[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:]
[ ness was told to wait in the central tower for a mssr. artemaeus to meet her and explain her new situation more fully, andβwell, 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. ]
[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.
[ people pleaser instincts don't like choices why have you done this to herβ ]
Yes, thank you! I've been trying to familiarize myself with the layout of everything, and I think there's a library I want to look at? I want to study the history here, it seems like a good place to start.
[ gotta figure out which nations hate each other and why so she doesn't put her foot in her mouth at any point, ey. ]
[He gives a little smile at her enthusiasm, straightening.]
The library is upstairs of the centr-- the tower, [oops,] and we've gathered quite a few resources over the years. If you can't find what you're looking for, you may be able to just ask someone. Just,
[there's a strange, frenetic look in his eyes-- don't fuck it up--]
be mindful of what you say on the network. Elves in particular have a complicated history, and I... would advise against calling anything a fairy tale.
[ fairy tale? elves have a complicated history? what?? many confused faces. although that does bring up, since ness by now has had an opportunity to notice she has experienced some, uh, changes— ]
Ah, on the subject of elves—I won't say anything about fairy tales, I swear—I... Well, this is going to sound ridiculous, but I seem to have... lost my ears?
[ she tucks her hair behind her very much existent ears, showing them off—them and their very rounded, blunt, human tips. ]
My father where I'm from is an elf, and my mother is a half-elf. This isn't the normal shape of my ears, [ and she is being very, very cool about it, she thinks, ] and I was wondering, does that... happen often?
[He looks at her ears, then at her face, like he isn't quite sure what to say. Usually elves rift in as elves-- what an insane thing to think, how many different kinds of elves can there be-- never mind,]
I'm, [he hedges,] not sure. [He tosses his shiny hair, perhaps a grounding motion.]
I do know that people with mixed elf and human blood generally don't have the, ah, [he makes a pinching gesture,] points.
[ my dude half-elves are a whole ass thing, they've got the points, they've got the magic, what on the great fucking wheel are you talking about. ]
Perhaps that is a difference between your plane and mine, [ she allows eventually, rather than call this polite but nervous-seeming man an idiot to his face. ] It's, I mean, I'm not injured in any way, and it's not as though the points serve any, any function.
[ other than mark a physical marker of her ancestry and past and hoo boy we're not getting bogged down in being capital a Alone in an unfamiliar plane, nope. blowing right past that emotional turmoil, onto something that surely can't be worse! ]
[He opens his mouth as if to answer her next question, and, realizing where he's put himself, has a full thought process first. Then:]
One of... significant loss, and subjugation. I'm not really the right person to tell you about it. [on account of not being an elf, mostly, but there are Other Reasons]
--I'd be glad to introduce you to someone who could do a better job of it, though.
[ what the hells kind of topsy turvy world is this, even, elves subjugated?? much reading and research to be done, goodness. ]
I would be very glad for the introduction, then. So, we've covered elves and fairy tales—is there anything else I need to know with immediacy, to avoid making an arse of myself?
we were recently attacked. As you may have noticed by our facilities being in some state of... disrepair. It's fair to say we're all still rather sore about that.
[FAIR]
You don't seem the type to joke lightly about misfortunes, so I imagine you'll be all right.
Not intentionally. Rifters arrive out of sorts, in a new place, grasping for some kind of familiarity. People say things without thinking first, on both sides.
[such is life]
But I don't imagine that'll be a problem on your end. Do you have any other questions to get you settled in?
Many, [ questions, ] but they can probably all wait, I'm sure you have more important things to do than answer a few hundred questions about your home. I can fend for myself otherwise.
[ she gives what is hopefully a reassuring and grateful smile, but then, a thought: ]
Oh, for sleeping arrangements, is there... I've seen tents, do I get one?
[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.]
[ 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 drowβa 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 wobblesβshe 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, IβI 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 thingsβ
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?
It's not unheard of, where I'm from, [ in explanation, still a little miserable about it. ] Contact with magical energies can give one magic, in certain circumstances. It may be that I acquired my magic there, but there was no opportunity to discover it before I woke here.
[ seeing as she died there minutes after she might have acquired her magic—but we're not thinking about that. done is done, no use crying over spilt blood. ]
Yes. [ whispered, somewhat ashamed for reasons she can't quite articulate. ] Death or, ah, the other thing. Tranquility?
That's right. I won't tell you that there's no danger in the larger world; I grew up in a Circle myself. But I can assure you that Riftwatch isn't in the habit of putting anyone to death or forcing Tranquility on them. We may need to take some steps to keep you or others safe. But within Riftwatch itself, you're not in danger of those particular steps.
[He's not technically a Division head, to promise such a thing. On the other hand, they've been dealing with arguably worse rifter problems for a while now.]
Can you describe to me what you've experienced, since you've come here? Don't worry about any technical terms, just how to feels and appears to you.
[ hearing is not believing, and ness' expression doesn't quite clear up, even with the enchanter's assurances. she wants to believe him, she really does, but wanting is exactly why it feels so hard to trustβit would be so easy to tell her exactly what she wants to hear, and then turn around and betray her as soon as she let down her guard. that's what all the smart villains do, and even the well-meaning heroes who don't know who they're working for.
still, the conversation goes nowhere if she doesn't take him at his word, at least for now. so ness nods her acceptance of his promise and stares at her hands, considering. ]
It begins in my stomach, [ she says slowly, hushed, ] a squirming feeling, like I have to vomit. It gets more intense, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but it feels less like illness and more like... like there's something inside of me writhing to get out. It presses at, at the walls of me, so much that I think there must be some distention in my skin but there never is. It travels up my body and to my anchor and when it frees itself it's these... I don't know how to describe them.
[ she inhales a shaky breath and flexes the fingers on her anchor hand, unable to look julius in the eye anymore. it sounds bad. it sounds really bad. she knows. ]
Whips, maybe. Vines, or... tentacles. Tendrils of some kind of concentrated darkness that reach to beat at anything near me. They don't last long, but they can be destructive, even so. The writhing stops as soon as they're free. It doesn't feel like anything, after that.
ty for your patience (I say as I'm about to go on a trip)
[It's not not concerning, and he doesn't try to gloss over that. But on the other hand, he's not recoiling. He seems to want to understand.]
I'll be honest. It sounds more like a curse than any sort of magecraft, sanctioned or unsanctioned by the Chantry. Something happening to you, rather than something you're doing.
[Which is not wonderful news, in that curses can be complicated to break. On the other hand, it seems unlikely that she's possessed. Possible β rifters complicate things β but it doesn't seem like the way that sort of thing usually manifests.]
To make sure I understand: The tendrils are destructive while they last, but regardless of whether they reach a target, they dissipate on their own. How long, approximately, do they last? Just a best guess is fine.
[ a curse... does that feel right? ness frowns, but considers the idea carefully. she certainly isn't trying to do any of this, but neither has she encountered anyone who could or would have cursed her, recently. the mindflayers wanted her for their parasite, so they'd have had no reason to do anything like that to her, and the githyanki were too keen on murder to bother with anything protracted.
still, an actual enchanter would know better than she would. it's as good a theory as she's got for now. ]
It feels like an eternity, [ in the way the worst things always do, ] but it can't be more than a few seconds. No more than ten, if that.
Alright. That's obviously still distressing, but I think it's manageable.
[He doesn't say we've had worse, but possibly he does think it. Regardless.]
I've brought a substance called magebane, if you'd like to try it while we're working on a more permanent solution. I'm not going to insist, partly because it sounds like you have at least a bit of warning to get away from bystanders, and partly because I'm not entirely sure how it would affect you, as a rifter. For native mages like me, it dampens the ability to use magic temporarily. If your condition is drawn from a connection to the Fade in some way, it's possible the magebane could give you a bit of a reprieve. But if it's not something you want to risk without knowing how it works, that's understandable.
[ distressing, but manageable. despite herself, despite her difficulty trusting his word just a moment ago... ness can't help the way her shoulders lighten and her breath comes a little easier. she doesn't know the enchanter at all, certainly not enough to trust his word just like that, but it's such a relief to have someone who knows more than she does look at her and say "we can work with this".
this isn't the worst case scenario. she's not beyond help. the professional in the room isn't panickingβhell, he hardly looks flustered. she's going to be okay.
she's going to be okay.
relief very nearly turns into incoherent blubbering, but ness pulls herself together by her fingernails, scraping up the last dregs of her composure with a gulping deep breath and the determined expression of one about to attempt a marathon for the first time. ]
Thank you, [she says, without a single falter, ] I think I'd like to try the magebane, at least to see. Could it be, maybe, could I take it just when I can feel the squirming start? I could try it now, to see what happens, if you'd prefer to be around the first time.
I think that's a place to begin. We'll need to experiment a bit, probably, to see how fast you need it to act, but I think "when you first feel the sensation" is a reasonable starting place.
[He retrieve a small flask from the bag he's brought with him. The glass is semi-transparent, hinting at a liquid with a reddish hue and a slightly viscous consistency behind the cork stopper.]
This was originally developed to poison weapons used against mages, so unfortunately it was not developed with taste in mind. [Translation: It's fairly vile.] If you have the time, I might dilute a bit of it in advance. It should be stable in water, and I've heard it's easier to swig a large mouthful with a milder taste than manage a small sip with a stronger bite to it. But that's just for ease of use. In an emergency, you can take a small sip directly.
Certainly, [ agreeing, immediately, to whatever julius suggestsβexperimentation, of course, look how biddable she is, so easy to work with. she accepts the vial, examining its contents as best she can in the low light.
for a poison, it looks fairly innocuousβno sickly green hue, like in illustrations, nor any sort of... palpable malevolence. for something called magebane, it's not very frightening. ]
I see, [she says, closing her first around the vial and holding it close to her chest. ] And small sips should do it, then, no need to drink the whole thing? How long do its effects last? Do we have an abundant supply, or should I be rationing?
[ hang on, actually, more importantlyβ ]
What would happen if I were to take too much? If I did, could that be counteracted in some way? Is there a maximum amount I should ingest within a certain period?
[ rip ness you would have loved to be a medicinal research chemist. ]
I'm not a healer, [caveat, talk to your doctor] but my understanding is that to a point, dose correlates to duration. That is, if you take more, the effects last longer. You certainly shouldn't need to drink the whole flask at once, assuming it works for you as I expect.
That said, I might need to direct you to another source for full information on ... Taking a flask's worth at once might be unpleasant, but shouldn't do you long-term ill. [He's heard of Templars forcing than much on a mage at a time, though that observation feels better unspoken.] An even larger dose might have ill effects; I'm not sure. Enchanter Isaac would be a likely source of information, though you may need to explain your condition to him, and I can understand that prospect giving you some pause.
Hmm. It wouldn't be terribly insensitive, would it, asking the Enchanter about this?
you don't have to be a genius to realize an enchanter with extensive experience with a poison directed specifically at mages might not have gotten that experience in an enjoyable or academic manner. ]
I'll think about asking him, at least, it may be irresponsible not to... But, ohβ
[ her eyes focus on julian again and she smiles, a little watery and wan, but no less genuine for it. ]
Thank you. I've been so afraid, and I didn't want to hurt anyoneβit was eating me up. Between you and Cedric I feel like I'm taking my first deep breath in weeks. It means so much, really.
We've used magebane within the organization before, [Julius assures her.] I think a simple "I need some time while I get a new effect cured or under control" should suffice. You're not the first rifter who got an unwanted gift from the Fade, even if this particular one is new to me.
