I. OPEN.

[liberalum]

WHO: Dorian Pavus and other less dashing people.
WHAT: Training in a courtyard; other pre-planned threads.
WHEN: Firstfall in general.
WHERE: Skyhold, an open courtyard.
NOTES: Below are some open prompts for those who wish for a run in during Mage Fight Club aka How To Train Your Wizard aka How We Do In Tevinter. Catch him during, before, after. Note that there isn't magic being flung around (yet), it's fairly ordinary. This will also be a general dumping ground for individual pre-planned threads that need a home.

[ There is a courtyard within Skyhold, as dilapidated as the rest, that is one day going to be a garden. For now, it's a good enough retreat for the rebel mages that lies aside from the training grounds often dominated by the less magical. The ground is mud and weeds, and the sky is open above them, and a tree with orange leaves frames the shapes of mountains beyond.

Sometimes, Dorian trains on his own. There is a dance-like grace to the movements of staff and the man wielding it, feet light on the ground and tracking circles in the mud, following the heavy swing of seven feet of solid oak. He follows practiced motions, sans the presence of actual magic. A twirl of his staff over head, the thick sounding thud of the blunt end slamming into the dense earth, and sharper, quicker movements for what would likely be sharper, quicker spellwork. Sometimes he is observed. Sometimes he is not. Regardless as to status of audience, he definitely likes to show off.

Sparring, equally. The clak-clak-thud of wooden staves meeting, locking, scraping together as he and another willing mage practice their more ordinary skills. Sometimes he loses, and often he wins, graceful in victory and defeat.

Unless he is knocked off his feet, or earns himself a bruise, then he might curse their mother.

And there are other times, later times, when he shifts into a role of teacher. Not all mages are trained in combat, after all, and some may like to learn -- even from a Tevinter. (Maybe especially from a Tevinter, but who would admit that out loud?) He demonstrates, slowly, staff work, guides those willing to listen and imitate with a certain educated patience, the occasional funny remark about turning their feet out. Sometimes, these sessions are simply standing about, and he explains with big words and big hand gestures the way one might finesse certain spells in combat situations.

He takes breaks, in between and after, perched atop crumbled stone with one leg across the other -- watching and thinking. ]

Comments

the future garden. adelaide leblanc.

[liberalum]

[ He'd considered the place and time of this meeting with a little care. He found it poor form to socialise overly much in the library, for instance, and the cramped confines meant that anything they had to say to each other would be overheard by anyone. The battlements make for a nice view, and even the biting wind coming off the snowy slopes beyond wouldn't have put him off, but instinctive conscientiousness has him compelled not to make their socialising a display to anyone glancing upwards.

The tavern seems common. And full of Templars.

It's under the shade of the tree in the location that might be a garden some day that Dorian summons her instead. Despite his urgency, he suggests a sun down time, when the space is a little emptier, and they might watch some of the rebel mages wander by and huddle amongst themselves. Dorian isn't picnicking on the ground, oh no -- there are a couple of benches already set up beneath the shade of the tree with its orange, wintry leaves, one of which he has straddled as he inspects the bottle of wine he's procured likely through a card game or a victorious sparring match.

There are also a couple of mugs. He isn't a savage.

As she arrives, he is currently summoning an incredibly mild heat glyph, glimmering across the glass under his fingers. Just enough to warm the wine. ]

[fleurdesel]

[ Come urgently- but wait until dusk. It must be some manner of Tevinter peculiarity that made him write that it is urgent, an apology can be offered in writing as much as it can in person but after the past few days? Adelaide is not going to turn down a free glass of wine provided it isn't Fereldan.

If it is she may very well take offense and leave, apology or no.

Between the hour and the tension not only among the other mages but her students in particular a moment's respite and a drink are direly needed- the garden is as inoffensive a place to share it as any. Benches, mugs, and warmed wine? He either feels terribly guilty or terribly thoughtful. ]

I must say this is not what I had expected when you wrote.

[ A corner in the tavern or hurried glass in the library, perhaps, but not anything quite so- well. Considerate. She settles with a tense grace upon one of the benches after propping her staff against the trunk of the tree. Likely she won't be needing it. ]

[liberalum]

[ Dorian will accept his being fickle as a mark of his being foreign, and a host of other sins. He'd probably prefer that accusations as to his being considerate be chalked up to that too. ]

Ha, well. Unfortunately, I only thought to extend invitation after the quiet hour had passed at the tavern.

