The Orlesian occupation of Ferelden lasted almost a century, marking a dark period in Thedas.
Vigil's Keep was the first fortress to fall. Twenty years after the invasion began there, Orlais finally sacked the city of Denerim, claiming victory and drove the king into hiding. Though routed, the king now known as "Brandel the Defeated" continued to rebel against the Orlesians... but his efforts have proven inefficient, as most nobles believe that Ferelden is truly lost.
August has just ended and the cold and rain are starting to show, on-and-off, in the southern parts of the continent. The northern half is experiencing only minor changes.
All skins coded by Dani, graphics made for them a collaboration between Dani & El.
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Post by Sythnia Novallas on Oct 31, 2014 17:24:19 GMT -5
Ambassador Novallas was many things – clever, charismatic, heretical – but religious wasn't one of them. Oh sure she would put on a show so the Andrastians wouldn't have an excuse to ship her back home, but anyone with half a brain would be able to sort out her overwhelming indifference when it came to just about any faith. This did not, however, stop her from tempting fate by visiting one of the many Chantries that littered Val Royeaux.
'A Tevinter mage walks into the House of the Maker. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. Or, perhaps a cautionary tale to 'inform' young children about those 'abhorrent maleficars'.' she thought to herself absently, dipping her head at a sister who had greeted her with all the sincerity of someone who clearly didn't know her. She was famous enough for nobles to gossip about the Tevene 'invading' their beloved city, but very rarely did anyone beyond that find out – so she typically wasn't met with any stares in the Chantry. Which, perhaps, amused her more than it should.
Even if she was, she had a legitimate excuse to be here, in a way – she had a particular book she was after that was fairly common and had been written by a Chantry scholar, so logically, a Chantry would have it, yes? And this Chantry was fairly close to her small estate...not the closest, but did they need to know that? No. But she had a goal to head towards, so she hoped no one would interrupt her. Perhaps next time someone planted information for her somewhere inconspicuous, she should specify it not be somewhere she could potentially get waylaid by priests that wanted to save her horrible, corrupt soul.
She managed to avoid the attention of most people, forced to wander the halls by herself in attempt to find whatever meager library they had so she didn't have to suffer a priest loitering while she browsed, but managed to find it without too much stress. Even so, she hadn't expected the place to be so large when she'd first entered...it went back much farther than she'd assumed. She spent a few moments tracking down what row of shelves the volume she was looking for should be on, before quickly tracking her view across the covers. Well, as quickly as she could – fine detail could sometimes take a moment for her mind ti settle on and decipher.
When she'd gotten to the end of the row and hadn't found it, she initially that she'd overlooked it – easy to do, when your vision was artificially reading straight into your mind. She went over it again to still find no sign of it, and she frowned slightly – perhaps it was on another shelf? Most Chantries were fairly organized, she didn't suspect their tomes would be scattered in such a way but...couldn't hurt. It went on for almost ten minutes before she began to really think that maybe, just maybe, someone else had actually taken it.
It was not a comforting thought.
She had to find it, or at least where it went, and discreetly. Her paranoid side insisted someone had somehow found out the extra paper folded inside the pages that were meant just for her, but she squashed them, determined to remain optimistic. Her bigger issue was more along the lines of how do I gently pressure the delicate Andrastian flowers about a book that could easily be fetched from one of the other Chantries in the area without letting on this particular one is important, and not just in the way of spreading the Word.
Post by Avery Mondivarius on Oct 31, 2014 23:38:39 GMT -5
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Avery wasn't religious. Too much had happened in his life to give him the time or inclination. His childhood was busy spent trying to figure out how to keep his mom happy, his siblings safe, and his family fed. His time with the Kestrels was time spent figuring out how to stay alive, how to advance, and later how to keep the gang successful. Time with the Wardens was spent killing monsters and later preventing recruits from getting killed. Seemed like a lot of his life was spent looking out for others in some way or another, and not once did he feel like he needed something watching out for him. He was making it from day to day on his own luck--throwing something else into the mix seemed like it would jinx him.
But he was used to going to the Chantry. He'd taken sanctuary a few times when things got bad, back when he was a kid. He was used to coming to fetch a Mother to say some last words when his kin died--both the Kestrels and the Wardens. And he came to harass Mother Felicity, as he always did when he came to Val Royeaux. Felicity was a corrupt Mother, one that the Kestrels had bought and paid for. She in turn provided them with sanctuary and offered them some inside information. It had been a pretty good arrangement until the Divine personally stepped in and decided to put an end to the Kestrels.