[A small exhale with a faint smile.]
I suppose it keeps us on our toes. But I'm sorry you're having to deal with it. I think I would be ... cautious about how many people you speak to, before we've learned more. As Carsus may have indicated, there are a lot of native Thedosians who have a strong distrust for magic, especially uncontrolled magic. But I'd say any of the Division Heads are trustworthy. Madame de Cedoux. Stephen Strange, our head healer.
[ confirming, ] I've done some research. [ she knows the shape of the native reaction to magic, even if she hasn't experienced the whole of it for herself yetβthat's half the reason she was so panicked and terrified before tonight, to the point of attempting to isolate herself completely. ] That's why I didn't plan to tell any one I didn'need to about my... condition. I imagine there's no way you leave here and don't immediately tell the Division Heads what happened.
[ it's not a question, because ness has no doubt: after tonight, the division heads will know exactly what she can do, and how unstable it is. it's only right, tooβfor safety reasons, the people in charge of the organization should know when someone might pose a threat to the rest of the group!
it just sucks to be the one posing a threat, is all. ]
Petrana de Cedoux and Stephen Strange... I'll remember those names. They're natives?
Both rifters, actually, [even if that's not specifically why he recommended them.] Both of them are mages, though, or close enough to be a distinction without a difference. Dr. Strange is our head healer, which may give him a professional interest in your condition, [adopting her word]. And Mme de Cedoux has been navigating the intersection of her world's magic and Thedosian magic for many years now. Beyond being trustworthy, she has a unique perspective.
[And Julius is going to tell her about this anyway, more than likely, but he'd recommend her even if that wasn't true.]
Your instinct for discretion is a wise one, I think. But you've landed in a place with more than its share of people who've faced judgment. Most people in Riftwatch prioritize defeating Corypheus. As long as we can ensure you're no danger to yourself or others here in the Gallows, everything else can be managed.
[ it may not be fair, but ness absolutely perks up at both petrana and stephen being rifters. natives just... she's gotten lucky, between cedric and julius both being willing to help her instead of reaching immediately for pitchforks. pushing her luck seems inadvisable, that's all. it's healthy, reasonable caution, not irrational fear. really. ]
I'll remember both of them, thank you.
[ she really will, as soon as she gets back to her things she'll be writing notes on this whole experience.
there's part of that second bit that catches her ear, thoughβmost, emphasized, but that means... ]
Is there anyone in particular I should be cautious with? People less sympathetic than the rest, here?
[He takes his time to consider this question. (Not because it hasn't occurred to him previously.)]
Redvers Keen may not have sufficient trust in the organization's leadership to not feel he needs to take matters into his own hands. You should be especially cautious there. And while I doubt Lazar would be personally outraged, he is forever looking to turn a profit; he might see your distress as a business opportunity first and foremost.
Broadly, I might keep the number of people who know small until the Division Heads have had a chance to weigh in. But I think that is less a function of avoiding individual agents finding out and more a matter of giving them leeway to handle it as they think best.
[ more names to remember, petrana de... sehdoo? (probably not, she'll have to ferret out proper spelling), stephen strange, redvers keen, lazar... ness mouths each name to herself, making different small gestures with each name to reinforce the memory. ]
I didn't plan to tell anyone, [ confirming, and also, you know, she'd assumed he would, but maybe julius can confirm informing the division heads? she'd prefer only to interact with authority figures when she has good news, is the thing.
another deep breath, and ness can feel exhaustion creeping in, now that adrenaline has worn off. ]
Okay, this has been... quite a bit to take in. Iβif there's anything else, might it wait? I just want to make sure I can remember everything properly before I take in anything more.
[ please, her past couple weeks have been so much, she's doing her best but she needs timeβ ]
Go on. Try to get some sleep, if you can. And if you need me for anything with the magebane, or ... I expect I'll be in my office for a few hours yet. But things tend to look better in the morning, even if daylight doesn't actually solve them.
[He's not entirely unworried about letting her go again, but the Division heads will know and his instinct tells him she doesn't mean any active harm. The night will probably be quiet enough.]
Sorcerer, [ Strange corrects automatically, a kneejerk instinct; the verbiage doesnβt 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 sheβd selected to read, thinking: Oghma, the god of knowledge. He doesnβt much truck with gods, but if thereβs 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 whoβs studied and practiced magic and is capable of harnessing its powers to cast spells, yes?
[ 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.
[ Itβs a surprisingly interesting etymological difference, as far as Strange is concerned. So thereβs a sharp attentiveness as he listens: it might not matter as such, but heβs 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 theyβre born with the capacity or theyβre not, is that right?
Where Iβm 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.
[ Itβs 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. ]
[ as it becomes clear that stephen's actually listened to her, not just heard but listened, ness' smile grows. it's not that she's not used to an adult who actually pays attention or anything like thatβshe's just a consummate teacher's pet, and she loves an opportunity for a one-on-one with an educator who gives a shit. ]
That's right, [ of all mages here being sorcerers to her. ] And where I'm from, you and all the other sorcerers of your world would be considered wizards. I've never thought of wizardry that way, [ musing, a little taken with his clear affection for the practice, ] democratic. It's a somewhat prohibitive field to get into, in FaerΓ»n, even if open to everyone in theory.
[prohibitive, and not a field she'd ever given much mind to, as she'd shown only the barest of aptitudes for it and never wanted to bother anyone questioning about it. if she'd shown an interest, there would have been no shortage of those in candlekeep who could have taught her, but without initiative of her own, no one was going to take time out of their schedules to force her.
kind of a shame now in hindsight, given the givens. ]
How did you come to its study? If you don't mind the question, I don't mean to pry.
Itβs a long story, [ Strange says after a short beat.
But itβs one heβs had to explain often enough in Thedas that the stingβs gone out of it. Back home people generally wouldnβt pry for the Sorcerer Supremeβs history, but here heβs simply another member of Riftwatch, and a study in contradictions: the doctor who became a mage. The mage who became Head Healer, but who still canβt stitch up a cut. The real question is how much does he dump on this poor young girlβs head, when he winces uncomfortably away from anything which might seem like a traumadump.
For now, he settles on: the harmless basics. ]
Magic is democratic once you get there, but itβs also not widely known of; back home, its existence is more myth and rumour and speculation. I had some injuries which science and traditional medicine couldnβt heal, so I sought a magical cure. I found that monastery, and [ this choice of word is purposeful ] wizardry instead, and became voracious about it. Itβs fascinating, going your whole life thinking reality functioned under certain limitations only to discover thereβs always been doors you never even knew existed.
[ "some injuries", he says, and ness immediately, unsubtly looks down at his scarred hands. if he's worried about insensitive questions, though, none seem to be forthcomingβshe just looks back up to listen as stephen finishes his explanation, her lips part in precursor to a comment, or perhaps a questionβ
and then she shudders forward, wincing. the insistent squirming that precedes a magical outburst has started in her stomach, and this time it's not waiting aroundβ she can feel it already climbing up her trunk, lashing toward her anchor hand: it's been moving quicker ever since the magebane. like it knows that she can cut it off now, and it doesn't want to give her the opportunity. ]
Sorry, [ she gasps, ] one second!
[ there's a vial of magebane in a pouch on her belt, but it's hard to call up the dexterity for clasps and flaps with her off-hand while simultaneously trying to stave off a tentacled maelstrom in the other. ness fumbles at the pouch, holding her breath like somehow that might keep the outburst from manifesting. ]
[ An eyebrow raised, Strange leans slightly away but watches the girl fumble and reach for her pouch, professional concern crinkling his brow. He canβt tell what Ennaris is scrambling for, but it has the slightly familiar frantic rush that heβd associate with grabbing medication to avert a seizure, or an allergic reaction. It has that look to it. ]
[ breathlessly, ] Yes, just fine, I just needβah!
[ she gets into the pouch, finally, and grips the magebane tightly. usually she likes to mix this with a bit of water, per julius' advice, but there is absolutely not time for that right now. ness screws her face up and takes a deep breath. ]
If I throw up on you, I'm really sorry.
[ and with that, she pops the cork on the magebane and takes a swig.
julius wasn't kidding, the taste is not pleasant, but almost worse is knowing what comes after. ]
[ Thereβs the distinctive scent in the air as she opens the vial, sharp and astringent, and Strange knows his potions besides: itβs magebane. Magebane, the same as what Tavβs dosing himself with in an attempt to hold his unfortunate condition at bay. ]
Donβt worry, Iβve experienced worse, [ he says, still nonchalant. Heβs a doctor. Sometimes patients shit themselves. But more to the point, as he watches her: ]
Youβre not going to be possessed by a murderous spirit, by chance? Just checking.
[ the poison settles, heavy and thick, in her stomach, and ness gags, just a little, nose wrinkled and eyes scrunched close in distasteβ ]
What? [ she says, less because she really needs the repetition and more because she's struggling to process all the stimuli she's experiencing at once. the magebane is disgusting and thick and heavy, but the squirming stops with one final wriggle somewhere around her elbow. she breathes, and realizes she knows what stephen said. ] Oh, no, I...
[ a sigh, and she corks the magebane again and slips it back into the pouch at her belt. she doesn't avoid stephen's eyes, because that looks suspicious, but she's not particularly enthusiastic about meeting them. ]
I shouldn't have magic. I didn't, before I arrived in ThedasβI could summon lights, but that was all, nothing useful. Here, I... It comes upon me suddenly, and is destructive. That's all. Nothing murderous.
[ Part of her attention keeps drifting in quick fleeting glimpses to her elbow, and Strange glances down, but thereβs nothing there as far as he can tell. Nothing out of the ordinary; the magebane has done its job, whatever the job was. Instead, he meets Ennarisβ trepidatious eye, his own expression steady and level.
It comes upon me suddenly, and is destructive. Why are there so many rifters like this— ]
What sort of βcoming upon youβ?
[ It pings some distant concern, a recollection, a faint unease in his gut. This, too, familiar. Wanda wrestling with new unmanageable powers outside of her control— He needs to ask. ]
[ it's an entirely fair question, and it deserves an answer... but ness doesn't have to like giving it. she pouts a little, taps her nails against the desk, huffs... and takes a deep breath. ]
There are these... tendrils. Like tentacles, but they don't have suckers or anything. They come out of my anchor and try to batter at everything around me within reach. It doesn't last very long, but you can imagine, if there's anything precious around, it's a problem.
[ she shrugs a little, and looks at stephen out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his response. ]
[ Sheβs tiptoeing over eggshells waiting to see what the manβs reaction will be, but what comes out is perhaps decidedly unexpected and unfazed: ]
Oh, is that all? Tentacles?
[ Not dismissive, but at ease; Strangeβs shoulders loosen as he leans back in his chair again, body language relaxing. He had tensed up a little without even realising it. ]
I used to have a few spells which would summonβ¦ well, yeah, tendrils. Beasts. Serpents. The Vipers of Valtorr spawning out of my arms and multiplying as theyβre cut down.
If this particular development is new to you and youβre unaccustomed to its use, you should practice. [ An offer, off-hand: ] We could practice.
[ well that's certainly not the reaction ness was expecting. there's a part of her that considers being angry about it, and her brow furrows in anticipation of the annoyance that she thinks she should feel, but isn't it better for him not to consider it a problem? she purses her lips, considers...
and lets herself smile, instead. ]
Well, it sounds much less dire when you say it. Nothing multiplies, so I suppose I have that going for me.
