rabidbacon

The Sweetest Con [ rabidbacon and sweetestsins ]

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Cullen was both relieved and alarmed to hear that even some of those among the ranks felt the same way he did about the Inquisitor's decisions. As he watched the elf leave, he strove to reassure himself with the idea of Ophelia being so unpredictably, irrationally charitable that the enemy is kept constantly on their toes, unable to guess the Inquisition's next move. Unfortunately, it also kept him and the rest of the advisors on their toes, ready to clean up any messes that good intentions caused. Now, this unplanned evening excursion was one of these efforts. The Commander finally allowed himself to lean against the wall, shaking his head at how he'd managed to create more tasks for himself. It had to be seen, though, by none other than himself. Though Templar and Templar recruits were no longer bound by their previous oaths, Cullen knew all too well that it took more than that to break free from such clean lines.

Give all that he'd seen and lived through, he couldn't help but feel a spark of anger and disappointment at the mages who lowered themselves into mutiny. Hadn't the Inquisition given them a safe place to hide while the world tears itself apart outside? With each piece of armor he removed, he did not feel the burden decrease. Instead, the combined weight of worry and resentment ate at him, even while he strove to stem the flow of thoughts in his mind. Only a prayer could quell the darkness in his heart, and he mouthed off to the Maker all the way, whispering each word of the Chant as if it were a curse upon his own sins, as he walked to meet Hyacinth at the courtyard.

Eventually, he'd reached the courtyard, the shadows of night transforming its simple tranquility into a garden of secrets and intrigue. Cullen made sure the hood upon his head was high enough to conceal his features. His eyes flitted about, waiting for the crowd to gather, though he hoped against hope that there would be none, and that Hyacinth would be mistaken. But Leliana's spies were very rarely wrong, in the end.

Considering his options, the Commander decided to stand at a shadowy corner where he supposed he would be able to hear most of the whispers, though it would also cut off his best chances of escape. All too well, he was reminded of how mages didn't need anything but their intentions and a focused mind to deal death to those who stood against their magic. Right now, all he had was a dagger, with his longsword being far too large to be hidden effectively under his disguise.

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It was a wondrous fortress, far beyond anything Alba had ever seen before. Her mouth opened in excitement, ears already ringing with the sound of imagined coin. There had to be chestfuls of them in such a place! Little matter that their entryway into riches would be through the dungeons. Alba determined that she and her crew would get their share. After all, it seemed that they had quieted their grumbling, now that they began to see why Alba had been keen on getting caught.

"Forgive my presumptions, Inquisitor. Of course, yes, you are doing very well indeed," said the pirate, her smile darkened by greed. "I do look forward to our next meeting." The rumors of the Inquisition being an untrained and impoverished force was a pack of lies and intentional misinformation, she realized.

"Whatever story I tell, you can be certain of one thing - I am keen on writing myself into yours," continued Alba, raising her bound hands and making a funny little gesture with the fingers she could move, as if she were holding a quill and scribbling in the air. Then, she stopped, and stepped closer towards Ophelia, drawn back only by those who maintained the Inquisitor's security. "And be forewarned: I tend to write in blood, Inquisitor."

The threat warranted a rough transfer to the cells, with each one of them thrown in with disgust and outrage, the crimes of pirates known among many. Alba herself nursed a few bruises she had sustained, though she seemed not at all disturbed by the rats nor the smells. No, what worried her the most was the stripping of her sword. It was an ornate piece, easily worth a small fortune on account of its exquisite craftsmanship. So she stewed in the cell, awaiting the one who would no doubt torture her.

Shadows of the Forgotten Realm

Bane watched the newcomers with bleary eyes. There was nothing more they could take from him aside from his life; there was no village near that would accept his cursed armor for trade, either. It was safe, here, in the bleakest way. Somehow, that filled the guard with comfort, enough to share of himself, first. Not all of himself, but just enough.

"I was stolen from," said Bane. He stared at the spice offered and decided to go without, feeling unworthy of such finery. Then, his eyes met the young scholar's gaze, meaningful in its sternness. She ought to keep her valuables and her primness to herself, unless she was certain she was among friends. There were those who would cut her down for less. Unable to stop the old habits of a nobleman's guard, he continued, still keeping his focus on her. "Ma'am... you must be cautious. Generosity does not always bode well." He refrained from the finer details on his thief, however. It was a bawdy tale, though the marks on his neck left an unspoken explanation. Unsolicited advice given, he then continued with some reluctance, particularly as he felt the hooded figure's eyes on him. Bane felt his ears burn with shame from beneath his helm as he realized how relieved he was to be able to hide his own true nature.

