[ CLOSED ] THE ANTIVAN CROWS SEND THEIR REGARDS

[ombranera]

WHO: Alistair, Araceli Bonaventura, Beleth Ashara, Anders Detlef, Korrin Ataash, Taashath, The Iron Bull, Twisted Fate, an Zevran Arainai. Guest Starring: Samouel, Cyril, and Merrick, Super Special Guest Star: Leliana.
WHAT: The Crows come for the Ombra Nera.
WHEN: Begins Guardian 6
WHERE: Skyhold/Antivan Border/The Road
NOTES: CW/TW FOR: Flesh hommonculi, violent/gruesome content, torture, blood magic, non-consensual drug use, adult content, adult language, reader discretion is advised. Sign up post, original plotting post, hit me on PM or @ thesouthernbelle if you have questions.

It's a normal morning in Thedas until, abruptly, it isn't. The Crows come calling; they are swift, they are certain, they are silent and leave behind but one witness that won't be alive for much longer (or so they assume). Prize in hand they ride North for Antiva.

Subthreads for portions of the plot are yours to tag around in as you like!

Comments

[ombranera]

"Perhaps a con on the behalf of the Inquisition. Sister Nightingale is not so far above such things should it be in the Inquisition's better interest. But- I understand." He'd worked as a fighter with a group now and then in the interim but there is nothing like a solid partnership.

And nothing like losing one.

Trying to pick it up again- it can be difficult. Almost painful. "Thoughts for rainy days."

[ombranera]

"I said no." He hisses, rolling away. Hand pressed to his face while he reaches for his pack, Alistair's pack- a pack. He can't attempt to sleep now, not knowing Alistair will likely attempt to peek when he does not wish it to be seen. He's half blind and half mad- but he can still make his own choices. And not showing anyone that does not need to see it the ruin of his eye, the blurred over mass of it? Is his choice to make. Alistair ought to abide. Swearing under his breath he picks through until he finds a bandage and wraps it around his head, a wad of cotton against his new scars to keep them from being seen.

[wickedchase]

"I don't doubt that you would be an excellent partner, Zevran. Me, though... That is another story. I can't say that I've had a particularly good track record."

There's a pause and he glances out into the field before he shrugs.

"Not that you really need to be hearing my concerns right now. Do you need another tale, or some rest?"

[ombranera]

"You've a better record than I. A decade ago I had two partners, we worked as a trio. One solid unit." As light and dry as he can manage, offhand as he flicks the button up and catches it. "They both died due to my foolishness. One for my naivete, one for not knowing to leave well enough alone. Their blood is on my hands."

Another roll along his knuckles, another flick into the air as he catches it. "Perhaps one more, if you do not mind it?"

As though he had not just bared one of his oldest scars.

[wickedchase]

For a moment, he's quiet and contemplates what Zevran's just shared with him without asking for more. Not right now. Honestly, he's surprised that Zevran had shared that much with him, but he knows how trust is a careful thing for both of them. The nature of their life makes it difficult to obtain and keep, and when broken forever scars over.

"Of course," he says quietly. Who is he to deny a story?

"For years, Malsaam and I went across Thedas with the cons. It was thrilling, and I'd never known a greater friend than him. No one had known me better, and I suppose no one ever will. Gradually, we accumulated more people to work with us, a crew of sorts. Kolt was sharp as a whip and could set any trap you wanted, and Wallach was a fine warrior. The Brick was a Tal-Vashoth. They were decent people.

"Eventually, we came across another potential con. A magister, who held many prisoners as his slaves in a place nicknamed the Locker. Rich, noble, and living on the blood of people he'd imprisoned. It was a typical mark for us in profile, but going into the Locker to rob him in the dead of night? It seemed dangerous. I told Malsaam as much, that I couldn't see an out. As an escape artist, I always needed to think of at least one escape plan for us, but I couldn't see how we could make our way out if we were caught. Malsaam told me as long as I had his back, it wouldn't be a problem.

"It was cold, freezing rain. Wallach and the Brick broke in first, acting as a distraction. I went in after with Malsaam and Kolt, working our way to the vault. The plan was going south. Told him as such, but Malsaam has always been prideful, stubborn, and incredibly stupid sometimes."

Twisted Fate slips his arm away from Zevran, looking carefully at the other elf. "I left him behind, taking the rest of the crew with me. The magister took Malsaam away, enslaving him. I went back a few days later to break him out, and instead I ended up getting the rest of our people killed.

"The end of this tale? Well. Let's just say it's not quite done yet, and that I think we're a little more alike than I previously assumed. If it helps to know."

[ombranera]

Well.


