Cyrus knew the way around the mausoleums under Minrathous's main level perhaps better than someone of his former status really ought to, but it was serving them well at the moment. Fortunately, today's trip didn't involve a trip into the sewers proper, which he heard had been as unpleasant as usual the last time the others had to make their way somewhere discreetly. Sidestepping a pile of crumbled stone, he paused at a fork in the passage, clicking his tongue and trying to decide how soon they were best served to return to daylight. Three years wasn't so much time that he'd lost his sense of where things were, but he certainly didn't have perfect knowledge of how populated different areas would be at exactly this moment.
Deciding to play it safe, he turned them to the left, taking them down another passage full of the ashes of the dead, and the bones of those too poor to be properly burned. In times of strife, the catacombs were useable for food storage, but many of the spells that kept them sanitary enough for that were long decayed, and at the moment they sat empty of anything but those who had long expired, open and echoing with each scuffed footstep or loose stone's descent to ground.
A series of rungs set into the stone wall took them up, and Cyrus moved aside the metal grate above them before pulling himself back up onto street level. Gripping the hood of his drab grey cloak, he pulled it over his head, obscuring his features. The chance he'd be recognized was small, but not completely negligible. Better not to risk it.
The narrow street they now stood on was grimy, slicked by old rain that hadn't quite drained away or dried yet, lingering in stagnant pools in cracked stone that once would have funneled it perfectly well into the grate. Most of the city was like that: once-glorious design ruined by the uncorrected ravages of time. Some of the older buildings were held together by magic alone, but none of those here were important enough for that, and one of those to the side of this laneway sagged into the one next to it, forming a lean-to currently occupied by huddled forms that barely spared the emerging party a glance. Refugees; no doubt the city had swelled further with them since he'd been gone. The Qunari wars only ever got worse, not better.
âMind your step." No doubt Romulus knew well enough already, but the others were still unfamiliar to Minrathous, and it to them. âWe're heading north from here." The Provings was at the center of the city, more or less.
It was impossible to totally avoid nicer areas as they made their path there; aside from the Ivory Quarter and the Tower District, Central Minrathous was the most affluent part, filled with the homes of wealthy merchants and Laetan houses with money but without peerage. The grime and dirt of the outer city receded somewhat, broken buildings gradually giving way to those that had been preserved with more effort. In the distance, the Argent Spire loomed; the cathedral where two among their number had been raised in early childhood was not far from it, but they were headed a different way for now.
Eventually, the laneways widened into more capacious roads designed for commerce, the mood of their surroundings lifting until it was lively, the fetid water stink replaced by the scent of grilling meats, heady spices, and perfumes. A slave auction looked to be impending, various people in chains being led up to a platform on one side of the street, where a small crowd had gathered, speaking amongst themselves until proceedings began. Cyrus bypassed all of it, slipping smoothly through the press of bodies and heading for the very heart of the city, where the market throngs thinned out and a civic garden emerged around them, trimmed in black and white stone.
Just beyond it lay their destination: the Provings was a massive triangular prism shape, tiered hanging gardens on the exterior giving it a lush, rich coating of color and texture, the tropical climate allowing bright color and thick foliage to flourish with minimal magical interference. The green jewel in the stone city, or so it was called by the fanciful. Cyrus thought Corveus was most likely to be somewhere in the garden; of all the surrounding public locations, it was the one that allowed for the greatest degree of discretion.
âAnyone see him? Nondescript fellow; probably looks like a smug evil bastard." If his previous wardrobe preferences were anything to go by, he was most likely wearing monochromatic black, even.
"I don't see him," Romulus said, the first words he'd spoken in a while. Changed man though he was, he was still quiet, especially on the streets of Minrathous. His hood was drawn up as well, leather armor more indicative of a mercenary than anything else, and though the armor lacked sleeves, his hands were tightly wrapped and gloved, to conceal the glow coming from the left one. In other cities it might've been conspicuous to go around in hoods, but it wasn't especially strange in Minrathous.
"No threats of any kind. Yet." He didn't seem to think they were walking into an ambush here of all places, but he hadn't come unarmed, either.
