Participants:

Aelia_icon.gif Ashalle_icon.gif Hadrian_icon.gif Isolde_icon.gif

Special Guest Appearance: Garou

Scene Title Tension and a Templar
Synopsis A trip to the Chantry, yet again, leads to people leaving unhappy.
Location Chantry
Date 20 August Dragon 9:31
Watch For Hadrian being hilarious.
Logger Isolde

The Knight Captain was just at the tail end of her Chantry patrol. She would take a moment for quiet prayer, and then make her way back to the Gallows before evening set in. If she was lucky, she might just eek out a quiet evening with a bottle of wine and… Well, nevermind the rest of the plans. In the armor of her Order, Isolde walks through the silent pews, toward the statue of Andraste. Her golden hair is braided and pinned up at the back of her head, helm eschewed this evening. It was hot, and she breathed better without it. Besides, it wasn't Circle patrol, she had not the same need for obscuring her features.

It is indeed hot, almost moreso inside than outside. Ashalle has only been out for the walk from the Circle to the Chantry, but she's still sweating and has pulled her layered robes open at the neck. At least her hair is drawn back high on her head, well off of her neck, though it does leave her embarrassingly cute face on public display. The heat's not the only reason for the color in her cheeks.
She nods her thanks to Knight-Lieutenant Garou, her escort for the evening, murmuring a few words to him. Hopefully he'll be content to linger near the door, and she can be alone to pray… and to memorize the tricky Orlesian words to the Chant Of Light.

As with most missions involving himself and Aelia Zinovia, Hadrian has exactly zero idea why they're doing it. Oh, he's got a good solid grasp on the 'what' and the 'how' - clean up, suit up, arm up, meet Aelia, follow Aelia, decapitate anything that even looks at Aelia sidewa-okay so maybe he made that last one up, but still. It's not the execution that's the problem as the Evocati leader follows the beautiful Altus into the (distinctly non-Imperial) Chantry. But this pesky 'why' thing. Yeah. Absolutely no idea about that. Oh well. He's here to look pretty and stab things; sharp arm candy, that's him.

One of these days the Altus Zinnovia was going to have to beat hadrian over the head with the concept of politics until he understood that there was never not a method to her madness. Aelia makes her entrance with her own armored escort, a parallel that may be a political statement or may just be as simple as not wanting to get shanked by the qunari in a back alley. The tevinter mage isn't bashful about her heritage or station, wearing robes of mostly green and some black with a very distinct dragon motif about them. The altus comes to a stop on the main floor of the building, looking up inquisitively at the towering statue of the maker.

It's generally a quiet hour for the Chantry, so the sound of multiple people entering makes Isolde look. A Circle Mage and her escort… Convenient, actually, that one of her Lieutenants would walk in at just this moment. But when she looks at who else has come in. Well, that's interesting. The Knight Captain's brow knits in curiosity for a moment, but she shrugs it off for the time being. Approaching Ashalle and Garou, the blonde Captain is all polite smiles. "Lieutenant, convenient that I should catch you. If, when you are free, you could file this back where it belongs…" She says softly, Ferelden accent thick in her voice, offering Garou a file from the Gallows that had been borrowed by one of the Clergy, "If you don't mind exchanging escort," She says to Ashalle with a bow of her head, "I would be happy to stay with you until your prayer is complete."

"Captain," Ashalle replies quietly, bowing her head politely as she realizes who is speaking to her escort. "No, I do not mind. I think the Knight-Lieutenant has some shopping to do," she says, blue-green eyes twinkling with impishness. "Thank you."
She glances back, seeing the two who arrived just after she did. The woman's elaborate robes draw an admiring glance, and their wearer a faint but not unfriendly smile. The muscular arm-candy gets a smile as well as she moves to find one of the podiums with the Chant of Light on it. It's not far from the Maker's statue, well within speaking distance.