[ practice. does she want to practice? ness actually thinks about it, chewing her lip a little, scrunching her nose. ]
I don't think I'm ready for that, [ she admits. ] I have so much to learn still about Thedas, a whole life to start building from scratch... I don't think I can dedicate myself properly to any of my pursuits if I spread myself too thin.
[ it's not a lie, is the thing, not even close. she really does believe that it's better for her to get acquainted with thedas first, if she has a choice in the two. it helps, also, that magic is scary and weird and she'd rather pretend she can avoid it for as long as possible. ]
When I'm ready, though, if the offer is still good, I can come to you? If that'd be alright?
[ At first, he almost pushes. This is a man who has pushed at every obstacle placed in front of him, who had very much pushed himself far too hard when he was first learning magic, and nine times out of ten would bite off more than he can actually chew,
but faced with a little more restraint, he tips a shoulder into a half-shrug. Itβs no skin off his back if Ennaris doesnβt want to jumpstart some lessons just yet; itβs less work for him, in fact. ]
Of course. At your leisure, [ Strange says warmly. Sheβll come around if-when she needs to. ] I donβt have Enchanter in my title, but my doorβs open regardless.
[ that he doesn't push means ness will actually seek him out eventually. her smile brightens, and she nods. ]
I appreciate that, Doctor, sincerely. As soon as I have my feet under me, you'll find me at your door.
[ and with that, she pulls her books closer again, ready to get back to studying history and geopolitics and privately railing against the various propaganda machines of thedas. ]
[ βoh... given the out and she didn't even take it?? that's fine, ness isn't feeling any particular type of way about that. certainly not touched in any weird way. ]
Oh, Abby, I saw your name in the assignments! I'm a recent arrival, yes. But I promise I'm not going to be an idiot about it, I've already done a lot of research and I'm working on getting my feet under me in Diplomacy, I won't be a bother!
(This makes Abby huff slightly, maybe a precursor to laughing.) Okay. You can be an idiot about it if you want, though. I said some really dumb stuff when I first got here and I was still figuring everything out.
[ a small pause as ness thinks of something to sayβi'd prefer to give people as few reasons to roll their eyes at me as possibleβand then adjusts, because perhaps that is unkind to newly-arrived abby, who may have had quite a few eyes rolled at her. ]
I'm sure I'll say something dumb eventually, no amount of research could forestall that forever. I'd just prefer it be later than soon!
[ she tries not to sound excited, because no matter what abby says it doesn't seem right to be excited about someone being rent from their previous home and stranded somewhere for three entire years with no sign of ever being able to return. for anyone not in ness' position, that's a hard pill to swallow. ]
That's such a number of years, and in a time of conflict such as this—you truly enjoy it? I had hoped to be able to make a home here myself, but liking it I had assumed would have to come after the war ended.
(Abby hadn't ever thought that before until she said it out loud just now β there's a pause before she pushes through to ask,) Where did you come here from?
Oh, somewhere not all that different from here, really. FaerΓ»n wasn't currently at war with a megalomaniacal lich god-king when I was snatched up, but it wouldn't have been unheard of. Truthfully, it hasn't been that difficult an adjustment period in most ways.
FaerΓ»n, (she says under her breath, frowning. Sounds... oddly familiar? But she can't put a finger on why that is. Weird.
Anyway,) That's good. This place is really different to where I came from, so it took me a while to get used to everything. If you ever have any questions about stuff, you can always ask me.
From what I understand, most rifters come from places much dissimilar to Thedas. I count myself lucky to have had such an easy transition, I can't imagine how difficult it would be for me to have to adapt to... I've vaguely heard of something called a car, but I have no idea what that is. Sounds terrifying, anyway.
I appreciate the offer, anyway, and will definitely be taking you up on that. Natives can be... a little prickly about some things, I've noticed. Not without cause, [ hastily, Just In Case, ] but sometimes it's easier to ask someone at a bit of a remove, I think.
I'd offer the same in return, but unless you're interested in the cataloguing methods of a library from another world, I don't think I have any information you'd be interested in, honestly.
(A slight chuckle.) Do you wanna know what a car is? I could try and explain. (You know, in the way that somebody might explain a car, having never really thought about how one works or how you would describe it to somebody who has never seen one before, because doesn't everybody know what a car is?
But anyway,) I β actually am really interested in that.
(She says it quick, a bit embarrassed.) I like reading and I'm assisting in the library here. Re-shelving, mostly. We had this thing called the Dewey Decimal System back home, but I think it required having computers, so obviously it doesn't work here. We're organising by genre and then author. Non-fiction is by subject and then author. We have a log book.
Oh, [ what a pleasant surprise!! ] well, how about you explain to me what a car is, and I'll explain to you how we sort the catalogues in Candlekeep, then?
[ book nerds book nerds BOOK NERDS!!! ]
Candlekeep is so much larger than the archives here, I don't know that it would be particularly useful to look to it as an example of how to sort a library without a "computer"... But nothing is ever improved by making assumptions. There might be something we could think of and present to the Archivist, if we put our heads together.
[tapping her chin, thinking out loud: ] Genre, or subject, and author is all well and good when each of those is clear-cut, but what about books written by more than one person? Or works that blend genres? Hm. There has to be a better way to sort this...
But Ennaris is going first, so maybe they'll get really into her thing. Abby already has comments for her; they could be here a while.)
I get what you mean, but I'd probably go with whoever is listed first on the book for what name to file under. Same with genre, I guess. Like if it was a... I dunno, a mystery-thriller, I'd go with the bigger theme.
(It's not perfect, but oh well.) And then you note somewhere that it has two genres, so you can always refer to the notes.
That works well for a smaller archive like ours, [ she concedes easily, ] but as our collection grows, so will the number of exceptions, and the number of notes. Such a list could eventually become too complicated for easy use.
Not to mention, what about books with no known title, or author? How do we distinguish between Ancient Alammari Scroll #1 and Ancient Alammari Scroll #57? Just for example, I mean, I don't even know if the ancient Alammari tribes had writing.
This must sound like I'm overcomplicating things, [ so at least she's self-aware? ] but I think they're problems worth thinking about! We want to minimize the work we'll have to do in the future.
[ "we", because obviously, if she's suggesting any work be done, she'll be assisting with doing it, even if it's not actually her job. ]
[ 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.
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.
[ ness is not not thinking about arranging some kind of visit to the gallows for aubertinβperhaps his mother has been induced to make a donation to riftwatch, and wants to see her money is put to good useβwhere either he is forced to sit through a long lecture or he ends up with a broken finger. he seems like the type to approach a griffon without thinking it through, it'd be easy to arrangeβ ]
The bitch of it all is he isn't even a bad writer. He could be putting these talents to such use as a satirist!
Oh, well... I assume so? Not where I was raised, weβtheyβwere all a bunch of academics, in essence, they understood the value of different perspectives. Candlekeep kept high magical texts passed down from the greatest wizards of the ages, but we kept the journals of farmers, too.
But, outside of Candlekeepβpeople are people. Whatever people think here, someone probably thought in FaerΓ»n, too.
Curiosity. I like to know where people are coming from.
And it's interesting, isn't it? All of these varied worlds full of new magic and new gods and new technology, but none of them I have heard about yet have figured out how to avoid having underclasses. I can't decide if it's depressing that no one has a solution or reassuring we are not uniquely awful here. But it's interesting either way.
A pessimist would call it humanoid nature, I supposeβeveryone wants to be better than someone. But then, everyone would also like to imagine that they are not at fault for their foibles, and that injustice is beyond their grasp to correct, so that they don't have to inconvenience themselves making the attempt.
As a matter of philosophy, it is interesting, but I admit I am no philosopher.
[ 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 fadeβwell. ]
Yes, I can help, [ is the immediate response, before cedric's full sentence has processed. ] Supply question? What do you need?
[ the first stupid thing he does is check the time. it's not everyone on dawn hours, and he'd be a right ass to forget. but an eye out the window finds the sun high overhead: noon. paper rustles. ]
It can wait, didn't mean t'wake you. [ takes a moment to find it, the roster of who's on this week. wycome. ] You just get back in?
Ah, yes, that is, just a day or so ago, I've beenβresearchingβ
[ said through a yawn and a stretch, ooh, she's getting too old to fall asleep hunched over a desk. at least this time it's her desk in the quartermaster's office, which means she's not drawing looks in the library, or late to work. plus, she knows herselfβshe opens a drawer and pulls out a hairbrush, and gets to work detangling the mess she's made. ]
Sorry, oof. I'm awake, I'm ready, what do you need?
[ distracted. she's on her way to skipping lunch, too. ]
Figured out one of the, uh, suggestions we got. Sjoklat, think 's meant t'be chocolate. Know cocoa comes dear right now. But if we can find something tastes near, maybe for Satinalia β
Skipped, [ would imply a purposeful decision, ] yes! Watching my figure, or something.
[ ness has never been skinnier in her life than she is nowβon rations, recently running around trying not to die in wycome, and now skipping meals to research until she physically can't keep her eyes open. it's a kind of diet, surelyβ ]
Substitutes, subs... I think, I was looking into rifter recipes, that Jude Adjei left one for cookies, they're supposed to have chocolate but I think he noted carob might do in a pinch? Do we have carob, in Thedas? What is carob, actually...
[ she has an encyclopedia in here somewhere, actually, maybe she can look it up. ]
[ thing is, he's not thick. mightn't have the first clue what carob is, but got a notion or two on what keeps someone up; away from routine. she's rambling. he's decided: ]
How 'bout I bring some up.
[ that's not really a question. he's moving. she can turn him aside if she pleases, but someone ought to make sure there's no reason to call strange, julius, again. else β
[ distractedly, distantly, left her crystal on her desk and has moved to her bookshelvesβ ] Do you have carob? That'd be convenient...
When Cedric arrives at the quartermaster's office, Ness isn't visible at first. It's only when he actually comes inside, glances around, that he'll find herβhidden away in a shadowy corner of the office, standing at a bookcase with an open book in hand while she peers in consternation at another on the shelf.
From this distance, at least, she doesn't look hideous. She's not skin and bones now, nor got the darkest of circles under her eyes, nor has her hair become some kind of nest. Her clothes are neat and clean, she's bathed, she's brushed, she's as pale as she's ever been but no paler. By all appearances, she's absolutely fine.
There's a vacancy to her expression, though. A faint sway as she should be standing still, breaths a shade too shallow for health.
"I could have sworn I had an actual encyclopedia in here somewhere. Have I gone blind? I may have gone blind. Oh, knotsβ"
The door creaks. He stumps it open, backing into the room with hands full of tray. A list tucks just out his pocket: Dandelion root, dates, acorn flour, linden,
"I'll beg one off Mobius."
Good for the old man to keep busy. Another time, maybe that'd do for this too. Chantry's no stranger to the comfort in a task. But Cedric's dug enough ditches to know that's got limits, to work a shovel six feet over your head. She's clean, she's tidy, and she's about to step out her own skin. Busy's not the problem.
He takes his time laying out mug, napkin, spoon. Clean. Tidy. He lets her fuss. Tries to think what Barrowβs done for him, only that thinking on that makes him think why Barrow had to, and that don't bear thinking at all. Eventually, stone scuffs under foot, slow and steady and purposefully loud. A palm at her elbow, gentle,
She blinks at Cedric, closer than she expected him to be, uncomprehending for a full second before the smell of food catches her attention. Her stomach, reminded of its needs, clenches painfully around nothing, and she winces audibly in surprise, snapping the book in her hand shut with the shock of it. Knees buckle, and she grips his wrist, leans harder to keep steady.
