faderift | [ CLOSED ] THE ANTIVAN CROWS SEND THEIR REGARDS

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[ CLOSED ] THE ANTIVAN CROWS SEND THEIR REGARDS

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!

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"Gracias Zevran, I have no wish to look like some old haridan fishwife. Or like I've spent the last of my coin in the brothel only to be tossed out." Mindful of his injuries, she reaches back to squeeze his thigh as she settles, another hand inspecting her hair absent a mirror. She would ask for one if things were different but her fingers will have to do and she smiles again, content.

"Perhaps if Korrin lets down her hair we could switch places. It’s easier to hold people up sitting." Plus she likes being the little big spoon sometimes, getting to wrap herself around Korrin as far as possible.

"Can I ask how all of you can bear to ride horses? My arse has never hurt so much before." Maybe a little injection of levity is required here but equally this is her first time atop a horse and she’s concerned. Her thighs hurt too but that’s something she’s dealt with for a few reasons but well, a pressing issue as she shifts to keep her weight off it if she can. She'd rather wait a little while longer until certain spots are less tender before she goes to get shrimp for dinner, but it's a reminder of how much she'll have to buy given the numbers returning compared to the company that departed Skyhold.

"The ones they brought with us, this might be their last taste of him for a while. Will they eat if we eat the same things?" An easier thing to ask when Korrin isn’t looking at her and with Zevran sandwiched between them because tempers had been frayed but though she’s a guard, understanding risks and threats, she has only ever killed when she’s been fighting, not when she’s had someone surrendering before her. White flags are white flags. And she's not about to let anyone go hungry, not when her prizes from thievery put food on the tables of others.

He shifts slowly so they can both lay down. Zevran needs rest, and it will be the easiest position to stay in for a long time while holding him.

"I'll stay." His voice is quiet, pitched to be soothing. "I won't leave you alone." Zevran could do better for company. Alistair is out there, for instance. But Anders isn't leaving when it's clear he's needed.

"Whatever you need, Zevran. If I can give you it, it's yours." At least he knows that he can help with healing the physical damage done to the man. Most of it. The rest... The rest might take many more people and quite some time. Some things don't heal easily.

"Chanting," he mutters as they move. Who chants? Chantry sisters, but that's not what they're about to run into. No, chanting tends to be for blood magic rituals, from what he's seen, and this isn't promising for any of them or Zevran.

The hallway is still and he doesn't trust that either. Crows are arrogant, but they're still Crows. This is the reason why he's being extremely quiet with his steps and voice.

"Hold a moment before we open the door." Anders steps to the middle of the group and casts a barrier. The absence of guards has him nervous, and he'd rather they be prepared for stepping through. Sure, he'll need his mana for Zevran, but they have to get to him first, and they have lyrium. One step at a time.

"Ready."

Beyond the door (which has no locks, curious) there is but a large cell full of the scent of incense, braziers burning brightly in four corners around a circle of blood in the center. Hanging suspended from a hook- Zevran. stripped to nothing, arms above his head, chin lolling against his chest. Tiny cuts placed along his arms, his spine, his legs- small needle thin things drip blood at odd intervals- though none of it lingers on his skin for long. On either side of him mages, hands working in intricate, rippling patterns around his head, cuts on their palms and inner arms explaining the blood at each site well enough. Now and then one of them twists their hand in a pulling gesture from Zevran's skin and a fine blood mist rolls forth from the myriad of tiny cuts along his skin- fueling their spells.

They are, indeed, chanting, eyes glowing a dull red, wholly focused on the elf strung between them.

At the farthest end of the room another Crow is treating his daggers- his head snaps up at the door coming open and he calls out in Antivan, a ward, a warning?

Five feet in front of the door, shimmering subtly in the light- a glyph of paralysis waiting to be tripped and trapped for those that are unaware.

When he can find his voice again, when his breath has steadied enough for words to form against the ragged edge of sobs swallowed down, he thanks him. Softly and endlessly in Antivan, a desperate curl to it that he cannot shake. This is real, Anders is here, and it is over.

All he needs is this. A hand in his hair and a heartbeat under his ear. Someone to remind him that he is not on the hook.

It takes some time for him to wind his way down to a half doze and even then, the grip he has on Anders' robs is tight.

It's such a relief when she leans to him and makes herself comfortable - he wants to hold her and protect her and prove to himself that if she still comes close to him like this, he's not a monster. Not mad. Still Taashath.

...then she moves, and for a split second he's worried he had frightened her, or zoned out and hurt her somehow - but then she's in front of him, speaking.

Taas reads her lips, the words heavy in his stomach in both a good and bad way. Reaching out, he scoops her up and puts the small elf in his lap and wraps his arms loosely around her, covering her in warmth and big muscles.

"Thank you."

"The same way one rides a lover. Practice, patience, and a great deal of ointment after the fact." A twist of his old humor, faint and flickering but for them? It is there. The idea of riding long enough to get something from home, something he should have had on his own ride up if he had ridden of his own accord? Warms him. He would not be alone. Korrin and Araceli are clever and quick and guards better than most can hope for.