Zahra, too, wore a gray cloak cinched at her collarbone, though sheâd foregone wearing her hood. She had no past to speak of in Minrathous, aside from her unfortunate affair with Faraji. The chances of bumping into him now were slim to none. The marketplace itself thrummed with diverse faces; dark as her own. Coming from all stretches of Thedas for commerce, business or shadier inclinations. For all its disreputable histories, the city bore its belly like any other. Men hawked their wares, wagons trudged down the busy streets and the sweet, familiar scent of primrose and plumeria wafted down from the gardens ahead.
She rounded up beside Cyrus and raked her fingers through her unruly curls, pushing them away from her face. Her lips pursed, eyes drawing into squints as she peered across the many stippled rows of flowers, looming trees and shrubbery. Concise, in its own way. Qunari influence was obvious in the way everything had been meticulously arranged. Forcefully molded to be aesthetically pleasing as possible. Not at all like Skyholdâs wild garden, allowed to grow in whichever way it wanted to, tended softly. âWhenever I picture a smug evil bastard, I imagine Corypheus. Donât suppose heâs a ridiculously, ugly giant, do you?â
There was, however, a man in the distance, dressed in clothes Cyrus had rightfully assumed he might have been wearingâa noblemanâs fare, from the looks of it. A hip-length jacket with several buckles riding up the front; high-collared. Black pants, calf-length boots. Crisply cut, in varying shades of monochrome. Trimmed to fit smartly. What stood out the most was a wink of a pin snapped where a lapel might have been, above his heart: a dragon with coiled serpents. Without the mask⊠he looked awfully less cryptic; cropped hair that mirrored his monochrome palette, striking a noticeable contrast between the pallor of his pale skin. He was sharp-featured, as many Tevene were, with eyes that looked like two pieces of flint. Apathetic, if not curious.
His gaze was trained on them, mouth set into a line. A moment passed, before he inclined his chin beside the large grove he was seated in, beneath a tree, gloved hands folded in his lap. It didnât appear as if anyone else was in the vicinity. Only him.
"Don't look now," Leon said dryly, "but I think that's him." He nodded in the man's direction, as if to make sure they had all indeed spotted the obvious target, but he didn't move, clearly expecting that Zahra would want to take the lead.
Zahra was standing straighter and straighter, a hitch of her breath catching as she inhaled through her nose. She exhaled out softer, this time. When it appeared as if sheâd composed herself well enough, she rounded her shoulders and took the first tentative steps forward, following Leonâs field of vision towards the man lounging beneath the tree, âBest not keep him waiting then.â
She took a moment to make sure that they were following along with her, glancing over her shoulder. It was clear by the expression on her face that it was for her benefit more than theirs, making sure they fell into step so that she wouldnât have to face him alone. Even if it was only a few paces ahead. She smoothed her hands across the front of her pants before climbing up the small, grassy embankment leading up to the spindly tree; branches laden with heavy purple flowers, swaying in long streams, its roots rippled through the ground like surfacing vipers; easy enough to step over.
Corveus. Upon closer inspection, he looked somewhat ill. Gaunt, at least. Bags hung beneath his dark eyes, and his cheekbones seemed too sharp, too tired. Hollow-eyed, but still alert, aware. There was a stillness there, as he turned his head to regard them, making no movement to rise from the shade of the tree. His lips pulled into a half-smile, though it seemed bereft of any humor. âThereâs no need for introductions on your part, I already know your names.â A pause, before he pushed himself to his feet, gaze swinging over each of them, âMine is Corveus Contee. A pleasure to finally meet you in person.â
He patted the grass and petals from the back of his trousers, leveling them once more with a stare, âIâm sure youâve questions, but it would be prudent to keep moving. You can ask them on the way.â
It was all quite rude, but efficient enough. Cyrus was inclined not to care much about the former if it guaranteed the latter, and he fell in step with Corveus as they walked, just a half-step behind so as to let the other man do the leading. âI'm assuming you already have some plan for us to follow?" He didn't seem the type to leave anything to chance if he could avoid itânor the type to willingly cede control of a situation to someone else. Which meant they probably weren't expected to do much more than go where he said when he said and do what he said. For now, that honestly suited Cyrus just fine. But if there were clues to be had about when that would change, he wanted to decipher them as soon as possible.