He's very warm. Or maybe she's very cold? He's solid, anyway, takes the weight of her like it's nothing,
"Sorry," she says to her shoes after the hunger pang subsides, less because she knows what she's apologizing for than feeling like she should apologize for something. Her whole existence, maybe.
gomen for all the delays on this ive been a mess this month
He's cold so often. The tips of his fingers, the crack of joints on morning air; he knows what does it, sure as he knows that the winters only get longer. Broward's hands were like ice by the end. That's what he'd say, anyway,
Couldn't tell.
She's warm on his arm, and he's young; and it's another evening gone before Cedric will notice the chill.
"'S alright," He says, instead of there's nothing to apologize for. Sometimes a word is just something you say; she's not ready to hear things. "Sit down, yeah?"
Bracing her, and that's nearly Broward too. Eggs and toast at the plate, some mystery Marcher meat, cut in a wedge. Fresh pear. The tea is β
Well, you boil any leaf long enough, you can call it tea. His hand closes around the book to ease her down, try and slip it from her grasp; eye to the title. He doesn't pull very hard.
(Candlekeep, she's said before: A library. He's not about to lose his own hand if she decides it's staying with her.)
The book parts from her grasp easilyβsomething on Cuisine in the North, unimportant to her in general except that Cedric needed her help. She's led, eminently biddable, to the desk and the plate, and when she sits and looks at it... She could not be further from hunger.
The pang hurt, yes; she needs to eat, yes; but to actually do itβ She looks at the plate and feels not desire but a faint disgust. It's a new experience, an unfamiliar sensation: sometimes you get so hungry, you circle right back around to not hungry at all.
She makes a face, picks up the fork, eats dutifully in silence, sips her tea with all the jolly enthusiasm of a recruit mucking out latrines. At the corner of the desk sits a pile of books, the top a collection of Dalish myths and legends, various treatises on the nature and origins of darkspawn below, a chantry brother's history of the Deep Roads on the bottom. Each book already has numerous scraps sticking out of the pages, markers for interesting information and passages to return to.
Ness has been returned from Sarrux's Pass for less than a week.
Plate cleared, she wipes her mouth with a handkerchief and looks over to Cedric. Her eyes can't linger on him long, gaze glancing off his face, shoulders curled in.
"Thank you for the meal. I didn't realize how hungry I was."
Cedric thunks into the chair opposite, pages the book slow. Place to put his eyes, other than dead on her, not the way she's jumping for it. And anyway, he'd like to know what kind of monster kebab don't take meat β
"Sure," He sets the book aside, leans out over his elbows. Clock the rest of the stack and its disparate subjects: Darkspawn, Dalish. Wycome, "Gets like that, sometimes."
His eyes finally find her face again. He isn't asking about hunger when he asks,
"Oh, no, I was well-fed in Candlekeep," comes brightly, conversationalβnot deflection, whatever else he may be referring to has passed entirely over her head. "I've simply beenβ well. There's a lot about Sarrux's Pass that I didn't understand, and then there's all the work I have to catch up on. Eating hasn't seemed all that... important, I suppose."
Her brow furrows, something about that sentence catching her ear. Sometimes you say things in complete earnest, so sure of their rationality, and then you hear them out loud and they sound so much worse than you thought they would. It's strange, and uncomfortable, and not something she has the time or, frankly, the desire to interrogate right now.
So she smiles at Cedric, meeting his gaze finally.
"I apologize for the diversionβwe were talking about chocolate, weren't we? Looking into substitutes?"
(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. β Abby A.
i am so sorry, this hit right in the middle of the veilguard fugue π
[ 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 faerΓ»n, 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!
[ a considering beat, weighing what to reveal and with what words. ]
Its efficacy waned the longer it was used. Higher doses, more often, were needed to achieve a fully dampening effect. Whether that is a personal quirk or indicative of something else, I couldn't say.
We need assume they will, in time, manifest similar abilities to those among our own. Shields, projectiles, perhaps more. It would do for us to have a means of non-lethal containment. I am exploring our options. And as we don't know whether they're native β
We need know whether magebane works to stunt an anchor, and I hope to avoid poisoning volunteers, or inadvertantly doing them a worse ill. Hence: Your health.
I'll assume you'll let me know if you ever plan to hold me to the offer. Is there anything else, Enchanter? The headache makes speaking at length a hardship.
[ She has a relatively good reason for it! Just watch, ]
I've been recommended to 'wait it out' and been given a nail file for the claws, which was nice of them, I suppose. I wanted to see if your voice had gone, with the whole...
Well, what happened to you was quite horrible, Ennaris. I am here if you want to talk, or write, or...think?
[ there's a slight pause before ness's response, while she plays out a few different replies and the conversations that would follow, to see which she thinks has the best shot of landing well.
which is a very normal and chill way to approach friendship, she thinks!]
My mouth is returned to normal, and I seem to have kept my voice. For all I can tell, it seems as though all my mutations have fully reverted, I'm sorry that yours haven't yet. You know, what happened to you was horrible as well. Do you want to talk?
[ the vehemence of hermione's answer startles ness into a laugh, but she stifles it quickly, careful not to appear as though she's laughing at hermione. her own enchanted book gets set to the side and she adjusts her seat to more fully face hermione, hands clasped in her lap, expression dutifully open. ]
You have the floor, Messere Granger, please. Unburden yourself.
[ She sets her magical book to the side on the bed, shifting to face Ness, and cross her legs to hold onto her ankles for a moment, unwittingly trying to not gesticulate too much so that she doesn't startle her roommate. (Hermione can be a lot, she's aware.) ]
I wouldn't call it a burden to shed at all, but - I was going to say that bit of telepathic connection we could have, that was... [ A little pause, her excited little smile slipping through. ] Well, exciting! I don't know how common the practice is in your world but a remarkably limited number of wizards can actually practice that in mine. And it's not even close to what you did - I could hear you! As though you spoke to me in my mind - mostly Legilimency is a lot of mind-reading, but not connection.
[ After which, the glow on her face and the sparkle in her eyes dim a bit, into seriousness. ]
Which is not to say that I don't think you shouldn't have been scared. Your mouth - of course you're well within your rights, you know, just... [ Somewhat softer now, ] You did not frighten me when you spoke directly into my mind.
Oh, this... wasn't where Ness expected this talk to go. Her smile falls, slowly, her apprehension ratcheting up as soon as it becomes clear what Hermione is talking aboutβ
and then she blinks, utterly nonplussed, as Hermione's excitement becomes clear. It's not the first time someone's had a positive reaction to her telepathyβStephen wasnt quite so effusive, but he clearly didn't consider it a bad thing for her to be capable ofβbut it's so far from the norm that she doesn't know how to respond at first. Suspicion, fear, anger: she's prepared for all of those. She has no script in place for excitement.
Even more slowly than it fell, her smile returns, hesitant and unsure.
"It's not common in FaerΓ»n either, actually. There are some Aberrations that can speak like this, through mental connection, but the magic that's available to most people is to do with mind reading, like your Legilimancy."
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at Hermione, still bemusedβbut with growing excitement.
"You really don't mind? You're not worried I read your thoughts, violated your privacy? I didn't, for the record, and I can't, butβyou wouldn't have been angry if I had?"
If she has learned anything in her years (Merlin, years!) on the road, accompanied by people with different magical abilities and skills, it's that not everything has to be exactly the same as hers to be good.
She is trying to be reasonable here, because Ness is her friend. And Ness was faced with desperate times calling for desperate measures.
"I think I would've, because I would prefer to simply talk things out, if you have any questions for me. But when it happened, when we were down there - honestly, given the circumstances, I wasn't mad at all. More than anything, relieved that you could find a way to communicate with me."
It occurs to her to worry that Hermione could have been angry with herβbut perhaps the excitement that she's not is cushioning the habitual anxiety somewhat, because Ness dismisses the thought as soon as it forms. She asked, Hermione answered, Ness didn't and now won't do the thing that would have made her angry, that's all that matters.
"I'm so glad you feel that way," she says, "and I promiseβ"
She cuts herself off, getting up from her bed to come sit on the edge of Hermione's, looking earnestly into her eyes.
"I promise I won't use it on you without your permission outside of extenuating circumstances. You have my word."
Ness smiles, in what she hopes is a way that says she's trustworthy without trying so hard it comes right back around to suspiciousβand then blinks.
Fortunately for Ness, Hermione decided on first meeting the woman that she was trustworthy and genuine. And when she offered her friendship, she didn't do it out of nostalgia and because Ness reminds her a little of Luna, but because of how Ness is.
Smart, kind, curious, interesting. Would Hermione go to war for Ennaris Tavene? Yes, probably - but more importantly, she'd try to resolve conflict without war, for Ness.
Once Ness is sat on the edge of her bed, Hermione scoots to make her space, nodding at the request for clarification. "Oh, yes. Your magic skills are very impressive. I keep wanting to ask you to teach me, though I know it'll be futile because we're using different sources, but it's - I think you're very capable. Some of the things I've seen you do, a skilled wizard would struggle with. From my home, I mean - not from Faerun."
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 β staked-out to purpose β 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."
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."
β And if that doesn't explain why a shared office won't do, he's willing to press the point. Strand balances the tray, picks a tumbled grain of rice from his sleeve. Eyes her plain.
(When she'd startled, he'd spied it as if in slow-motion. He moves slowly these days to match.)
"There's a storeroom with thick walls," Out of earshot of the dozen other busybodies in Riftwatch's leadership. "Or we can discuss it here and now."
The name does give her pause, and she eyes the Warden with an expression a step between alarm and suspicion for a long moment before beginning to move again.
"The events of the Pass were reported on in detail by Messere Porthmeus. As far as I know, his report is open to access by any member of the organization. It's unlikely that I will be able to elucidate the matter any further for you."
Unlikely, but not impossible, depending on what precisely he wants to knowβshe's not refusing to answer any questions, just making clear she may not provide anything he couldn't get elsewhere. As they walk, they pass the storeroom Strand spoke of, and Ness's steps don't so much as slow. There is one office guaranteed to be empty at the moment, which will be a mite more comfortable than a storeroom.
"Is an archive one account?" Rhetorical. "Warden Siorus also gave a report,"
Under the brush of new eyelids, translucent and horizontal and better at home on a frog.
"Which is why I've traveled such a distance for yours." They're past the room he'd staked, and he marks it; and he follows. "Indulge me the repetition."
Porthmeus had wanted expertise, and Strand was nearest to hand. But he isn't a scholar, he doesn't own a library, or a breadth of connections; anything but sour blood and a dead man's notes. Porthmeus wanted the Wardens' expertise. The Wardens want theirs.
Despite her determination to appear cool, unflappable, professional, especially in front of new recruits... Ness can't help a twitch of her eye and a sharp, then measured inhale at the Warden's blatant appeal to her vocation. The implication that she should want to talk about this to him, that if she doesn't she isn't really devoted to her principlesβ
She doesn't say anything. She leads Strand to the Quartermaster's office and shuts the door behind them. The bookshelves, now empty, stand against the wall. The dark, heavy desk which floats in the middle of the room still holds a handful of paperwork, ledgers and logs strewn haphazardly over the surface. Against the rear wall, various trunks and crates crowd each other next to an over-full shelf of linens and uniforms. Even devoid an occupant, there is much for one to look at in the Quartermaster's office.