Not to mention that Mother Felicity was attractive. She was only five years his senior, and she'd aged well. The fine lines around her face only seemed to enhance her beauty, and she was one of the few people that managed to still inspire some lust in him. It didn't hurt that she was all the more forbidden.
After a recruitment drive in Val Royeaux, Avery split off from the Warden Chamberlain and made straight for the Chantry. The Chamberlain seemed to know it and only sighed when he broke off. Hitting on a Mother wasn't exactly something they condoned of, but it didn't stop Avery from waltzing boldly into the Chantry.
It only took him a brief period of time to find Mother Felicity, who seemed delighted to see him. Her sharp, steel grey eyes lit up in a mischievous sort of way as he closed the distance between them. Felicity wouldn't give him the satisfaction of addressing him directly, though, and instead looked to a book that she had in her hands. Staring at it for a handful of moments, she walked away from him, placed the book on a table, and walked toward someone else lost in the stacks of the library.
Trailing after her, Avery picked up the book she'd almost purposefully left out. Nothing rang particularly impressive about it. Maybe it had been an actual mistake on her part. It certainly seemed that way when she began conversing in length to one of faithful. Women. Even a corrupt Mother seemed bound by the same rules most of them did.
Holding the book in his hands, Avery walked toward the front of the library and sat down at one of the tables. Maybe it would be more interesting than it looked.
((There, gave him the book. Also, thank you for giving Avery more backstory. A flirtatious relationship with a corrupt Mother wasn't at all where I saw this going when I decided I'd join. XD))
Post by Sythnia Novallas on Nov 14, 2014 18:16:13 GMT -5
She was on her third go-around when she was intercepted by one of the priests, asking if she needed help finding something, which was exactly something she was hoping to avoid. Other people knowing what she was looking for not only invited questions, but evidence trails to be found later by someone else. However, if she could play this vague, she should have ben able to ask...carefully. And if she was questioned, well, she could imply a hidden agenda that was entirely different from her real one. It didn't make the situation any less dangerous, however.
She knew the moment she opened her mouth, she'd get that look. It was always the first reaction to her. It wasn't that it bothered her – she just knew her accent made people less inclined to be helpful, or turned them outright belligerent (the latter often only a reaction from the lower class – after all, if you lingered among nobility, you had an appearance to keep up), which could make things complicated. It couldn't be avoided, however. She put on her most welcoming smile, mentally prepared herself, and answered.
“I'm looking for the third edition of Skyla Vaux's Andrastian studies for some personal research of mine, would you happen to know where it is?” Ah yes there was the look, which was followed by a pause and the almost-too-polite tone that replied “No I'm afraid not, if it's not amongst the shelves, perhaps the bookkeeper can tall you if it's been borrowed recently.” She nodded, thanked the mother, and started to head back the way she came before she could be asked if she wanted to be saved from her life of sin, or something along those lines. That and, the quicker she found out where her information got off too, the better.
Before she could step through the arched doorway, however, she spied someone who sat reading nearby, and she quietly cursed her inability to focus on the letters at such a distance. She was fairly certain no one had been in here before, so he couldn't have gotten it from the shelves she'd been searching. It couldn’t hurt to take a peek, nor could taking five minutes to seek out the bookeeper, she supposed, though a larger issue was escaping an audience.
She made a show of patting herself down and telling the mother she had to go back for just a moment to find her lost purse – which of course she was asked if she needed help, with a vague gesture to her pale eyes, which she assured the priest she could see a lot more than you'd think, tapping at the headdress that obscured a large portion of her face. It took her a few moments to pry herself away, and she made a show of loitering at the back of the stacks for a moment, before heading back to the entrance, making a line for the man reading rather than the exit.
She paused a few feet from the table, tilting her head in his direction to raise an eyebrow as she made a blatant display of looking him up and down to take in his armor, before conversationally asking “I don't expect you'll find much practical, actually useable information for the darkspawn in the books here, warden. Or are you here for the Faith they offer?” she asked, waiting a moment where he would tilt the book he held so she could see the cover. She hoped he'd hurry it along, she had better things to do.
