→ ｔｈｅ ｓｅｒｐｅｎｔ ｏｆ ｎｅｖａｒｒａ

[ungovernable]

WHO: Benevenuta Thevenet, Dorian Pavus, Zevran Arainai, Nerva Lecuyer, Taashath, Rafael Viteri AND THE OTHER ONE. I don't know how to spell that and I already looked up Rafa's name.
WHAT: Pretty much what it says on the tin. And by tin I mean subject line.
WHEN: Covering a span of several weeks, after puppies and before showing up late to Emprise du Lion.
WHERE: Nevarra, mostly.
NOTES: Plotting post; original sign up post. Get at me at matriarchal or via PM if you have needs.

Having taken Ayse's information to the Inquisition leaders, Benevenuta is dispatched with a small group to handle the matter in Nevarra. Feel free to do individual closed threads within the subheaders of anything you want to achieve in Nevarra, and we can work out amongst ourselves how best to do plot elements! We will try to spread out plot contributions so that we don't get bogged down in a ten thousand person thread for any one part.

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ｔｒａｖｅｌｉｎｇ

[ungovernable]

The trip from Skyhold to Nevarra feels briefer than the reverse - or at least it does to Benevenuta, who spent the latter half of that particular journey mostly alone and doing her level best not to die in the ongoing sputterings of the mage/templar war before ever reaching her destination. The others may have more mixed feelings on the matter, but as they set out, she at least is in good spirits.

At least in part because they travel toward warmer weather.

[ombranera]

Not as far as his fair Antiva- but further north than he has been in some time. Zevran spends the bulk of the journey observing his traveling companions to get a better sense of them, their habits, gestures, mode of speech, etc. Reflexes from living as a Crow for so long and curiosity for the past decade. Understanding people helps him approach them appropriately- when in doubt? He plays up the roguish bard angle, picking idly at his lute, glowing the warmer the weather becomes. At lest there are fewer bandits.

And no dragons.

Or spiders.

And limited darkspawn.

[liberalum]

It's basically the most pleasant time Dorian's had travelling anywhere since joining the Inquisition, save for specifically bear-free afternoons spent in the Hinterlands with Evelyn and company, so long as the allergies Dorian would swear up and down he does not have didn't kick in. But those specific memories still manage to make his heart ache, and even under the bright sun, there had always been a bite in the air as the chill tumbled down off the Frostbacks.

Here, however, the sky is a clear blue dome, and the sun is actually heating what it touches. When they next dismount to take a break, Dorian sheds his cloak and busies himself with packing it away, arms bare. When a wind sweeps down the road, it carries with it warmth, rather than being something to brace against. He might feel guilty for being so content, to be away from Skyhold--

--but that sounds lame, so, he doesn't.

After seeing to his horse, Dorian glances over at the sound of lute playing, which is becoming characteristic. He listens for a little while, rubbing the velvety nose of his chosen steed, a sedate mare by the name of Star, and once he senses the song is wrapping up, he strolls on over.

[ombranera]

Clear skies and warm air- Zevran is all but glowing under the sun while he finishes his last line of the song. It has been so very long since he has been this far north- he's almost forgotten the warmth of the sun and what it feels to have air that isn't horrifically dry rolling over his skin. Part of him worries over leaving Alistair and that dog behind.

Still, there is nothing more to be done for it. The worst of his poisons are set out and if it finds something and gnaws on it and dies? His life will be simpler.

Even if Alistair would make that face upon his arrival home.

Without a tune to hold his hands attention they tap idly upon the body of his lute, his back to a nearby tree, face tipped up toward the sun. He hears someone approach- too light to be Taas, no clink of armor nor swirl of skirts which cuts Nerva and Benevenuta from the running. Rafael did not often seek him out.

Some fears lingered. It suits Zevran and thus he thinks nothing of it. All that leaves, however, is Dorian Pavus- a curious man, a handsome man. A dangerous man. It is more than enough for him to linger in his current lax posture, all alight in the sun, terribly aware of how it burnishes his hair and eyes to a bright, warming gold when he opens them with a polite smile. "Do you have a request?"

[liberalum]

"I do."

Dorian is certainly a more passive breed of observant, and not someone who alters his behaviour very much in an effort to accommodate others or even benefit himself, but he's taken note of his traveling companions. They could due worse than a hulking qunari and an assassin elf, certainly.

He waves away some buzzing insect -- because nature, even at an acceptable temperature, is the absolute worst -- and then extends that hand out. As far as well-dressed Tevinter magisters go, he is remarkably free of glittering adornment, his fingers bare of rings as his neck is free of hanging pendants. "May I?"

[ombranera]

Layers and layers- or aren't there?

Of course there are, he may be no magister but he is of Tevinter. The manner in which the Magisterium carries on, the way a man such as Dorian lives? Puts the Orlesian Game to shame. What exactly he is after Zevran cannot pick out; but it benefits him little to be less than agreeable. Without a word he lifts the lute to Dorian's waiting hand, head dipped in a nod that is similar enough to demure should that be what he wishes to see- but not so much as to mean insult should that not be his intent.