"Perhaps after we see your hair braided, Carina." He tips his head back to smile at Korrin and it is slight and it is strained, going only a little more at the mention of the Crowlings. He vouched for them- they are his responsibility. "Well. I did promise them some manner of treat if they didn't try to seduce anyone as leverage. As no one seems to be particularly seduced..."

It is a legitimate concern, the seducing.

"It'd be rude of us to deny them, then." Korrin's eyes meet his and while she doesn't especially trust the Crowlings yet, the Vashoth knows the last thing Zevran needs is more tension at this point. So she'll keep a lid on that temper and the Crowlings will be unharmed, though closely watched. They can let the rest of this mess sort itself out, later, when he's willing.

Thinking back to the horses, she chuckles softly. "Zevran has the right of it, more or less. I'm no fan of horses, anyway; there are better mounts, though I suppose the point is moot now. I'll do my best to help ease those aches and pains of yours, though."

There's a spark of mischief in her eyes and grin before Korrin finally gives in to that braiding request. Reaching up, she unties her stark white hair and shakes it out into loose waves. "Do what you will with it. I trust your judgment."

Well that's one way to handle the danger. But it's not the end, not by a long shot. Bull jerks his head down the hall, not wanting to stay and have to defend this position if they don't have to. Too many points of weakness to try and guard.

"Let's move!"

Though he'll keep himself between the mage and the next grenade, just in case.

"And this is why I much prefer women. My friends are all mad to actually race these things." The only other animal that sounds like you could ride it is a druffalo and parts of her ache simply at the thought.

Carefully she extracts herself from Zevran, shaking out stiff legs and stretching, all the way up on her toes and arms high above her head until her back pops and she moans quietly in satisfaction. Her coat is stripped off to make a small cushion that she sits on for when it's her turn to hold them up. As ever, seeing Korrin with her hair down has her grinning because yes, it's probably much more impractical for a mage, for someone with horns but she looks beautiful with it down. If she could find some pretty pins, dark metal and shimmering shells? She'd make her the envy of everyone in Skyhold.

Maybe putting her in a much better mood will help when Araceli's taking her turn guarding the Crows, because she absolutely plans on getting to know them without scaring the life out of them.

"I would say charmed, but then they remind me an awful lot of people I know, just like you." So Zevran should know that she means that with a touch of something a little like grief, for opportunities missed, for home taken and made into a sharp and bitter thing. She won't say that she feels sorry for them, that might sound wrong but she does, and already she's nervous about what should happen to them in Skyhold if word gets out.

Oh dear Creators, give her strength. Not because she's frightened--she is a little startled when Taas pulls her to him, but then she is suddenly in his lap. And his arms are around her. It's like when they were wrecking everything in the Crow stronghold, but at the same time, remarkably different. Without grenades and antivan fire and blood mages trying very actively to kill her, she finds it's a lot more distracting.

And no amount of willpower can keep her face from heating up. She's not blushing, you're blushing, shut up.

But she does feel safer, and she feels calmer. Some of the anxiety that's been winding up inside her since this whole disaster started begins to dissipate, and she visibly relaxes as she leans against him. After
a few moments, she turns to speak to him.

"It's the least I can do. You were the one who kept me safe during that whole--thing. With the explosions. And the giant hand." She twists her lips slightly, glaring off to the side. "That was so rude. It wasn't that dangerous, it was just--undignified."

Normally he wouldn't have done such a thing without permission, but he wanted to protect her, cover her - and maybe draw some support from that embrace as well. He kept it loose, making sure she could leave if she wanted.

When she relaxes against him, Taas smiles. Okay. It was okay, even if she was a little red.

"It was quite rude, wasn't it? It was a new thing that I hadn't seen before." Talking about trivial, weird things was good. He could do that. The things that meant he had done good, catching falling elves rather than trying to bury his axe in the Iron Bull's face.

"Volunteers won't be hard to find."

The Inquisition is full of big damn heroes, and Zevran is beloved. They could probably step back through the gates and shout at the courtyard and have a small army in minutes--but Alistair doesn't say it like a joke. No wryness. He sounds strained: an attempt at professionalism that's stretching at the seams. He's still pale. Zevran said not to come after him, once, if something like this happened, and the possibility seemed so remote that Alistair scoffed by didn't argue.

He puts a hand on Beleth's shoulder and squeezes--gentler than the manly shoulder-clap or back-slap he'd give someone of greater stature, but the intent is the same. Good job, and thank you.

"We'll need a healer," he adds, in the same tone. He doesn't know any who like him.

Alistair is unaware.

The world doesn't quite narrow to just Zevran; Alistair is a warrior, he has been since he was ten years old, and he's been more afraid than this. He's seen more terrible things. He knows how focus on the steps, the blade, the shield, like an obstacle course or a sparring match, with the fear of death or injury set aside to be dealt with later. He remembers the people behind him (not helpless, but less hardy, that's why he and his shield have pushed to the front) and he sees the people in front of him.

All things considered--the cuts, the lifeless bend of Zevran's head, how much they are going to kill everyone else in the room--he keeps a very cool head.

