faderift | Discretion?

WHO: Maevaris Tilani and YOU.
WHAT: Maevaris finally reaches Skyhold.
WHEN: Third week of Harvestmere
WHERE: A large spectacle of a tent that she has set up in the Courtyard; Around Skyhold In General
NOTES: Maevaris can be found all over Skyhold after her arrival, so feel free to wildcard me! Points of interest would be the tavern, library, or great hall. Prose or brackets are fine.

If there is one inconvenience to be associated with nobility, it is formality. Everything is a process. What should be a simple decision can take months of planning and preparation and considering the opinions of anyone and everyone of importance. Maevaris making the choice to journey to Skyhold is no exception, and by the time she is set to arrive, there is a mountain’s worth of paperwork that documents every detail of her departure. Appropriate, given that her final destination is an actual mountain.

Letters upon more letters are exchanged, bags upon more bags are packed, and once she is as sure as she can be that her affairs at home have been left in capable hands, she leaves with an entourage fitting of her station. The journey is long and at least mildly cumbersome, by her standards, though even that comes to an end eventually. Formalities and travel times be damned, she makes it. The Inquisition is going to experience the awe and wonder that is Maevaris Tilani, yet.

There are no trumpets announcing her entrance, nor is there a red carpet paving her way. She is followed by a host of people carrying her belongings, but the event appears to be otherwise average in nature. It is nightfall when her company settles in, and they quickly make themselves scarce, working away on something by the light of the moon in an empty corner of the grounds. All in all, it is not nearly as flashy an arrival as one might expect from a magister of her reputation.

By the light of day, her living quarters tell another story.

A large, tucked away section of the Skyhold courtyard that was previously unused is now home to a tent. A giant, gaudy tent, draped in expensive fabrics and immediately offensive to the eye. One that is intimately familiar with Tevinter may note that the style is distinctly reflective of the country, the shapes and colors mirroring their current trends of high fashion. Anyone else is likely to have any number of impressions, ranging from the structure being one of magnificence and beauty to something that is utterly cringe-worthy. One fact remains a constant: It commands attention. The flash is now in full effect.

For those seeking an audience with the mysterious tent’s owner that wish to be polite, there is a bell hanging from a tassel at the entrance that is just waiting to be rung. For those with less manners—or perhaps less of an eye for details—there does not appear to be anything stopping them from barging right on in.

For all its ornaments and imposing presence, it is only a tent, after all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That tent being spotted by the resident Soporati was, all in all, quite inevitable, and more than that, if looks could kill, Krem's could have set that tent on fire. Nothing against Maeveris herself, but if there was one thing he was almost certain he could expect from someone that put something so godawful in their own corner of the courtyard, it was someone expecting to be waited on hand and foot. Obviously. That was what Tevinter magisters all tended to want.

He was being unfair. Perhaps this was one of those rare sorts that believed in what they were doing here. One of those magisters that would go out of their way to manufacture dirt-cheap clothes for the downtrodden. The fabled Good Tevinter, so to speak.

So here he was, sitting outside of the Herald's Rest, with an eye on the massive tent, arms crossed and eyes narrowed and just waiting for the tent's owner to show themselves.

When Maevaris finally shows herself, she is alone. This is somewhat of a rarity, as Krem would probably notice from keeping a watchful eye on the tent for so long. People have been coming and going from the tent since early morning, some staying for nary a minute and others for hours. With the bulk of her business apparently done for the day, she is finally heading to the tavern for some well-earned rest and relaxation. Whether that’s a reflection of how well (or how poorly) things have gone remains up for interpretation.

For how long the day has stretched on, it does not show on her face. She carries herself with as much poise as she ever has, her expression serene and thoughtful.

... Up until Krem’s death glare crosses her path, that is. Once she sees that, her lips twitch in amusement as she tilts her chin to get a good look at him. She stops in place, loosely crosses her own arms in a mirror of his position, though hers are far more at ease.

“Relax, darling. If you keep that up for much longer, you’re going to wrinkle that handsome face of yours.”

Maevaris looked flawless when she emerged, and it only intensified his suspicion. Krem's tension only drew tighter when she approached.

