Post #2727728 in The Canticle of Fate, a roleplay on RPG

Leon was last out of the sewer, just as he'd been last in. His arms ached as he pulled himself back onto ground level, replacing the grate they'd climbed out from beneath as quietly as he could. They stood now on a small pathway, a line of thorny shrubs to the left, which appeared to be part of the manor house they were heading for.

A quick glance at it gave the impression of age and angularity. A closer one revealed that the same dwarven influence as pervaded a great deal of Tevinter's older structures prevailed here, at least in the most basic lines of it. Too old for the Qunari to have had impact on its design even without the architect's awareness, but there was a certain precision to it even so, space maximized within its parameters. Only after the marble blocks had been cut and fit exactingly had the more needless flourishes been added; wrought-iron flanges at the triangular peaks of the roofline, carried through into the gating set into the grey stone border wall. The shingles were gilded, late-evening light reflecting from them with a bright sort of flare that Leon diverted his eyes from.

The garden, or what he could see of it, seemed to be more sculpture than plant life, elaborate fountains shaped into shapes both draconic and humanoid, many of them locked in the posture of battle. The garden wall had several brackets set into it for torches, which burned with blue light, leaving the ivy and thorns around them undisturbed but illuminated in the same lapis hue.

When Corveus confirmed that it was the one they were looking for, Leon took point. Out of the group of them, he was still probably the best suited to weather any initial magical assaults, though he would unfortunately be reliant on their untrustworthy ally as far as knowing where the traps were. The gate proved to be unlocked, and they slipped in quietly, straying from the obvious path up to the house and skirting the garden's outer edges instead.

As they drew close enough to see the entrance in more detail, Leon stopped, looking back over his shoulder with a frown. "I take it the door requires some form of magic to open?" There didn't appear to be any handles, knobs, or depressions in it— nothing but a solid slab of wood.

“An accurate assumption.” Corveus’s expression remained thin, lips twitching into a tired half-smile, before he stepped around him and quickly ascended stairs two at a time. Gnarled, ebony statues depicting wyverns lounged at the sides of the stairs, mouth eternally gawped open in a soundless roar. He took a moment to look around the premises, hollow eyes scanning the front yard, presumably making sure that they were truly alone on the terrace. The streets themselves were empty, save for the occasional bird flapping overhead.

Once he seemed satisfied by their lack of an audience, he turned his back towards them, facing the large, gilded doors. A large insignia had been engraved in a circular piece of stone, a swirling opal hue. The draconic head, cosseted by serpents. He drew his right hand up to his mouth, set a finger to his lips and pulled the leather glove from it, tucking it neatly into his jacket. The lamplight overhead played against the thin, and thick, scars riddling the top of his hand and exposed wrist, as he held it towards the stone plate. Ugly, marring things; puckered white, while some remained pink. Fresh wounds.

As soon as his palm touched the surface of the plate, it rippled around his fingertips as if he’d pressed it to milky water. Swirls, turning into themselves, until a line of red ribboned out from Corveus’s index finger, separating into sanguine beads. It disappeared soon after, stilled itself until only a bloody fingerprint remained. He retracted his hand and set it back to his side, glancing in their direction, “I ask for no subtleties here. Do what you must. As soon as you step foot inside, subterfuge will no longer be an option. There are servants here, as well, however. They are harmless, but may still whisper of my arrival. I’ll do my best to navigate us through without too much trouble.” He seemed to be implying that he would no longer be safeguarded simply because he was family, and if they needed to utilize force, he had no qualms on the matter. “I’d suggest having your weapons at the ready. We aren’t a welcoming bunch.”

The sound of whirring gears and hidden mechanisms came from inside, soon after, the doors shifted and cracked themselves open enough to be pushed aside. Corveus cleared his throat and removed his other glove, pushing it into his jacket as well. Zahra had already bounded up the stairs, standing off to Leon’s side, trying to sneak a peek around him into the sliver of the entranceway. Even though she seemed as wary of his words as the others were, she had already shouldered her bow into her hands; the tension in her shoulders easing with the comfort of having weapon in hand.