Ness's eyes are drawn unerringly to a faintly-visible stain on the floor, where no one was able to scrub her blood from the flagging. She crosses to it and crouches, presses her hand to the stone and whispers a spell.
When she straightens, the stone beneath her palm sparkles incongruently clean on the dirt-strewn and scuffed floor.
"What, precisely, would you like me to say, Messere?"
She smears at the blood, and he's busy at the work he'd hoped to avoid, seeing that no one else on the crowded floor will overhear. But whatever she gets out of this place, the decision itself will do.
"You came upon a pool of corrupted lyrium," Brine, grey, a jog to memory. "How did the Darkspawn behave around it?"
That much was absent from the written account. Assured of the door, he does up one sleeve. Another: The veins gnarl black up his wrists, branches wired about a tight line of scar.
She may sound dry as the Hissing Wastes and resentful of his insistence on the topic at allβbut she's considering, too, because not being able to answer the exact question he asked doesn't mean she has no information to offer at all. Ness hums, mind on the treasure-seeker's diary, the state of the village, the children trapped in their cellar, how it all culminated in the Deep Roads. There is a story that can be spun by putting each piece of the whole together, a puzzle of Darkspawn and lyriumβbut it requires so much conjecture, assumption, inference.
"It's hard to say anything about the events of the Pass before we arrived there with any certainty," she says eventually, sighing, "but what we saw did suggest a Darkspawn raid was what finally left the village abandoned, and that the Darkspawn who conducted the raid were mutated by the lyrium in the same manner as we would discover native Thedosians could be.
"But they left no bodies, Warden," she says quietly, "I don't think they killed a single person. We fought mutated humans below the Deep Roads right beside the Darkspawn."
Strand settles on a crate. Watches her think. There's a familiar wind-up to these things, the way that a riddle's spun and unspun. Pleasure in seeing a thing done well: When you need an expert, you seek one.
"Unusual," As she'll have read enough to know. The Wardens keep their secrets, but the waste laid by Darkspawn is written across book and battlefield. Half this city was once Ferelden. "Even the old, the young?"
Even the men, he does not ask. Some things can be kept within the Order.
"The Taint β" Forearm extended, he taps fingers over black. "β Runs through every Darkspawn. It's how they communicate, it's how Corypheus moves them. And if you're correct, something else has found a way to interfere."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action
Ennaris Tavane? I'm Benedict Artemaeus, Personnel Officer.
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[ ness was told to wait in the central tower for a mssr. artemaeus to meet her and explain her new situation more fully, andβwell, 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. ]
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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?
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[ people pleaser instincts don't like choices why have you done this to herβ ]
Yes, thank you! I've been trying to familiarize myself with the layout of everything, and I think there's a library I want to look at? I want to study the history here, it seems like a good place to start.
[ gotta figure out which nations hate each other and why so she doesn't put her foot in her mouth at any point, ey. ]
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The library is upstairs of the centr-- the tower, [oops,] and we've gathered quite a few resources over the years. If you can't find what you're looking for, you may be able to just ask someone. Just,
[there's a strange, frenetic look in his eyes-- don't fuck it up--]
be mindful of what you say on the network. Elves in particular have a complicated history, and I... would advise against calling anything a fairy tale.
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[ fairy tale? elves have a complicated history? what?? many confused faces. although that does bring up, since ness by now has had an opportunity to notice she has experienced some, uh, changes— ]
Ah, on the subject of elves—I won't say anything about fairy tales, I swear—I... Well, this is going to sound ridiculous, but I seem to have... lost my ears?
[ she tucks her hair behind her very much existent ears, showing them off—them and their very rounded, blunt, human tips. ]
My father where I'm from is an elf, and my mother is a half-elf. This isn't the normal shape of my ears, [ and she is being very, very cool about it, she thinks, ] and I was wondering, does that... happen often?
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[He looks at her ears, then at her face, like he isn't quite sure what to say. Usually elves rift in as elves-- what an insane thing to think, how many different kinds of elves can there be-- never mind,]
I'm, [he hedges,] not sure. [He tosses his shiny hair, perhaps a grounding motion.]
I do know that people with mixed elf and human blood generally don't have the, ah, [he makes a pinching gesture,] points.
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[ um. ] I... wasn't aware that was the case.
[ my dude half-elves are a whole ass thing, they've got the points, they've got the magic, what on the great fucking wheel are you talking about. ]
Perhaps that is a difference between your plane and mine, [ she allows eventually, rather than call this polite but nervous-seeming man an idiot to his face. ] It's, I mean, I'm not injured in any way, and it's not as though the points serve any, any function.
[ other than mark a physical marker of her ancestry and past and hoo boy we're not getting bogged down in being capital a Alone in an unfamiliar plane, nope. blowing right past that emotional turmoil, onto something that surely can't be worse! ]
A, erm. A complicated history, you said?
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Perhaps, [he says weakly, quickly adding,] I'm glad you're not injured.
[He opens his mouth as if to answer her next question, and, realizing where he's put himself, has a full thought process first. Then:]
One of... significant loss, and subjugation. I'm not really the right person to tell you about it. [on account of not being an elf, mostly, but there are Other Reasons]
--I'd be glad to introduce you to someone who could do a better job of it, though.
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[ what the hells kind of topsy turvy world is this, even, elves subjugated?? much reading and research to be done, goodness. ]
I would be very glad for the introduction, then. So, we've covered elves and fairy tales—is there anything else I need to know with immediacy, to avoid making an arse of myself?
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[he thinks,]
we were recently attacked. As you may have noticed by our facilities being in some state of... disrepair. It's fair to say we're all still rather sore about that.
[FAIR]
You don't seem the type to joke lightly about misfortunes, so I imagine you'll be all right.
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—ah. [ taken aback, ] No, I didn't plan on making light of your collective tragedy.
[ she might have wondered if this was a purposeful aesthetic, but she wouldn't have asked.
probably. ]
Have people done that? Made light of the destruction of your home?
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[such is life]
But I don't imagine that'll be a problem on your end. Do you have any other questions to get you settled in?
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Many, [ questions, ] but they can probably all wait, I'm sure you have more important things to do than answer a few hundred questions about your home. I can fend for myself otherwise.
[ she gives what is hopefully a reassuring and grateful smile, but then, a thought: ]
Oh, for sleeping arrangements, is there... I've seen tents, do I get one?
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[Her question about the tents gives him pause, and he falls silent a moment, thinking it over.]
You'll probably be placed in an empty spot, since we haven't got enough for everyone to be alone. You might... want to ask if anyone's got space.
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[ hmm. she's not averse outright to bunking with a stranger, but... perhaps before that she can see what other options she has.
regardless, she aims a smile and a little wave at benedict, happy to free him to get back to wherever else he must be needed. ]
I'll look into that. Thank you for the welcome, Messere Benedict.
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[a little wave back,]
Good luck settling in. Shout if you need anything.
action;
[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.]
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[ 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 drowβa 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 wobblesβshe 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, IβI 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 thingsβ
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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?
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It's not unheard of, where I'm from, [ in explanation, still a little miserable about it. ] Contact with magical energies can give one magic, in certain circumstances. It may be that I acquired my magic there, but there was no opportunity to discover it before I woke here.
[ seeing as she died there minutes after she might have acquired her magic—but we're not thinking about that. done is done, no use crying over spilt blood. ]
Yes. [ whispered, somewhat ashamed for reasons she can't quite articulate. ] Death or, ah, the other thing. Tranquility?
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[He's not technically a Division head, to promise such a thing. On the other hand, they've been dealing with arguably worse rifter problems for a while now.]
Can you describe to me what you've experienced, since you've come here? Don't worry about any technical terms, just how to feels and appears to you.
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[ hearing is not believing, and ness' expression doesn't quite clear up, even with the enchanter's assurances. she wants to believe him, she really does, but wanting is exactly why it feels so hard to trustβit would be so easy to tell her exactly what she wants to hear, and then turn around and betray her as soon as she let down her guard. that's what all the smart villains do, and even the well-meaning heroes who don't know who they're working for.
still, the conversation goes nowhere if she doesn't take him at his word, at least for now. so ness nods her acceptance of his promise and stares at her hands, considering. ]
It begins in my stomach, [ she says slowly, hushed, ] a squirming feeling, like I have to vomit. It gets more intense, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but it feels less like illness and more like... like there's something inside of me writhing to get out. It presses at, at the walls of me, so much that I think there must be some distention in my skin but there never is. It travels up my body and to my anchor and when it frees itself it's these... I don't know how to describe them.
[ she inhales a shaky breath and flexes the fingers on her anchor hand, unable to look julius in the eye anymore. it sounds bad. it sounds really bad. she knows. ]
Whips, maybe. Vines, or... tentacles. Tendrils of some kind of concentrated darkness that reach to beat at anything near me. They don't last long, but they can be destructive, even so. The writhing stops as soon as they're free. It doesn't feel like anything, after that.
ty for your patience (I say as I'm about to go on a trip)
I'll be honest. It sounds more like a curse than any sort of magecraft, sanctioned or unsanctioned by the Chantry. Something happening to you, rather than something you're doing.
[Which is not wonderful news, in that curses can be complicated to break. On the other hand, it seems unlikely that she's possessed. Possible β rifters complicate things β but it doesn't seem like the way that sort of thing usually manifests.]
To make sure I understand: The tendrils are destructive while they last, but regardless of whether they reach a target, they dissipate on their own. How long, approximately, do they last? Just a best guess is fine.
np!!
[ a curse... does that feel right? ness frowns, but considers the idea carefully. she certainly isn't trying to do any of this, but neither has she encountered anyone who could or would have cursed her, recently. the mindflayers wanted her for their parasite, so they'd have had no reason to do anything like that to her, and the githyanki were too keen on murder to bother with anything protracted.
still, an actual enchanter would know better than she would. it's as good a theory as she's got for now. ]
It feels like an eternity, [ in the way the worst things always do, ] but it can't be more than a few seconds. No more than ten, if that.
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[He doesn't say we've had worse, but possibly he does think it. Regardless.]
I've brought a substance called magebane, if you'd like to try it while we're working on a more permanent solution. I'm not going to insist, partly because it sounds like you have at least a bit of warning to get away from bystanders, and partly because I'm not entirely sure how it would affect you, as a rifter. For native mages like me, it dampens the ability to use magic temporarily. If your condition is drawn from a connection to the Fade in some way, it's possible the magebane could give you a bit of a reprieve. But if it's not something you want to risk without knowing how it works, that's understandable.
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[ distressing, but manageable. despite herself, despite her difficulty trusting his word just a moment ago... ness can't help the way her shoulders lighten and her breath comes a little easier. she doesn't know the enchanter at all, certainly not enough to trust his word just like that, but it's such a relief to have someone who knows more than she does look at her and say "we can work with this".
this isn't the worst case scenario. she's not beyond help. the professional in the room isn't panickingβhell, he hardly looks flustered. she's going to be okay.
she's going to be okay.
relief very nearly turns into incoherent blubbering, but ness pulls herself together by her fingernails, scraping up the last dregs of her composure with a gulping deep breath and the determined expression of one about to attempt a marathon for the first time. ]
Thank you, [she says, without a single falter, ] I think I'd like to try the magebane, at least to see. Could it be, maybe, could I take it just when I can feel the squirming start? I could try it now, to see what happens, if you'd prefer to be around the first time.
