Post #2716416 in The Canticle of Fate, a roleplay on RPG

Vesryn suspected that without his elven ears, he'd have been quite popular at court.

Perhaps as an amusement more than anyone to be taken seriously, but popular all the same. Enough charm to be friendly, enough bravado to be interesting and unpredictable. A divisive figure no doubt, either loved or hated, if he was considered at all. Instead he was none of those things, because he was an elf, and few of these masked nobles regarded him as more than a curiosity. A strange choice for the Lady Inquisitor to have on her arm.

Arm in arm was how he and Stel had gone about so far, at least after she was done being presented to the Empress. Vesryn didn't warrant such an honor, and so he'd needed to meet up with her after. The Inquisition's party was split, and he currently found himself with Rilien and Zee as well. Where exactly to begin in this particular hornet's nest was beyond Vesryn, but he was pretty certain either Stel or her teacher would have a good idea, considering the amount of people they knew between them. As before in Val Royeaux, Vesryn simply wished to be of assistance when he was capable of it, and to not get in the way when he wasn't.

Beside him, Stel sighed, somewhere between relief and weariness, at a guess. Probably not an excellent sign this early in the night, but they had been confronted with a near-constant stream of introductions. This was the first time they'd had a moment's pause since they entered the building. "Well, that was nerve-wracking," she confessed, no doubt referring to her introduction to the Empress. "It's... very difficult to look at her and not... well." She left the statement unfinished, but it wasn't too difficult to understand where she'd been going with it.

However gilded and glittery this event made things seem, Celene's politics were hardly so clean. The fact that more than half the people in this place had probably agreed with some of her worst decisions was a bit more real, with all of them assembled here.

Pursing her lips, Stel squeezed his forearm where she held it, perhaps not entirely consciously, because she actually turned to address Rilien. "Any ideas on where to start? I see all the Bards are from Le Nichoir tonight." That was the group their Spymaster had once belonged to, one he apparently still had some form of connection with.

Rilien nodded slightly, just a minuscule dip of his head. He wore the Inquisition's mask just like all of them did, but he obviously had a reputation here quite independent from that. Elf or not, he didn't seem to be relegated to the status of mere passing interest or object of near-voyeuristic fascination or outright disdain, like the other nonhumans in their little group were. It was hard to get a read on just what anyone did think of his presence, but it was definitely not the same.

“Celene would have chosen the entertainment. That means she has an interest in making certain that only Dame Cygne's Bards are in attendance. We will not have been the only ones to notice; I've no doubt Gaspard's people will be watching them closely as well." He folded his hands into his sleeves.

“We could always inquire of Lady Aurelie herself. She will not tell us anything she doesn't want to, but she likes to play games. Especially with me." He exchanged a meaningful look with Stel. “So it might be productive."

Zahra’s attention was torn between her current company and those who flourished past them—flourished, because of their sweeping dresses and overly-extravagant gestures, and frequent sidelong glances. It appeared as if she had a hard time not crossing her arms or settling them at her hips, as she might have done bereft of lace and fineries. Instead she set them at her sides, occasionally drawing them up to readjust her mask that looked as if it needed no readjusting. Most likely to keep her hands busy.

For all her bluster and confidence, she didn’t appear to be enjoying herself as much as she might have, considering the heaviness of their circumstances. She exhaled through her nose, and turned back towards them, “A good start as any, I’d say.” She rubbed at her jawline, and glanced over Rilien’s shoulder. Back into the gaggle of mask-wearers, assembled in little clutches. Tittering among themselves. Whispering, gossiping.

When no protests were forthcoming, Rilien inclined his head slightly and smoothly turned, guiding them unerringly towards a balcony set off the main ballroom. Whether he'd spotted this Lady Aurelie earlier or simply knew where she would be from habit, he appeared to have no hesitation in his route, effortlessly navigating them through the crowds to the relatively easy air of the outside.

In fact, there was only one other person out here at all, a rather tall woman dressed in pale gold. Her mask appeared to be constructed of real feathers in a lace weave, all pristinely-white, setting off the blonde ringlet curls iced by silver that fell to the middle of her back. She held herself with a grace easily the equal of the Empress's, and perhaps considerably more fluidity. It wasn't hard to imagine that she'd formed the organization that had trained their very own Spymaster.

"Dearheart." She addressed Rilien with clear fondness in her tone. Genuine, as far as could be discerned, though of course there was no doubt she was a practiced liar and actress both. "I've been expecting you. And you've brought me such interesting company, as well." With a delicate flourish, she curtsied.

