backscene: Nights in Antiva Who: Deidre "Dee" Aisli, Savio Corleoni Where: Antiva City, Capital of Antiva When: 9:40 Dragon; Ferventis (Late Summer) Rating: PG-13 just in case Status: Complete Summary:
Newly indoctrinated in an ancient order of assassins and spies, Savio Corleoni receives his first contract; to kill a person of interest at the behest of a powerful organization in Thedas. Young and with much to prove, unforeseen circumstances have rendered the kill a little more conspicuous than he prefers.
Meanwhile...
Four years into a promising career as a scholar and archaeologist, Deidre Aisli is sent to Antiva to investigate a curious matter involving documents that purport to reveal Andraste's true heritage. However, before she could ingratiate herself to the possessor, he and a friend are mysteriously killed. She tails the suspected culprit through Antiva's maze-like back alleys in an encounter that may very well end in a way she does not expect.
--
Antiva City was built like a maze.
The Jewel of the Sands, as the natives called it, was a sprawling jigsaw puzzle of bazaars and markets. It was to be expected from a country that highly depended on its capacity for trade with other nations. A visitor was hard-pressed to walk into an avenue and not come across a center of commerce. Business was life in this coastal location, and it was evident by the noise and color; conversation was everywhere along with the scent of simple fare embellished by local spices. Its people worked well within the evening hours, though through the day they certainly took their time. Unlike harvest periods in Ferelden's Bannorn or the every day in the Orlesian capital of Val Royeaux, Antivans seemed to have adopted a pace that was more languid and easy than their southern neighbors. It was the sort of culture she could appreciate, having found kindred spirits in its locals who divided their time evenly between dogged toils and exuberant play.
All in all, her stay had been a wonderful experience save, of course, for the rampant backstabbing, double-dealing and rear-door politics that dominated most of its daily life. It wasn't its monarchy that ruled -- an unbroken line of kings and queens for two-and-a-half thousand years that persevered in the corrupt graces of a conglomerate comprised of powerful merchant-princes. Amidst its exoticism and fine wines ("The best in Thedas," the winemakers would say, and they would be right), Antiva was notoriously cutthroat in contrast with some of the other countries she had visited. However, she couldn't think of a better place to test her perception in these matters. She was eighteen years of age and four years into her career as a traveling scholar and archaeologist. Deidre Aisli was determined to learn even if it killed her.
Unfortunately, tonight may very well come to that.
She thought she had planned it carefully, situated in the corner booth of an open-aired pub and surreptitiously glancing at the flamboyant, well-dressed pouf flanked on either sides by two men. While her quarry and his companion were both human, the third man was distinctly elven, with all the fine-boned characteristics of his put-upon brethren. They busily enjoyed themselves on food and wine, and the bits of conversation she could discern from her position were rife with the ribald flirtations that often came in similar scenarios. It wasn't long until the trio embarked on what appeared to be a kissing game, and despite deeply ingrained teachings from the Chantry regarding such behavior, she couldn't help but be fascinated. Same-sex relations were far from taboo in Ferelden, but they weren't quite so open as this either.
It all became fatal in short order. In one moment, the men were laughing, jesting, and poking fun at one another. In the next, two of them were dead. Their departing spirits were heralded by the horrified scream of a waitress, her graceful physique bowled over by the heavy table when the victims' bodies slumped over it.
The pub in the aftermath burst into a state of frenetic activity. Surprised shouts and gossip forked over the formerly mellow ambiance, word spreading like wildfire the moment the Crows were mentioned. Speculation followed after:
"Who in the blasted abyss would bother killing Nunzi? The man is...was a buffoon!" "He did dally around with too many men. Maybe his wife finally had enough." "The poor woman. Far into her pregnancy as she is, you'd think the man knew enough to pay some attention to her." "If it wasn't for her father, he'd still be scratching out a living in the docks...maybe this was the Don's work."
All of which occurred an hour or so ago before the young woman slipped out of the establishment to pursue the elven male that quietly took advantage of the chaos and departed. The other patrons may not have noticed, but she did given her tenacious surveillance of Nunzi in the past few days. While largely a welcome change from the chillier temperatures of her homeland, the warm and humid air that surrounded her somehow felt thick at present and difficult to breathe in.
She was told that the murdered man possessed ancient documents that shed more details on the Blessed Bride's true identity, and it had been her intent to examine them by posing as an antiquities appraiser. The chance was all but gone; judging by the quicksilver word back in the tavern, there was no way the murdered man's family was going to let a stranger anywhere near his estate -- much less one who was interested in looking at a potentially valuable collection. She surmised the only way to get to them now was to perform the rigors of what the shadier citizens of Denerim termed "the long con," and that required time, funding, and trusted associates that she most certainly did not have in this side of the world.
Breaking and entering was also another option, but if Nunzi's father-in-law was truly a don, the consequences of getting caught would be tremendously dire. Tailing the elf was the only chance she had left to get somewhere closer to those papers.
He was merely an inch or two taller than her -- a fact that made him rise above the typical Dalish, but still shorter than an average human male. From what she could observe in the dimly-lit darkness several yards behind him, he walked with an alien grace that was distinctive even in comparison to his unhurried countrymen. His footsteps led her through the twisting back alleys of the city, the dull sound of them treading over dirt and the occasional vein of cobblestones that littered their corners. She didn't know where he was headed, but that didn't stop her from following, keeping to the shadows and moving quietly after him.