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[He retrieve a small flask from the bag he's brought with him. The glass is semi-transparent, hinting at a liquid with a reddish hue and a slightly viscous consistency behind the cork stopper.]
This was originally developed to poison weapons used against mages, so unfortunately it was not developed with taste in mind. [Translation: It's fairly vile.] If you have the time, I might dilute a bit of it in advance. It should be stable in water, and I've heard it's easier to swig a large mouthful with a milder taste than manage a small sip with a stronger bite to it. But that's just for ease of use. In an emergency, you can take a small sip directly.
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Certainly, [ agreeing, immediately, to whatever julius suggestsβexperimentation, of course, look how biddable she is, so easy to work with. she accepts the vial, examining its contents as best she can in the low light.
for a poison, it looks fairly innocuousβno sickly green hue, like in illustrations, nor any sort of... palpable malevolence. for something called magebane, it's not very frightening. ]
I see, [she says, closing her first around the vial and holding it close to her chest. ] And small sips should do it, then, no need to drink the whole thing? How long do its effects last? Do we have an abundant supply, or should I be rationing?
[ hang on, actually, more importantlyβ ]
What would happen if I were to take too much? If I did, could that be counteracted in some way? Is there a maximum amount I should ingest within a certain period?
[ rip ness you would have loved to be a medicinal research chemist. ]
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That said, I might need to direct you to another source for full information on ... Taking a flask's worth at once might be unpleasant, but shouldn't do you long-term ill. [He's heard of Templars forcing than much on a mage at a time, though that observation feels better unspoken.] An even larger dose might have ill effects; I'm not sure. Enchanter Isaac would be a likely source of information, though you may need to explain your condition to him, and I can understand that prospect giving you some pause.
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Hmm. It wouldn't be terribly insensitive, would it, asking the Enchanter about this?
you don't have to be a genius to realize an enchanter with extensive experience with a poison directed specifically at mages might not have gotten that experience in an enjoyable or academic manner. ]
I'll think about asking him, at least, it may be irresponsible not to... But, ohβ
[ her eyes focus on julian again and she smiles, a little watery and wan, but no less genuine for it. ]
Thank you. I've been so afraid, and I didn't want to hurt anyoneβit was eating me up. Between you and Cedric I feel like I'm taking my first deep breath in weeks. It means so much, really.
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[A small exhale with a faint smile.]
I suppose it keeps us on our toes. But I'm sorry you're having to deal with it. I think I would be ... cautious about how many people you speak to, before we've learned more. As Carsus may have indicated, there are a lot of native Thedosians who have a strong distrust for magic, especially uncontrolled magic. But I'd say any of the Division Heads are trustworthy. Madame de Cedoux. Stephen Strange, our head healer.
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[ confirming, ] I've done some research. [ she knows the shape of the native reaction to magic, even if she hasn't experienced the whole of it for herself yetβthat's half the reason she was so panicked and terrified before tonight, to the point of attempting to isolate herself completely. ] That's why I didn't plan to tell any one I didn'need to about my... condition. I imagine there's no way you leave here and don't immediately tell the Division Heads what happened.
[ it's not a question, because ness has no doubt: after tonight, the division heads will know exactly what she can do, and how unstable it is. it's only right, tooβfor safety reasons, the people in charge of the organization should know when someone might pose a threat to the rest of the group!
it just sucks to be the one posing a threat, is all. ]
Petrana de Cedoux and Stephen Strange... I'll remember those names. They're natives?
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[And Julius is going to tell her about this anyway, more than likely, but he'd recommend her even if that wasn't true.]
Your instinct for discretion is a wise one, I think. But you've landed in a place with more than its share of people who've faced judgment. Most people in Riftwatch prioritize defeating Corypheus. As long as we can ensure you're no danger to yourself or others here in the Gallows, everything else can be managed.
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[ it may not be fair, but ness absolutely perks up at both petrana and stephen being rifters. natives just... she's gotten lucky, between cedric and julius both being willing to help her instead of reaching immediately for pitchforks. pushing her luck seems inadvisable, that's all. it's healthy, reasonable caution, not irrational fear. really. ]
I'll remember both of them, thank you.
[ she really will, as soon as she gets back to her things she'll be writing notes on this whole experience.
there's part of that second bit that catches her ear, thoughβmost, emphasized, but that means... ]
Is there anyone in particular I should be cautious with? People less sympathetic than the rest, here?
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Redvers Keen may not have sufficient trust in the organization's leadership to not feel he needs to take matters into his own hands. You should be especially cautious there. And while I doubt Lazar would be personally outraged, he is forever looking to turn a profit; he might see your distress as a business opportunity first and foremost.
Broadly, I might keep the number of people who know small until the Division Heads have had a chance to weigh in. But I think that is less a function of avoiding individual agents finding out and more a matter of giving them leeway to handle it as they think best.
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[ more names to remember, petrana de... sehdoo? (probably not, she'll have to ferret out proper spelling), stephen strange, redvers keen, lazar... ness mouths each name to herself, making different small gestures with each name to reinforce the memory. ]
I didn't plan to tell anyone, [ confirming, and also, you know, she'd assumed he would, but maybe julius can confirm informing the division heads? she'd prefer only to interact with authority figures when she has good news, is the thing.
another deep breath, and ness can feel exhaustion creeping in, now that adrenaline has worn off. ]
Okay, this has been... quite a bit to take in. Iβif there's anything else, might it wait? I just want to make sure I can remember everything properly before I take in anything more.
[ please, her past couple weeks have been so much, she's doing her best but she needs timeβ ]
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Go on. Try to get some sleep, if you can. And if you need me for anything with the magebane, or ... I expect I'll be in my office for a few hours yet. But things tend to look better in the morning, even if daylight doesn't actually solve them.
[He's not entirely unworried about letting her go again, but the Division heads will know and his instinct tells him she doesn't mean any active harm. The night will probably be quiet enough.]
action.
continued from.
Sorcerer, [ Strange corrects automatically, a kneejerk instinct; the verbiage doesnβt 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 sheβd selected to read, thinking: Oghma, the god of knowledge. He doesnβt much truck with gods, but if thereβs 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 whoβs studied and practiced magic and is capable of harnessing its powers to cast spells, yes?
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[ 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.
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So it sounds, [ he muses, ] as if all mages here would be considered sorcerers by your definition. Either theyβre born with the capacity or theyβre not, is that right?
Where Iβm 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.
[ Itβs 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. ]
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[ as it becomes clear that stephen's actually listened to her, not just heard but listened, ness' smile grows. it's not that she's not used to an adult who actually pays attention or anything like thatβshe's just a consummate teacher's pet, and she loves an opportunity for a one-on-one with an educator who gives a shit. ]
That's right, [ of all mages here being sorcerers to her. ] And where I'm from, you and all the other sorcerers of your world would be considered wizards. I've never thought of wizardry that way, [ musing, a little taken with his clear affection for the practice, ] democratic. It's a somewhat prohibitive field to get into, in FaerΓ»n, even if open to everyone in theory.
[prohibitive, and not a field she'd ever given much mind to, as she'd shown only the barest of aptitudes for it and never wanted to bother anyone questioning about it. if she'd shown an interest, there would have been no shortage of those in candlekeep who could have taught her, but without initiative of her own, no one was going to take time out of their schedules to force her.
kind of a shame now in hindsight, given the givens. ]
How did you come to its study? If you don't mind the question, I don't mean to pry.
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But itβs one heβs had to explain often enough in Thedas that the stingβs gone out of it. Back home people generally wouldnβt pry for the Sorcerer Supremeβs history, but here heβs simply another member of Riftwatch, and a study in contradictions: the doctor who became a mage. The mage who became Head Healer, but who still canβt stitch up a cut. The real question is how much does he dump on this poor young girlβs head, when he winces uncomfortably away from anything which might seem like a traumadump.
For now, he settles on: the harmless basics. ]
Magic is democratic once you get there, but itβs also not widely known of; back home, its existence is more myth and rumour and speculation. I had some injuries which science and traditional medicine couldnβt heal, so I sought a magical cure. I found that monastery, and [ this choice of word is purposeful ] wizardry instead, and became voracious about it. Itβs fascinating, going your whole life thinking reality functioned under certain limitations only to discover thereβs always been doors you never even knew existed.
[ Of course heβd wanted to open all of them. ]
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[ "some injuries", he says, and ness immediately, unsubtly looks down at his scarred hands. if he's worried about insensitive questions, though, none seem to be forthcomingβshe just looks back up to listen as stephen finishes his explanation, her lips part in precursor to a comment, or perhaps a questionβ
and then she shudders forward, wincing. the insistent squirming that precedes a magical outburst has started in her stomach, and this time it's not waiting aroundβ she can feel it already climbing up her trunk, lashing toward her anchor hand: it's been moving quicker ever since the magebane. like it knows that she can cut it off now, and it doesn't want to give her the opportunity. ]
Sorry, [ she gasps, ] one second!
[ there's a vial of magebane in a pouch on her belt, but it's hard to call up the dexterity for clasps and flaps with her off-hand while simultaneously trying to stave off a tentacled maelstrom in the other. ness fumbles at the pouch, holding her breath like somehow that might keep the outburst from manifesting. ]
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Are you alright?
[ He is, after all, the Head Healer— ]
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[ breathlessly, ] Yes, just fine, I just needβah!
[ she gets into the pouch, finally, and grips the magebane tightly. usually she likes to mix this with a bit of water, per julius' advice, but there is absolutely not time for that right now. ness screws her face up and takes a deep breath. ]
If I throw up on you, I'm really sorry.
[ and with that, she pops the cork on the magebane and takes a swig.
julius wasn't kidding, the taste is not pleasant, but almost worse is knowing what comes after. ]
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Donβt worry, Iβve experienced worse, [ he says, still nonchalant. Heβs a doctor. Sometimes patients shit themselves. But more to the point, as he watches her: ]
Youβre not going to be possessed by a murderous spirit, by chance? Just checking.
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[ the poison settles, heavy and thick, in her stomach, and ness gags, just a little, nose wrinkled and eyes scrunched close in distasteβ ]
What? [ she says, less because she really needs the repetition and more because she's struggling to process all the stimuli she's experiencing at once. the magebane is disgusting and thick and heavy, but the squirming stops with one final wriggle somewhere around her elbow. she breathes, and realizes she knows what stephen said. ] Oh, no, I...
[ a sigh, and she corks the magebane again and slips it back into the pouch at her belt. she doesn't avoid stephen's eyes, because that looks suspicious, but she's not particularly enthusiastic about meeting them. ]
I shouldn't have magic. I didn't, before I arrived in ThedasβI could summon lights, but that was all, nothing useful. Here, I... It comes upon me suddenly, and is destructive. That's all. Nothing murderous.
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It comes upon me suddenly, and is destructive. Why are there so many rifters like this— ]
What sort of βcoming upon youβ?
[ It pings some distant concern, a recollection, a faint unease in his gut. This, too, familiar. Wanda wrestling with new unmanageable powers outside of her control— He needs to ask. ]
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[ it's an entirely fair question, and it deserves an answer... but ness doesn't have to like giving it. she pouts a little, taps her nails against the desk, huffs... and takes a deep breath. ]
There are these... tendrils. Like tentacles, but they don't have suckers or anything. They come out of my anchor and try to batter at everything around me within reach. It doesn't last very long, but you can imagine, if there's anything precious around, it's a problem.
[ she shrugs a little, and looks at stephen out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his response. ]
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Oh, is that all? Tentacles?