"A pleasure, Inquisition. I am Aurelie Montblanc, Marquise de Valle. But please: Aurelie is quite sufficient."

“Lady Aurelie, this is Lady Inquisitor Estella Avenarius, Serah Vesryn Cormyth, and Captain Zahra Tavish." Rilien, as the mutual acquaintance, intoned the introductions on their side, gesturing neatly to each in their turn.

The Bardmistress's eyes followed the motions keenly, an assessing gaze sweeping over each of them in a way that felt distinctly impartial. She lingered just a moment on where Stel's hand rested on Vesryn's arm, before lifting her attention back to their faces, a slight uptick to the corner of her mouth. "Such intrigue you bring with you. Whatever the outcome, this night will be spoken of for generations, of that you can rest assured."

Vesryn wondered how they could put up with living and interacting this way all day, every single day. Masking their words and their tones and making it impossible for anyone to ever tell if anything was genuine. She seemed so fond of Rilien, it almost made her appear sweet, but if she was the one who trained Rilien, there could be no doubt that she was one of the most deadly people in Halamshiral at the moment. "It's quite the feeling," he admitted, "knowing that history is being made all around you. Blink or take a moment to catch your breath, and it could be gone and done with before you have a chance to do anything about it."

And indeed, he found himself wanting a moment to catch his breath already. The constant scrutiny was wearing more quickly on him than he expected. For Stel's sake more than his own. It was ridiculous that them walking arm in arm was considered among all of the Inquisition's intrigue, but so was just about everything about this country, if he were being honest. "Is there anything in particular you're hoping to see tonight, Lady Aurelie?"

Her smile was slow to spread, but it did, making the thin lines at the corners of her mouth deepen enough to be noticeable. "I hope to see the end of a war, Serah." Sighing softly, she leaned back against the balcony rail behind her, laying her palms on the stone and letting her fingers curl over the edge. "To see my countrymen stop killing each other on the fields that should be used to grow our food and house our people. Too much blood is as fallow-making as salt and scorched earth."

“You would much rather they kill each other here." It seemed that, whatever their actual relationship was like, Rilien did not mince his words for his mentor, either.

Aurelie chuckled, a dark thing, dry like parched earth. "Of course I would. Contains the damage, and it's good for business, besides. No, it's when it spills out to bother everything else that I find it all most distasteful. That needs to end tonight."

"We hope to see that too," Estella said, her tone quiet, but firm. "You could help us, Lady Aurelie. All the Bards here are yours, and there's no one better at knowing things than a Bard." She pursed her lips, clearly choosing to speak from the heart herself. "No doubt you'd know about just about anything that happened before we could hope to." She paused, as though weighing something, then took a breath to continue.

"We believe that someone supporting Corypheus intends to make a move tonight. If we shared our information, we'd stand a better chance of preventing that from happening."

The Bardmistress tilted her head, birdlike in a manner befitting her professional name. "My, my." She expelled a breath from her nose, something in her facial expression softening for just a moment. "You'd make a terrible Bard, ma chérie. Pretty as a picture and sweet as madeleines, but so fatally honest." Though the words could be interpreted as a criticism, she didn't seem to mean anything negative by them.

"The truth is, most everyone is at least aware of that possibility." She explained this almost kindly, shaking her head a little. "They simply all believe themselves smart enough to avoid the knife and take advantage of whatever power vacuum such an agent would leave, you see?" Aurelie lifted one of her hands, using it to nudge a curl behind her ear. "I can't give you what you want, Lady Inquisitor. Professional discretion. But I can give you this: they who bark the loudest never bite the hardest. Watch your backs. I would hate to see you die." She pushed herself gracefully away from the balcony rail.

"Truly." As she left, she touched her hand to Rilien's.

He remained completely still until she'd passed back inside of the building, then glanced down at his hand. Raising it to the level of his chest, he loosened his fingers, revealing a small piece of paper. On it appeared to be one line of text, in elegant, loopy handwriting.

“Nightshade grows in the lunar garden." He raised his eyes to the rest of them. “As I said. Games."

"I would hate to see us die, too," Vesryn said, after he'd watched her go. This particular game seemed to have an obvious enough lead, but he had little clue as to what they would find on the other end. He didn't count on himself to be the one to pick these things up, though. After all, he hadn't even noticed her passing him the note, and his eyes had been right on her as she went. "Nightshade in the garden, then? Seems someone might be getting poisoned?"

