whatever," Georg grumbles. "With the money we'll make on this job, I'll be able to buy some Magister's magic potion for hair growth."

Katia uses her fingernails to pinch the tiny piece of bread in her hand into even smaller chunks. Cato and Georg aren't aware of the true nature of the plan; they think that the team is actually going after whatever valuables are behind the treasury door. Only Katia and Clarisse know what's actually happening, and the guilt over that fact is rather plain to see. Georg and Cato, though, don't really seem like men who are used to looking.

"I don't think Magisters are spending their time making hair growth potions, Georg," Katia says.

Edited 2024-09-07 00:25 (UTC)

"Someone should. They could make a lot of cash."

For a person who's never actually tried her hand in get-quick-rich schemes, Clarisse thinks about them an awful lot. Mostly they're food-related, and probably have more to do with missing flavors from home than wanting money, but oh well.

She doesn't know Katia, but the guilty look on her face is plain to see. Clarisse is surprised that Georg and Cato haven't said anything about it yet, or brought up the way she's mangling her sweet bun instead of eating it. Maybe she's just Like That?

Clarisse is opening her mouth to say something herself, are you going to eat that?, because if not she'll gladly take the food off Katia's hands, but then—

Astrid's voice comes in over the crystal: "Mermaid's tit." The signal to get started.

"On it," she answers, and looks at the rest of the group. "Let's go."

For all the evident dysfunction of this little group while they're sitting and talking, the moment that Clarisse says let's go, they're ready. There's no moment when they gather themselves, or look around, or express any uncertainty. Instead, in just a moment, Cato has a crossbow in hand, and Georg has pulled two knives. And Katia is striking flint to light a grenade, which she hurls with deadly accuracy at the door to the government building.

The grenade by itself wouldn't be enough to blow down that door. It is, after all, a side door to the building, unused and consequently welded shut. But the night before, someone had lined further explosive putty around its edges - and this, all together, knocks down an entry into the treasury's antechamber.

Immediately, alarms start shrieking. But just for the moment, there are no guards.

"Ready?" There's a fierce intensity on Katia's face; she pulls a cloth up over her mouth and nose, then nods at Clarisse to likewise pull up the protective mask she was given against the poison about to be unleashed. And then Katia pulling another grenade from her pouch and hurling it into the open doorway. It explodes in a puff of noxious gas.

And then Katia hurls herself into that room, Cato and Georg on her heels.

For once, Clarisse doesn't have her spear with her—it would have made them way, way too noticeable while they waited—but she has a short sword and, if necessary, a knife strapped to one leg that she can use as a sidearm. Now that they're on the move, it's all business.

She returns Katia's nod, pulls the mask up over her face, and follows the trio through the jagged opening that used to be a doorway. Thick smoke obscures her vision, but that's just as well, since any arriving guards will be as blind as she is for the time being.

And sure enough, she can hear shouting, running, as guardsmen are drawn first to the boom of the door blasting off its hinges and then to the sound of the shrieking alarms. The interior door rattles and swings open, and the first guard enters, sword at the ready. He takes a deep breath of the noxious air inside the chamber, coughs once, and abruptly halts in place, his mouth gaping open, eyes wide. If Clarisse didn't know better, she'd think he was in shock over the state of the wall opposite him.

A second guard all but runs into his back trying to get through the doorway, shouts, "Move aside!" only to have his fellow turn and swing a closed fist right into the side of his face.

Clarisse laughs, delighted, though she's pretty sure no one hears her over the sound of the alarms going off. This is going to be fun.

In contrast, there's little joy in Katia. She's all tension and focus. Her stature, in the smoke, makes her hard to notice, and so she lunges forward and slices through the second guard's knee, moving past the one who's been struck with the confusion gas for Clarisse to finish off.

There's one more door between them and the vault of the treasury. It's not necessary to bust all the way through, of course, but they have to make it look like they gave it a real try. So Katia starts getting to work on that, packing the hinges with explosives, trusting the others to keep the next round of guards off her.

Clarisse sees Katia heading for the vault, good, and turns her attention back to the guard who's still standing. Now that his fellow guard has been cut down, he seems even more confused than he did just a few seconds ago.

"Hey," he starts to say, brows furrowing as he seems to register Clarisse for the first time, "what have you d—" She drives her sword through him before he can finish asking, and he reaches out to grip the blade with both gloved hands, trying to keep himself upright.

Behind them, the sound of more guards arriving. She's going to have to trust that Cato and Georg can handle that while she finishes off the two she's currently dealing with.

Eirene Caerularia has only been in her position for a few months. Judging by the rapidity with which the government has gone through her predecessors in previous years, she might only be in it for a few more. But Vaclav knew her years before she had anything to do with Minrathous' security. They are—if you want to be crass about it—friends. Maybe that makes this cruel, or sad, or something.

But Vaclav's shown no hesitation. No glimmer of regret. Eirene now sits at the desk in front of the door to the chamber where the control rods, among other things, are kept. That leaves only her and her two guardsmen between them and their target. When the ruckus starts, they'll leave; Vaclav has predicted this quite confidently because it's happened before.

