𝒇𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒙

[aberratic]

SENDING CRYSTAL
PASSING NOTES
IN PERSON

Comments

action

[altusimperius]

[It's not long after her arrival through the Rift and subsequent journey to the Gallows that Ness is approached by a tall, slender young man with a board and parchment. He inclines his head in greeting, offering a polite smile:]

Ennaris Tavane? I'm Benedict Artemaeus, Personnel Officer.

[aberratic]

[ ness was told to wait in the central tower for a mssr. artemaeus to meet her and explain her new situation more fully, and—well, she would have waited, but the hustle and bustle of the gallows clean-up and rebuilding is vastly more interesting to watch than the interior walls and hallways of the tower. she didn't go far, at least, she's near the entrance to the central tower when benedict comes to meet her, and she turns to greet him with a somewhat guilty smile of her own. ]

Hi, yes, that's me! Ness, if Ennaris is too much of a mouthful, it's a pleasure to meet you Messere Artemaeus.

[ 'messere' doesn't sound quite natural on her lips yet, but she's been listening, she knows that's the polite address in this area of the world. ...at least, she's pretty certain it is. ]

[altusimperius]

[He doesn't seem bothered at all by the shift in location, in part because this one was on the way-- and knowing all the faces of his colleagues means identifying a new one is instant.]

Ness, [he repeats, making a note of it,] and you can call me Benedict. Or Artemaeus, whichever you prefer.

How are you finding it here? Settling in?

action;

[overharrowed]

(Continued from over here.)

[Cedric makes the introduction which, inevitably, feels a bit like a hand-off. Enchanter Julius, when he arrives is a tall man in his 40s, his initial expression concerned but sympathetic. (The air of a teacher, as promised.) He's dressed in trousers and a tunic, rather than robes, but he's brought his staff. He also has a a small bag of supplies slung over one shoulder.

After Cedric promises to stay close and excuses himself, Julius leans the staff close enough he can reach it, but out of the way as he settles next to her.]

Alright. So I've had a little bit, but if you feel up to it, why don't you tell me what's been happening? I think the more I know, the more helpful I can probably be.

[His tone is kind, quiet. There will be a lot to deal with in the morning, but right now, he can't help but be affected by a young woman in magical distress.]



[OOC: Happy to adjust if you want to approach this another way, just lmk.]

[aberratic]

[ some of the ease cedric had hard-fought to win out of her leaves with the hand-off, but not as much as could have: ness is accustomed to professorial types, and the presence of a familiar mien is calming, even if she's still nervous. it's difficult to begin, but it always would have been, no matter the circumstances or who she was explaining it to. ]

I didn't have magic before I came here, [ she starts, finding the threads of the story as she speaks. ] I was entirely average. Extremely so. The only interesting thing about me is my father's drow—a dark elf.

[ her fingers reach up, admirably still unless you look closely, and finger the point of an ear that isn't there anymore, replaced with the rounded cartilage of a human. lips purse, chin wobbles—she presses on. ]

Before I woke up here, I was... kidnapped. Taken. There are these things, [ she shudders, ] mindflayers. They infect you with their parasite and seven days later you die, and something that isn't at all you anymore takes your place. They meant that for me, but there was

[ a breath, eyes closed, don't linger, ]

a disturbance. I avoided the parasite, but got a faceful of its brine. Now, here, I—I do things, entirely on accident.

[ that is very important, on that she opens her eyes and seeks julius' gaze, earnest and pleading. ]

I haven't hurt anyone. I don't want to. It's all out of my control and I didn't know what to do but I didn't want to die, I read so many things—

[overharrowed]

All rifters have a lot to cope with when they arrive, but it sounds as if you've more than your share. [He doesn't have to feign the sympathy in his voice.] It's not something exactly like I've run across before, I confess. I know that some rifters have different abilities here than they do where they come from, but in general they had some sort of magical ability. Other than the powers that come from the anchor shards themselves, most rifters who didn't do magic before don't do any in Thedas. But let's walk before we try to run.