"I am nobody," said the man, his voice as worn as his greaves. "But you may call me Bane." While Cora might have had to explain her skills and knowledge to a potentially ignorant and illiterate crowd, the guard's armor and arms spoke for him. "Mercenary for hire, on most days. Tonight, just a vagrant, sharing a kind stranger's fire."

His head turned to watch the warrior opposite him, her features and her headdress betraying experience and wisdom with both the fight and the wilds. There was a peace about her that he envied, one that he chased after, but could never find. The closest he could get was the bottom of the bottle, but it never lasted, and it always led him to trouble. Would tonight be different?

"I hail from Riffolk. But like many others... it is long gone, now."

To this end, no further details were offered, and once more, the guard's face returned to its stolid, thoughtful state.

Pride and Prejudice [ rabidbacon and EweDoughNo ]

Take your time! And belated happy birthday 🥳

The Sweetest Con [ rabidbacon and sweetestsins ]

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His hand was still outstretched, holding out the note of extra rations. Patience drawing thin, he maneuvered past his desk, taking a few long strides to place the paper in the woman's hand. Armor shook and clanked with each step he took, and as he drew close, she would smell the unmistakable scent of acrid herbs and crushed elderflower. The paper crumpled as he closed her hand around it firmly, as if expecting her to throw it back.

"If you won't take it, give Fisher your share," he explained, finally letting go. "Don't deny him his relief. It should get him back to the field sooner." Cullen then returned to his place behind the mountains of paper, resuming his work as he spoke. When she mentioned the gathering, however, his hands stopped, and he studied her with worried frown. His mouth opened and closed several times, as if reshaping his words repeatedly, the thoughts half-formed. Eventually, he found the right ones, and he spoke with a sudden speed, though his voice was now hushed. "Is this true? But... very well. It is best that I see this with my own eyes."

The Commander felt uneasy at her mention of his piety; was it pious to feel such fear and darkness in his heart when the mages were mentioned acting thus? He had told himself that he would do what was right, but given this, what would be right, if she were telling the truth? He eyed her smirk with some jealousy. Cullen had never been able to care less about anything, least of all, those in his care.

"I will make the time. Make certain that they will not notice my presence," he replied, more for his own conviction than her benefit. With a nod, he levelled with her gaze, conveying a small gesture of trust. "Dismissed, Agent Hyacinth. And let Leliana know of this. I... do not want her to think I am going back on my word. I... believe in the sacrifice of the Templars... but I also sympathize with the plight of the mages. We are all here to do what is right."

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Alba looked on the armored man with pity. All the metal he wore and carried was already burdensome; the pack he lugged around must have felt like an anchor. Her interest was piqued when the poison was mentioned, not expecting the Inquisitor to resort to such dastardly tactics. All in all, Ophelia Trevelyan appeared to be a series of contradictions, packaged in a neat, leathered bundle of righteousness and pomp. For who else but a high-born Inquisitor could decide to take in a pack of pirates, magnanimously offer to watch their ship, and expect compliance as she explained their detention with detached cordiality, as if she were inviting them all to a little festa complete with wine and dancing? The crew howled and groaned all the way, some casting mutinous glances at their captain as they were all forced to follow the Inquisitor like placid little sheep. Despite it all, Alba merely smiled, reflecting Ophelia's cordial manner with an equally poised amusement.

"I see, so this is what passes for hospitality in your lands," said the pirate, with a shrug. "Your people are as cold as the snow. In my homeland, we would ply the prisoners with drink first, at least, before we bring out the ropes. The difference between honey and vinegar, as it has been said." There was no effort made to look innocent, and given Alba's nonchalance, it was evident that this was not the first time she had been placed in this position. "But thank you, Inquisitor, for offering to guard my ship. She is a beauty, is she not?" If Ophelia cared to look at the pirate, she would see a pair of eerie eyes staring back at her with a calculating gaze. "I had heard that the Inquisition has grown in power. But true power cannot be had without traversing the seas."

But quick as the wind, Alba shifted the topic, returning to the matter at hand.