He introduces Hermione and Astrid as Helena and Antonia—

it's fine, Eirene doesn't know an Avvar-sounding name from an aardvark

—a Free Marcher landowner sitting on top of a good, untapped vein of lyrium and her bodyguard, respectively. Why would Orzammar need to direct Tevinter toward sources of lyrium aside from their own well-oiled operations? Don't worry about it. (But it starts with r and ends with ed lyrium.)

After he and Eirene have spent some time chatting as if the two women aren't even there, Eirene turns to Hermione/Helena to ask, "What is it, farmland? Pasture? Do you have people living on it?"

'Not a place a member of Riftwatch really should be going without needing to. Especially people who aren't mages,' is what the head archivist called Mirathous, and by dint of being a. a mage and b. on the Forces division, here Hermione Granger is.

A member of the Riftwatch. A mage. In Minrathous. It has been, thankfully, a few hours since they've stepped through the Eluvian for this assignment, so she's no longer gawking at everything with a mix of horror and wonder. (The hubris of mages on full display here.)

If not for the distinct memories of three years (and spare change) of sneaking around, assuming fake identities, and most importantly stealing things, Hermione would feel a bit surprised by how well she slips into the Free Marcher landowner Helena's shoes.

She stands close to Astrid, but slightly in front - the bodyguard would watch her back, right? Not her first rodeo! - plastering on a pleasant expression as she listens to Vaclav and Eirene speak as if they're not here - for a while.

She has taken mental note of where the rods are - accio still works, if they need to act fast. Someone could take out Eirene, and Hermione could summon that rod in her hand and - and -

"A vineyard," she responds to Eirene, as though she was paying attention. Terse smile. "On the verge of financial bankrupcy. The soil isn't what it used to be."

On account of the red lyrium, see? She listens.

Behind them: Astrid-Antonia has taken up guard position behind the other two, standing at her best imitation of mercenary professionalism, hands folded behind her back, her stance comfortable and expression bored.

That part isn’t even an act: she tuned out a little when they started getting into the bureaucratic small-talk and pitches, Vaclav greasing the wheels with ease.

She looms without trying, standing head-and-shoulders over all the dwarves and a little over her supposed employer (it sells the bodyguard idea). Still, negotiating with dwarves is warmly familiar background noise for her: the ebb-and-flow of tradespeak, bartering, frank and forthright details without all the meandering circles of Orlesians. During the introductions, she’d given a tilt of her chin and the standard upnod to the two guardsmen at the back of the room, the shared camaraderie of practiced watchfulness.

In adherence to the building’s security, there’s no weapons on her. But if all goes well, she won’t even need one; and if not, well, Eirene’s got a pretty hefty fist-sized memorial rock sitting on her desk, details carved into it, some sort of professional association award trophy.

She doesn’t look at the locked door.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Eirene says to Helena, and if everyone involved knew less about what was going on, it might be plausible that she meant it. "I am sure we compensate you generously enough to make up for it—and we only wish to rent it from you, you see,"

sounding now a bit like a Chantry teacher explaining the alphabet; everyone knows Free Marchers are a bit simple

"and once the lyrium is extracted, we'll move along. Maybe your soil will have recovered by then."

A heretofore unmentioned part of this plan^* is very important. In fact it's the primary reason these two self-sufficient dwarves have seen fit to involve Riftwatch in the heist at all. It's their sending crystals—a commodity no one else has in such abundance—and the ability they confer to coordinate with precision across long distances. To be absolutely certain that Vaclav, "Helena," and "Antonia" are not only in Eirene's office, but so thoroughly ensconced within it that making them leave would be an inconvenience.

It's Astrid who's been asked to leave her connection open, connected to Clarisse, because it's Astrid with the excuse to stand a little bit further away from everyone else, where an occasional muffled sound from her crystal won't be audible to Eirene or the guards over the conversation or the bustling street leaking in through the window panes.

That also means it's Astrid's voice that needs to give the signal, because it's Astrid who's close enough to her own crystal for it to be picked up. Vaclav, in turn, is the one who can—in his own estimation—see the tipping point. It arrives as two things happen simultaneously: an attendant knocks and shuffles into the room long enough to deposit a pitcher of herb-infused water and array of crudité, depositing cups, and Eirene extracts from a drawer something to write on and with to begin calculating what she thinks a patch of land of this size and purpose is worth, narrating her choices of numbers aloud for Helena.

Once everyone has a cup of water in hand, the attendant has departed, and Eirene has quite nearly reached a a final monthly sum she would be willing to pay Helena for use of her land—a premium added for her discretion, then most of it deducted again for the inconvenience of transporting goods out of that neck of the countryside—Vaclav twists around to look at Antonia. Only polite not to interrupt business dealings for minor questions, like an out-of-the-blue, "What ship did you come in on again?"

Look, he's not a spy.

^* My bad.

At some point during the negotiations, Antonia’s folded her arms. No glass of herbal water offered to her; she’s the help, which means she’s looming in the background and very much present, but still irrelevant. Who cares if the hired hands are properly hydrated.