It's not that he doesn't think she has a plan, really. Judging by the way Hadrian oh-so-skillfully manages to never turn his back on anyone for more than a second except Aelia, it's a safe bet that his trust in her is implicit and well-earned. Ashalle's smile is noted on one visual pass of this (frankly ridiculous) room, returned with flirtatious charm on the second pass. And oh, look, there's a beautiful woman in armor. "Be still my heart," he murmurs - meant mostly for Aelia's benefit. And by benefit, he absolutely means eyerolling; it's a valuable service he provides, here. No, really.

Aelia offers a smile to the circle mage, walking the fine line between too warm and too cold. Too cold and she's one of those evil magisters, too warm and she could get the poor girl in trouble with the fanatics who like to dress up and call themselves knights. The look returned to the templar is strictly professional, not hostile, but really acutely devoid of any sort of impression. "Careful." Aelia says to Hadrian for his murmering. It's a playful sort of warning.

With Garou given leave to return the file to the Gallows, it's saved Isolde from going down to the archive, which she seems glad enough for. Thus, as she stays by Ashalle's side, it is with some distance. Enough to give the mage breathing room, her hands crossed behind her back. But now she's actually working, which means she is incredibly aware. Aware enough, in fact, to catch that murmur, Hadrian. Blue eyes that a moment ago had been so full of friendly sparkle turn cold and sharp as she trains on the man. A look that is a very, very clear 'Not in your wildest dreams, boy.' Nevermind that he has to have at least three years on her.

Stealing a glance back at Isolde, Ashalle is surprised to find the knight-captain /glaring/ at the man who'd come in with the well-dressed woman. She lifts her eyebrows in question, not having caught the murmur between Aelia and Hadrian.
Not that she's ignoring the woman in question. There aren't many ways to make a Circle mage in Chantry orange feel like a perfect dowd in a temple devoted to the Maker, but Aelia has managed. Blushing a little, Ashalle speaks softly. "Good evening. Have you come to pray?" At this hour, there isn't much else to do here: It's too early for evening services but too late for anything else.

So here's the thing. Isolde is scary as fuck. Had Hadrian not spent an unholy amount of his conscious hours as a cavalry officer under Aelia's command, that look might have had its intended effect. But he did serve in her legion and then he sort of fell tipsy-turvy pear-shaped and now his life is just such a fun place that 'cold and sharp' are two of his favorite things. So when he catches them from Isolde, it is with an overly dramatic swooning motion, clutching his heart and doing a very bad job of not grinning like an idiot. He even manages to swing puppy eyes at Aelia. "I think she likes me."

Aelia shakes her head at Ashalle, "No. Not my Maker, sadly." The Tevinter woman begins to explain. "But it is as close as I can get while I'm in the city." Not that Aelia is known to visit the chantry back home either, but no one here needs to know that. "Careful," The Altus says, switching to Isolde, "He's going to pretend to be struck dead." And then the swooning and Aelia rolls her eyes at the Legionaire. "Or that, just to prove me wrong." Sharp green eyes turn to Hadrian. "Hadrian, dear, just because /I/ look at you like that doesn't mean that every woman who turns their eyes on you like they could kill you likes you." Back to the templar. "I apologize for him. Apparently no one taught him manners before he crawled out of whatever ditch he came from." Cold, scathing, ruthless, regular flirting for Hadrian and Aelia.

Isolde is wholly unamused. Not even the flicker of laughter from the Knight Captain. But she knows how to size up a situation well. She knows the implications of Aelia apologizing for him. So it is to Aelia that her gaze shifts as the Captain's posture straightens further, the turn of her chin more the bearing of a noblewoman and a Templar. "Perhaps your friend ought to learn to respect the propriety and peace of the Chantry before he finds himself removed." She says, though her voice is soft and gentle. Deceptive, with the cold threat that the words bear. But she does not comment on Aelia's alternate religion, and strangely, she does not try to move Ashalle away form the 'Scary Tevinter Mage' like some might expect her to.