Post by Avery Mondivarius on Nov 15, 2014 20:51:42 GMT -5
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Avery wasn't big on reading. For most of his life, he had no reason to. His mother barely had two silvers to rub together and had five mouths to feed. She had more important things to worry about than whether or not her children were book learned. Like clothing them, keeping a roof over their heads, and yearning for her dead-beat ex. As a Kestrel, there was no point in reading. Even when he managed to snag leadership of the gang, nobody wrote to anyone. They knew better than to write, neverminding the fact most of them couldn't. When something important was written, he always had someone else to do it. Some orphaned children or scholars and the like.
It wasn't until he was twenty-seven that anybody saw the need to teach him. Most of his time in the Wardens didn't involve needing the skill. Once he was promoted to senior warden, that was when people started talking about it. They sat him down and forced him to read the letters night after night. It was a pain in the arse, that was for fucking sure. But eventually the letters made sense and the reading happened, until he was able to read and spell with the best of them. Unfortunately, he was a spiteful bastard and the aggravation it brought him when he was first learning stuck with him.
But if it meant getting a piece of Mother Felicity, he could stomach a little reading. Even the really preachy and uninteresting sort. Maybe there were dirty drawings scribbled in the margins, or maybe something salacious in the text. He'd heard about all the begetting that was allegedly in these things.
Thumbing through the pages, Avery mostly skimmed. As far as he could tell, it was a waste of bloody time. There was nothing violent or raunchy or funny in any of it. It half put him to sleep. Why the hell would he care about where some bride of the Maker was born? How did that affect him, short of boring him half to sleep?
Continuing to flip, the book skipped a few pages and went open towards the middle of the volume, with a sheet of paper slipped between.
Before he could get a look at the parchment, a voice came from behind and beside him. Twisting around, he caught sight of some robed broad with the stupidest head decor he'd ever seen. But that accent--boy did he know that accent. When daddy-dearest came by to whisk his mom off, he had that exact same accent. When he was feeling more generous, he'd even schooled Avery a bit in the language. Never for long, though. His mother was more pressing--he had to be sure to knock her up again before he disappeared, after all.
"An' I'm not sure you'll find much in line with your teachin's here, Tevinter. Last I heard Black Divine texts weren't fit for toilet paper." His mouth kicked a little in sardonic appreciation. "Not that these'll do me much better." Saving his immortal soul... what a load of bollocks. He'd rather find a way to save his flesh and blood and keep his youth, but that didn't seem to be something the all powerful Maker had in his power.
"No, no faith, Tevinter. Mostly here t'get in the skivvies'a the finest piece'a arse this city's got't'offer. But I'm not sure she's in the mood fer entertainin'." Looking back to the book, he started to motion to it and then caught the paper again. This time it caught his eye. Entirely blank parchment, except for a location.
Was someone arranging secret meetings with one of the Chantry? Or maybe this was for him, left by the Mother herself? Brows shooting up, he grabbed the piece of paper, folded it and stuffed it into his pocket. "What about you? Thinkin'a convertin'?" He grinned a little more broadly at that, though it was obvious he was far from serious.
((Boy, Avery's sense of humor sure is something. XP))
Post by Sythnia Novallas on Nov 26, 2014 20:19:22 GMT -5
The moment she saw the spare paper amongst the pages he flipped, her heart sank – it was just her luck wasn't it? Play a game of careful negotiations only to have someone else to get her information so that then she had to play yet another balancing act. She was beginning to think her charge wasn't worth the effort...but she knew the family he belonged to, and she preferred to not get on their bad side. Well, mostly she wanted them to owe her a favor, but same difference.
She did well to school her face to show no reaction, and was glad her eyes would give her the excuse for not looking directly at someone's face – her hearing perception was a good judge of where she should pretend to focus, but no one needed to know that. She was good to keep her perceptive abilities to herself with most people, so they'd assume she had a horrible handicap, and wrongly assume they had the advantage over her because of it. 'Distract him, see if you can prompt him to put it down, something. Keep talking.'
“Converting? Maker, no. However that doesn't mean looking into you southerner's Chant isn't something worthy of my time. After all, how would I fit in at parties otherwise? Why I'd have no idea what anyone was talking about.” 'Except for the fact everything almost exactly the same save for a few minor changes, which generally makes both sides uncompelling.' The slight sarcastic lilt said more about her attitude towards both Chantries than anything...it wasn't that she didn't believe, per se, but she didn't find the practice of either versions of the religion worth her time and devotion. Normally, she'd restrain the sarcasm in favor of neutrality, but his own voiced disdain inclined her towards it.