That isn't the story he thought he'd hear- something true, something that aches enough to be real. He cannot quite part with the whole of the tangled mess that was he and Rinna and Taleslin. Explaining it takes more than he has in him at the moment. He's also far too sober and fairly certain Anders would throw a fit if he attempted to drink. Even if it's tempting. Even if it'd help him sleep.

Perhaps framing it in such a way would make it more likely to be granted? Just one bottle of brandy or wine. Something to make the shades silent.

Still- he looks up, hair covering the scarred side of his face by design; not as though it obscures his vision. There is none to be obscured. "...It becomes easier. Not by much but...Given five years you stop thinking back to what you might have done differently. Then you remember that you've forgot and spend the rest of the next day drunk."

[wickedchase]

"I've never stopped wondering," he admits quietly.

Not that he can. It's impossible. The brand on his shoulder keeps from doing that, and more. But that's another subject for another time. The story told is in truth, and in part had been to help in relating. The other, to honor the trust Zevran has given him.

He already knows why he'd come to help, after all. He knows why he's here now.

"I hope that wasn't too much of for me to tell." Fate cracks a smile. "When you've recovered further, I think drinks are owed, hm?"

[ombranera]

"...To be honest? Nor have I." There have been moments where he was able to put it from his mind, but...

Only that.

Moments.

Still, here and now? It is easy to overlay that with his current concerns- Whether or not he is permitted to drink. "Detlef hasn't said anything against my indulging."

[wickedchase]

"Well, and who's to say it won't numb some pains, eh? I find that medically sound."

Twisted Fate rises and offers his hand. "When we return, then. I'm afraid my flask is rather empty at the moment." It hasn't been a less than stressful time, after all.

[ombranera]

"A shame." He reaches a hand up and steadies himself carefully, tipping his face away from Fate so the motion won't reveal anything he would rather keep hidden. "I owe you a round or ten, for your help."

Alistair had been quite thorough in explaining what everyone did.

[wickedchase]

"Trust me, I had plenty on our way here. I should have figured we'd need a bit more."

Fate gently squeezes his hand, snorting softly to himself. "Well, I wouldn't say no if you want to repay me," he says. "Just bear in mind that it was done without that in mind."

[ombranera]

"It must have been a stressful ride." Edging around things he does not truly wish to know and cannot truly wrap his mind around. At least with Fate there is no question of why. He's heard the answer enough to be flippant and tired enough to be unable to form a joke properly.

"Yes, yes, you came out of the goodness of your heart and because you missed me so very, very much. That does not prevent me from repaying your kindness with brandy in the future." Make light of it. If he can make light of it, he can endure. if he can endure? he can adapt. If he can manage that? he might find a way to live with all of this.

[wickedchase]

"Eh. Boredom, mostly. No one felt like playing a game on the way over. A shame."

Twisted Fate scoffs. "True, what would it say if I did something out of the goodness of my heart instead with an ulterior motive? Best capitalize on your offer. For now, I've kept you long enough, I think. But I'm glad to tell other tales when you want them."

[quietblade]

Taas is pretty sure he cracked a rib after that punch, but it doesn't exactly stop him from trying to catch Beleth as she's pulled up by the new fist - and again when she's dropped.

Fucking blood mages. He's totally with the elf about villainous spirit healers.

[quietblade]

He lets her focus on that hand as much as she wants, doing his best to figure out what those little touches spelled on the expanse of the skin. There's 'cry' in there, and Taas isn't surprised. They're all exhausted.

"You can cry, Beleth. Or scream, laugh, swear. It's good to let things out." Carefully, he moves a bit to allow her to lean on him if she wanted. "I have good shoulders to cry on. Big and fairly noise-reducing." Anything to help - and maybe that would make him feel a bit better, too. Being strong for others was in his core as a former soldier.

"...I'm glad you're not afraid of me."

[quietblade]

"You are free," Taas finishes for him, and then moves his hands to hold him close. Steady, but not trapping. Easy to break out of if he wanted to. Easy to lean in to, if he wanted that.

Be a rock. Be an anchor. It's what you know.

The big qunari quiets down again, just staying there as that steady comfort he promises to be. He's not going to argue with Zevran about his worth; the elf had to come to terms with that on his own.

[qunari]

Bull nods. "We can take a look around." And if Vita tries anything while they're alone, it's less likely to meet with any success, for any number of reasons.

Meanwhile, the more violent-minded of their group -- and how is he not a member of that group, for a change? -- are probably better off in Alistair's hands. Considering two of them aren't really inclined to listen to him if they don't have to. Cultural tensions and all that.