I take it that one of the things you've read about is how the Templar Order and the Circles dealt with mages who couldn't control their magic. Is that right?

action.

[portalling]

continued from.

Sorcerer, [ Strange corrects automatically, a kneejerk instinct; the verbiage doesn’t even really matter anymore, but he stands on the principle of getting it right. Naming things as they are. And the terminology might matter for a particular rifter universe, because he still remembers Wysteria being precise about the definitions between magicians, sorcerers, wizards, witches.

Seated beside this young woman, he peers over to look a little closer at the titles she’d selected to read, thinking: Oghma, the god of knowledge. He doesn’t much truck with gods, but if there’s one to follow, that sounds better than most. ]

It might be the same thing at the end of the day, however, and similar to what they call a mage here. Someone who’s studied and practiced magic and is capable of harnessing its powers to cast spells, yes?

[aberratic]

[ she opens her mouth to argue the point immediately, then closes it again just as quickly, rethinking her strategy. they're in a completely different plane, each from different worlds: perhaps sorcerer means something different to him than it does to her.

that in mind, she begins again, less immediately confrontational this time. ] Yes, though on my plane they're different. Those who have to learn their magic [ she nods at him, at the books in front of her—not magical tomes, but just to indicate the kind of study required, ] are called wizards, they have no innate magical talent and learn their spells by rote. Sorcerers, whether through birth or contact with intense magical energies later in life, are innately magical, they don't need to learn anything.

As you say, though, [ leaning back in her seat and smiling up at him, ] at the end of the day, the differences matter little here. A sorcerer is a wizard is a mage, whatever we called them in our previous lives.

[portalling]

[ It’s a surprisingly interesting etymological difference, as far as Strange is concerned. So there’s a sharp attentiveness as he listens: it might not matter as such, but he’s meticulously filing that away regardless in the part of the mental rolodex now titled Ennaris and her world. ]

So it sounds, [ he muses, ] as if all mages here would be considered sorcerers by your definition. Either they’re born with the capacity or they’re not, is that right?

Where I’m from, [ a gesture of a hand, a tap of his scarred fingertips on her stack of books, illustrative, ] studious application will get you to magic. People might have a predilection for it or a familial lines particularly gifted with it, but strictly speaking, anyone can learn it. Fairly democratic, that way.

[ It’s evident by the warmth in his voice: he likes that about sorcery. The personal control, the direct cause and consequence. If you pour enough time and effort into a thing, you can master it. Ten years of medical school, and you can become a doctor. Most of a year of frenzied effort and reckless study and lack of sleep, and you can become a sorcerer. ]

crystal

[armd]

Hey. En-naris? (The pronunciation is a little weak, but hey.)

[aberratic]

Ehn-ahr-iss, yes, hello! Ness is fine if Ennaris is a mouthful, I don't mind.

[ she does, a little, but that's an old wound, not abby's fault. the effort was made, at least. ]

[armd]

(Repeating,) Ehn-ahr-iss. Got it. (No big.)

I'm Abby. We're rooming together. You just got here, right?

delivery.

[cozen]

[ Belatedly: after ending this conversation presumably more politely than falling completely silent out of nowhere (sorry), Bastien eventually gets around to leaving a bundle of papers in Ness' pigeonhole in the dining hall.

Most of it is an accumulation of pamphlets and clips from broadsheets and quarterlies from the last few years that he already had on hand, ranging from staid essays on the benefits of unifying behind the new Divine to furious screeds on the way the wealthy and powerful are using the prolonged threat of Corypheus as an excuse to tighten their fists around the common people. The contents trend toward the anti-monarchist, communitarian, anarchist, or otherwise revolutionary, because that's what he's naturally collected for himself. But there's certainly an attempt to provide a broader spectrum of opinions. Even the bootlicking ones.

On top are a few things he gathered specifically for the request, including a less imbalanced array of recent publications and a thin, saddle-stitched volume titled Common Knowledge: The World According to the Unlettered, by Aubertin Ménétries. It's something of an anthropological survey, reporting on common folks' accounts of the workings of government and the natural world and so on—but exceedingly condescending, clearly cultivated to mock its subjects.