With the soft rasp of metal, Cyrus slid both swords from their places at either side of his waist, taking a steady, but relaxed grip upon the hilts and lowering them so they pointed at the ground. “Ah, so you're a Tevinter family after all. What's a little blood between blood, after all?" His tone was dry, but it was easy to read the cynicism in it, as well as something else. Slightly uncomfortable, like this situation reminded him of another one in particular. Unpleasant, without a doubt.

Rom already had his shield in hand, but he left his weapon hand empty for the moment, for whatever reason. Leon had seen him fight more than enough times to know that he was quick enough to have the blade and shield ready in almost any circumstance. Perhaps the mention of servants inside stayed his hands for now. He also dropped his hood, clearing up his peripheral vision. Identity concealment wouldn't be worth the trade-off once they were inside.

Leon didn't need to do anything in particular to have his weapons at the ready, so while the others prepared themselves, he reached down towards his belt, unhooking the second of the two flasks he commonly kept there. Not the one with the alcohol, sadly. He wasn't sure exactly how much resistance to expect here, but it was bound to be magical, and that was enough to incline him to caution. Most things did, especially since Kasos had reminded him so potently of its benefits.

The draught tasted terrible on his tongue as always; he stopped himself after a few swallows, though his body cried out for more. Cried out for the warmth and strength that adrenaline and need alone could not deliver. But every day it cost him more, and he had to balance strength with time. Had to hope he was doing so as well as possible. Replacing the cork, he licked the last dark red drops from his lips and swallowed, clearing his throat and tucking the flask back into its place at his belt.

"Let's get this over with, then."

Zahra seemed intent on his face for a moment, watching as he drank from his draught. There was a good chance she’d never seen him drink it before, or had never noticed. She, too, extracted a much smaller vial from the belt at her hip. Finger-length, thin as a flute. The liquid it contained was a soft blue, cloudy. She set it to her lips and tossed her head back, flicking the empty vial into a nearby bush with a careless grin. Aside from the bounce, she only appeared more energized by whatever she’d taken. Her expression shifted and she stepped off to the side, probably intending to bring up the rear. She gave her bow an absent pluck, and reaching over her shoulder, extracting an arrow from her quiver.

Corveus nodded once, pushing the doors wide enough for them to enter. Once they were all inside, he shut it behind them. The same whir of concealed instruments sounded behind them as the doors shut themselves, smothering the last breeze at their backs, presumably sealing them inside. His countenance appeared less assured now that they’d passed the threshold, though he was doing a well enough job keeping it from his face, flicking his gaze to the spiraling staircases set nearby, running up both sides of the large entryway; forming a horse-shoe.

The estate itself was as gaudy as any other, though it felt colder than Bastian’s. As if the warmth had all been snuffed out. Luminous chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, crystals hanging down like stalagmites, abstract in design, and magically enchanted to cast a soft, pale glow across the chamber. The motif was clearly a mix of Tevene, and dwarven architecture, as if it had been rebuilt around each other; a hybrid of inspirations borrowing from one another. The staircases corralled a large lounging area, with a fireplace pushed up against the furthest wall, just beneath the overhanging balcony.

It was Corveus who took the first step forward, striding to the right side of the chamber, not quite waiting to see if they would follow. Once he reached the door pinioned between two twisted plants, he turned the handle, and toed the door open, sweeping a hand in front of him. “In here, through the kitchen.” Zahra’s jawline was working as she looked around the room, sidestepping a table and stuffed chair, stopping short of the door’s frame, allowing the others to move ahead of her.

There was a startled racket through the doorway. A clatter of pans, and a softly uttered kaffas.