When Vaclav turns to look at her, however, then her chin moves slightly, making sure her mouth is angled toward the necklace dangling in the neck of her shirt (in actuality: the crystal on a chain). He’s given the signal, which means she needs to give the signal.

“Mermaid’s Tit,” she says, loud enough to be heard over the crystals; the codeword for Clarisse. “It’ll wait for milady Helena until the deal’s wrapped.”

Let the records show that she could've been perfectly fine with a more dignified codeword, thank you very much! No need to make anyone think of tits in the middle of a very tense situation.

Let the records also show that she didn't feel she had a vote, given that it was never meant to be her giving the signal, or her listening out for it. (But okay, Clarisse. Noted.)

Lady Helena apparently travels via titular vessels now. Lady Helena also is watching Eirene draft up that contract attentively, so is quick to make a little unaffected gesture when the woman looks up at the name of the ship.

"It's a reputable crew in the Free Marches," Hermione says by way of explanation, and as she waits for the chaos to ensure on the other side of the compound, and draw the guards' attention away, she sets down her glass of water. "I appreciate your considerations, lady Eirene. Perhaps the addition of a clause for the extraction crew to not use anything explosive near the winery itself?" Stalling that woman with bureaucracy.

Edited 2024-09-09 23:39 (UTC)

Vaclav doesn't crack a smile. He cracks something closer to a wince. But why wouldn't he wince about Mermaid's Tit in front of fine company? No one pays his unschooled expression any attention. Eirene's focus is on Helena, her pen pausing as she considers whether there might be any downsides to this agreement.

The consideration is for show. It doesn't matter what she agrees to. If the land and its lyrium existed, and on arrival they needed to do something explosive near the winery, they would. But there's no need to sully the bargaining by drawing attention to the fact that it's all a polite fiction.

Having considered, she says, "That's reasonable," and moves to make a note, incorporating it into the agreement she's narrating. Accommodations for workers; a fixed price for access well water while they're there. The end is so close, a handful of clauses away, when the sirens sound.

It doesn't matter that he's been waiting for it. Vaclav startles, twisting in his chair to look at the door with sincere interest in the sounds from the hallway. That it hides any insincerity in his face from Eirene is only a side benefit.

"Shit," Eirene says, then, "Sorry," to her company. She hesitates over the paper. They're truly so close—so, as hoped and planned, she doesn't tell them they'll have to finish later. She stands while gesturing for them to stay seated. "I'm sure it's a false alarm. I'll be back shortly. Sellanus?"

Both of the guards move to go with her. But only one of them can reasonably be named Sellanus—otherwise they'd be Sellani, wouldn't they—and Vaclav's stomach is already sinking.

Sure enough, Eirene holds up a hand.

"Wait here, Davan," she says.

Leaving her old friend Vaclav alone in her office before, that was one thing. Leaving Vaclav and two strangers appears to be another. Maybe it's meant for his benefit; as Eirene walks past him she lays a hand on his shoulder, a friendly and fleeting parting gesture, and he hopes that the sirens are enough of an excuse for how strained his answering smile is.

She's quickly gone. Which leaves them only almost alone with the door. Davan, looking a bit rebellious at having been ordered to stay behind, leans against the wall just beside it and eyes them in silence.

The group eyes him back. Astrid manages to look impressively calm despite her internal monologue going something along the lines of shitshitshitshitshit. But she re-settles her weight and they affect a little more patient interest, twiddling their thumbs, enough that Davan starts to settle in for the wait.

Different setting, but Astrid has done this before. You step on a twig and it cracks and the deer’s head shoots up, on-guard, watching, waiting for the next movement and ready to run; you wait until its hackles go back down and it drops its guard.

She can’t do shit about getting them into the building to begin with (Vaclav) or getting past that locked door (Hermione), but what she can do?

Is suddenly pounce, leaping into fluid panther-like movement, seizing that memorial rock (The Society for Mining, Metallurgy & Exploration - Outstanding Young Professional Award - Eirene Caerularia, 9:45) and swinging it at Davan’s head. The impact stuns him, leaving him unsteady, easier for her to collide with the dwarf and wrestle him to the floor, forearm in a slow chokehold around his neck while they thrash and kick and knock over one of the visitor chairs.

Behind the ruckus, someone else in her group discreetly closes the outside door so their own commotion isn’t visible from the hall. The siren continues blaring.

Look at that, someone ordered a discreet closing of the outside door, and that's a job well-suited for Hermione, because she does it. In the midst of Astrid pouncing and taking Davan down, and the chokehold, she jumps out of her chair and crosses the room to gently nudge the door shut. Wand in hand, she turns around to face the chaos.

On the floor, Davan does his best to thrash and kick off his assailant but all he manages is one chair, before the world turns fuzzy around the edges and he succumbs to the chokehold. Falls limp and heavy in Astrid's arms, eventually.

"Right, so. Where's the thing, serah Vaclav?"

Edited 2024-09-24 19:43 (UTC)

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LOG: Scoring an Own Goal(em) [closed]

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