Post #2615438 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

Amalia and Ithilian chose to remain in the corridor their group had been given while the hunting parties assembled. The less they were seen, the better. She took the opportunity to check over all of her equipment a final time: lockpicks, weapons, potions, and the like. She couldn’t keep too much of anything on her person, but she’d store the surplus in the room she’d claimed, and that would have to suffice. She did make sure to hand Ithilian a few health restoratives and stamina draughts, though—there was no telling what they’d run into. Realistically, she knew that if they were caught, they wouldn’t be able to do much by way of fighting. The chateau was crawling with guards and diplomatic guests, and what was more, even killing a single guard could send both of them to the noose. Being in the wrong place, they might get away with, especially if their friends decided to exert some influence on their behalf. Murder would be unacceptable.

Further complicating things, she knew, was Marcus’s presence. She didn’t know what he was doing here or what he wanted, but she knew, somehow, that he had expected her presence. Possibly even planned for it. She wondered if he was somehow responsible for the Qunari’s misinformation, but she had no reason to think they would believe anything he had told them. He, after all, really was a traitor of the worst kind, alive still due to avid protection, no mean skill of his own, and the Ariqun’s knowledge that he possessed no information of vital importance from his time with them. It was much like walking the edge of a cliff, she supposed, but with the knowledge that one’s balance was superior enough to handle it.

If she didn’t despise him with everything she had, she might have been impressed by that. As it was, all of this just made her wary. It was an uneasy feeling, not having the most important parts of the story in-hand before she chose her course of action, and a rather unique feeling, for she who had always taken herself to understand more than she didn’t.

She realized this was the fourth time she’d checked the edge of the knife she was holding and sighed, sliding it back into the sheath at her lower back. This was pointless. Too much speculation would only waste her time and set her thoughts in circles. Seeking something more productive, she ventured to the room’s window, looking out at the courtyard. It would appear that the hunting parties were setting off, and the lack of commotion in the gardens suggested that most of those still there would remain so for the immediate future, at least. The guards would be concentrated there, for the safety of the guests, so it was a good time to move.

“Judging from what we saw as we came in, I suspect the Duke’s private wing is in the back section of the castle. We’ll want to head in towards the center first, most likely. Are you ready?” Amalia spoke quietly, bereft of her usual utterly businesslike inflection. Rather, there was an implicit note of gratitude in there, and uncertainty as well. It was not lost on her how many ways this could go wrong, but she would not want to take those risks with anyone else.

Ithilian was not comfortable, but chose to mask it as merely a poor mood. He spent most of the wait gazing out the window at the snowy landscape, his brow almost permanently furrowed. By the time Amalia had come to join him in watching the hunters depart, he had already checked and readied his own weaponry, which included his bow and a full quiver of arrows, his remaining short sword, and Parshaara, sheathed as ever on his chest. He was acutely aware of Amalia's tone, and found himself all the more resolved because of it. Marcus was one of the few things he had ever seen capable of unnerving her, making her behave erratically or with uncertainty.

As he had been once before, Ithilian was intent upon being there for her to lean on him, if and when she needed him to. He nodded gravely in response to her query. "Lead the way."

The hall they had been given was, of course, otherwise unoccupied. The staircase they had come up was close to the outside of the building, whereas the opposite end opened up into the interior of a drum tower, visible through the arch at the opposite end of the hall. Moving carefully but for the moment still just walking normally down the hallway, they stepped into the circular room. Since they were up on the third floor, there was a high domed ceiling above them, supported by rafters. They were quite clean, free of bats, pests, or dust, and the banisters looked to have been recently polished. The center of the room was actually open to the floors below, giving them a view three stories down to the ground floor, over a high banister, likely walnut or something similarly-sturdy.

The view itself provided no interesting information, but the circular walkway around the outside of it contained two additional doorways, one that appeared to back out onto the rear part of the castle wall, situated against the mountain. That would do, perhaps, if needs must, but she would prefer to get in from the inside, where they could simply claim to be lost if found somewhere they did not belong. It would be hard to justify being out on the parapets if they were only looking for the kitchen or some such.

