[He's not. Or he's sick enough of the paperwork that's piled up in his absence to ignore that he is.]
There's a joke in Tevinter. It goes-- [He's written and read more in Tevene than he's spoken it in quite some time; after a pause, he says something pleasant and rolling which translates to:] What's the difference between a slave and a soporati? The slave doesn't need to worry about what's for breakfast.
They're merchants and soldiers and clerks and poor farmers whose grandparents were once slaves or were bad at or unlucky in business. They're free citizens, meaning maybe a tenth can read and write and that they want what everyone wants: security and comfort. In Tevinter, that usually means figuring out how to keep your family alive along enough for someone in it to eventually be born a mage.
[She scratches her chin, thinking.] So they're the fuckers who make the food and keep money going in and out. [She grew up without money, but in Rivain, she still had to know how it worked. The Qun had to buy supplies to distribute, instead of relying entirely on their farms. She understands the concept fine, thanks.]
I was playing with the idea of getting the mages to blast some pamphlets in their direction-- it'd be risky, but so's war-- except, if they can't read, fuck that. Could send spies in, but the risk's high for an unknown reward.
...He said there was a resistance, but he could've just been saying it to make me like him or whatever. But we know there's curfews and blocks on who gets in'n out. That's guaranteed to make fuckers unhappy enough to jump.
If you want numbers, Minrathous is the wrong place to look for them. Even if you could reach the city and find out who there is allegedly working against Corypheus's possession of the city and his influence in the Magisterium, I can't imagine you'll come away with many. In which case, they're more use to us exactly where they are - gathering information until the point that an alternative is so appealing that we don't even have to go looking for them.
[His leg is falling asleep. A tentative shift of the heel sends a flash of pain up through to his side, and he grimaces into his mug.]
Where we should go is Perivantiuim and Marothius and Solas. The farther from the seat of power, the more likely they are to be concerned about being pinched between it and the coming Exalted March. The more likely they are to defect. The more likely they are to realize that between them and the slaves, they exist in numbers strong enough to do whatever the fuck they've been persuaded to like.
[Eshal's face lights. This is the kind of information she needs.]
Which would hurt, what, trade? Minrathous isn't the Par Vollen, it's not a- it's not contained. Even Kont-aar had to trade with bas to make ends. We send ships to those places, spread word around. Can't hurt. Offer free passage to just a few, get people thinking.
[She scratches her chin.] And I don't have to go to a fucking tea party over it.
[Later tonight, she's going to look over her maps and feel briefly embarrassed.]
Mmmm, sounds like a job for Byerly. [She stares into her mug.] Speaking of- you were fucking right. Took him long enough, but he figured out how to fucking needle me.
The ships are being refit before the winter storms come in. One of the merchant vessels has a cracked hatch cover. [All true. Dismissively:] I'll recover.
[She can sense a dismissal when she hears one. Soldiers-- sailors-- never like discussing their injuries. But-] See, if I was hissrath, I'd polish you off like that. [She clicks her tongue.]
The kid was a wreck. He was afraid someone'd come with an axe for his neck any moment, which, honestly, who told him how close the vote was. [Eyeroll.] You can use that, though. You don't gotta torture him if you just catch him while he's sleeping and wave a sword around.
[A shrug, and she leans back a bit, thinking.]
Minrathous has curfews. He tried to escape on his own once, got caught. Blood magic's up. Sounded like people were using their own blood for magic, as much as slaves. Maybe more than? And there are rebel cells in the city, and Corypheus is trying to root them out, which means he hasn't yet. Oh, and his favorite food is rice.
[Which is shame. Rice is cheap; it would be easy to keep him fed on it.]
It's likely less overt than all that. He might not think so, but I wouldn't be surprised if he'd seen nothing but what's gone the most rancid. I've heard Magister Artemaeus is a desiccated harpy of a woman, and the whole House possesses the reputation of grasping after whatever power falls most conveniently to hand.
I got him rice, and it's what got him blabbing. I also told him if you decide to start in on torture to 'tell me'. Didn't say I'd do anything about it, but... [You know how it is.]
