Ma Vhenan and Amatus

The Path

9:48 Dragon

Hunter Fell was on the whole a disparaging town full of glassy eyed dead animals with their skins stripped, dried down, sewn to the back of felt, then tossed up onto the wall. Dorian expected to find it populated with nothing but people bearing an exact likeness to Blackwall, beards for both men and women stretching past their knees as they caroused and slapped each other while screaming "Excellent hunt!" at the top of their lungs across a decrepit tavern sticky with beer. Why the council thought to meet in Nevarra was beyond him. Why he agreed to play ambassador became a staggeringly idiotic idea with each passing hour. The Nevarrans pretended to listen to the Tevinter Magister wandering around mocking their outfits to their faces. The Orlesians kept a wide berth, leaving Dorian adrift in his own island while diplomats and various other high ranking officials floated around the room. In truth, he didn't mind it much. At least the only danger of being a pariah here was worrying about someone spitting in his food. He'd left three assassins tied up in his basement back in Tevinter. Maker, did he remember to tell the chamberlain to take care of them? No mind, they'd no doubt either find their way out or there'd be a new opening in the guild.

"Magister Pavus, how delightful for you to come."

Dorian turned and threw on a cheery grin, his mustache twitching at the footfalls of Duke Montfort. That man seemed to have an endless fascination with any and all who moved within the Inquisition's ranks all those years ago. Which meant he'd often try to cajole from Dorian stories, recommendations, drinks, and on occasion, his pants. None of it worked, not that Dorian wouldn't be of the mind for all back in Tevinter, but he had other matters stewing in his brain. "Cyril," Dorian tipped his head at the man and quickly glanced over his head.

"I didn't think the Imperium had any interest in our southern concerns," Montfort began what had been across everyone's lips as Dorian marched under the three dragon banner.

"The Imperium is rarely of one mind, often altering it mid sentence, and while some would turn a blind eye to the happenings here...others are trying to make a bloody change in this world," frustrations rose in the end of his sentence and he snapped a kebob stick in half, sending a mushroom flying across the room until it landed in the hat of an Antivan. No mind, either he'd notice and pluck it free, or it would birth more baby mushrooms and the man could savor a full meal later.

"I take it the Imperium moves about as swiftly to change as the council of Heralds," Montfort chuckled, bouncing back and forth on his tiny toes.

"Why try and fix things when your great grandfather once set down the laws to determine the color of imperial slave pens?" Dorian snipped before folding into a laugh. "Politics, it is a game for the pig headed and undead, both of which are the only ones likely to last long enough to pass anything through." He wished Mae was here, but someone had to keep an eye on Magister Augustus and his ilk. They were planning something, had been slipping bribes for months and slitting enough servant throats to dye the Waking Sea red. He should not have wasted his time coming here, work waited for him at home. The important kind that didn't involve standing around in place and pretending to like people. He...

The crowds parted and a man appeared at the top the stairs. Like in the old fairy tales a light landed upon his brow from the chandelier, casting only him in a golden spotlight. Time had not been kind to the chestnut waves Dorian remembered stroking, most of them fading to a dull grey. In fact, people would often whisper that a few years after the Exalted Council it seemed as if age walloped the Inquisitor across the face like a vengeful lover. At this distance Dorian couldn't make out any of the wrinkles certain to set across that always perturbed brow but he suspected the rumors were accurate. He was not a man who concerned himself about the status of his face, and spending so much time in nature was certain to crinkle that always bronzed skin.