Leon stepped in first, blinking rapidly. His pupils had already dilated, allowing him to take in his surroundings in far sharper detail, but the downside was a certain light sensitivity that made focusing on anything too bright difficult. He kept his eyes away from the cook-fire, settling them almost automatically on the only moving object in the room. A person, in this case; a small girl, perhaps about twelve or so. Elven, from the ears. The clattering of dishware had been her doing, and she regarded them now with wary eyes, already edging towards the exit, but refusing to put her back to them. Not unwise, in her situation.

Unfortunately, talking in the sort of soothing, modulated tones that would suit this situation was something Leon knew was currently beyond him. already, his muscles were warming, the heat thrumming through them waiting for the opportunity—any opportunity—to flare to life and propel him forward into violence. He probably didn't look in any way reassuring. Glancing behind him, he made eye contact with Romulus first, asking the question without so much as a growly word escaping him.

Romulus understood the question clearly enough, and put a hand on Leon's shoulder as he passed, perhaps to reassure him. This sort of thing wasn't the Lord Inquisitor's usual task either, but considering the person they needed to keep calm, he could see that he was probably the best choice for it. His weapon was still sheathed in a scabbard on his belt, and Romulus made sure the girl could see that, advancing slowly forward with his open hand extending slightly, in plain view.

"Easy now," his voice taking on an unusual accent. "We're not here to cause trouble if we can avoid it. Doubt it would be your job to do something about if we were, anyhow." It was a rough accent, far less sophisticated in tone than what the magisters seemed to employ. In fact, it sounded a fair bit like Bastian's talkative slave, Brand. Well, a slave until recently, as Romulus had arranged for his purchase and then subsequently freed him. Not that he'd gone anywhere after.

Nevertheless, it seemed Romulus hoped the accent, which he seemed comfortable in, would help identify that he understood the position the girl was in. Perhaps even that he had occupied such a place once himself. He stopped a fair distance from her, not close enough to grab her without taking a few steps first. "You're probably supposed to tell your dominus about us now, right?" He didn't pause, the question rhetorical. "We won't stop you if you need to do that, but... it would really help us out if you wait a bit. Maybe finish up your work in here first."

The small elven girl seemed to be shrinking back further into the counter, though the rigid tension in her shoulders eased as Romulus spoke to her. She blinked owlishly at him, her freckled face crinkling with something that appeared apprehensive of their intentions, for good reason. A handful of strangers filtering in with a lordling that didn’t seem so well-received was peculiar enough. She glanced towards the door to the right of the wood stove, flicking back to Romulus’s extended, empty hand.

The fact that he wasn’t approaching with any weapon in hand seemed to calm her, though she was quick to notice Corveus over his shoulder. He, himself, made no movement or effort to calm the girl. Perhaps he’d thought it best Romulus deal with it as well, as Leon had. There was a good chance that his words bore no weight in the estate, anyway. She swallowed thickly, and bobbed her head in a wooden nod, “I, I just carry the water, sers.” Her own accent was just as rough around the edges, most likely she’d been spared any education.

A lowly serf, only useful as a tool. Certainly not worth teaching anything.

Her hands, however, were wrapped in bandages all the way to her elbows. Stark white, threaded between her fingers. The black and red outfit she wore mirrored the Contee’s colors; emblazoned with the roaring dragon and coiled serpents. The only finery slaves were allowed, if any at all. It was a symbol of ownership. A reminder. Despite the racket in the kitchen, it appeared as if she hadn’t been cleaning at all. There were crumbs at her feet and a discarded knuckle of bread that had rolled between them. She was a skinny, gangly thing. No doubt she’d grown hungry and snuck down for something to eat.

The girl took another trembling breath through her mouth and swung her gaze towards the ground. She twined her hands together, rubbing at her palms, before meeting Romulus’s gaze once more. She, at least, seemed more at ease now that she knew she wasn’t in any trouble and perhaps, punishment would not be on the horizon. She seemed to be making internal considerations, keeping her focus on Romulus rather than the others. “My dominus said to tell when L-Lord Corveus was back… but not if anyone else was here.”