Overt in the rebel shit, or the blood magic shit? Because I'm not sure which is more important, honest. Tevinter's so foreign and exotic... [She rolls her eyes with a smile.]
[Fuck's sake. Rice got him talking. They should throw the idiot into the harbor with one hand tied to his foot and a knife strapped to the other hand and watch him drown.]
Both. The blood magic may be the expression of their new power, but putting own any fledgling rebellion force would be paramount if they mean to keep it. The fact that the Magisterium hasn't been more outspoken regarding the present state of Tevinter suggests there must be someone left in it who's yet to be fully convinced.
[That's interesting. Eshal sits back a little, nursing her drink.]
You're saying-- and fucking tell me if I'm off-- you're saying they'd be bragging more, but they don't want anybody looking too closely and finding out it isn't so perfect as they say.
What I'm saying is that there is a certain willful blindness which mages in Tevinter are naturally inclined to. Right now, it's likely that there are more than a few who are choosing not to examine why they suddenly have the means to push their way South again, merely that they can and that someone has told them it will benefit them. Were they piling corpses in the streets and feeding Corypheus' archdemon in the center of Minrathous, some of them might find it in themselves to summon a second thought or two.
[And she listens, attentive. This is an area she doesn't know much about. This is an area she needs to learn more of. Flint is a good resource. When it comes to what she considers her job, she takes it very seriously.]
Then fuck the rebels. We need to make them see how fucked it is. Something they actually care about. If this were the Qun, it'd be easy, but... [She scratches her chin, and then a smile spreads.] You said the boy was the important son of an important family, right? That's his whole- his whole thing.
It isn't. It's just more complicated than how it looks from the outside.
Were it me, [a selective series of words] I would press the boy to see which other children he knew, and which families his mother encouraged he be distant from. Find their enemies in the Magisterium, and you may find someone who can be persuaded that they love their children.
[He finally shifts his heel. It takes effort to dredge it down off the edge of the open trunk, all tentative and wincing.]
Best to seek out the praeteri and laeten mages. Ones with fewer children, the younger the better.
Mmmh. [She listens, nodding slowly, but has her own addendum.] If we- [She looks up-] I do this, it's not something that's supposed to be an end of it. There's spies and shit, but diplomacy ought to be working on weakening Corypheus' hold. Slowly. No real war was ever one in one battle.
If they don't love their kids-- which, fuck, I thought bas did?-- could make it that they just need young noble blood. Keep it simple. His crone mother's too old. Now he'll be looking for other sources. Make every disappearance, every time somebody's late to dinner, make the doubt linger.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
There's a joke in Tevinter. It goes-- [He's written and read more in Tevene than he's spoken it in quite some time; after a pause, he says something pleasant and rolling which translates to:] What's the difference between a slave and a soporati? The slave doesn't need to worry about what's for breakfast.
They're merchants and soldiers and clerks and poor farmers whose grandparents were once slaves or were bad at or unlucky in business. They're free citizens, meaning maybe a tenth can read and write and that they want what everyone wants: security and comfort. In Tevinter, that usually means figuring out how to keep your family alive along enough for someone in it to eventually be born a mage.
no subject
I was playing with the idea of getting the mages to blast some pamphlets in their direction-- it'd be risky, but so's war-- except, if they can't read, fuck that. Could send spies in, but the risk's high for an unknown reward.
...He said there was a resistance, but he could've just been saying it to make me like him or whatever. But we know there's curfews and blocks on who gets in'n out. That's guaranteed to make fuckers unhappy enough to jump.
no subject
[His leg is falling asleep. A tentative shift of the heel sends a flash of pain up through to his side, and he grimaces into his mug.]
Where we should go is Perivantiuim and Marothius and Solas. The farther from the seat of power, the more likely they are to be concerned about being pinched between it and the coming Exalted March. The more likely they are to defect. The more likely they are to realize that between them and the slaves, they exist in numbers strong enough to do whatever the fuck they've been persuaded to like.
no subject
Which would hurt, what, trade? Minrathous isn't the Par Vollen, it's not a- it's not contained. Even Kont-aar had to trade with bas to make ends. We send ships to those places, spread word around. Can't hurt. Offer free passage to just a few, get people thinking.