“Well, perhaps besides fending off a continuous stream of accusations of being a blood mage. Apparently the only criteria for that nowadays is an accent.” she finalized, just as he grabbed the paper and pocketed it and she was forced to swallow an instinctive reaction very quickly. 'No Maker's balls, now what am I going to do?' The paper held no significance to the man, sure, but if he was nosy enough he could look into it, and if the Tevinter prisoner she was meant to recover was discovered...well, she couldn't be implicated, per se, there was no trail to her, but she could kiss that nice favor goodbye.
Which she didn't want to do. Never had she wished more for light hands that could easily and unnoticeably lift objects from pockets.
Post by Avery Mondivarius on Nov 26, 2014 20:57:42 GMT -5
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"What's it the old Warden Commander used t'say?" Avery growled, thinking for a beat before finding the words. "Different strokes for different blokes. The world would be a whole lot more dull without that Black Divine'a yours kickin' 'round up North. Hell, we might even be forced to deal with the Qun. An' we sure as shit couldn't have that, could we?" No, it was better to wage silent wars against both parties and gain no traction. Because splitting your forces in a shadow war was certainly the best way to take care of both threats. "Yeah, we do love t'go on 'bout Andraste's tits, don't we?"
If the paintings were any indication, they were at least nice tits. Perky and well-formed. Then again, Andraste could be ugly as some pus-filled boil ridden shriek and never be displayed that way. Perks of deification, he supposed. Posthumous beautification.
It didn't matter much to him that he was blaspheming in a Chantry. Between taking Andraste's name in vain, trying to shack up with a corrupt Mother, and swapping words with a Vint, he was thrice-damned. Not including the murder charges.
"Maker's breath. Like they don't got more important things t'do than worry about blood magic." Like feeding the poor, or educating the masses. Funny how that was always placed on the backburner. "Mmm, ya are distinctly Vint. Your people got lotsa tradin' with the dwarves, yeah? Throw in some Common an' it'll be hard placin' ya." Avery nodded in observation. Personally he could give two shits about where someone came from. Or blood magic, for that matter. She could be the best damn blood mage to ever live and he wouldn't bat a lash. Except maybe to try and recruit her or invoke the rite of conscription.
Truth be told, he was only vaguely interested in the conversation, and kept stealing glances Mother Felicity's way. She was still busy talking with the faithful, and his patience was thinning.
"I will give the Andrastians one thing. They know how t'build their Chantries." And stock them with comely Mothers.
Post by Sythnia Novallas on Dec 9, 2014 0:56:09 GMT -5
On one hand, at least he didn't seem wholly offended by her presence. She wasn't that surprised, being as how wardens took in people of all ilk, so after a while they had to stop caring who you killed or what accent you had. But on the other hand, she knew this meant intimidation wouldn't work if worse came to worse – the upper echelon was almost comically swayed by arguments involving hinting at 'horrible, dark Tevinter magic'...she didn't have that advantage here.
“Yes, Orlais certainly does aim to impress in its Chantries. So ostentatious it can almost make me homesick. Though we have less gold trimming on...well, everything.” 'Seriously is it really necessary to have that much gold?' Apparently so. Yes, she was still maintaining her small talk, she needed something while her mind worked rapidly. It was an old song and dance – her mouth would fire off on autopilot with pleasantries and small talk, only taking up a fraction of her attention, while the real action went on silently.
'Think, Nia, focus. How are you gonna get that back?' She wondered if she dare try and lift it from his pocket. She wasn't a total klutz, but she doubted she was very skilled at reclaiming things off people unnoticed. Thing was, what was riskier – asking for it, or potentially getting caught lifting it? Neither appealed to her even slightly. 'What a mess. How badly do I want that favor off the Larevals again?' Bad enough to consider a clumsy attempt at petty theft, apparently. 'Do I risk just needling a name out of him and sending someone else later?' It was the safer possibility, but it also ran the higher risk of the information being disposed of before she could send someone. And the noble she's paid off for the information barely tolerated her to begin with, if she sent word that she'd bungled the drop off, he'd ask for more.