"What does Tevinter want here?" he asked, keeping his voice low and quiet, wanting to avoid making a scene. He would likely be seen as the antagonist in such a scenario, which...well. Wouldn't be entirely inaccurate, he supposed. "We were all under the impression that the Imperium had no interest in a small organization slaying demons in the South."

“I don’t believe I’m of the position to know the wants of an entire country. That would be a question better suited for the Archon, I think.” A bold retort, given Krem’s less than kind expression. If it intimidates her, her face makes no indication of it. She looks cool as a cucumber, only shining further in the presence of pressure.

Her coy smile does fade, however, if only so she can project a more serious air as she taps her foot and forges on ahead. “But you’re right. The Imperium has its sights set elsewhere. The Venatori, on the other hand, do not. It is a problem. One I am here to correct.”

"You. Against the entire force of the Venatori?" Krem's skepticism is written all over his face. But if this woman wants to try, more power to her. "The Magisterium is still focused on throwing men against the qunari and one just shows up here to combat a cult set up by another magister. Forgive me if I'm not exactly the most accepting of this whole...thing" He waves a hand at it, still looking sour. He'd keep his nose out of it unless he had no other choice but to be involved, let her do as she wished, but it isn't going to stop him right in this moment from being suspicious.

“Not just me, I hope. I was of the impression that the Inquisition didn’t tolerate that blasted cult, either. Or has that changed since my arrival? I am not here under jurisdiction of the Magisterium, so that would be most unfortunate.” The good humor Maevaris has been so steadily supplying is fading fast. It is not easy to discourage her, but Krem has managed to hit something of a sore spot. She does not look hurt so much as she does unimpressed, her eyes narrowing just so, her head held higher.

“Acceptance is not something I’ve ever found to be given freely. It is something I’ve had to fight for every day since I was...” A slight pause as Maevaris shifts uncomfortably and clears her throat. “Young. So you’ll forgive me if I dismiss your suspicion in favor of going about my day.”

"Not just you, except you would be the only one here to offer anything at all. That's what's wrong here," he sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead then kneading his fingers into his temple. "If they're even remotely concerned, why haven't we heard more than a derisive snort from anyone besides...well, yourself, and Pavus?" More than his frustration with her, he's just frustrated at all of it, and even if she is impressing upon him that, ok, a good magister does exist, it's just one in the face of how many more that would sooner see them all die out?

The commentary and dismissal catch his attention, and he has to take a moment to parse that. The furrow of his brow this time is less aggravation and more subtle disbelief. But this is neither the time, nor place to ask anything personal, not of someone he'd already done a very good job making an ass of himself in front of.

Finally he just slouches an inch, his hand coming to rest on his hip as he gestures at the courtyard in general. "D'you need any help getting around here? I can at least offer directions to wherever you were headed before."

“Of that, we are in agreement. Most magisters see fit to either take advantage of the South’s weakness or ignore the situation entirely. They think themselves safe. They are wrong. With any luck, I will be able to convince them otherwise. Until then, I refuse to sit idly by when I could be making a difference here.”

The state of their home country’s affairs is enough to frustrate anyone. Save for those that do nothing but benefit from them, arguably, though even they long for days of glory that have long since passed. Among them, looking to the future is blasphemous. Good thing that blasphemy is something Maevaris excels in. Better yet that her words look to have broken through Krem’s defenses. She’ll take the small victories where she can.

Her edges soften slightly when he concedes to civility, but they do not disappear. It’s too soon for that. Voice yielding yet stern, Maevaris leans back a bit as she flicks her eyes from Krem’s head down to his feet, almost incredulous of his offer.

“I was going to the tavern. I believed a drink in the public’s eye would lift my spirits. Now I’m having second thoughts.”

"Men in there might be on edge, not all that inclined to be friendly," Krem points out with a mild grimace. Whatever he might have thought upon realization that they had a magister here, they weren't exactly likely to be all that forgiving after speaking with her. He stands still for the look she's giving him, casting her a sideways sort of grimace.

He picks some at his nails, glancing back at the tavern door. "Could grab a couple of bottles. I thought about going in for another pint, anyway."

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