Her eyes seemed to brighten, beaming. It was a question, a clever omission; an assurance that her logic was sound.

Romulus didn't seem too confident in how that would go, either for the slave girl or for them, but at this point the decision seemed to be letting her go and do as she pleased, or doing something aggressive to prevent that, and he obviously wasn't considering the latter to be a real option. "Fair enough," he relented. "Maybe walk slow on your way to him?"

The elven girl blinked at him and bobbed her head in another nod, quicker this time. She seemed pleased by the outcome, as she stooped low to snatch up the piece of bread, stuffing it inside her tunic. Once she straightened up, swiping the last bits of crumbs from the front of her tunic, and pants, her mouth pulled into a gap-toothed grin, “I’ll take the long way, sers. You best hurry.”

She walked around them, glancing only at Corveus’s feet as she passed. The sound of the door they’d come in from shut softly behind them. A moment passed, before Corveus broke the silence, “Well. That worked well enough.” There was a sense that he might’ve done things differently by the way he stared after the girl. He strode towards the door nearest the stove, and unlatched it, shouldering it open in small increments, enough to peek into the long hallway it led into.

“We’ll have company soon, and they won’t be harmless little girls,” he pursed his lips and pushed the door open wider, stepping into the hallway, “at least they won’t be expecting us. Borus and his ilk patrol these halls; ever vigilant. My family’s paranoia matches their cruelty.” A pause, and he swung his gaze in Leon’s direction, “If you would so kindly bring up the rear, Commander. I’d rather not have any surprises of our own.”

"Very well." Leon's tone didn't sound completely unlike two heavy stones grinding against each other, but as there were no children around to scare without meaning to, it was fine. Allowing the others to proceed in front of him, he dropped back to the rear guard position, closing the door quietly behind them.

Corveus took the lead once more, allowing Cyrus, Zahra, and Romulus to form a loose band in the middle. The hallway itself had no other offshoots, but many doors littered on each side. Long portraits hung above oaken side tables; depicting familiar, shallow-faced individuals wearing a variety of Tevene finery. Robes, mostly. Each expression grimmer than the next. Not a lively bunch. A family line, most likely. Also, they were notably female. Aside from the occasional vase, filled to the brim with purple, drooping flowers that smelt eerily like blood, there was nothing of note.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of metal scraping against metal, clanking footsteps approaching from one of the doors behind them. Corveus halted in his tracks, eyes flicking over his shoulder. His jawline bunched up, and the veneer of calm started to sift away. From what Leon could tell, he seemed to want to go in two different directions at once, but hadn’t had enough time to decide which was best, because the door swung open and rowdy conversation filtered into the hallway. Certainly more than one voice, chiding each other in Tevene.

A large man in a full suit of plate stepped into the hallway, facing slightly away. Broad-shouldered, tall. Not quite so tall as Leon, but an impressive figure nonetheless. The dragon sigil had been cut into his plate, and the colors he bore matched the Contee’s standard. Red and black. He carried a greatsword on his back, as large as Khari’s, though far less remarkable. He had tossed his head back in a laugh, dark eyes raking across the hallway until they landed squarely on their group. His laugh died shortly after. To his benefit, it only took him a moment to grasp the situation, heavy brows knitting over them. His gaze lingered on Corveus, and his expression darkened considerably.

Reaching into the room, he pulled out a much smaller man by the cuff of his collar, grumbling something in Tevene, before pushing him stumbling towards the kitchen. Sending him with orders, no doubt, to raise an alarm. “Fasta vass—get your asses out here. Our little snake finally bore its teeth.” Four more figures, garbed in a similar array of armor, chain and plate, filtered into the hallway, “You know what to do. Settle this before she finds out, dammit. And keep him alive.”

Snippet #2727728

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

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