âI do,â Corveus inclined his head in Cyrusâs direction and seemed to consider him for a moment before he arched a thin eyebrow, the creases of his eyes crinkling enough to show some indication of amusement, âThough truthfully, Iâm only the key. What happens once we enter is anyoneâs guess.â The way he said it sounded as if there were things inside that went beyond his reach and control. A troubling thought, given the spidery web heâd established over Skyhold, vicariously operating through Zahraâs crew-mate. He did not, however, seem especially worried. His expression smoothed over just as quickly; a drop of water rippling across a veneer of indifference.
Corveus led them down a series of winding alleyways, buildings crushed together only to allow single-file, while others opened into several spaces with archways and shuttered windows. They passed by hunched beggars in tattered clothes, holding up trembling hands, murmuring for change. Coin, please. He only pressed forward, sparing them no attention. Tevinter was rife with all sorts of rabble, and the poor and rich were startlingly disembodied. The poor were strewn about Minrathous like rats in a gutter, and the rich segregated to their own little kingdoms. So it was.
It was Zahraâs jawline that was bunching up as they walked. Lips pursed, as if she were chewing on words unspoken. Her hands opened and snapped back into fists, murky eyes burning a hole through their backs. âSo, whatâs this price you so cryptically alluded to?â By the sound of her voice, sheâd been thinking on it for awhile, releasing the question out in one hoisted, cloying breath. Impatient as ever, even if Cyrus had said that it wouldnât matter. That they would navigate those waters once they reached them.
If there was any hesitation on Corveusâs part, it was imperceptible enough to go beyond anyoneâs notice, as he hadnât slowed in his steps or turned to look at her. There was a subtle, unperceived flicker of his gaze, before he unlatched the following door and stepped through. âIt would only make sense to make my demands once Iâve followed through on my end, donât you think?â
Zahra only huffed, clearly not satisfied with the answer. She dogged their heels just the same, swinging her gaze towards the upper windows, keeping her hand feathered across the pommel of her blades.
âAny more questions? Weâre nearly there.â
"Who exactly are we dealing with here? What's the layout inside the location?" Leon, as always, thought strategically and questioned accordingly. It was easy enough to tell that he was hardly pleased with the underwhelming amount of freely-volunteered information, particularly in a situation that could easily become life-threatening.
He looked rather like he might be a bit more vulnerable to such threats than usual, at the moment, a somewhat gaunt sunkenness to his cheeks that hadn't always been there. Cyrus knew of his sickness, of course, but it seemed to have progressed even in the few days it had been since they last saw one another.
Corveus did turn to look at Leon, pausing in his tracks to scrutinize him. Perhaps, heâd only noticed the noticeable difference in their statures then, staring up at him. Aside from the occasional anomaly, those in Tevinter were generally of average stature. Elves and humans, not casting particularly daunting figures. His gaze flicked up to his face, before he met his gaze, eyes rolling skyward to recall the information he was being asked for, âFaraji. My motherâs Thorns, her loyal hounds. Enchanted traps for those who donât share the Contee bloodline. Vindictive bunch, as you can see.â He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug and glanced in Româs direction, lips forming another candid line, âLike any other estate; too large for comfort. Fortunately, weâll be bypassing most of it in favor of the oubliette. She should be there.â
With that said, he turned back on his heels and continued leading from the front. It didnât take them long to twine through several blocks, ducking into alleyways, stalling only a couple times whenever Corveus raised his hand, ushering them to wait until approaching footfalls passed them by. Although some parts of Minrathous were in disrepair, flooded with refugees, somehow still swathed in powerful magic⊠there seemed to be a presence there, guards in slate-colored clothes, speaking in Teveneâs trade tongue. Mercenaries, perhaps. Difficult to tell from the back and Corveus had not waited long enough to get a better look. He hardly paused at all, tracing his steps back as if heâd taken them many times before; a disreputable place for someone who was of noble birth.
The further they walked, the more decrepit their surroundings appeared. Brightly colored banners were replaced with tatters, flailing in the wayward breeze. Buildings seemed to crackle, tipping in on themselves, but still somehow managing to keep upright. Bits of brick littered the side of the pathways, and the cobblestones beneath their feet gave way to uneven ground. The frequency of serfs, hooded figures and homeless increased, though they paid them little mind as they passed. The divergence of wealth seemed to startle Zahra, as she gawped at her surroundings, wide-eyed and distracted. Corveus only slowed in his pace when he was leading them down a series of stairs, running beside a wide-mouthed drain with mucky water several lengths long. The water itself looked questionable, a greenish brown shade.