That left the last door, or rather the arch mirroring the one they’d come through. It would take them closer to the middle of the castle, which was the way they wanted to go, so it seemed wisest at present. Moving into it, Amalia decided it looked enough like their own hallway that it probably had a similar purpose, but she tested the first doorknob she came across anyway. It gave without protest, and she peered inside. Empty bedchamber, nothing interesting. Briefly, she entertained the notion of diverting their search to see if they could find Marcus’s rooms instead, but that seemed to her even more likely to get them caught, and he’d probably expect her suspicion and have prepared accordingly. It felt too much like playing into his hands to let him affect her that much simply by being present, and so she resolved to stick to the original plan.

A few of the other doors were locked, she discovered upon testing them gently, but she made no attempt to unlock them. This didn’t look quite right to be the noble’s own wing, and chances were, they were simply more guest quarters. This time, there was a door at the end of the hall instead of an open arch; when Amalia reached it, she moved to place her ear close and listen through it. After several seconds, she decided that there was likely nobody beyond, but she still opened the door carefully.

This one let out into what appeared to be a large, central hallway, this time extending deeper into the castle rather than across its width, though another door across from them indicated that there was likely a mirror of what they’d just seen on the other side. She turned right, taking them further towards the back. The hall itself was lined with columns, forming natural gaps where pieces of art were installed. Amalia recognized some of them as being in Qunari styles, but others were likely sculptures from the Anderfels and paintings of a more Orlesian type. Then again, she wasn’t an expert.

The vaulted ceiling was a merciless echo chamber, in one way, and so it magnified the sound of oncoming voices, which were indeed present. Glancing swiftly at Ithilian, Amalia ducked behind a pillar, considering that there was nothing else in the room, save perhaps a few of the sculpture pieces, that would serve as any kind of cover. The pillar wasn’t much wider than she was, in truth, and when she chanced a glance out from behind it, she noted that the voices belonged to what appeared to be a pair of guards, conversing casually as they walked down the hall. They were headed in the direction of herself and Ithilian, having come from where the two of them needed to go.

It hardly surprised Ithilian for them to run into a pair of guards, given how many there were patrolling around, and perhaps they were even lucky to run into some in a room where they had some cover to conceal themselves behind. The elf positioned himself behind a pillar across the hall from Amalia. The two were similar in size, though Ithilian's gear was perhaps more difficult to hide from view. Nevertheless, he was confident that the guards could not see him.

Glancing back at Amalia, he did not draw any weapons into his hands. Killing anyone just yet was very unwise, and there was not even a guarantee yet that the guards would discover them. Better to wait and use the pillars to hide from view, and possibly let them pass without incident. If they had to, he suspected it would not be too troublesome to subdue them without killing them. He was more worried about the noise that approach would cause.

As the guards continued in their direction, Amalia slowly began to rotate herself around the pillar, so that when they drew right up to it, she was on the side nearest the wall, and as they left the hallway, she would be facing the direction they had come from. It was difficult to place her feet without making any noise at all, but fortunately, they were not nearly so concerned with being quiet, and their conversation continued as they walked, masking any slight scuff from herself or Ithilian.

“Hey, I heard Ainsley’s been put in charge of feeding Leopold for the next month. That’ll teach him not to filch from the wine cellar, eh?” The speaker was the shorter of the two men, both outfitted in identical grey plate armor. The other made a noncommittal noise.

“Honestly. I don’t understand these bloody Orlesians, you know? What gave him the idea that it would be good to cage a damn wyvern and keep it as a pet? It could kill you if it breathes too hard in your direction!” The sound of speech gradually faded as the guards continued moving down the hall, apparently too interested in what they were gossiping about to bother taking more than a cursory glance over the room. Not that Amalia minded.