'Face it, no matter what you're going to be paying someone off. Just figure out who's the cheapest route to go.' Well, save for the pickpocketing option, which wasn't so much an option as it was a joke – even if she did manage to get it off of him, someone else was bound to notice, and the Chantry sisters would be all too happy to pounce upon a Tevinter for doing any wrong. 'Get his name, get out.' she told herself firmly. She knew a few people who could stage a bait and switch to get it back who would have much lower standard payment-wise than any other option.
“Well I don't want to continue to intrude on your clearly very spiritual moment, though if I may be so bold as to ask your name? I can't help but feel inclined to know the names of people who don't immediately start praying to the Maker for salvation the moment they meet me.”
Post by Avery Mondivarius on Dec 10, 2014 19:24:51 GMT -5
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Avery's brow quirked half an inch. Ask him his name and head for the hills, huh? That wasn't a common reaction. The first one came natural enough when you were making friendly with someone, or when you were pissed 'cause some Warden came along and recruited an Apostate. And the second happened a lot if anyone caught sight of his tats and knew what that meant a dozen or so years back. But one then the other? That was odd.
But she looked and sounded important judging by her fancy way of speaking and her equally fancy clothes. Maybe she had a few asses to kiss to remain in the good graces of the Game. Or maybe she'd rather not spend all evening chatting up a peon--though that made asking for his name counterproductive.
"Avery Mondivarius." Odds were good that name meant nothing to her, except that his last name sounded distinctly Vint in origin. "An' what about you? Ya got a name, or should I just refer t'ya as the Blind Vint?" It was only polite that he learn her name in return. Especially if she was planning on making mention of him to anyone. She might get some clout if she ratted on the members of this Chantry if she suspected he'd done anything other than admire. The sisters and mother would get in particular trouble if they were necking someone--twice the trouble if it was him in particular.
((Aaaand we can time skip here. Or I can edit this post to include the time skip.))
Post by Sythnia Novallas on Dec 18, 2014 4:56:47 GMT -5
She took his name down firmly in her mind and planned to send out word to a few contacts as soon as she left the building to ensure she didn't lose it on the way home. “Sythnia Novallas.” she answered him in turn, even going so far as to dip forward in a polite bow. Well, one of them should be polite, at the very least, and it clearly wasn't going to be him. At least she could say she'd been called far worse in her life – living in the beating hearts of ruthless politics in two countries made one entirely indifferent to whatever blunt term people could refer to you as.
“Enjoy your evening.” she stated pleasantly, giving her best smile before quickly exiting the Chantry with a purpose in her stride. She only had a few hours before nightfall, so she'd have to move fast if she wanted that information by morning.
When she hired unsavory types she always made sure the point was stressed that they wouldn't be paid shit until she saw some results. It tended to motivate people a bit more, to say nothing of the fact she lost nothing if they died on the job. At least she had enough of a reputation of being good on her word about the matter that even contacts she barely tapped agreed to the terms...well, most times.
All things considered, she probably should start giving incentive payments beforehand – just enough so the idiots wouldn't talk. A lesson she'd be learning this evening, unbeknownst to her.
She knew when she was woken up in the middle of the night that something had gone awry, being as her retainers never dared wake her up unless it was absolutely necessary. When she was told there was someone demanding her presence at this ludicrous hour of the night, what she expected was perhaps one of the nobles that held issue with her – perhaps the one she's publicly humiliated at that soiree several days ago? - and sent off her elves to make sure whoever had decided to drop in was properly distracted and catered to while she made sure she was at least mildly presentable.
It was never fun when she had to rush and hook her headdress on faster than would be recommended, because it left her incredibly light-headed and everything felt off-kilter for hours afterward, but being seen without it wasn't an option – she never specified to people it was able to be removed, and always implied it couldn't be...because if she didn't, someone would get it in their head to steal it, which would be unbelievably, irrefutably bad. So she'd just have to suffer the odd sensation of her head feeling like it belonged to another body for a while.
She didn't bother changing out of her sleepwear, however, and combed her hair back to be hastily tied back at best, before heading downstairs to the main hall, hoping her less-than-flatting look and disgruntled expression would be be an easy read of 'Why in the name of your shitty Maker are you here this late?' when they saw her. One of the elves passed her in the hall on the way out of the main room, shooting her an odd look of concern before they moved on, which gave her pause.