[qunari]

Qunari skin can take acid better than most, and Bull trusts that the barrier will in fact take the worst of it before slamming head-on into the mage, intent on knocking her back and into the wall.

If she's still moving after that, the axe is coming down to bite off anything else she might have to say, aiming straight at her chest.

Talk shit about his Tama, now.

[qunari]

Whatever Bull might feel hearing that is his own concern. Nothing makes it to the surface, other than a darkening look at the realization. Crows in Skyhold. Not a comforting thought.

Zevran's fear appeared to have come to pass. Only one thing to do, in that case.

"They've got the means and motive. There are other groups would could have pulled it off, sure, but in this case?" Bull grunts quietly, arms folding over his chest. "You thought of them first for good reason. And we know why they'd come for him."

[arlathvhen]

Korrin's barrier manages to block the poison darts, and for a single foolish moment, Beleth thinks that maybe this fight won't be that bad. Then the hand grabs her leg, and with a painful wrenching, hauls her up to the ceiling. She barely has time to give a surprised shout before the hand disappears, which turns out to be worse, because she's still upside down and high up in the air.

Luckily, Taas is there and him grabbing her makes for a softer landing than the ground.

"Oof. Thank you."

She's pretty sure her pride is more injured than anything else. And is willing to bet that shadowy blood mage hands don't grab qunari and fling them around like a doll.

[byblow]

"Zevran."

Alistair's tone tries for a mix of apology and question and rebuke and falls short of all three. He sits up, propped back on his arms and frowning, to watch what little he can see in the dark, with Zevran's back to him.

Fine. All right. That's happening. And he's still too relieved to have Zevran back at all to be overly hurt by the sense that he's being shut out.

"Okay," he says. "Will you look at me now, at least?"

[arlathvhen]

They seem to have come to a conclusion, and Beleth nods, as thrilled as the rest of them at what the signs point to. She had hoped they might have said something--She was overreacting, there was an easier explanation, something that didn't involve the possibility of the Crows kidnapping Zevran. But even Iron Bull agrees, and Beleth has to accept that this isn't just her imagination taking off.

She glances at Alistair, and puts a hand on his arm when he looks positively ill. This is even worse for him, he has far more idea of what could happen than she does.

Then she turns to Leliana, straightening up.

"They left a trail when they took him. I can follow them. I'm a Hunter, I've been trained to be able to do this," Maybe not with people, but a gaggle of assassins can't be harder to track than a hart. "He's my teacher. I'll find him." And then what? Ask nicely? Well, she's got a bow, and the element of surprise, she might be able to take on three Crows. Probably.

[ombranera]

"Alistair." Dry, wry, and distant; in a way his name hasn't been for over ten years. Since those first days when he was trying to sort out who would and wouldn't kill him if displeased. A harrowing time that he's been past for years but this? He does not know how to cope with this and Alistair's need to fix things.

"Will you let the matter lie? I am cold, I am in pain, I am broken and there is nothing you can kill that will make this right again."

[byblow]

Alistair doesn't believe him. Maybe there isn't anything he can kill, precisely, but he's sure there are things he can do, and he's sure Zevran isn't broken. Not in any way that can't be mended with enough effort and support.

But he doesn't say so. He doesn't want to fight. If Zevran's already saying his name that way—like a sharp elbow in the ribs, but Alistair shakes it off, it doesn't matter, he doesn't mean it—he won't be able to last a real argument. That isn't the same as agreeing, though, or giving up; he'll keep trying without announcing it beforehand, that's all.

For now he only puts a hand on Zevran's back and sighs, frustrated but ultimately agreeable.

"Thank you," he says, "for protecting me." Battered and drugged and still. If the list of other things already breaking his heart weren't so long, that would do it. "Come on, I'll hush. You should try to sleep."

[ombranera]

He does not have to look back to know Alistair is making one of his many, many faces. Probably one part kicked puppy and two parts hopeful, with a dash of guilt in the mix. It's all in the eyebrows, truly, and Zevran cannot bear to look at it. He did this to himself. He cannot bear the consequences and Alistair's guilt.

Of course it might be easier to bear than his gratitude.

Habit, honestly, had him move. He had endured too much for too long (in his mind) to allow some fool Crow with more daggers than good sense to cut Alistair's throat. An instinct he's never shaken himself of, after that year of doing the same, putting himself between the blade and Jonas, the blade and Alistair. It's the only reason he managed and for a brief, visceral moment, he loathes himself for it. Hates himself more for thinking it'd be an even trade, his eye, Alistair's life.

Tense under Alistair's hand but. He turns, bandage covering his scars and eye. "...You never did learn to watch your flank."

An olive branch of a sort. Something to make this less tense, so he could sleep.