Something of a latched cover had been arranged beside the furthest wall. A dead end. Covered in moss, decay, and brine. He stopped in front of it and pulled at the iron knob, hoisting it up with effort. He pushed it up against the wall, and smoothed out the crinkles of his jacket, âCatacombs. This one leads precariously close to the estate.â Not home, not his estate. He seemed to be making it clear that there was a distinction there. He glanced at the others, and hunkered down first, boots clanging against the iron-wrought ladder. He disappeared into the darkness, and there was silence, a beat passed, before he called up after them, âClose it behind you, if you will.â
Leon was the last through, and hardly seemed to need telling; little would make their passage more obvious than leaving the door open for any passers-by to find. The door closed softly and then it was back down into the sewers. Thy seemed to be going back roughly the way they'd come, except via a more disgusting route. It wasn't clear why Corveus had forced them out of the Ivory Quarter only to lead them back to it, but perhaps he feared that a rendezvous too close to the estate would draw the attention of spies or some such. Their boots sloshed through a fair amount of muck, though fortunately not enough to leak in anywhere; the stench would be remaining external to their persons, at least.
Corveus, at least, didnât seem to mind the stench. Perhaps, he was used to it. Seeing how easily heâd found the passageway, it was a safe assumption heâd traversed through them several times, for whatever reason a nobleman might want to. The darkness, however, hung over them like a heavy blanket, with the skittering of tiny feet echoing off the walls surrounding them. There was movement off to Cyrusâs right side, before light exploded from the end of a torch Corveus seemed to have taken off the wall nearest the ladder. He shook his hand, waggling his fingers, before taking the first step off to the side, through the inch of mucky water.
Warm, orange shadows played across their faces, and danced across the rounded ceiling. It made Corveusâs face look even more grim, the bones in his face jutting out at acute angles. He stared ahead, tracing his steps with little care for his boots, kicking up water with every step. The probability of rats was verified when one scurried through their feet, screeching down the way theyâd come. Zahra made a noise in the back of her throat and bumped into Leonâs shoulder, stepping back just as quickly, mumbling a hoarse apology. She hadnât done that well in the other catacombs, and this was no different. Though the other had been minutely better, perhaps, with a larger number of people.
âDead, stinking place, couldnât we just walk over?â Zahra was mumbling under her breath, eyebrows knitting together, âI hope Bastian has more wine.â There were a few heavier plopping noises as she rounded to Cyrusâs side, stepping much more carefully now that she had matched his pace. She only spared Corveus a glance, before looking back up at him. âI didnât know Minrathous was so⊠like this. Whatâre these even used for, besides crawling through, all secretive like?â
Cyrus blinked. âThe sewers or the catacombs? The sewers are used to channel waste and runoff from the streets; as I'm sure you've noticed, large parts of the system have fallen into disrepair, particularly in the poorer areas. When they work, however, disease is much less prevalent for the obvious reasons. The catacombs house the dead who lacked either the money or the family for a place in one of the aboveground mausoleums. Minrathous is the largest city in Thedas, and there is only so much room, so we tend to build up and down here. In a pinch, there are spell systems in place that make the dry catacombs safe for food storage." He shrugged. âThe city has withstood several prolonged sieges by making use of them."
Glancing once at Corveus, he let his eyes fall back to Zahra. âBut primarily these days, they're used for crawling through, all secretive-like, as you say. A lot of business happens in this city that is better kept from prying eyes. It's like any other urban center in that way."
âNot at all like Pressa,â Zahra countered, pushing errant curls back behind her ear. She hmâd and straightened her shoulders, focusing her attention on her boots. She seemed to want to talk just for the sake of talking, even if the answers were obvious. Discomfort was easily read in her posture; too rigid, too wooden. Their words echoing off the walls, accompanied by wet sloshing and the flicker of the torch's flames. More than a few times, sheâd wiped her hands across the front of her trousers.
