Discretion?

[magistermaevaris]

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.

Comments

[issala]

How could you not go investigate something like that? It was just... so shiny and colorful and way out of place. Kas had heard it had something to do with an visiting noble, but no noble he had ever seen had things like that.

So he hangs around near it, trying to get a good look of who owns the tent and maybe see what's inside. A princess? A general? The arishok? Who knew.

[gatheringstorm]

Alright, the tent has her amazed and a little curious. Korrin's already met one she believes to be the inhabitant, given the Tevinter design and gaudiness. Who else could it be but the charming, impeccably-dressed magister she met the other night? Though there were other things she could be doing with her time, the Vashoth mage told herself that she had earned a break. More and more of Skyhold is rising to inhabitable standards and she's played no small part in that. So why not take a moment to socialize and see how the magister is settling in?

With that justification, Korrin approaches the tent once she's had a moment to absorb it in all its glory. Spotting the bell and deciding that it would be more polite than just calling out, she rings it.

[hugeinorlais]

Up until right that moment Varric had never been bothered by an actual lack of literal fanfare. Between the repairs to Skyhold, everyone running around, and the ever-present and increasingly murderous tension, a guy in tights with a trumpet would have been both amusing and helpful. (Were tights in season in Minrathous? They were in Orlais, but Tevinter was hot enough that pants probably weren't in season.) As it was, Varric didn't notice Mae's arrival, not until the following morning. He was just getting some bread and butter for breakfast when he spotted Mae's tent.

And he knew it was her tent because there was, absolutely and definitively, no other person who would travel to the ass end of Thedas with a tent like that.

He made a beeline for it, breakfast in hand, and immediately wrote off any work he thought he was going to get done this morning. He saw the bell, of course, but Varric didn't bother ringing it. Despite the opulent nature of Mae's portable lodgings, (and the general atmosphere of potential murder,) the Inquisition was not a fancy party and not ringing the bell let him announce himself.

"Please tell me you just got here," Varric said loudly as he strolled into the tent, confident that it probably had (a very small but appropriately posh) foyer of some kind. He wasn't shouting but he was definitely speaking at a volume that was hard to ignore. "If this has been here for more than a day and I didn't notice, I'm going to have to get new glasses."

[liberalum]

When Dorian gets to the entrance of the tent, he spies the bell easily, and sets it ringing with a sharp flick of his fingers, nail to metal.

For the novelty of it more than manners, but it all shakes out to be about the same, and besides, they both each deserve a reunion and entrance on their own terms. He smartly steps back, and twists a glance over his shoulder at the courtyard at large. He hadn't seen fit to hang back for a very long time upon learning of her arrival, but he had selected the hour of his visit with care. Avoiding when Maevaris was suffering the lesser company of another, although indicative of her letters, Dorian suspects she has more friends here already than he began with.

The one he'd made is dead already, but others have since warmed to him. And of course, there is Felix.

Poor Felix.

Dorian arrived in Skyhold with substantially less than an entourage and his own tent, but he's still dug up something of a welcome present; a bottle of West Hill brandy is held by the neck in one hand. Despite roughing it for the last however long, he is pristinely and precisely groomed, comfortable in his light-weight armor that suits a Tevinter climate better than the cold mountains, if far more practical than some of the old court fashions of years ago. His hands are clean of the dust they accumulate in the library.

[kremdelacreme]

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.

Sorry so late!

[mythalenaste]

Among the people staring (because there are a number) is one small, unkempt Dalish elf. It's a sort of side-eye. She is clearly judging whoever set this huge tent up for one person. She pulls a couple of people aside and asks if this is the Empress of Orlais or something, but no. It's a lone magister. Taking up huge amounts of courtyard space. Just for herself.

The fuck does she think she is?