But the world does narrow a little. Enough that the glyph escapes his notice until he's put a foot directly onto it and stuck, frozen, shield raised and sword ready--for a second. He's strong enough to move, slowly, and Templar enough that a second later white light spills over his skin and his armor and forces the world to harden into a state that doesn't bend to allow for glyphs--or for spellcasting, or for barriers, if anyone is too close.

"Won't be hard to find one. But we've got to keep the group small. Don't want them to see us coming."

Bull's gaze shift towards Leliana. She's taking this personally, though it's not as obvious as it could be. Not when compared to Beleth, to Alistair. But that quiet fury in her voice says it all. She'd go herself if she could, but they can't afford not having her here.

Bull's chin lifts. "I'll go." He offers no personal reason for it. If he has one, if he jokingly gave his word once in a quieter moment, it's not their business. But they'll need tactics going in, and he's good for that. Good for distractions too, when it comes to it.

And whatever it is he feels, he's not letting it get in the way of thinking clearly, getting this done.

"You are going to tell me what you use to keep your hair so fine and white, Carina. Untarnished." Even his hair has the odd fleck of staining after a long day's fight- some of them stubborn enough to take more than the usual lather and oiling to see them freed. Korrin? Never seemed to suffer the same ashy fate as he's seen others with such pale, glorious hair. He tips his head back to watch Araceli settle behind Korrin, smiling at the image they make.

Such lovely women would look marvelous together. His fingertips itch for charcoal and paper- later, perhaps, when they are no longer on the road.

"It is a defense mechanism. If they are kind and they are charming or seductive people are less likely to wish them dead. I, myself, bought protection for many years from one of my fellow Crows by being as such. Whether or not there are similar arrangements in effect with them- I cannot say. But I hope that they are young enough that they might unlearn it."

Hearing Zevran's perspective does give Korrin something to ponder beyond her kneejerk attitude. He'd know far better than her what those Crowlings have been through, what their chances are of breaking past their training. "With you as their influence, they could stand a chance. I'll give them that much. They're fortunate to have you as an advocate, Zevran."

After what he's been through, Korrin wouldn't have blamed him the slightest if he didn't want anything to do with them. He could have just let them die. And yet, the fact that he's giving them a chance has her grudging approval. She just wants to protect her friends, but her friends are often the type to think beyond themselves, even if one wouldn't think so at first glance.

"And I use the souls of my enemies, of course, specially infused into the care package products I receive from up north. I'm more than willing to share, at least with those who appreciate such things." She lets out a comfortable sigh the moment Araceli's fingers touch her hair, always appreciating such attentions.

Beleth isn't interested in trying to leave. She's pretty happy with the idea of being protected--and happier that she could help him as much as this was helping her. And he's either politely ignoring or oblivious to the flush of her face, which is also pretty nice.

"I've never seen blood magic before this, but if this is what it does, then I can see why people hate it so much." She wrinkled her nose a little, saying it almost reluctantly, like it physically pained her to admit that maybe Templars have a point once in a while. "Have you ever seen blood magic before...?"

It's like holding a precious little thing, easily broken but warm and comforting at the same time. It should be ridiculous for a big monstrous warrior to have a little elf security blanket, but he had really fucked up on there and concentrating on making Beleth 'safe' really helped.

(He's definitely oblivious to any blushing right now.)

"No... not really. You hear about it a lot in the qunari army, but none of the 'Vints I ever fought on Seheron used any. At least as far as I know. Pretty sure most of them weren't even mages, or I'd be crispier."

The snort is so ugly that Araceli starts laughing at herself, having to lean forward and press her head against Korrin's shoulder so she doesn't fall backwards, dragging the others with her. No doubt one of their number would suddenly appear and possibly ruin the moment as she lay on her back giggling and hiccuping.

“Oh I dare you to casually mention that in front of one of the really uptight Templars, I dare you, I will watch from the rooftops laughing, Zevran you will be there too, we could charge admission and retire to lives of leisure.” Without a comb she uses her fingers to separate out Korrin’s hair for a waterfall braid, working from behind the right horn with ease; her fingers remember how to do it, the comfort of familiar patterns and looking after a loved one, content to enjoy whatever little bubble this is. It will burst, eventually, but they might make it back to Skyhold first or until setting watches becomes a real issue.

Food will help, not quite the same as stealing friends back to the little scrape of a flat she still keeps but close enough, because it’s something made because she wants to make it, to fill them up and keep them warm when this world seems so opposed to letting anyone keep even one person safe and sound for long.

“There’s never a clean slate, not really, but if waves can wear down broken glass into something soft and smooth, and turn boulders to sand? Then I hope that they can find a place and happiness. Some of them mustn’t be much younger than I am, maybe about the same age I was when I left home to make my own way, nothing and no one should steal the carefree years from you.” After all, she hasn’t left those years behind entirely either, and though Korrin isn’t much older than Araceli in the grand scheme of things, it’s hard not to feel for the Crows, to think about herself at that age when life was a game and she raced through it but with so many hands to help her catch herself and dust herself off if she fell.

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[ CLOSED ] THE ANTIVAN CROWS SEND THEIR REGARDS

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I forgot to track this one, I'm so sorry

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