[She scratches her chin.] And I don't have to go to a fucking tea party over it.
no subject
You mean they're not your strong suit?
no subject
Mmmm, sounds like a job for Byerly. [She stares into her mug.] Speaking of- you were fucking right. Took him long enough, but he figured out how to fucking needle me.
no subject
I hope you at least got something out of it in return.
no subject
Learned he's way the fuck out of his depth, and likely to-- whats' the expression in this fucking- right, yeah-- bite off his nose to spite his chin.
[Close.]
Also, he's fucking obsessed with spies. Thinks I'm a Qunari spy.
no subject
Then we can be certain of one thing, at least. He's apparently never meet a Qunari intelligencer.
no subject
[Because she knows what an injured soldier looks like. Sailor. Not soldier- person.]
no subject
Did Artemaeus have anything else to say?
no subject
The kid was a wreck. He was afraid someone'd come with an axe for his neck any moment, which, honestly, who told him how close the vote was. [Eyeroll.] You can use that, though. You don't gotta torture him if you just catch him while he's sleeping and wave a sword around.
[A shrug, and she leans back a bit, thinking.]
Minrathous has curfews. He tried to escape on his own once, got caught. Blood magic's up. Sounded like people were using their own blood for magic, as much as slaves. Maybe more than? And there are rebel cells in the city, and Corypheus is trying to root them out, which means he hasn't yet. Oh, and his favorite food is rice.
no subject
[Which is shame. Rice is cheap; it would be easy to keep him fed on it.]
It's likely less overt than all that. He might not think so, but I wouldn't be surprised if he'd seen nothing but what's gone the most rancid. I've heard Magister Artemaeus is a desiccated harpy of a woman, and the whole House possesses the reputation of grasping after whatever power falls most conveniently to hand.
no subject
Overt in the rebel shit, or the blood magic shit? Because I'm not sure which is more important, honest. Tevinter's so foreign and exotic... [She rolls her eyes with a smile.]
no subject
Both. The blood magic may be the expression of their new power, but putting own any fledgling rebellion force would be paramount if they mean to keep it. The fact that the Magisterium hasn't been more outspoken regarding the present state of Tevinter suggests there must be someone left in it who's yet to be fully convinced.
no subject
You're saying-- and fucking tell me if I'm off-- you're saying they'd be bragging more, but they don't want anybody looking too closely and finding out it isn't so perfect as they say.
no subject
no subject
Then fuck the rebels. We need to make them see how fucked it is. Something they actually care about. If this were the Qun, it'd be easy, but... [She scratches her chin, and then a smile spreads.] You said the boy was the important son of an important family, right? That's his whole- his whole thing.
no subject
Yeah.
no subject
no subject
I apologize. Let me correct myself - when I say they might have second thoughts, I meant on behalf of themselves.
[But.]
no subject
Don't be all fucking dramatic. If it's dumb, I wanna know.
[But she hasn't told him how she intends to do it yet- and something stops her from going on at length. He's a good source; why ruin it?]
no subject
Were it me, [a selective series of words] I would press the boy to see which other children he knew, and which families his mother encouraged he be distant from. Find their enemies in the Magisterium, and you may find someone who can be persuaded that they love their children.
[He finally shifts his heel. It takes effort to dredge it down off the edge of the open trunk, all tentative and wincing.]
Best to seek out the praeteri and laeten mages. Ones with fewer children, the younger the better.
no subject
If they don't love their kids-- which, fuck, I thought bas did?-- could make it that they just need young noble blood. Keep it simple. His crone mother's too old. Now he'll be looking for other sources. Make every disappearance, every time somebody's late to dinner, make the doubt linger.
no subject
Better. Their imaginations do the work for us while we sort matters which require more direct involvement. How would you start the rumor?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)