Stel pursed her lips. "Nightshade can look like a normal plant," she said thoughtfully. "Its other name is belladonna, which literally means 'beautiful woman,' or elegant lady, or something equivalent. And lunar..." Her brows knit. "I think that's an allusion to Celene. Her name refers etymologically to the moon. So I think it might mean something like... there's someone around Celene who looks elegant or beautiful but is actually poisonous?"

She glanced at Rilien, as if hoping for some kind of confirmation of her guess.

He inclined his head slightly. “With Aurelie, it is likely to have layers of meaning. I would not be surprised if one or more attempts to poison someone were made tonight. Nightshade works well as a coating for weapons, also. Lunar garden probably has the double meaning of Celene's immediate surroundings and also possibly the palace's garden more literally. It is closed off for the evening, which means we should exercise caution if we mean to breach it. That may become necessity, if no better clues present themselves."

Zahra wandered a few paces away from Stel’s side, eyeing the party-goers, and reaching out towards one of the platters being carried by an approaching serving-man. Cockles and various specialties arranged in a bed of exotic greens; there were melted cheeses, as well. Her fingers wriggled closer. Beckoning the snack into her hand. The servant seemed to take notice, and was making his way through the throe of people.

There was a noise off to Rilien’s right. The sound of footsteps coming from behind them. Barely audible, as if they were being purposefully kept in check. Someone who strode on the side of her boots instead of their heels; quiet. Unobtrusive. Heard only by those keen enough to listen for such things; out of Vesryn’s line of sight.

A gloved hand clasped onto Zahra’s forearm and halted her advance towards the tray. It belonged to a meticulously dressed man in black and red finery. Much like the others, though his mask was peculiar enough to warrant a second glance. It hid the top portion of his face and framed his high cheekbones, made entirely of black leather, ending in a short, crooked beak. Under scrutiny, tiny scale patterns could be seen textured across the mask’s surface. Seeing how everyone wore masks, it was difficult to tell who it was, though it was clear that she did not recognize him. Her expression was one of surprise, mouth gawped open and hand held poised in the air.

The pause hadn’t lasted long—though he was looking down into her face, seeing how he was quite a bit taller in that regard. Something like a smile peeped out from beneath the beak of his mask as he turned Zahra’s hand over, cloying her fingers apart with his own. He drew his free hand from his hip and hummed softly, pressing it against her palm and forcing her fingers to close once more. A quick glance behind his shoulder indicated that he was well aware she was not alone, noting their presence with little more than an owlish incline of his head.

“Enjoy the evening, won’t you?” Baritone. To her, to them. His voice held no malice, no verbalization that betrayed his intentions. It was warm. Or intrigued. As everyone here seemed to be. Quick as a snake uncoiling from its quarry, the man released her arm and took a step backwards, bending at the waist in manner that may have looked like a hasty bow. He didn’t wait for any response at all, disappearing up the nearest flight of stairs that led towards the front doors, and back inside.

There was a sound of crinkling paper. Zahra’s stupor ended shortly after. Mumbling as she was at the object in her hand. A small note. A letter, neatly folded into her palm with a familiar sigil stamped across the middle flap. By the widening of her eyes, she certainly knew what it was. She shook her head and sighed harshly through her nostrils, slipping the thing into the bosom of her dress in a less than discreet fashion, “I’ll explain later.” A tight-lipped smile tugged its way to her lips as she rolled her eyes, “Games. I swear, I’ll have enough of them by the end of this night.”

Stel looked quite concerned for a moment, as though she might ask after the matter now rather than wait, but Vesryn could see her intentionally quiet the instinct, constraining it into a small nod instead. "If you're sure."

When that proved to be the case, the small group moved back into the ballroom proper, some minutes after Aurelie did the same. The dancing didn't seem to have begun yet; the Bards looked to be setting up their instruments in preparation for it, however. The scrutiny was almost instant upon their reappearance—whatever breather that had been was quite clearly over.

Fortunately, the first faces brave enough to approach them were quite familiar.

"Stel!" The accented tenor was known to Vesryn as well. When the party diverted their attention in the direction it had come from, it was to see a much-recovered Julien D'Artignon approaching, flanked by Gauvain. The young Marquis was in a burgundy shade deeper by several degrees than Stel's red. Healthy color had returned to the visible portions of his face, the rest obscured by a dark grey mask which bore some resemblance to a fox, stylistically.