The two proceeded in the opposite direction from the guardsmen, electing to stay on the carpet runner in the middle of the hallway so as not to make any more noise than they had to simply by walking. The rest of the hall was empty, which seemed to confirm the hypothesis that most of the guards were busy with the guests outside rather than indoors, but she expected the patrol to be regular. Hopefully they would have enough time to find what they needed before the next, potentially more attentive, lot went by.

The hallway ended in a T-shape, presenting them with a choice to go right or left. Glancing down both, Amalia couldn’t determine any obvious difference between them, meaning that one was just as likely to hold what they were looking for as the other. “I’ll go left. We’re looking for anything like a study or a library—someplace he’d keep his letters or records.”

Ithilian wasn't keen on splitting up, but they had only so much time to search before another patrol came by, and they would not get lucky forever in their avoidance of them. Allowing her to go left, Ithilian split off down the right hallway, eyes passing quickly over the doors on either side of him, looking for a sign of something that might be of interest to him. One door seemed colored slightly lighter, and he opened it quietly, only to find himself looking into a lavish washroom, the likes of which he felt he certainly did not belong in. He closed the door, and continued on.

Moving further down the hall, a pair of double doors near the end caught his eye, and he moved to investigate. Interestingly, he found them unlocked, one side slightly ajar. He paused beside it, pressing his back to the wall and listening intently for any noise within the room, but heard none. Pushing the door open wide enough to get a look inside, he saw a sitting area, several bookcases along the wall, more furniture. He was not an expert on the lodgings of wealthy nobility, but this seemed too much for any guest quarters. The Duke's own, then?

He glanced back to see how far Amalia had gotten, and signaled with a hand that he may have found something worthwhile.

Amalia happened to be passing back into the hallway at the time, and caught the signal quickly. Considering that she hadn’t found much of interest herself, she jogged over to where Ithilian was, looking beyond his shoulder into what appeared to be the castle’s master bedroom. “It was unlocked?” That was rather unexpected for such a private chamber, and among Ithilian’s many skills, lockpicking was not included. It was strange that it had been left open, but perhaps it had been nothing more suspicious than a careless servant, or one who planned to soon return to finish turning down and tidying the space.

Stepping further in, she swept her eyes over the furniture, organized roughly into sections—the bed and bedside table were of no interest to her, nor was any of the lounge décor. There was a large window with a latch over on the far wall, and no other doors in or out of the room. The area near the bookshelves included a writing desk, with a trunk sitting next to it. Perhaps…?

Crossing the room, she knelt down next to the trunk, noting the rather elaborate-looking padlock on it. It was, she discovered, rather heavy, the kind designed not only to be difficult to open without the key, but also not easily thwarted by more violent means. Nobody locked away something they didn’t care about. Reaching for the side of her leg, Amalia lifted the leather flap over the pouch that held her lockpicks in place, drawing out a pair of the finer ones in the set. Bracing the padlock on her knee as well as she could, she inserted the first pick, moving it carefully to get a sense of the mechanism she was working with. The second followed, and she realized that the internal parts of the lock were much more sophisticated than those she was used to opening. It was going to be the work of a few minutes.

When at last the tumblers clicked home, she exhaled softly and removed the padlock from the trunk, lifting the lid carefully. The trunk appeared to contain mostly heirlooms—medals for some sort of distinction, a few pieces of what looked like livery—these she set aside, pulling away layers of them until there was nothing left in the trunk at all. Strange, she’d thought…

Pursing her lips together, Amalia narrowed her eyes at one of the corners of the trunk’s bottom. It looked… irregular. Suspicious, she knocked the bottom of the trunk with her knuckles, the impact producing a surprisingly-hollow sound. False bottom, then. Carefully, she wedged the slat of wood out of the trunk, setting it against the wall. There, at the bottom of the container, were at least three dozen sheets of parchment. Lifting these out, she tossed them onto the surface of the desk, then went about replacing everything she’d removed from the trunk, hooking the padlock over the latch but not locking it just yet.