[liberalum]

Dorian's doesn't bat an eye at the deferential nod; elves being deferential is the same as elves being invisible, and not necessarily in a rude way. But he does take the lute, with a sound in his throat that implies thanks, before he moves to lean against a neighbouring tree, setting his foot back against the trunk in his own mimicry of rogueish bard.

But as his fingertips draw over the strings, it seems as though he has some skill. The tune is something from Qarinus, less plodding than the average southern ballad. Occasionally, he trips over a note, correcting swiftly enough.

"I have about three of these altogether in my repertoire," he says, after a moment of playing. "I was never good at it quickly enough to want to learn more."

[ombranera]

"It does require patience." Not to imply Dorian is impatient. "And a skilled instructor."

Not to imply whoever was teaching Dorian isn't skilled. Truly he..does not know what prompted this, but he listens- picking out the melody in an attempt to place it but for very many reasons, he never truly spent time in the Imperium, let alone lingered should he pass through. Such a place is horribly dangerous for elves. The song, the man, his intention are all unfamiliar but not beyond his ability to discern.

"You have fine hands for playing, I must say." Artist's hands, mage's hands. Longfingered and subtl calloused from pens and staves, it'd take time for them to build up along the pads of his fingers to better hold the strings.

[liberalum]

There isn't much ulterior motive to give away, although the side-along glance out the corner of Dorian's eye might imply some motive in simply seeing Zevran's reception to a friendly Tevinter not-really-a-magister. Dorian remembers: the miserable uphill trek from the ruined Haven, and sitting down with strangers like this, and forcing them to like him primarily so he didn't go mad, and could earn a decent spot by the fire.

It's more challenge than supplication. Daring to be found charming.

"You're too kind," Dorian says, his melody unravelling as he picks out a scale, as if unrusting himself. "I might have the hands for it, but I must lack the heart. You know, I attended a Circle where learning music was considered a means of sharpening a mage's talent for complex spellwork. And I'm far better at complex spellwork than I am at music."

He stills the strings with the flat of his hand, and turns the lute around for Zevran to take back from him. "It seems somewhat removed from your usual profession."

[ombranera]

A posture and practice Zevran knows well- enough for whatever concerns he harbored initially to unknot in the back of his mind. Far from home, Tevinter being what it is, Dorian being who he is? Zevran is unsurprising by this much...he is surprised that Dorian seeks to make this ploy with him. He is an assassin, true, and known well for his association for the hero of Ferelden and Alistair, also true-

But he is an elf. Much as he says he is an Antivan first some things are beyond ignoring.

"They have, I suppose, similar concepts. Muscle memory and will weaving something into being- though a bard's song is a bit less impressive than a lightening strike." He has to grant that, having seen some shade of Dorian practicing in the yard. All flair, more like a dance than battle magic. Wynne and Morrigan were never quite so flamboyant.

He takes the lute back and begins to pick out the first strains of what Dorian had played, correcting himself once or twice. "Deft hands and a quick memory are something of a requirement as an Assassin. Having something to make me look less dangerous, well. No one looks twice at an elf with an instrument at a ball. Even if someone has been killed."

[quietblade]

Riding had never been his favorite thing, but the large draft horse under him could hold both his weight and the weight of weapons and packing without strain. Taas leaned back a bit in the saddle, looking quite relaxed while keeping a close eye on their surroundings at the same time. The roads here were pretty well-traveled, however, so keeping his guard up wasn't an immediate concern.

Yet. Soon enough, knives in the back and poison in the wine would be more of a pressing issue than roadside robbery.

The warrior had given the command word for his enchanted arm ring to the lady in charge, making it possible for him to know if she needed his attention even though he couldn't hear. A simple 'hastas', and it would vibrate slightly against his skin from the earth rune embedded within.

Everyone else just had to get his attention if they wanted to have a chat while traveling.

[ungovernable]

At least for now, Benevenuta opts to do it the hard way - she doesn't doubt the command word will come in very useful later, but for now, there is nothing so urgent on the road as to make it worthwhile to play with his enchanted ring just because she can. Simple enough to bring her mount alongside his, and draw his attention with her presence.

She has to look up quite a way, even on her horse. It isn't as if people taller than she is are such a novelty - petite enough at five six, for all that that isn't dramatically small - but certainly the number of Qunari, Tal Vashoth and Vashoth in Skyhold is. One that she's been rather enjoying, for all that she's only really spent much time with Korrin, and that in a decidedly professional context. For the most part.

She'd enjoyed being dipped, First Night.

"How did you come to the Inquisition, if I may ask?"

--is a friendly inquiry, in the hopes of a better grasp on who he is. With the exception of Dorian, and somewhat less explicably, Nerva, the group that accompanies her is an eclectic one that she knows little. Taas least of all, which makes him the most immediately interesting.

[quietblade]

He turns to look at her as soon as he notices the horse matching steps with his own. She's a gorgeous little thing, all fine features from what had to be some fancy pedigree. It would be a lie to say that Taas didn't enjoy watching those lips move prettily over words, easy and crisp to read from a good education rather than the bot of drawl that followed most Fereldans. At least it wasn't so distracting that he forgot to actually read the whole sentence.