"At any rate, who is this Cassandra? I hope she sees that I mean all the best, too," continued the pirate. "But truly, to waste your time on such a simple crime... and on innocent passers-by... I will have to give an honest account." Her lips lifted, turning the cordial smile into a savage grin. The promise of trouble glinted in her teeth. "Surely, the Inquisitor has more important things to do. I would hate to keep you."

It Came From the Sky

Coins received without much argument, Eldwic gave the man a respectful bow of thanks, before running Evalynn's way. He never bothered to argue with her father, as while he was a hard man, he paid for labor fairly, owing to him knowing its value and hardship well. With sack of rats slung over his shoulder and Larder by his side, he gave his friend a nod and a smile. Nothing like coin to put one in a good mood, after all.

"You look like you're in a hurry," he called out, grinning at her. The grin eventually dimmed, however, as he noticed the stormy look on her face. Larder seemed to smell the sadness on her, too, and she reared up on her legs, pawing at the girl. "I'm not looking to go home earlier than I have to. Father wants me to help him with the carcasses we just received. Fresh kill is one thing, but those things given him... they're foul! I told him so... but he never listens to me. So, take your time."

It was a half-lie; Eldwic found the carcasses fascinating. There was something about bodies and how they worked that captivated the lad, but he couldn't say such things out loud. Not if he didn't want to be drowned, or tried before a group of old, grizzled men who jumped at any chance to see someone hang. No, the lie was for Evalynn's benefit. Perhaps, she hoped for an ear to listen to her, or even just space to breathe.

"If you would like, I could even show you. My father's also preparing the meat we were meant to send your way - he hasn't finished carving it up, so an hour or two should pass before everything is ready." He eyed the tall man in the distance, then turned his attentions back to Evie. "I suppose we should tell him first? In... case he comes running and looking for you again. I guess he worries about you." Eldwic kicked a pebble and laughed, though the sound was mirthless. "That's nice, isn't it?"

He wanted to tell her how lucky she was - once, he'd broken an arm and gotten stuck out in the woods, nearly perishing on account of exposure and starvation. Only Evie had thought to look for him, and only she knew where he'd be, up in the trees, watching the birds.

"Oh! And we'll have to stop halfway along the road, too. I need to pick a fresh place to bury the rats. Too many in one spot brings in the wolves. Then farmer Dunstan will have my hide, when one of his sheep get their insides out again."

The Sweetest Con [ rabidbacon and sweetestsins ]

you said you had playlists, right? were there any you wanted to send me for Alba? i’d love to get a good feel for her character, if you have anything specific!

@sweetestsins

As she's a new character, I haven't quite made one yet, but you'll definitely get one your way soon.
Send me Ophelia's! And feel free to send me more Hyacinth and/or Cullen stuff.

The Sweetest Con [ rabidbacon and sweetestsins ]

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To say that Cullen was taken aback was an understatement. He stared at the scout in varying degrees of irritation, then shock, then resigned fatigue. Of course Leliana had sent a spy to work among the Inquisition's forces under his command, it made complete strategic sense. He had to hand it to her, she truly was competent, and no Spymaster would be worth their salt if they went about asking for permission. It must have had some purpose, too, that this particular agent of hers had decided to share this tidbit. He was far too tired to decipher the intention behind the decision at the moment, but if secrecy was involved, then he had to wonder what for. Far easier to ask this one, even if he doubted any real answers would come.

"That's Commander to you," he shot back, unruffled by her defiance. His tone was authoritative, though it was not proud - the voice of a man who was used to the simplicity of order and the enforcement of it. "And... I suppose I won't get any details on your duties, but thank you. For serving the Inquisitor. And Sister Leliana." He tore a portion of the letter he had scribbled upon and handed it towards the elf, waiting for her to take it. The note bore instructions for the bearer to have extra servings of strong ale and hot meals. "Here. I know the supplies have been rationed, but I believe Fisher deserves some relief. The sight of a demon... it makes for sleepless nights. And did you see the attack yourself?" The way his brows furrowed as he said this implied a knowing sympathy, though he did not say much on the subject. "Small mercy it is a rage demon. Fire leaves cleaner wounds, in most cases."

He wondered if she was the type of scout who observed from a distance and kept away, or actively got herself involved in whatever she was watching. Something about her demeanor told him that she was unafraid of conflict, one who solved problems with directness... which was a method that Cullen also preferred. It was imagined common ground, but common ground nonetheless.

