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[color=e3c954] σρнєℓια тяєνєℓуαη[/color]
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“What have you done now, Inquisitor?” Cassandra huffed the moment a council meeting was called, late into the evening. With Leliana and Josephine taking up their rightful position on either side of the oversized mahogany bureau, Cassandra had filled the last spare seat, usually occupied by Commander Cullen. Ophelia decided she would inquire about him later.

“It was purely coincidental, I assure you.” Ophelia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, meeting each of their concerned stares with a confidence that didn’t quite match her shaky words. “We stumbled across this old inn — how it balanced on that steep slope, Maker only knows — and it was freezing outside, so we entered as one does. And what would you know, a whole ship of pirates and raiders filled that place.” Ophelia clucked her tongue. “A fight broke out, a woman died, and we left with the culprits. They await their destiny in the holding cells, may Andraste have mercy on their souls.”

After her rambling speech, not once stopping for breath, the others displayed a mix of reactions. Josephine, bless her heart, stifled a smirk whereas Leliana hyperfocused on the yellowed, cracked map pinned down to the table. Only Cassandra seemed wholly unamused, a quirk of one brow betraying her irritation with Ophelia. 

“And you did not … [i]exacerbate[/i] said fight?”

Ophelia pouted indignantly. “Of course not!” She protested, throwing her hands in the air like a child who’s been denied a tin of imported chocolates. “I was an esteemed lady as always. I did not even have to restrain Sera this time.” With a furtive glance at Leliana, who had finally shifted her expression into her usual neutral one, Ophelia sighed deeply.

“Okay, perhaps our announcement as the Inquisition had something to do with the following commotion. But —“ She stuck up one manicured finger, pausing for effect, “Now we have saved the seas and coastal towns from those ruffians. Cassandra, would you —“

Her reply came abruptly. “No. You will lead the investigation. With all due respect, Inquisitor, this is your responsibility now. The throne is yours and now you must wear the crown, no matter how heavy it may be.”

And so it was, Ophelia thought glumly as she perched her bottom on the uncomfortable stone and metal chair, more of a bronze bench than a proper throne. When this trial was over, she’d have to see about getting a replacement. “Bring the prisoner forward.” 
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[color=92b063]нуα¢ιηтн уєννιη[/color]
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With the sun nearly set, Hyacinth donned a thick brown cloak, keeping her long hair loose underneath the hood to conceal her too-long, too-sharp ears. Not that it really mattered; elves and humans alike meandered the gardens, each of them wearing robes in various shades and styles. Some were fur-lined to combat the chilly Skyhold air, others were silk or cotton linens. 

She easily sidestepped a city elf, marked by his unremarkable plain face, just as her own. He sneered at her but she pushed through the crowd, much larger than it had been two nights prior. That was to be expected, but the mass seemed to have doubled in size. This did not bode well, not at all.

“You stick out like a sore thumb, do you know that, Commander?” She breathed out to the stiff shadow in the shrubbery, his stance giving him away as one of a soldier, not a fellow mage. “We might have to report on this. They are multiplying far too quickly.” 

With the group now encircling the gilded statue of Andraste, Hyacinth strained her ears to pick up on the murmured conversations. Crouching low, she darted from bush to bush, unbothered that she likely resembled a crab as she used her open palms to support her weight while crawling on the dewy grass. She had left Cullen a few paces behind — without proper training, the training that only a seasoned assassin such as herself would have, he would make far too much noise and she preferred he clung to the shade. He would be more of a witness than anything else on this night. 

“They’re holding out on us, I tell ya!” One woman exclaimed from the center of the horde, too short to be seen but loud enough that her booming voice carried across the grounds. “I seen them dwarfs carting a dozen wooden crates in here just last week! And what is inside of them, do you reckon? OUR lyrium!” 

Hyacinth’s eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets. Yes, they had been receiving weekly lyrium shipments, that much was true. But the reality was that their supplies were dwindling; less and less was being imported each month. The cost was only rising and the Inquisition was struggling to cut a deal to satisfy both parties. If they weren’t able to secure a contract soon, there would be [i]no[/i] lyrium to distribute [i]whatsoever[/i] within the next month or two. 

It didn’t help that the Circles stockpiled lyrium by the droves, claiming they held utmost priority with their forces of templars and mages. It was a never ending political struggle, it seemed.