Before Zahra could say anything else, Corveus interrupted. âHere we are.â Theyâd reached the end of the little stretch of sewers by now, small beams of light could be seen peeping through the wooden slats of another battered door, casting speckles on the cobblestones beneath their feet. He waved a hand upwards, and smile grimly, shadows making his eyes seem ever so sunken. âAfter you.â
Deciding to play it safe, he turned them to the left, taking them down another passage full of the ashes of the dead, and the bones of those too poor to be properly burned. In times of strife, the catacombs were useable for food storage, but many of the spells that kept them sanitary enough for that were long decayed, and at the moment they sat empty of anything but those who had long expired, open and echoing with each scuffed footstep or loose stone's descent to ground.
A series of rungs set into the stone wall took them up, and Cyrus moved aside the metal grate above them before pulling himself back up onto street level. Gripping the hood of his drab grey cloak, he pulled it over his head, obscuring his features. The chance he'd be recognized was small, but not completely negligible. Better not to risk it.
The narrow street they now stood on was grimy, slicked by old rain that hadn't quite drained away or dried yet, lingering in stagnant pools in cracked stone that once would have funneled it perfectly well into the grate. Most of the city was like that: once-glorious design ruined by the uncorrected ravages of time. Some of the older buildings were held together by magic alone, but none of those here were important enough for that, and one of those to the side of this laneway sagged into the one next to it, forming a lean-to currently occupied by huddled forms that barely spared the emerging party a glance. Refugees; no doubt the city had swelled further with them since he'd been gone. The Qunari wars only ever got worse, not better.
âMind your step." No doubt Romulus knew well enough already, but the others were still unfamiliar to Minrathous, and it to them. âWe're heading north from here." The Provings was at the center of the city, more or less.
It was impossible to totally avoid nicer areas as they made their path there; aside from the Ivory Quarter and the Tower District, Central Minrathous was the most affluent part, filled with the homes of wealthy merchants and Laetan houses with money but without peerage. The grime and dirt of the outer city receded somewhat, broken buildings gradually giving way to those that had been preserved with more effort. In the distance, the Argent Spire loomed; the cathedral where two among their number had been raised in early childhood was not far from it, but they were headed a different way for now.
Eventually, the laneways widened into more capacious roads designed for commerce, the mood of their surroundings lifting until it was lively, the fetid water stink replaced by the scent of grilling meats, heady spices, and perfumes. A slave auction looked to be impending, various people in chains being led up to a platform on one side of the street, where a small crowd had gathered, speaking amongst themselves until proceedings began. Cyrus bypassed all of it, slipping smoothly through the press of bodies and heading for the very heart of the city, where the market throngs thinned out and a civic garden emerged around them, trimmed in black and white stone.
Just beyond it lay their destination: the Provings was a massive triangular prism shape, tiered hanging gardens on the exterior giving it a lush, rich coating of color and texture, the tropical climate allowing bright color and thick foliage to flourish with minimal magical interference. The green jewel in the stone city, or so it was called by the fanciful. Cyrus thought Corveus was most likely to be somewhere in the garden; of all the surrounding public locations, it was the one that allowed for the greatest degree of discretion.
âAnyone see him? Nondescript fellow; probably looks like a smug evil bastard." If his previous wardrobe preferences were anything to go by, he was most likely wearing monochromatic black, even.
"I don't see him," Romulus said, the first words he'd spoken in a while. Changed man though he was, he was still quiet, especially on the streets of Minrathous. His hood was drawn up as well, leather armor more indicative of a mercenary than anything else, and though the armor lacked sleeves, his hands were tightly wrapped and gloved, to conceal the glow coming from the left one. In other cities it might've been conspicuous to go around in hoods, but it wasn't especially strange in Minrathous.
"No threats of any kind. Yet." He didn't seem to think they were walking into an ambush here of all places, but he hadn't come unarmed, either.
Zahra, too, wore a gray cloak cinched at her collarbone, though sheâd foregone wearing her hood. She had no past to speak of in Minrathous, aside from her unfortunate affair with Faraji. The chances of bumping into him now were slim to none. The marketplace itself thrummed with diverse faces; dark as her own. Coming from all stretches of Thedas for commerce, business or shadier inclinations. For all its disreputable histories, the city bore its belly like any other. Men hawked their wares, wagons trudged down the busy streets and the sweet, familiar scent of primrose and plumeria wafted down from the gardens ahead.