The only note is in the cover of the book. It says,

Do not think I paid money for this. I would never. —Bastien ]

➛ crystal;

[aberratic]

Please tell me some horrible accident has befallen Aubertin Ménétries such that he can no longer hold a pen.

[ hello, how are you, thank you so much for the delivery— ]

[cozen]

Not that I know of.

[ The smile is audible. Good reaction. ]

But he's a young man. There is time for him to see the error of his ways. I knew his mother once, you know, and I cannot see how she would not teach him better. It might be some form of rebellion.

crystals; whatever point in time

[dissolving]

Hey — when you got a minute, can I ask you on something? Supply question. 'S not urgent.

let's go post-horrors, for funsies

[aberratic]

[ if, when ness speaks up, she sounds like someone who has only just been startled into wakefulness, who slept in an uncomfortable position, whose hair is in complete disarray and whose faculties have not entirely returned to her from the fade—well. ]

Yes, I can help, [ is the immediate response, before cedric's full sentence has processed. ] Supply question? What do you need?

*bells jingling*

[armd]

(Delivered to her desk (only a day late): a leather-bound copy of Aveline, Knight of Orlais by Lord Francois Maigny, an embellished version of the life and adventures of an Orlesian woman, raised by Dalish elves, who disguises herself as a man to enter a Knight's tournament. The ending is sad.

Abby has tied a beautiful purple ribbon around it. A small scrap of paper on top contains a cramped note:) Lemme know what you think when you're done. I'd love to talk about it. Happy Satinalia. — Abby A.

i am so sorry, this hit right in the middle of the veilguard fugue 😭

[aberratic]

[ absolutely not late at all, certainly not this late, abby comes back to their room to find a sheaf of loose, handmade paper bound in a leather cord on her pillow. there is no indication who it's from, but atop hermione's bed sits a similar sheaf, while there's none on ness's bed.

a week after abby's gift to ness finds its way to her desk, another gift appears, this one in abby's nightstand (so as not to make hermione jealous): a handmade, handstitched collection of stories from faerûn, as best as ness could remember them, from myths to fairytales to epics. since she only had a week, they're all relatively brief, but the note on top of the collection reads: ]

Let me know which ones you like best, and I'll write them in more detail. I look forward to discussing them, and Aveline, with you!

—E. Tavane, Quartermaster

crystals;

[wythersake]

Mlle. Tavane, I've a question regarding Rifter health which I believe you uniquely suited to.

[aberratic]

[ how did you get this number ]

I would be happy to assist, Enchanter, go on.

book (backdated to after sarrux pass, like...v soon after)

[reparo]

Have you been given a clean bill of health yet?

[aberratic]

And a prescription for some healing potions, yes. Yourself?

[ they could literally just be talking to each other in their room, why are they both like this.]

[anthracite]

He waits until she's released, the Infirmary has enough hovering eyes. It's more difficult than he'd like to find time alone. She doesn't leave the library long enough, and when it isn't her in the offices, it's the Orlesian.

He doesn't want to talk to the Orlesian.

At last, she's carting some tray back up the stair. He rises from the nearest table — staked-out to purpose — without a meal, which makes it easier to slip a hand about her own and take the weight.

"Serah Tavane," Soft-spoken, a contrast to the snarling voice over the crystals. "Senior Warden Strand. We need to speak privately."

[aberratic]

Soft-spoken or not, Ness wanders through the Gallows with her mind only half-devoted to her physical surroundings at the best of times—she still startles for the Warden's appearance at her side. Her tray very nearly goes tumbling out of both their hands, but she lets it go in her surprise and he compensates, and that leaves her free to press her hand over her chest.

"Knots," she snaps, "where did you come from—"

It takes a moment for her to recover from the fright, not to mention process what he actually said. The resulting annoyance may be somewhat unfair, but, really,

"There is the Archivist's office, Messere, you could make an appointment."