Upon reaching the group, he smiled widely, most of all at Stel. Bowing momentarily over her hand, he did not attempt any flourish quite so dramatic or invasive as kissing her knuckles. "Finally found you. Wasn't easy, with all these annoyances about." He rose and ran a hand back through his hair, left loose to his nape. "Vesryn, Rilien, good to see you again as well." He offered an arm for each to clasp in turn.

"Forgive me; I don't believe we've met." He seemed quite content to cut through the formalities and do his own introductions, and with Zahra he did, offering his hand in just the same way as with the others. "Julien D'Artignon, at your service. This is Gauvain, my steward." The elf behind him bowed a bit more formally, though he seemed comfortable enough, even giving the party a small smile.

Whatever unpleasantness had happened before certainly did not show on Zahra’s face, almost as if she’d shrugged it off her shoulders and traded it in for something a little more jovial. If it was feigned, she was a splendid actress. Her smile, at least, appeared genuine when Julien rounded up to face her, clasping his hand in her own. She gave it a shake, and arched an inquisitive eyebrow, “Pleasure is mine, Julien. Gauvain. I’m Captain Zahra Tavish, though you can call me Zee if you’d like.”

The sentiment was clear enough. Any friend of Stel’s would be counted as one of her own as well. She released his hand and grinned wide, rubbing at the back of her neck, “I know all too well about annoyances—gawkers, mostly. You’d think they’d have better things to do.”

"You'd be sorely mistaken, I'm afraid," Julien replied, expelling a frustrated breath and shaking his head. "Sometimes I manage to forget how much I despise court, and then something reminds me."

Stel glanced between him and Gauvain. The question was written plainly across her face, but she looked as though she wasn't quite sure how to give voice to it.

Perhaps fortunately, Gauvain answered himself. "I told him everything," he said quietly. He had the grace to look quite chastened about it, no doubt but a fraction of his feelings at the time it happened. "Thank you, for allowing me the opportunity." From the way they interacted with each other, all had been forgiven and no permanent harm done. Rather a significant amount of largesse on Julien's part if so.

The nobleman nodded. He was, upon observation, having some difficulty looking long at anyone not Stel, but he was also clearly consistently making the attempt to do so. Whether she had observed the same thing was unclear. "We're both grateful," he added more seriously. "We actually come bearing a message, from our mutual, ah, acquaintance. Q. She's here, and would like to meet with you, Stel. It seems to be important, but she wouldn't tell us more than that. I don't think she trusts me." A touch of melancholy colored that revelation, but he didn't seem inclined to linger on it.

"Somehow I think that has more to do with her than with you," Vesryn said, smiling sympathetically. He doubted a woman such as Q trusted anyone, even those she worked with regularly. Probably just a necessity of her chosen line of work. As for the typical placement of Julien's gaze, Vesryn could hardly blame him. He of all people could understand why someone would be drawn to Stel, which hadn't been too difficult to see in Julien before in Val Royeaux, and it was the same now. Jealousy had never been an emotion that Vesryn tended towards.

"In any case, it seems best that we indulge her, no? Q would not be here without a purpose, and if she's willing to divulge that purpose, all the more benefit to us." Knowing what he did of her, any plans she had here were not likely to be helpful ones. But perhaps he was just being cynical.

“Where would she like us to meet her?" The eminently-practical question, of course, came from Rilien.

"There's a gallery open to the guests this evening, and an unoccupied balcony off of it. The smaller of two. She'll be there unless it's crowded. If there are too many others about, she said just to make yourselves available and she'll find you." A concerned expression flickered across Julien's face. "Not too available, mind. I don't quite trust her, either. Not anymore." With a subtle head shake, he glanced between all four of them.

"Anything you need, anything we can do—we're at your disposal. If nothing else, we'll keep an eye on things in here while your Inquisition is about."

Stel offered him a smile. "Thank you, Julien. And Gauvain as well. For now, just... let us know if anything seems strange. Beyond the usual, I mean."

"Can do. Much as I prefer everyone's company here to that I'll find anywhere else, I understand you've work to do. Best of luck." With a decisive nod, Julien excused himself, Gauvain in tow.

"We should update the others," Stel ventured, glancing up at him and then over at the other two. "And then... find Q."

Snippet #2716416

located in Thedas, a part of The Canticle of Fate, one of the many universes on RPG.

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