She rounded up beside Cyrus and raked her fingers through her unruly curls, pushing them away from her face. Her lips pursed, eyes drawing into squints as she peered across the many stippled rows of flowers, looming trees and shrubbery. Concise, in its own way. Qunari influence was obvious in the way everything had been meticulously arranged. Forcefully molded to be aesthetically pleasing as possible. Not at all like Skyholdâs wild garden, allowed to grow in whichever way it wanted to, tended softly. âWhenever I picture a smug evil bastard, I imagine Corypheus. Donât suppose heâs a ridiculously, ugly giant, do you?â
There was, however, a man in the distance, dressed in clothes Cyrus had rightfully assumed he might have been wearingâa noblemanâs fare, from the looks of it. A hip-length jacket with several buckles riding up the front; high-collared. Black pants, calf-length boots. Crisply cut, in varying shades of monochrome. Trimmed to fit smartly. What stood out the most was a wink of a pin snapped where a lapel might have been, above his heart: a dragon with coiled serpents. Without the mask⊠he looked awfully less cryptic; cropped hair that mirrored his monochrome palette, striking a noticeable contrast between the pallor of his pale skin. He was sharp-featured, as many Tevene were, with eyes that looked like two pieces of flint. Apathetic, if not curious.
His gaze was trained on them, mouth set into a line. A moment passed, before he inclined his chin beside the large grove he was seated in, beneath a tree, gloved hands folded in his lap. It didnât appear as if anyone else was in the vicinity. Only him.
"Don't look now," Leon said dryly, "but I think that's him." He nodded in the man's direction, as if to make sure they had all indeed spotted the obvious target, but he didn't move, clearly expecting that Zahra would want to take the lead.
Zahra was standing straighter and straighter, a hitch of her breath catching as she inhaled through her nose. She exhaled out softer, this time. When it appeared as if sheâd composed herself well enough, she rounded her shoulders and took the first tentative steps forward, following Leonâs field of vision towards the man lounging beneath the tree, âBest not keep him waiting then.â
She took a moment to make sure that they were following along with her, glancing over her shoulder. It was clear by the expression on her face that it was for her benefit more than theirs, making sure they fell into step so that she wouldnât have to face him alone. Even if it was only a few paces ahead. She smoothed her hands across the front of her pants before climbing up the small, grassy embankment leading up to the spindly tree; branches laden with heavy purple flowers, swaying in long streams, its roots rippled through the ground like surfacing vipers; easy enough to step over.
Corveus. Upon closer inspection, he looked somewhat ill. Gaunt, at least. Bags hung beneath his dark eyes, and his cheekbones seemed too sharp, too tired. Hollow-eyed, but still alert, aware. There was a stillness there, as he turned his head to regard them, making no movement to rise from the shade of the tree. His lips pulled into a half-smile, though it seemed bereft of any humor. âThereâs no need for introductions on your part, I already know your names.â A pause, before he pushed himself to his feet, gaze swinging over each of them, âMine is Corveus Contee. A pleasure to finally meet you in person.â
He patted the grass and petals from the back of his trousers, leveling them once more with a stare, âIâm sure youâve questions, but it would be prudent to keep moving. You can ask them on the way.â
It was all quite rude, but efficient enough. Cyrus was inclined not to care much about the former if it guaranteed the latter, and he fell in step with Corveus as they walked, just a half-step behind so as to let the other man do the leading. âI'm assuming you already have some plan for us to follow?" He didn't seem the type to leave anything to chance if he could avoid itânor the type to willingly cede control of a situation to someone else. Which meant they probably weren't expected to do much more than go where he said when he said and do what he said. For now, that honestly suited Cyrus just fine. But if there were clues to be had about when that would change, he wanted to decipher them as soon as possible.
âI do,â Corveus inclined his head in Cyrusâs direction and seemed to consider him for a moment before he arched a thin eyebrow, the creases of his eyes crinkling enough to show some indication of amusement, âThough truthfully, Iâm only the key. What happens once we enter is anyoneâs guess.â The way he said it sounded as if there were things inside that went beyond his reach and control. A troubling thought, given the spidery web heâd established over Skyhold, vicariously operating through Zahraâs crew-mate. He did not, however, seem especially worried. His expression smoothed over just as quickly; a drop of water rippling across a veneer of indifference.