Who, exactly, had shown up to even make her staff nervous? Well, perhaps nervous was exaggerating – but they were definitely thrown off. The answer when she rounded the corner was one that made her top in her tracks.
“Fastevas.” she expressed, a bit louder than she'd intended, but at this point there was really no hiding if he was here. One of those tools had named her – or at the very least, had admitted enough to point who had hired them, which was just as bad. This was not what she'd been expecting.
Post by Avery Mondivarius on Dec 19, 2014 1:04:00 GMT -5
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The name Sythnia Novallas was familiar, that was for certain. Even shoveling darkspawn shit at the edge of Orlais didn't leave a man that unaware. Knowing political bullshit was part of the job. The former Commander of the Grey had been certain to school him on the many types of Orlesian nobility and their corresponding address. Unfortunately, Sythnia didn't fall under those that he was immediately mindful of. He didn't know who exactly she was, just that she was some important posh broad all the other important posh people didn't like.
Married into Orlesian nobility, perhaps?
"Certainly gonna try, darlin'. You do the same on your end, eh?" Whatever put ants in her pants saw her off, and he didn't make much note of it once she was out the door. The good Mother was much more... pressing, if you caught his drift.
- - -
Mother Felicity wasn't much for entertaining, which was par for the course. Oh, yes. She teased with the best of them, and was certain to wag her tongue all scandalous and disapproving like while sneaking in some backhanded compliments and barbs. Everything with her was routine, even if the routine was arousing. And frustrating. Before she saw him off she was certain to give him a peck on the cheek before he went his merry way.
Some day he hoped to have that woman. Or at least get randy enough to pop one in her honor and offend her spirit.
He'd managed to almost make it back to his tavern of choice. Almost. There were a handful of them, and they weren't as quiet as they should have been. His ears tipped him off and his hand found an arrow before they closed the distance. The first two were plugged head and shaft in their most vital bits. Another two got close, and he cut them deep. The first came in with a knife which Avery met, the second was smart enough to go in while Avery was in the parry, but was rebuffed with a kick. The final one actually managed to throw his knife into the seams of Avery's leather. It only went in half an inch, not enough to be threatening, but enough to hurt.
The man he parried was surprised when Avery pulled a knife in another hand and shoved it into his eye. The second parried Avery's blade, but not his foot, which kicked out his knee, and the third wasn't expecting Avery to fling a knife over his shoulder while his back was turned. He was certain to close the distance on the third and finish him off with a quick stab to the throat before he returned to the one he'd paralyzed.
It didn't take long to find out who'd sent them, and what they were after. A quick look at the paper revealed a location, but not much else.
- - -
He was swift to inform the Wardens of what happened. He would not make the same mistake again, and was certain to bring the Warden Chamberlain with him while the recruits stayed fast asleep. Whatever security she had, he was confident that it wouldn't be prepared for two Wardens. And if it was, he was at least sure he could kill he before he went down.
The elf servant was quick to let him in after a name drop. "Warden Commander" seemed to take the fire right out of her refusal.
The next bit was mostly some waiting. He was certain to wait in a felt chair so he could bleed a little bit on it. He'd have to see a healer later. Thing was deep enough that it'd need to be magically shut, sewn or cauterized.
"An' a good evenin' t'you, sweetness. Or if you please, venhedis." Bout the only words he'd picked up from his Vint daddy were swears. "Might you tell me what that bit of paper was on about? Or should I commandeer your estate an' have you hanged in front of my men? I'm sure they'd appreciate a good show." The commandeering might prove to be a bit of a stretch, but he was certain he had the authority to hang her for attempting to bludgeon him, and possibly see him dead.
Post by Sythnia Novallas on Jan 2, 2015 17:50:54 GMT -5
She took a brief moment to recalculate the situation – if nothing else, wardens in her estate threatening her was a very effective wake up call – and quickly aligning all the mental pieces on the board before she dived in. She seemed entirely unaffected by the threats beyond a slight raising of her eyebrows, though she did lay a quick map of the room in her head to use to her advantage should they actually attempt to make good on it – she wasn't an amazingly talented mage, but she was a mage, which in and of itself wasn't incredibly common knowledge, so if worse came to worse, she could use her abilities to make an escape in the direction of one of her guards – who probably wouldn't hold long against wardens, but it would be precious few seconds she could use. But she was getting ahead of herself – she didn't think they were so stupid as to really ignite an incident.
