[ 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]

Two minutes is enough for Fate to slip in and notice the guard rota, such as it was, has scrambled to leave the hall empty. No glinting wires strung across the hall, no pressure plates- this path is too old and too worn for installing such things. The low murmur of chanting deep in the stronghold thrums under the sounds of explosions and Antivan swearing. The coast is, for the moment, clear.

[wickedchase]

For a moment, he is almost suspicious at how clean it is for them to get in, but then they probably haven't had any time at all to arrange traps for visitors. Fate knows what to look for, and sees none of it.

What concerns him is the chanting, but not even half as much as getting Zevran out.

Twisted Fate returns, shapeshifting back into his normal body as he approaches. "We're good to go," he announces, hesitating a moment. "Not all of the Crows are out dealing with our friends out there, but the guards have. There's some chanting I heard, but they seem occupied enough that we can go in and leave with Zevran. Now then: shall we?"

[byblow]

"Fantastic," Alistair says. It's a little sarcastic. Chanting isn't something anyone does for fun--or Chantry sisters do, maybe, but not Crows.

Still, his grousing at Fate isn't anymore personal than his earlier glowering at Anders: he isn't going to have anything nice to say to anyone until they have Zevran back.

For example, he says, "I'll take up the rear," without any self-deprecating explanation as to why it's necessary (because he locates traps primarily with his feet) or helpful (if someone comes up behind them, he can probably take a few more hits than the rest of them), only with a gloved hand beckoning forward to send the others ahead of him.

[foxsays]

The rooftops of Antiva are not the rooftops of home but as Zevran had promised - and how it turns her stomach to think of that now - there is much that she finds to be almost the same. She's quick, almost silent, darting as close as she dares until she doubles back to the group again, shimmying back down and landing without even so much as a thump.

"Good news is I saw no one who could fire at us from above." Always good news, because an arrow would hurt almost as much as a pistol, and she can very much vouch for just how painful it is to be shot with one of those. "Bad news, everyone will be inside. So we have a rough idea of numbers."

And yes, there are three giants there but still, trained assassins are trained assassins after all but if everyone is on the ground then that counts for something.

[wickedchase]

Alistair's general attitude is considered and hardly taken personally. There isn't a single offended look, and Fate knows he couldn't say anything to really make the situation better. Not until they retrieve Zevran.

When Araceli returns, he offers a brief smile to her. "Then I think so long as we're quick about it, we'll do fine."

Fortunately for them, it seems quiet on their way down the hall. True to his words, there are no guards.

But it's not a promise that they won't return.

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

[justice_is_blond]

"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."

[ombranera]

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.

[byblow]

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.