The healers were, in fact, stretched thin. Thin enough that by the time Simon realized it wasn't the humidity that was causing his skin to feel clammy, not when it was followed up by stark chills and a growing fatigue that had nothing to do with how many patients he was tending to. Normally Simon tried to be so careful about cleaning up between them, it usually helped keep him from contracting whatever illness he was treating. Not so much this time...but at least it confirmed his suspicions about the hallucinations some of his patients would describe. The flashes of green light, the wavering figures, the hushed voices...
It didn't feel like the Fade, though that was small comfort. Was this what River went through day in and day out? If it was even a little bit similar, Simon could not let that hinder him. It wasn't as if he was ignoring the problem, he reasoned. The spirits he glimpsed hadn't started bothering him yet, at least no more than the usual hovering all mages dealt with in their dreams. Until they did there was no reason he couldn't put his head down and continue to help those in worse shape than him. A simple draught ought keep his fever under control in the meanwhile.
So it was a damned stubborn mage, paler than usual and forcing the tremor from his hands, who simply lifted an arm to wave the next person to pause at the entrance to his tent to invite them in.
"Come in," he said, "and let's have a look..." Hopefully he hadn't just invited a spirit inside by mistake. Simon blinked as he looked up a second time, taking a proper look at his guest to make sure.
[Herald's Rest]
All right. So maybe his fever was worse than he'd thought. That would explain how in one minute he was sitting at a table on the upper floor of the tavern, listening to the rain patter constantly against the roof and press his brow to the cool mug of ale he'd ordered for some relief, and the next he was face down on the table, breathing slow and deep and closing his eyes for just a moment.
The sound of rain mixed with the now constant whispering, they'd been almost indistinguishable for well over a day. But now as Simon slept those voices became clear again, familiar in fact, though Simon hadn't actually spoken to the men in years. Broad smiles, almost amused, and robes so fine with jewels and gold thread they put any southern noble to shame. They spoke to Simon with gentle voices, warm and understanding and only wanting to help.
Simon had had this dream before. It mimicked his memory all too well, when he accepted the magisters help to find River and rescue her. The mages offered to show him new magic, a trick that no one would expect from a southern mage. In his memory he had reluctantly accepted the offer, in the dream they would offer to show him more. So far Simon had always refused. Surely this time would be no different.
In the tavern the mage's brow furrowed, his hand curling tighter around the mug.
(OOC: For the second prompt there's a chance to get a hint at the fact that Simon's a blood mage. The magisters in his dream are demons, trying to trick him into letting them in. It won't work, there'll be no possessions, but if you'd like your character to figure out what's going on and thus learn Simon's secret let me know and we can hash things out. Otherwise it'll just be a somewhat disturbing dream about Simon sitting down at a very fancy dining table with a few semi-faceless magisters up in Tevinter.)
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The healers were, in fact, stretched thin. Thin enough that by the time Simon realized it wasn't the humidity that was causing his skin to feel clammy, not when it was followed up by stark chills and a growing fatigue that had nothing to do with how many patients he was tending to. Normally Simon tried to be so careful about cleaning up between them, it usually helped keep him from contracting whatever illness he was treating. Not so much this time...but at least it confirmed his suspicions about the hallucinations some of his patients would describe. The flashes of green light, the wavering figures, the hushed voices...
It didn't feel like the Fade, though that was small comfort. Was this what River went through day in and day out? If it was even a little bit similar, Simon could not let that hinder him. It wasn't as if he was ignoring the problem, he reasoned. The spirits he glimpsed hadn't started bothering him yet, at least no more than the usual hovering all mages dealt with in their dreams. Until they did there was no reason he couldn't put his head down and continue to help those in worse shape than him. A simple draught ought keep his fever under control in the meanwhile.
So it was a damned stubborn mage, paler than usual and forcing the tremor from his hands, who simply lifted an arm to wave the next person to pause at the entrance to his tent to invite them in.
"Come in," he said, "and let's have a look..." Hopefully he hadn't just invited a spirit inside by mistake. Simon blinked as he looked up a second time, taking a proper look at his guest to make sure.
[Herald's Rest]
All right. So maybe his fever was worse than he'd thought. That would explain how in one minute he was sitting at a table on the upper floor of the tavern, listening to the rain patter constantly against the roof and press his brow to the cool mug of ale he'd ordered for some relief, and the next he was face down on the table, breathing slow and deep and closing his eyes for just a moment.
The sound of rain mixed with the now constant whispering, they'd been almost indistinguishable for well over a day. But now as Simon slept those voices became clear again, familiar in fact, though Simon hadn't actually spoken to the men in years. Broad smiles, almost amused, and robes so fine with jewels and gold thread they put any southern noble to shame. They spoke to Simon with gentle voices, warm and understanding and only wanting to help.
Simon had had this dream before. It mimicked his memory all too well, when he accepted the magisters help to find River and rescue her. The mages offered to show him new magic, a trick that no one would expect from a southern mage. In his memory he had reluctantly accepted the offer, in the dream they would offer to show him more. So far Simon had always refused. Surely this time would be no different.
In the tavern the mage's brow furrowed, his hand curling tighter around the mug.
(OOC: For the second prompt there's a chance to get a hint at the fact that Simon's a blood mage. The magisters in his dream are demons, trying to trick him into letting them in. It won't work, there'll be no possessions, but if you'd like your character to figure out what's going on and thus learn Simon's secret let me know and we can hash things out. Otherwise it'll just be a somewhat disturbing dream about Simon sitting down at a very fancy dining table with a few semi-faceless magisters up in Tevinter.)