[ Not dismissive, but at ease; Strangeβs shoulders loosen as he leans back in his chair again, body language relaxing. He had tensed up a little without even realising it. ]
I used to have a few spells which would summonβ¦ well, yeah, tendrils. Beasts. Serpents. The Vipers of Valtorr spawning out of my arms and multiplying as theyβre cut down.
If this particular development is new to you and youβre unaccustomed to its use, you should practice. [ An offer, off-hand: ] We could practice.
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[ well that's certainly not the reaction ness was expecting. there's a part of her that considers being angry about it, and her brow furrows in anticipation of the annoyance that she thinks she should feel, but isn't it better for him not to consider it a problem? she purses her lips, considers...
and lets herself smile, instead. ]
Well, it sounds much less dire when you say it. Nothing multiplies, so I suppose I have that going for me.
[ practice. does she want to practice? ness actually thinks about it, chewing her lip a little, scrunching her nose. ]
I don't think I'm ready for that, [ she admits. ] I have so much to learn still about Thedas, a whole life to start building from scratch... I don't think I can dedicate myself properly to any of my pursuits if I spread myself too thin.
[ it's not a lie, is the thing, not even close. she really does believe that it's better for her to get acquainted with thedas first, if she has a choice in the two. it helps, also, that magic is scary and weird and she'd rather pretend she can avoid it for as long as possible. ]
When I'm ready, though, if the offer is still good, I can come to you? If that'd be alright?
potential wrap or yrs to wrap?
but faced with a little more restraint, he tips a shoulder into a half-shrug. Itβs no skin off his back if Ennaris doesnβt want to jumpstart some lessons just yet; itβs less work for him, in fact. ]
Of course. At your leisure, [ Strange says warmly. Sheβll come around if-when she needs to. ] I donβt have Enchanter in my title, but my doorβs open regardless.
π!
[ that he doesn't push means ness will actually seek him out eventually. her smile brightens, and she nods. ]
I appreciate that, Doctor, sincerely. As soon as I have my feet under me, you'll find me at your door.
[ and with that, she pulls her books closer again, ready to get back to studying history and geopolitics and privately railing against the various propaganda machines of thedas. ]
crystal
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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. ]
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I'm Abby. We're rooming together. You just got here, right?
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[ βoh... given the out and she didn't even take it?? that's fine, ness isn't feeling any particular type of way about that. certainly not touched in any weird way. ]
Oh, Abby, I saw your name in the assignments! I'm a recent arrival, yes. But I promise I'm not going to be an idiot about it, I've already done a lot of research and I'm working on getting my feet under me in Diplomacy, I won't be a bother!
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[ a small pause as ness thinks of something to sayβi'd prefer to give people as few reasons to roll their eyes at me as possibleβand then adjusts, because perhaps that is unkind to newly-arrived abby, who may have had quite a few eyes rolled at her. ]
I'm sure I'll say something dumb eventually, no amount of research could forestall that forever. I'd just prefer it be later than soon!
Have you been here long?
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(It's never fun being the person who says one dumb thing and gets jumped on, but it's kind of like a right of passage too.)
Yeah, about... three years, I think. (Wow. When you say it like that...) I like it.
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Three years!
[ she tries not to sound excited, because no matter what abby says it doesn't seem right to be excited about someone being rent from their previous home and stranded somewhere for three entire years with no sign of ever being able to return. for anyone not in ness' position, that's a hard pill to swallow. ]
That's such a number of years, and in a time of conflict such as this—you truly enjoy it? I had hoped to be able to make a home here myself, but liking it I had assumed would have to come after the war ended.
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And extenuating circumstances also help:) The place I came here from was worse off, a lot worse off. Here's better.
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Worse off, [ quietly, more to herself than expecting abby to answer. ]
Well, I'm... glad for you, then. To have found somewhere better.
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(Abby hadn't ever thought that before until she said it out loud just now β there's a pause before she pushes through to ask,) Where did you come here from?
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Oh, somewhere not all that different from here, really. FaerΓ»n wasn't currently at war with a megalomaniacal lich god-king when I was snatched up, but it wouldn't have been unheard of. Truthfully, it hasn't been that difficult an adjustment period in most ways.
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Anyway,) That's good. This place is really different to where I came from, so it took me a while to get used to everything. If you ever have any questions about stuff, you can always ask me.
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From what I understand, most rifters come from places much dissimilar to Thedas. I count myself lucky to have had such an easy transition, I can't imagine how difficult it would be for me to have to adapt to... I've vaguely heard of something called a car, but I have no idea what that is. Sounds terrifying, anyway.
I appreciate the offer, anyway, and will definitely be taking you up on that. Natives can be... a little prickly about some things, I've noticed. Not without cause, [ hastily, Just In Case, ] but sometimes it's easier to ask someone at a bit of a remove, I think.
I'd offer the same in return, but unless you're interested in the cataloguing methods of a library from another world, I don't think I have any information you'd be interested in, honestly.
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But anyway,) I β actually am really interested in that.
(She says it quick, a bit embarrassed.) I like reading and I'm assisting in the library here. Re-shelving, mostly. We had this thing called the Dewey Decimal System back home, but I think it required having computers, so obviously it doesn't work here. We're organising by genre and then author. Non-fiction is by subject and then author. We have a log book.
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Oh, [ what a pleasant surprise!! ] well, how about you explain to me what a car is, and I'll explain to you how we sort the catalogues in Candlekeep, then?
[ book nerds book nerds BOOK NERDS!!! ]
Candlekeep is so much larger than the archives here, I don't know that it would be particularly useful to look to it as an example of how to sort a library without a "computer"... But nothing is ever improved by making assumptions. There might be something we could think of and present to the Archivist, if we put our heads together.
[tapping her chin, thinking out loud: ] Genre, or subject, and author is all well and good when each of those is clear-cut, but what about books written by more than one person? Or works that blend genres? Hm. There has to be a better way to sort this...
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But Ennaris is going first, so maybe they'll get really into her thing. Abby already has comments for her; they could be here a while.)
I get what you mean, but I'd probably go with whoever is listed first on the book for what name to file under. Same with genre, I guess. Like if it was a... I dunno, a mystery-thriller, I'd go with the bigger theme.
(It's not perfect, but oh well.) And then you note somewhere that it has two genres, so you can always refer to the notes.
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That works well for a smaller archive like ours, [ she concedes easily, ] but as our collection grows, so will the number of exceptions, and the number of notes. Such a list could eventually become too complicated for easy use.
Not to mention, what about books with no known title, or author? How do we distinguish between Ancient Alammari Scroll #1 and Ancient Alammari Scroll #57? Just for example, I mean, I don't even know if the ancient Alammari tribes had writing.
This must sound like I'm overcomplicating things, [ so at least she's self-aware? ] but I think they're problems worth thinking about! We want to minimize the work we'll have to do in the future.
[ "we", because obviously, if she's suggesting any work be done, she'll be assisting with doing it, even if it's not actually her job. ]
delivery.
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 MΓ©nΓ©tries. It's something of an anthropological survey, reporting on common folks' accounts of the workings of government and the natural world and so onβbut 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. βBastien ]
β crystal;
[ hello, how are you, thank you so much for the deliveryβ ]
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[ 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.
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[ ness is not not thinking about arranging some kind of visit to the gallows for aubertinβperhaps his mother has been induced to make a donation to riftwatch, and wants to see her money is put to good useβwhere either he is forced to sit through a long lecture or he ends up with a broken finger. he seems like the type to approach a griffon without thinking it through, it'd be easy to arrangeβ ]
The bitch of it all is he isn't even a bad writer. He could be putting these talents to such use as a satirist!
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Did you have this sort of attitude toward people where you come from? Not you, I meanβbut did other people?
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But, outside of Candlekeepβpeople are people. Whatever people think here, someone probably thought in FaerΓ»n, too.
Why?
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And it's interesting, isn't it? All of these varied worlds full of new magic and new gods and new technology, but none of them I have heard about yet have figured out how to avoid having underclasses. I can't decide if it's depressing that no one has a solution or reassuring we are not uniquely awful here. But it's interesting either way.
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As a matter of philosophy, it is interesting, but I admit I am no philosopher.
crystals; whatever point in time
let's go post-horrors, for funsies
Yes, I can help, [ is the immediate response, before cedric's full sentence has processed. ] Supply question? What do you need?
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It can wait, didn't mean t'wake you. [ takes a moment to find it, the roster of who's on this week. wycome. ] You just get back in?
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[ said through a yawn and a stretch, ooh, she's getting too old to fall asleep hunched over a desk. at least this time it's her desk in the quartermaster's office, which means she's not drawing looks in the library, or late to work. plus, she knows herselfβshe opens a drawer and pulls out a hairbrush, and gets to work detangling the mess she's made. ]
Sorry, oof. I'm awake, I'm ready, what do you need?
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[ distracted. she's on her way to skipping lunch, too. ]
Figured out one of the, uh, suggestions we got. Sjoklat, think 's meant t'be chocolate. Know cocoa comes dear right now. But if we can find something tastes near, maybe for Satinalia β
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[ ness has never been skinnier in her life than she is nowβon rations, recently running around trying not to die in wycome, and now skipping meals to research until she physically can't keep her eyes open. it's a kind of diet, surelyβ ]
Substitutes, subs... I think, I was looking into rifter recipes, that Jude Adjei left one for cookies, they're supposed to have chocolate but I think he noted carob might do in a pinch? Do we have carob, in Thedas? What is carob, actually...
[ she has an encyclopedia in here somewhere, actually, maybe she can look it up. ]
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How 'bout I bring some up.
[ that's not really a question. he's moving. she can turn him aside if she pleases, but someone ought to make sure there's no reason to call strange, julius, again. else β
a friend. he's decided. ]
β action;
When Cedric arrives at the quartermaster's office, Ness isn't visible at first. It's only when he actually comes inside, glances around, that he'll find herβhidden away in a shadowy corner of the office, standing at a bookcase with an open book in hand while she peers in consternation at another on the shelf.
From this distance, at least, she doesn't look hideous. She's not skin and bones now, nor got the darkest of circles under her eyes, nor has her hair become some kind of nest. Her clothes are neat and clean, she's bathed, she's brushed, she's as pale as she's ever been but no paler. By all appearances, she's absolutely fine.
There's a vacancy to her expression, though. A faint sway as she should be standing still, breaths a shade too shallow for health.
"I could have sworn I had an actual encyclopedia in here somewhere. Have I gone blind? I may have gone blind. Oh, knotsβ"
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"I'll beg one off Mobius."
Good for the old man to keep busy. Another time, maybe that'd do for this too. Chantry's no stranger to the comfort in a task. But Cedric's dug enough ditches to know that's got limits, to work a shovel six feet over your head. She's clean, she's tidy, and she's about to step out her own skin. Busy's not the problem.
He takes his time laying out mug, napkin, spoon. Clean. Tidy. He lets her fuss. Tries to think what Barrowβs done for him, only that thinking on that makes him think why Barrow had to, and that don't bear thinking at all. Eventually, stone scuffs under foot, slow and steady and purposefully loud. A palm at her elbow, gentle,
"C'mon. It'll get cold."
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She blinks at Cedric, closer than she expected him to be, uncomprehending for a full second before the smell of food catches her attention. Her stomach, reminded of its needs, clenches painfully around nothing, and she winces audibly in surprise, snapping the book in her hand shut with the shock of it. Knees buckle, and she grips his wrist, leans harder to keep steady.