"It was a bit of an accident, to be honest. I was a bodyguard to a noble that arrived in Skyhold, and he cut me loose there to use Inquisition soldiers on his way back." He slows the steps of the large horse a bit so the lady's mount could keep up. "I had to stay for a while to either find another employer or gather enough money to leave. Meanwhile, I got to know many of the people there and learned more about what the Inquisition was doing."

He hadn't felt the need to be a hero, unsure what kind of acceptance a Tal-Vashoth would have in that mostly-human organization. But things had changed. He changed.

"When I finally got another employer and left, I felt oddly hollow. A week later, I made my way back to Skyhold to officially join." There's a small shrug following that, as if to smooth it over. It was the past now, and here he was.

"What about you, Lady Thevenet?" His pronunciation of her name is utterly atrocious.

[ungovernable]

Little fox creature that she is, Benevenuta manages not to wince at the appalling mangling of her beloved name. It's a near thing, granted, but she manages it - letting her horse (Buck; not hers, per se, but the same horse she tends to ride when leaving Skyhold, a willful creature whose temperament had ill-suited Dorian the first time they'd gone together) settle into pace beside his, her own mien contemplative.

"To join the Inquisition is why I came," she says, after a moment, which presumably comes as little to no surprise; she is in less of a position to 'just sort of wind up' anywhere. "I believe in their work - I believe that they are where I might do the most good. It is the responsibility, I have always said, for those who can act to do so." Noblesse oblige writ large, her bleeding heart staining her hands that she might try to wrap them slickly around the whole world.

Words that might sound trite given a weight that lends her back the years her girlish countenance tends to shave off. She's a sweet creature, but all edges.

After a moment-- "Your deafness - if I shape the sound more precisely, you can mimic that?"

A careful inquiry; she doesn't want to insult him by just repeating her name at him, louder.

[quietblade]

Taas is not surprised, and while nobles and their politics are mostly beyond him, he can appreciate the will to help. Even if it was entwined with other things - proving oneself, showing a sweet, heroic side to the world, pissing off your parents? It was all good as long as she helped the Inquisition.

It was a good addition, in any case. Pretty, engaging, sharp.

Proud, too.

Her careful question is fairly expected, and he shakes his head a bit. "It still looks like the same words to me, but I can try sounding it differently and you could point me to what sounds the most acceptable." He shrugs a bit. "Otherwise I can refer to you as my lady, if you so desire." It might be easier in the long run, but for her honor, he'd be happy to attempt to do better.

'Mistress' would be a better title later, deep in Nevarra with his servitude to her cemented in their cover.

[ungovernable]

She'd thought to write it down, perhaps, but she isn't sure that will be of any more help; his suggestion, she thinks, is a serviceable one. As is simply calling her my lady, and it is entirely possible that this adventure in pronunciation may end, ruefully, with just that - but it isn't in her nature to let things be, as a general rule. Even silly little things.

Pride, yes, but more than one kind: it pricks at her to hear her name mangled when she is so very proud of it, but it would draw her ire to hear him mocked for his mangling of it, later. There are strangers with her, here, but now they are her strangers and she extends to them the same fierceness with which she guards her own self. More, probably; Benevenuta has never considered herself more important than what she can give. (Ayse Thevenet had birthed a child, but she'd molded of her an acolyte.)

It's easy for her to do. One of many reasons why the Inquisition has fit her like a favourite glove; one of many reasons why her edges are so, so sharp.

"Let us try that," she settles on. "Sound it out a different way." Her sidelong smile, from beneath her lashes, is almost sly. "This is to be a long journey, after all. We will want for occupation."

And it'll probably take them a while.

[quietblade]

The warrior watches her, that smile softening a bit as he tries to think of ways to pronounce the name. It could even become a game, how he tries to form the different vowels and push on different parts of 'Thevenet'. He has a tendency to push the 'The' towards the 'Tevinter' pronunciation, but a few others are attempted as well.

It was most likely an amusing spectacle to the rest of their companions as the big warrior repeated the noble lady's name over and over again with a bit of humor in his brown eyes.

He's a pulled out of it by the warhorse tensing a bit under him, ears pulled back - but it's only a small caravan of refugees. Most likely leaving Orlais due to the brewing civil war. Watching them for a moment to make sure nothing threatening came from it, he then continues his endeavor.

[keeperofmagi]

The templar armour had been left in Skyhold. It was for this reason that Nerva felt nearly naked, despite the heavy mercenary armour she wore in its stead - blackened steel with silver edging, which reminded her far too much of her homeland for comfort. She was not a graceful rider - her mount an unhappy one, who could feel her stiffness and her nerves, and had tried twice already to take advantage of it. She had given up, and decided to walk alongside the group for the rest of the way, despite how her feet ached in complaint. She was here mostly on Benevenuta's behalf, even if she would never directly admit as much, and was glad she could claim she was here only on orders. But the truth was, when she had heard that the mage was making this trip, she had requested it.

She had absolutely no trust in any of the templars other than Maria, and was determined that this mission would not go unguarded. Not when they could be facing Tevinter mages.

She walked in silence for the most part, and kept a watchful eye in case anyone should fall behind, or wander off.