Corveus led them down a series of winding alleyways, buildings crushed together only to allow single-file, while others opened into several spaces with archways and shuttered windows. They passed by hunched beggars in tattered clothes, holding up trembling hands, murmuring for change. Coin, please. He only pressed forward, sparing them no attention. Tevinter was rife with all sorts of rabble, and the poor and rich were startlingly disembodied. The poor were strewn about Minrathous like rats in a gutter, and the rich segregated to their own little kingdoms. So it was.
It was Zahraâs jawline that was bunching up as they walked. Lips pursed, as if she were chewing on words unspoken. Her hands opened and snapped back into fists, murky eyes burning a hole through their backs. âSo, whatâs this price you so cryptically alluded to?â By the sound of her voice, sheâd been thinking on it for awhile, releasing the question out in one hoisted, cloying breath. Impatient as ever, even if Cyrus had said that it wouldnât matter. That they would navigate those waters once they reached them.
If there was any hesitation on Corveusâs part, it was imperceptible enough to go beyond anyoneâs notice, as he hadnât slowed in his steps or turned to look at her. There was a subtle, unperceived flicker of his gaze, before he unlatched the following door and stepped through. âIt would only make sense to make my demands once Iâve followed through on my end, donât you think?â
Zahra only huffed, clearly not satisfied with the answer. She dogged their heels just the same, swinging her gaze towards the upper windows, keeping her hand feathered across the pommel of her blades.
âAny more questions? Weâre nearly there.â
"Who exactly are we dealing with here? What's the layout inside the location?" Leon, as always, thought strategically and questioned accordingly. It was easy enough to tell that he was hardly pleased with the underwhelming amount of freely-volunteered information, particularly in a situation that could easily become life-threatening.
He looked rather like he might be a bit more vulnerable to such threats than usual, at the moment, a somewhat gaunt sunkenness to his cheeks that hadn't always been there. Cyrus knew of his sickness, of course, but it seemed to have progressed even in the few days it had been since they last saw one another.
Corveus did turn to look at Leon, pausing in his tracks to scrutinize him. Perhaps, heâd only noticed the noticeable difference in their statures then, staring up at him. Aside from the occasional anomaly, those in Tevinter were generally of average stature. Elves and humans, not casting particularly daunting figures. His gaze flicked up to his face, before he met his gaze, eyes rolling skyward to recall the information he was being asked for, âFaraji. My motherâs Thorns, her loyal hounds. Enchanted traps for those who donât share the Contee bloodline. Vindictive bunch, as you can see.â He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug and glanced in Româs direction, lips forming another candid line, âLike any other estate; too large for comfort. Fortunately, weâll be bypassing most of it in favor of the oubliette. She should be there.â
With that said, he turned back on his heels and continued leading from the front. It didnât take them long to twine through several blocks, ducking into alleyways, stalling only a couple times whenever Corveus raised his hand, ushering them to wait until approaching footfalls passed them by. Although some parts of Minrathous were in disrepair, flooded with refugees, somehow still swathed in powerful magic⊠there seemed to be a presence there, guards in slate-colored clothes, speaking in Teveneâs trade tongue. Mercenaries, perhaps. Difficult to tell from the back and Corveus had not waited long enough to get a better look. He hardly paused at all, tracing his steps back as if heâd taken them many times before; a disreputable place for someone who was of noble birth.
The further they walked, the more decrepit their surroundings appeared. Brightly colored banners were replaced with tatters, flailing in the wayward breeze. Buildings seemed to crackle, tipping in on themselves, but still somehow managing to keep upright. Bits of brick littered the side of the pathways, and the cobblestones beneath their feet gave way to uneven ground. The frequency of serfs, hooded figures and homeless increased, though they paid them little mind as they passed. The divergence of wealth seemed to startle Zahra, as she gawped at her surroundings, wide-eyed and distracted. Corveus only slowed in his pace when he was leading them down a series of stairs, running beside a wide-mouthed drain with mucky water several lengths long. The water itself looked questionable, a greenish brown shade.