"In any case, I'll have instructions made to make sure gatherers always work in pairs, where possible, and increase the drills on stealth. There's not enough shields to go around, and not everyone is strong enough to carry them... but anyone can learn to be less of a target," Cullen crossed his arms and looked at her, curious. "Did she also send you to observe the troops out of suspicion? There is always the risk of it, infiltrators... have you found any, among the troops?" There was an unease in the question, almost as if he didn't want to hear the answer. It was clear that he placed much trust and hope in the forces, in the men and women who were giving their lives to the cause. "The enemy is always looking for ways in, and even if Skyhold is nigh impenetrable, the Inquisition itself is not."

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All Void broke loose, and before she knew it, she was on the floor with a crazed, disheveled woman on top of her. It would have been a great time on paper, but in practice, Alba's head hurt from the impact, and worse, her hat was nowhere to be found. She growled and fought back, rolling to the side and wrenching her limbs free from the hold, before making a quick, but ungainly rise to her feet. Maker, this group was full of surprises - and the Tevene did seem to walk his talk. Or well, the talk his clothes seemed to imply, at least.

She ducked as an arrow whizzed past, barely avoiding a cut on the cheek. Strangely enough, the pirate still refused to draw her sword, despite the flurry of combat that had erupted all around them. Alba had noticed that the Inquisitor did not wield a blade, and so, she felt it dishonorable to draw her own against her in an unserious fight; the self-righteous nobles and leaders alike were precious about their reputation, and Alba deduced that this one would not dare to slaughter her in public without due cause. Likewise, her experienced crew was close enough to provide cover from the worst of the onslaught, and they would live. The good Fereldan villagers here only wanted blood after all, and not death.

"It looks to me that the fight only started when you and your companions got here," she shouted, staring at the four in turn. There was a constant lilt of amusement in her voice as she spoke. "Funny. I thought the Inquisition was here to restore order. Perhaps we have been at sea for too long, and the winds have changed, here?"

Over in the corner, a piercing shriek cut through the din; those who turned to look would see the minstrel, now cornered by the very group she had been pointing out with her eyes. One of them moved an arm, and after a flash of silver, the woman's throat was slit, sending a gush of hot, red blood pouring out over those nearby. As the spectacle made people freeze in horror, those involved made a run for it, breaking windows and pushing their way past the door to escape.

Alba turned and stared at it all, a hand over her heart, shaking her head. She did not lift a finger to help, however, and merely watched, as the poor woman bled out. Her crew merely gawked, too, standing idly by, and many even returning to tables to finish their meals and their ale.

"My, my. Her singing was not at its best, but that hardly warranted death," she remarked, turning to Ophelia. "A shame. I didn't even get her name. But she smelled like lilies. I imagine, now, she must smell more like rust."

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

Thank you for your patience, everyone!

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

Debt? If she truly thought that, she would immediately hop into his mouth and lie on his teeth. A deep rumble of unimpressed dissatisfaction with the human's lack of sincerity came from Mercy's throat. The terrible sound was dwarfed by the oncoming storm, however. He grew quiet, feeding from the fear it generated in the humans; what else could he do but follow along? They were bound to grow in number, and together, he would feast every day without even needing to try hard. The very world was a danger to them upon waking, and it made their dark little hearts quake, the fragile things. Glowing eyes focused on the chattiest human, answering his question as he eventually followed in their tiny footsteps. Mercy couldn't understand why he kept being referred to as big, when nearly everything was larger than the humans, even the things they built, themselves.

Of course, the Wild couldn't fit inside the building, but it was not as if he needed to. Weathering some of the worst storms meant hardening his hide and closing his eyes, and this felt far from the worst he'd lived through, thus far. He wondered how long it would take for the humans to start killing each other here, too. It almost always seemed to end up that way, and it would be a terrible shame if they died inside the building. The holes would be far too small for him to get to their corpses, and damaging the building would mean their red, warm juices would be wasted on the dead earth.

Eventually, he noticed that there was a rare opening into the building. Taking one wary look at the humans, he clambered into the space, entering without much care, scratching up the edges of the door with his heft. He sat on the floor and licked his wounds, the holes in his body still oozing steam and what appeared to be some form of organic magma, hardening into a metallic scab.