“Let’s see what we have.”

Ithilian had stood guard near the door while Amalia worked through the lock, tensely listening for any sound of approaching footsteps or voices. None came. These were clearly important chambers, and if they did not belong to Prosper, he could not say whose they were. Finding them left unlocked now was... fortunate, yes, but also a little alarming, given his knowledge of some of the castle's other guests. He didn't presume to know anyone's plans or motives, but he was getting the sense that this was a little too easy.

The documents split now into two smaller stacks, they began going through them together. Ithilian wasn't the quickest at spotting notable information in documents, but it wasn't hard to see that contained in the papers he had was a correspondence between Gaspard and Prosper. There was little he could see at a glance in the way of evidence for treason, but much of their discussion did seem to revolve around a looming civil war. He wondered if any of it would be useful... and how long it would be before they were missed, if they were to take these.

"Correspondence about impending war here. Anything in yours?"

Amalia had been frowning progressively more deeply as she worked her way through her stack—first because of the fact that it didn't look to be anything useful, and then for exactly the opposite reason. She hadn’t known that Prosper could read Qunlat, perhaps because hardly anyone who wasn’t once a Qunari could. They didn’t make a habit of teaching their language to outsiders, but these letters to the Duke were written in it, presumably with the implication that he could comprehend what they intimated. At first, she wasn’t sure what to make of their content, but now… now she thought she might understand what was going on here.

“I think…” She stopped short, her frame tensing, and turned abruptly to face the now-empty doorway. From just beyond, she caught a glimmer of dull grey. “Guards.” She moved to get out of view of the open door, but the very fact that it was still open was likely telling enough.

“In there!” It would seem that whomever had noticed them had brought more than just a patrol partner, if the sound of feet rushing towards them was anything to go by.

Their options were few. “The window,” Amalia said quickly. “We can climb down.” Free-climbing down the side of a castle from three floors up was hardly the safest thing they could do, but it was considerably safer than the alternatives.

Ithilian had abandoned all thought of anything relating to Prosper when the sounds of approaching guards reached his ears, and he didn't hesitate when Amalia suggested the window. He pushed it forcefully open, cool air hitting him, and climbed quickly outside, setting his feet on the ledge. A small layer of snow still covered it, not melted yet. Moving quickly would be treacherous, but they didn't seem to have a choice.

Amalia was a little slower in getting to the window, only because she took the seconds necessary to stuff most of the correspondence into her belt. It was important, and would likely serve well as evidence, which they were going to need if she was going to be able to convince the relevant parties of her suspicion. She was only halfway across the room when the first of the guards came through the doorway, and was quite caught unawares by the throwing knife that embedded itself into the back of her shoulder. Setting her jaw, she sprinted the rest of the way, climbing up onto the ledge and setting her feet to follow Ithilian’s progress sideways, where the most logical move was to round the corner laterally and drop the much shorter distance onto the parapets. It would take a bit of a jump off, but she’d looked earlier, and that should both be capable of it—

Before she could move very far away from the window, a mailed hand grasped her wrist. Amalia tugged sharply, seeking to remove herself from the guard’s grip, and felt it loosen, but the one hand became two, and then another pair, all latched firmly onto her forearm. “Vashedan,” she hissed, risking letting go of the stone with her other hand to draw a knife. She’d stabbed through one of the hands holding her before the arm holding the weapon was captured as well, and she felt her feet lift away from their holds on the wall as she was pulled up, and they attempted to lever her back in through the window. She could more clearly make out their numbers now—and there were far too many to deal with before one could get away and alert the entire garrison.

“Kadan! You must find the others. Tell them that Marcus—” Her words were abruptly cut off when one of the soldiers dragging her up moved a hand to her mouth and nose. She bit down on it, still fighting to get out of her human bonds, but to no avail. She was dragged back up through the window, her arms twisted around and pinned behind her.

“What about the other one?”

“Shoot him.”

Snippet #2615438

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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Characters Present

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