Something of a latched cover had been arranged beside the furthest wall. A dead end. Covered in moss, decay, and brine. He stopped in front of it and pulled at the iron knob, hoisting it up with effort. He pushed it up against the wall, and smoothed out the crinkles of his jacket, âCatacombs. This one leads precariously close to the estate.â Not home, not his estate. He seemed to be making it clear that there was a distinction there. He glanced at the others, and hunkered down first, boots clanging against the iron-wrought ladder. He disappeared into the darkness, and there was silence, a beat passed, before he called up after them, âClose it behind you, if you will.â
Leon was the last through, and hardly seemed to need telling; little would make their passage more obvious than leaving the door open for any passers-by to find. The door closed softly and then it was back down into the sewers. Thy seemed to be going back roughly the way they'd come, except via a more disgusting route. It wasn't clear why Corveus had forced them out of the Ivory Quarter only to lead them back to it, but perhaps he feared that a rendezvous too close to the estate would draw the attention of spies or some such. Their boots sloshed through a fair amount of muck, though fortunately not enough to leak in anywhere; the stench would be remaining external to their persons, at least.
Corveus, at least, didnât seem to mind the stench. Perhaps, he was used to it. Seeing how easily heâd found the passageway, it was a safe assumption heâd traversed through them several times, for whatever reason a nobleman might want to. The darkness, however, hung over them like a heavy blanket, with the skittering of tiny feet echoing off the walls surrounding them. There was movement off to Cyrusâs right side, before light exploded from the end of a torch Corveus seemed to have taken off the wall nearest the ladder. He shook his hand, waggling his fingers, before taking the first step off to the side, through the inch of mucky water.
Warm, orange shadows played across their faces, and danced across the rounded ceiling. It made Corveusâs face look even more grim, the bones in his face jutting out at acute angles. He stared ahead, tracing his steps with little care for his boots, kicking up water with every step. The probability of rats was verified when one scurried through their feet, screeching down the way theyâd come. Zahra made a noise in the back of her throat and bumped into Leonâs shoulder, stepping back just as quickly, mumbling a hoarse apology. She hadnât done that well in the other catacombs, and this was no different. Though the other had been minutely better, perhaps, with a larger number of people.
âDead, stinking place, couldnât we just walk over?â Zahra was mumbling under her breath, eyebrows knitting together, âI hope Bastian has more wine.â There were a few heavier plopping noises as she rounded to Cyrusâs side, stepping much more carefully now that she had matched his pace. She only spared Corveus a glance, before looking back up at him. âI didnât know Minrathous was so⊠like this. Whatâre these even used for, besides crawling through, all secretive like?â
Cyrus blinked. âThe sewers or the catacombs? The sewers are used to channel waste and runoff from the streets; as I'm sure you've noticed, large parts of the system have fallen into disrepair, particularly in the poorer areas. When they work, however, disease is much less prevalent for the obvious reasons. The catacombs house the dead who lacked either the money or the family for a place in one of the aboveground mausoleums. Minrathous is the largest city in Thedas, and there is only so much room, so we tend to build up and down here. In a pinch, there are spell systems in place that make the dry catacombs safe for food storage." He shrugged. âThe city has withstood several prolonged sieges by making use of them."
Glancing once at Corveus, he let his eyes fall back to Zahra. âBut primarily these days, they're used for crawling through, all secretive-like, as you say. A lot of business happens in this city that is better kept from prying eyes. It's like any other urban center in that way."
âNot at all like Pressa,â Zahra countered, pushing errant curls back behind her ear. She hmâd and straightened her shoulders, focusing her attention on her boots. She seemed to want to talk just for the sake of talking, even if the answers were obvious. Discomfort was easily read in her posture; too rigid, too wooden. Their words echoing off the walls, accompanied by wet sloshing and the flicker of the torch's flames. More than a few times, sheâd wiped her hands across the front of her trousers.
Before Zahra could say anything else, Corveus interrupted. âHere we are.â Theyâd reached the end of the little stretch of sewers by now, small beams of light could be seen peeping through the wooden slats of another battered door, casting speckles on the cobblestones beneath their feet. He waved a hand upwards, and smile grimly, shadows making his eyes seem ever so sunken. âAfter you.â