The Sweetest Con [ rabidbacon and sweetestsins ]

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He gave the scout a sharp look, unamused by the unbidden entrance. Then, he noticed her ears; Cullen supposed she wasn't the only elf who didn't know what knocking was for. Some homes in the alienages didn't even have doors. Her face was bare, and he thought her from the city, though the where of it remaining a mystery. That he couldn't tell at all was a testament to the Inquisition's growing success; people truly were coming in droves from all over Thedas to support them in their cause. It granted the Commander some comfort, and eventually, his face softened into something resembling acknowledgment. The thrown report quickly found itself in Cullen's hands, his eyes leaving the scout's face for its words.

"Next time, wait for the command to enter," he remarked, his eyes still on the report, though the weight of his voice made its presence felt in the small room. "And don't throw the report on my table."

The information was satisfactory, with the troops' new practice of scavenging of elfroot in organized searches providing much-needed relief for the struggling healers. There were a few problems with sourcing some ores, but for the moment, iron could do for most of the troops. News of lower morale due to the recent increase of Venatori attacks now made sense, what with the Inquisitor's return - either she had managed to open the Tomb already, or was heavily noticed by them in her efforts to do so.

"Any news on when the Inquisitor is to return?" he continued, as he finally put the report down and signed it. Ink drying, he then turned his full attention upon the elf. "And how are her companions?"

While he now had some measure of faith in their abilities to protect the Inquisitor, each came with their quirks, some of which Cullen found worrying. He hoped that Blackwall's shield was doing it's job, at least, and that Sera's judicious use of arrows and copious expletives would temper Dorian's showy spellcasting.

"While you're here, brief me on the status of your unit. Tell me your name, who you report to, number of injured, anything unusual, and so on." The Commander searched about for his quill and dipped it in ink afresh, ready to take down notes on a letter he flipped - clearly he had no intentions of replying to the message.

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With her ears still ringing from the arrow's impact against the wooden wall, Alba could only stare at it, confused about where it had come from. Her eyes searched the room for the attacker, and before she knew it, some striking woman was commanding her to cease whatever it was that she had been doing, which was... not all that much, she thought ruefully to herself. The captain's face remained flat for a few moments, the gears of her mind in a whirr, as she considered the whispers around her. Was this one the real deal? If so, then Alba wondered just what it was that made Lady Luck smile upon her today.

"My apologies," began the pirate, as she took off her hat with a small flourish. Then, she gave the accuser a small bow, the graceful action becoming a gesture of sarcasm. "I am Alba, Alba Selvaggio. These people are my friends," she smiled, nodding at the ruffians close by, encircling herself and the minstrel. "We are far from home, you see, and are unaccustomed to the local laws. I trust that you are a voice of authority, but... Creatore... can someone please explain what we have done wrong?"

She grinned at the extravagantly clad man who stood close to the supposed Inquisitor, taking note of his clothing and demeanor. He looked much like the men her mother spoke of, men who thought themselves gods. Then, she noticed a lithe elf too, alongside a metal-clad warrior - more disciples of the imperious beauty?

"If you like, signorina, I can do you one better. We could all sit down, instead," continued Alba, herself returning to her seat, an arm resting on the chair's back as she surveyed the four. Around them all, her crew laughed, the sound terrible and taunting. "You will have to excuse me for not drinking, however. The ale is... not to my taste."

Remembering the previous conversation, however, Alba reached out for the minstrel's hand once more and turned her gaze towards the woman, ignoring Thedas' savior for her.

"A shame... I thought we were getting somewhere. And what was it that you wanted my help with?" She asked with a cold smile, her icy stare affixed upon the minstrel's lips. "Be quick with it. I have a feeling I am about to be shot in the heart this time. But wouldn't you rather be the one to fire the arrow?"

In response, the minstrel squeaked, shrinking in her seat, though her gaze still went wildly about the room. Her eyes held the Inquisitor's gaze, then they would dart to a certain corner, where an unremarkable group of mercenaries all sat together, watching the spectacle that had taken place in this unremarkable tavern. Alba saw this and followed her gaze, shifting ever closer towards the woman. Then, without warning, one of the crew drunkenly spilled ale over a mercenary's boots, and just like that, a barfight began. Raucous yells echoed throughout the tight space, some voices yelling in terror, while others yelled in excitement. People pushed every which way, hands striking where they could - some even holding swords.