Ashalle, who can see Hadrian out of the corner of her eye, winces at the dramatic (and obviously phony) near-swoon, which isn't rendered any less ridiculous by Aelia's explanation and apology. "He must be a lot of fun at parties," she observes, shaking her head. "But this really isn't the place for one."
The mage doesn't faint herself, upon hearing that Aelia doesn't adhere to her faith. But she does look at the other woman quizzically. "I don't understand. But I suppose it really isn't my business," she says. "And this is a place of sanctuary. Please be welcome, and at peace." A moment's hesitation, then she speaks again. "Might I inquire as to your name, so as to know who owns such lovely robes as you wear?"

"It was a nice ditch. It was warm and there was plenty of wine to drink. Plenty of ox men to kill. 'Good manners' were summed up with not touching without permission and taking out the guy trying to stab your friend in the back. Never should have left the ditch." And he's enough of a soldier that Isolde's disapproval actually starts to have something of the correct effect this time, but the chiming in from the small elven Ferelden-sounding mage is more than his pride can stand. "If your faith can't stand a little fun, you're in for a sad life there, Tangerine. Shake your head and wince at me all you like, but you don't get any extra favor from the Maker for thinking you're too good for a little silliness in which, by the way, no one got touched and no one got stabbed in the back." So that should cover the good manners part, right?

"The chantry in Tevinter has some…" Aelia pauses for a moment, trying to find the politically correct words, "different interpritations, of the chant of light. Our views on the Maker are vastly different than the ones practiced in the south." Simple, polite and not a single mention of the Canticle of Silence, and the very different take on Andraste's words about magic in the Canticle of Transfigurations. "It's Aelia, Aelia Zinnovia." The altus offers, content to continue her conversation with Ashalle but then, well, Hadrian. She'd been expecting him to be pissy at just about anyone they encoutered, banked on it even, but then he had to go and jump a shark. "You've made your point, but that's enough, Hadrian." The altus says with a gentle weight to her voice, one she has every expectation of being listened to.

Isolde is not unreasonable. There are a lot of things she will put up with. Or, at least, that she won't bite over. But crossing the line from his disrespect at her to directing it toward her religion, toward the Mage she is warding, as well… That is too far, and the Templar's stance changes immediately. She pivots, so her back is to Ashalle, and she faces Hadrian properly. Her hand moves to the hilt of her blade, but she does not draw. "You will not antagonize a member of the Circle in my presence." Isolde says, "Cease, leave, or face my blade. The decision is yours." This is not gentle. This is not soft. This is not the noblewoman, this is the Knight Captain who is not playing.

"Aelia…" The Circle mage sounds out the name, nodding. "I am Ashalle Roane. A pleasure to meet you. If our faiths are different, then I hope we may speak as individuals, at least long enough for me to discover the name of your excellent tailor," she adds, offering another smile.
But… Hadrian, whose presence seems likely to disturb all things. "Being too good for silliness is one thing. Knowing that it has its place, and what that place is, is quite another," Ashalle replies quietly, turning to Hadrian. And that young face that looks into his bears old eyes, with the steely intensity of one who has known war and horror on a very personal level. "People are here to revere the powers beyond this world. Respecting that fact is not much to ask."

Once again, the chips fall along the exact same lines. Aelia's response is really, honestly, all that needed to be said. That's familiar, that's respected, that would have been, should have been all there was to it. And then there's the Knight Captain, issuing actual ultimatums over something Hadrian obviously doesn't see as nearly so big a deal. And you know, that's a little… much for him, but he can respect closing ranks - admire it even, though now he's pretty sure some wires must have crossed somewhere in the communication of this exchange because he hadn't even been that disruptive. He steps physically between her and Aelia the minute her hand rests on that hilt, but even then, the pin was still in the gaatlok shell. But then… but then. Then once again, the Circle mage feels the need to chime in at the very end and if the way his entire body goes slowly tense with each word is any indication? That condescension is just the Last. Fucking. Straw. "You have a funny definition of 'good manners', Captain, threatening me and defending her." He turns, then, meets her 'old eye' stare without pity or flinching. "I have nothing but respect for those who give so much of themselves for what they believe is right. I do not think any less of the wandering Dalish supplicating lost Creators than I do Southern Andrastians seeking the absent Maker in their own way. It is not this faith that is sad, but your faith. If I cannot walk into a Chantry, make a quiet comment to the companion next to me and enjoy a single gesture of silliness with her on our way in - when there is no active service to disrupt, by the way - without displeasing you, then you are actually sad. Feel yourself superior to me all you like. I won't disrespect my lady or this place by choosing violence here. Anybody has a problem with that, I'm very easy to find about town." He turns and presses his fist to his chest in a sharp, precise salute in Aelia's direction. "My apologies, my lady. I will be outside when you are ready to depart." And that, as the poets say, is that.