He's very warm. Or maybe she's very cold? He's solid, anyway, takes the weight of her like it's nothing,
"Sorry," she says to her shoes after the hunger pang subsides, less because she knows what she's apologizing for than feeling like she should apologize for something. Her whole existence, maybe.
gomen for all the delays on this ive been a mess this month
Couldn't tell.
She's warm on his arm, and he's young; and it's another evening gone before Cedric will notice the chill.
"'S alright," He says, instead of there's nothing to apologize for. Sometimes a word is just something you say; she's not ready to hear things. "Sit down, yeah?"
Bracing her, and that's nearly Broward too. Eggs and toast at the plate, some mystery Marcher meat, cut in a wedge. Fresh pear. The tea is β
Well, you boil any leaf long enough, you can call it tea. His hand closes around the book to ease her down, try and slip it from her grasp; eye to the title. He doesn't pull very hard.
(Candlekeep, she's said before: A library. He's not about to lose his own hand if she decides it's staying with her.)
same, no worries!!
The pang hurt, yes; she needs to eat, yes; but to actually do itβ She looks at the plate and feels not desire but a faint disgust. It's a new experience, an unfamiliar sensation: sometimes you get so hungry, you circle right back around to not hungry at all.
She makes a face, picks up the fork, eats dutifully in silence, sips her tea with all the jolly enthusiasm of a recruit mucking out latrines. At the corner of the desk sits a pile of books, the top a collection of Dalish myths and legends, various treatises on the nature and origins of darkspawn below, a chantry brother's history of the Deep Roads on the bottom. Each book already has numerous scraps sticking out of the pages, markers for interesting information and passages to return to.
Ness has been returned from Sarrux's Pass for less than a week.
Plate cleared, she wipes her mouth with a handkerchief and looks over to Cedric. Her eyes can't linger on him long, gaze glancing off his face, shoulders curled in.
"Thank you for the meal. I didn't realize how hungry I was."
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"Sure," He sets the book aside, leans out over his elbows. Clock the rest of the stack and its disparate subjects: Darkspawn, Dalish. Wycome, "Gets like that, sometimes."
His eyes finally find her face again. He isn't asking about hunger when he asks,
"It get like that before?"
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Her brow furrows, something about that sentence catching her ear. Sometimes you say things in complete earnest, so sure of their rationality, and then you hear them out loud and they sound so much worse than you thought they would. It's strange, and uncomfortable, and not something she has the time or, frankly, the desire to interrogate right now.
So she smiles at Cedric, meeting his gaze finally.
"I apologize for the diversionβwe were talking about chocolate, weren't we? Looking into substitutes?"
*bells jingling*
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. β Abby A.
i am so sorry, this hit right in the middle of the veilguard fugue π
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 faerΓ»n, 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!
βE. Tavane, Quartermaster
crystals;
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I would be happy to assist, Enchanter, go on.
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[ presumably past-tense. she's offered to vanish vomit ]
Did you find it to interfere with the function of anything else than your magic? The anchor, physical side effects, etcetera?
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[ a considering beat, weighing what to reveal and with what words. ]
Its efficacy waned the longer it was used. Higher doses, more often, were needed to achieve a fully dampening effect. Whether that is a personal quirk or indicative of something else, I couldn't say.
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[ he wasn't the one measuring it. but: ]
I'm certain you've had word of the Venatori anchors.
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[ dry. ]
We need know whether magebane works to stunt an anchor, and I hope to avoid poisoning volunteers, or inadvertantly doing them a worse ill. Hence: Your health.
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[ a loooong pause. a deep sigh. ]
I'm willing to take it again to see how it affects the anchor, should I find myself in front of a rift.
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[ quartermasters. the demons are fucking everywhere ]
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[ isn't this what we have the stabby ones for? ]
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is what she would say if she were not herself. ]
I'll assume you'll let me know if you ever plan to hold me to the offer. Is there anything else, Enchanter? The headache makes speaking at length a hardship.
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[ the crystals don't click when they shut off. but like, spiritually. ]
book (backdated to after sarrux pass, like...v soon after)
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[ they could literally just be talking to each other in their room, why are they both like this.]
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I've been recommended to 'wait it out' and been given a nail file for the claws, which was nice of them, I suppose. I wanted to see if your voice had gone, with the whole...
Well, what happened to you was quite horrible, Ennaris. I am here if you want to talk, or write, or...think?
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which is a very normal and chill way to approach friendship, she thinks!]
My mouth is returned to normal, and I seem to have kept my voice. For all I can tell, it seems as though all my mutations have fully reverted, I'm sorry that yours haven't yet. You know, what happened to you was horrible as well. Do you want to talk?
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Desperately so.
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You have the floor, Messere Granger, please. Unburden yourself.
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I wouldn't call it a burden to shed at all, but - I was going to say that bit of telepathic connection we could have, that was... [ A little pause, her excited little smile slipping through. ] Well, exciting! I don't know how common the practice is in your world but a remarkably limited number of wizards can actually practice that in mine. And it's not even close to what you did - I could hear you! As though you spoke to me in my mind - mostly Legilimency is a lot of mind-reading, but not connection.
[ After which, the glow on her face and the sparkle in her eyes dim a bit, into seriousness. ]
Which is not to say that I don't think you shouldn't have been scared. Your mouth - of course you're well within your rights, you know, just... [ Somewhat softer now, ] You did not frighten me when you spoke directly into my mind.
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and then she blinks, utterly nonplussed, as Hermione's excitement becomes clear. It's not the first time someone's had a positive reaction to her telepathyβStephen wasnt quite so effusive, but he clearly didn't consider it a bad thing for her to be capable ofβbut it's so far from the norm that she doesn't know how to respond at first. Suspicion, fear, anger: she's prepared for all of those. She has no script in place for excitement.
Even more slowly than it fell, her smile returns, hesitant and unsure.
"It's not common in FaerΓ»n either, actually. There are some Aberrations that can speak like this, through mental connection, but the magic that's available to most people is to do with mind reading, like your Legilimancy."
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at Hermione, still bemusedβbut with growing excitement.
"You really don't mind? You're not worried I read your thoughts, violated your privacy? I didn't, for the record, and I can't, butβyou wouldn't have been angry if I had?"
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She is trying to be reasonable here, because Ness is her friend. And Ness was faced with desperate times calling for desperate measures.
"I think I would've, because I would prefer to simply talk things out, if you have any questions for me. But when it happened, when we were down there - honestly, given the circumstances, I wasn't mad at all. More than anything, relieved that you could find a way to communicate with me."
A beat. "And more than a little impressed."
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"I'm so glad you feel that way," she says, "and I promiseβ"
She cuts herself off, getting up from her bed to come sit on the edge of Hermione's, looking earnestly into her eyes.
"I promise I won't use it on you without your permission outside of extenuating circumstances. You have my word."
Ness smiles, in what she hopes is a way that says she's trustworthy without trying so hard it comes right back around to suspiciousβand then blinks.
"Impressed?"
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Smart, kind, curious, interesting. Would Hermione go to war for Ennaris Tavene? Yes, probably - but more importantly, she'd try to resolve conflict without war, for Ness.
Once Ness is sat on the edge of her bed, Hermione scoots to make her space, nodding at the request for clarification. "Oh, yes. Your magic skills are very impressive. I keep wanting to ask you to teach me, though I know it'll be futile because we're using different sources, but it's - I think you're very capable. Some of the things I've seen you do, a skilled wizard would struggle with. From my home, I mean - not from Faerun."
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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 β staked-out to purpose β 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."
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"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."
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β And if that doesn't explain why a shared office won't do, he's willing to press the point. Strand balances the tray, picks a tumbled grain of rice from his sleeve. Eyes her plain.
(When she'd startled, he'd spied it as if in slow-motion. He moves slowly these days to match.)
"There's a storeroom with thick walls," Out of earshot of the dozen other busybodies in Riftwatch's leadership. "Or we can discuss it here and now."
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"The events of the Pass were reported on in detail by Messere Porthmeus. As far as I know, his report is open to access by any member of the organization. It's unlikely that I will be able to elucidate the matter any further for you."
Unlikely, but not impossible, depending on what precisely he wants to knowβshe's not refusing to answer any questions, just making clear she may not provide anything he couldn't get elsewhere. As they walk, they pass the storeroom Strand spoke of, and Ness's steps don't so much as slow. There is one office guaranteed to be empty at the moment, which will be a mite more comfortable than a storeroom.
For him, anyway.
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Under the brush of new eyelids, translucent and horizontal and better at home on a frog.
"Which is why I've traveled such a distance for yours." They're past the room he'd staked, and he marks it; and he follows. "Indulge me the repetition."
Porthmeus had wanted expertise, and Strand was nearest to hand. But he isn't a scholar, he doesn't own a library, or a breadth of connections; anything but sour blood and a dead man's notes. Porthmeus wanted the Wardens' expertise. The Wardens want theirs.
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She doesn't say anything. She leads Strand to the Quartermaster's office and shuts the door behind them. The bookshelves, now empty, stand against the wall. The dark, heavy desk which floats in the middle of the room still holds a handful of paperwork, ledgers and logs strewn haphazardly over the surface. Against the rear wall, various trunks and crates crowd each other next to an over-full shelf of linens and uniforms. Even devoid an occupant, there is much for one to look at in the Quartermaster's office.
Ness's eyes are drawn unerringly to a faintly-visible stain on the floor, where no one was able to scrub her blood from the flagging. She crosses to it and crouches, presses her hand to the stone and whispers a spell.
When she straightens, the stone beneath her palm sparkles incongruently clean on the dirt-strewn and scuffed floor.
"What, precisely, would you like me to say, Messere?"
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"You came upon a pool of corrupted lyrium," Brine, grey, a jog to memory. "How did the Darkspawn behave around it?"
That much was absent from the written account. Assured of the door, he does up one sleeve. Another: The veins gnarl black up his wrists, branches wired about a tight line of scar.
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"I regret to disappoint you, Warden, but there was hardly an opportunity to observe their behaviour before the melΓ©e began. I can't offer any more insight on the topic than Warden Siorus might have."
She may sound dry as the Hissing Wastes and resentful of his insistence on the topic at allβbut she's considering, too, because not being able to answer the exact question he asked doesn't mean she has no information to offer at all. Ness hums, mind on the treasure-seeker's diary, the state of the village, the children trapped in their cellar, how it all culminated in the Deep Roads. There is a story that can be spun by putting each piece of the whole together, a puzzle of Darkspawn and lyriumβbut it requires so much conjecture, assumption, inference.
"It's hard to say anything about the events of the Pass before we arrived there with any certainty," she says eventually, sighing, "but what we saw did suggest a Darkspawn raid was what finally left the village abandoned, and that the Darkspawn who conducted the raid were mutated by the lyrium in the same manner as we would discover native Thedosians could be.
"But they left no bodies, Warden," she says quietly, "I don't think they killed a single person. We fought mutated humans below the Deep Roads right beside the Darkspawn."
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"Unusual," As she'll have read enough to know. The Wardens keep their secrets, but the waste laid by Darkspawn is written across book and battlefield. Half this city was once Ferelden. "Even the old, the young?"
Even the men, he does not ask. Some things can be kept within the Order.
"The Taint β" Forearm extended, he taps fingers over black. "β Runs through every Darkspawn. It's how they communicate, it's how Corypheus moves them. And if you're correct, something else has found a way to interfere."