“That would certainly be a show worth watching.” 'I'd have it turned around on the man who sent me the information so fast your head would spin, but think what you'd like.' This was going to have to be a cautious dance – she had no fear for herself, just for her reputation. The nobles may have acting as if she'd pissed in all their collective cornflakes, but she had enough that were tied down in debts or fear to get her out of real trouble...and that wasn't even counting Tevinter ties, though she'd happily avoid those if she could. After all, she was placed here because she was supposed to be good at handling things herself.
“The information is less exciting than it seems. It's a drop point from someone who owes me a favor.” 'Well, hey, it's not that far from the truth.' “I wasn't terribly inclined to make a scene in a Chantry – they hate me enough as it is – and made a hasty assumption of what would be a quicker way to get it back. At least its good to know which of my contacts aren't terribly competent.” She kept her tone light and casual as she could, waving one hand dismissively as she spoke. If only to further prove how utter unthreatened she was, she took a seat nearby, reclining herself to be perfectly comfortable.
“I expect something he sent me was perhaps incriminating in some form, what with all the secrecy he demanded. Honestly it's probably not even worth all the trouble I made for it.” 'Incriminating is definitely what it is, so I need to get his focus off that and onto me. If anyone finds out I was going to smuggle a criminal across the border back home to garner some favor...well, if worse comes to worse I can signal someone to get out there as fast as possible and kill the guy. The Wardens will probably get them before they can get back, but it's better than the alternative.' Many would consider he odd for the sentiment, but she was rather amused by the turn of events – after the initial annoyance had passed, anyway. This was far more exciting than a routine down and grab she'd asked for.
“You've got a little something on your shoulder, by the way – I assume that means they tried to kill you. That's awful rude - you know, I only asked them to recover the information. Running around demanding the head of people who accidentally stole information is in poor taste, after all.” 'And stupid – if I wanted him dead, I'd have hired a professional.'
Post by Avery Mondivarius on Jan 15, 2015 17:39:29 GMT -5
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"I reckon it would be. Pretty little neck of yours a good inch or two longer. Shame you'd be swayin' in the breeze. Heard there's some Rivaini women real keen on that look." So keen they wore weighted necklaces to give it to them. And then apparently couldn't take the necklaces off or they'd keel over and die or some nonsense. Seemed like a serious commitment to beauty, but who was he to talk? Most days he didn't bother coming his hair and just left it in a slicked back mess.
Avery's brow rose. He wasn't buying what she was selling, but he wasn't out and out doubting it, neither. Just 'cause she was some Vint didn't mean she didn't play by the rules. And given that she was some Vint ambassador in Orlais, she certainly did play by the rules of the Game. How much was truthful at any given point he couldn't say. Politics made his ass itch and brought on a migraine. Most time he was eager to give them a good display of street cunning and might makes right. Seemed to work in his favor most days.
Walking over to her, Avery pressed his hands along either side of her chair's arms, and leaned in real close. "Look, sweetness. I'm Orlesian. I know how this shit works. The only time an Orlesian--even a foreign Vint Orlesian--shows their hand an' makes an ass of themselves is if somethin's worth it." And they had definitely tried to kill him, which certainly constituted showing one's pretty little ass. "Given that you ain't already dead in a ditch somewhere, ya ain't shit at your job. An' I ain't shit at mine. Except the only difference is, if you kill me, you'll lose your job, property, an' likely life." Depended how much tout she had and how good she was at thinking on her feet, but the first two were almost certain. Even if she had cause to defend herself, killing a Warden--two Wardens, at that--wasn't a crime that didn't go unpunished in most cases. "But if I kill you, I get off scot free. Might be different if you was a monarch, but you ain't."
She was just a Tevinter, which was a bad thing to be.
Avery still looked stoic--he wasn't buying that, either. Maybe she actually didn't intend to have him killed, but things looked different on his end, and she was liable to try and lesson the severity of her actions if she was eager to see him dead. Only an idiot would admit to a Warden that they'd tried to have them shived in some dingy little dark alley.
"So, tell me again why this piece'a paper was worth killin' for. Or I'll just send the word t'have one of my men go to the location an' find out." And make sure that none of her servants slipped out and raised the alarm.
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