Aelia's reaction to the impending pear-shapedness of their polite conversation is perhaps not what one would have expected. In an uncharacteristic social faux pas, wrapped up in the same moment that Isolde turns to Hadrian with a hand on her blade, and Hadrian comes between her and the templar, the base of Aelia's staff makes a sound that rings through the Maker's hall as it comes to rest sharply against the stone floor. Aelia has moved her staff from being held easily on her right side to making a line up the left side of her body with the base at her feet and the head of the staff being held just shy of Hadrian's shoulder. It's a clearly defensive gesture, and Hadrian would recognize it as a reflex from their days in the military together. She relaxes though, as Hadrian says his peice and turns to leave, watching him go until he's all the way out the door. The altus takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly, the pulsing of the mana in her blood natural for her and likely palpable for the templar. "My apologies for his insensativities, to you both." Aelia offers before turning the sharp, baleful eyes of a superior officer who has seen one of her subordinates threatened on Isolde. "But Captain, you may wish to examine how quickly you turn to violence as a form of discource. The sometimes poor image if your order is not flattering on someone of distinct honor and nobility." And, just like that the harsh fire in her eyes is gone and the Altus is back to being perfectly pleasant. "Maker watch over you both." She offers to the pair without a hint of neither sarcasm nor irony as she turns to exit the chantry. However, she had also been asked a question by Ashalle, which she answers over her shoulder. "I could give you the name of my tailor, Serrah Roane, but I imagine your keepers would make it difficult for you to place an order with a man in Minrathous. If you catch a break with one of them though have your measurments sent to me, I'll bring something back the next time I visit Tevinter." nevermind that Aelia owns her tailor. With that reply given she just about slips out the door to meet up with Hadrian unless someone would like to try and stop her.

"Mage Roane, that is enou-" The words are too slow. Hadrian is responding to Ashalle's commentary first, and Isolde frowns. As Aelia's staff hits the floor, the Templar's hold on her blade becomes more firm, but she still does not draw. It is not violence she speaks, simply that she is willing to mete. Isolde is not the manners police. She is not the City Guard. She is not some woman with ruffled feathers and preferences for one thing over the other. Sure, Hadrian had not primed her well with his muttering about her, but when it came down to it, it did not matter if Ashalle's manners were worse, Ashalle was her charge. Nevertheless, the Captain does not answer Hadrian, just watches with severity until he leaves. She could tolerate a parting shot on the way out, though she did not like it. Aelia, also, earns no emotional response. "I turn to being clear. I wished no violence, but I would not shy from it. A good day to you, Altus." She says, professional and firm, and purposefully using her correct title. She stands where she is until both Aelia and Hadrian have departed, and then returns to her standing a few paces away from Ashalle, hands at her back.

Maybe Isolde is right. But Ashalle can't keep her feelings back /that/ tightly. "You misunderstand both my words and my faith, sir. But you do seem quite determined to do so, so I won't waste more words on swaying you." Ashalle bows her head politely to the departing man, without a trace of mockery. "Good day to you."
And back to Aelia. Not that the thud of the staff hadn't gotten her attention, but it was speak then or lose the chance. "Minrathous… I doubt such a chance will come," she must admit. "But I do thank you for the offer. Perhaps we will have another chance to speak at some other time. Have no worries for your friend, or my feelings; I wasn't offended."
She steps back a bit, so as not to hinder the departing mage. "Good day to you, Aelia Zinnovia. May the rest of your day be less troubled."


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