[ He pours them both polite doses, and the scent of spiced wine immediately lifts with steam in the cold air. The heat glyphs gently fade off the glass, gone by the time he lists sideways to set it aside on even ground. ]

And of what we have to discuss, I'd prefer not to shout over bard songs and calls for second rounds.

[fleurdesel]

What is there to discuss? I was under the impression this was an apologetic invitation.

[ Not that she is at all against discussing- well. Anything in particular. For a companion to the Herald she has nothing but time to offer. Besides. Drinking silently does not seem much like something Dorian would do.

She accepts her glass with a lifted salute before taking a sip. ]

how to train your wizard.

[apostasia]

Despite having barely stirred from the library since his arrival in Skyhold - he sleeps nearby, when he does - Martel is not insensible to the complicated space he occupies here and the varied reactions to it. (The angry man calling everyone demons, for instance; the woman with the odd accent disavowing his stance. He ought to learn her name, at some point.) He listens more than he remarks, for now, but sooner or later - he will have to take some sort of stance.

And perhaps that's what he does, when walking past one of Dorian's adventures in teaching the youth turns into walking the (short but respectable) line and stopping behind one of them to correct his posture and fall in beside him, repeating the gesture several times until he seems to be understanding what he's supposed to be doing instead of just mimicking it poorly.

Dorian would've got to him. It was just quicker for Martel to do it, since he was there -

And since he's still there, he might as well make himself useful.

[liberalum]

"Both hands," Dorian is saying, glancing back at another recruit, somehow patient and brisk all at once. "This motion requires the two. That is, if you ever desire to summon the Fade's energy, instead of tickle the Veil slightly. Now, repeat until I say when, and no pauses."

Dorian moves from his position at the front, not immediately deigning to acknowledge Martel, who is is peripherally aware of by the time he's correcting the lagging recruit. He slinks around one, uses his own staff to touch an ankle to encourage a better stance, before tipping a look towards the rifter with an amused sparkle in wolfish glance.

"You've exhausted our literature, I take it?"

Yes, he's seen you there. Impossible not to.

[apostasia]

Nothing if not difficult to miss, Martel will gladly take 'read all the books, have we' over 'choke anyone on your way down?' - he doesn't feign surprise at recognition. He'd be surprised if someone like this gentleman weren't paying attention to what the rifters are doing, even as he himself finds being lumped together with the equally strange a little tiresome. It makes sense. He'd simply prefer to acclimatise than entertain it.

"Exhausted it?" he echoes, instead, falling back a step with his hands behind his back - more militaristic than indicative of feeling particularly chastened. He'll put his hands on your trainee mages if he likes, it's not strange. "I wouldn't go quite that far, as attached to my current intellectual functioning as I am."

He's seen some of Varric's work, then.

"Apparently, there is such a thing as 'enough to read'. For a time, at least."

[thedevilson]

Dante wasn't much for participating in the sparring matches and training regimens that took place in the courtyard, if for no other reason than he knew it wouldn't be fair. He observed, however, since it would be the closest thing to an action sequence in a movie that he would get for the longest time. Ah, how he was starting to miss his cheap entertainment! Mages in training, well, that was different and this was his first preview of what they were really capable of, not that he hadn't fought along side with a lady that threw ice around like it was cool...no pun intended. He was too busy slaughtering demons to really pay attention however...so this was his first official introduction. He didn't think there was so much...well...physical stuff involved, especially in the absence of magic, it was like watching tai-chi or some mild form of martial arts.

Not that Dante wasn't the most avid of souls he really did have nothing better to do with himself and watching for hours was better than pacing around like a caged animal. And though there wasn't a magical bone in his entire being...well depending on what one considered magic and what one considered innate...there was something pertinent about all of this. Where he came from this sort of thing didn't exist, it was more nuanced and complex than what he dealt with. Demon weren't complex, demons were very forward, physical force, coercion...and holy fuck the smell, but still the methods Dante used were effective in their case. Hack, hack, throw, slash.

This was something else entirely and while he wasn't a learned child, he was street wise enough to know that the more you knew the more you knew. Who knew when he would run up against a mage in combat? Could he outmaneuver...probably...but more often than not, whenever you think you're the fire and can't get burnt, the fall from grace hits you a lot harder. Dante wasn't that kind of idiot, but he wasn't one for overt learning either so he kept his distance, listening in and out...being more kinesthetic than audio he did tune out some of the mover verbal stuff, but he was very keen when there were physical demonstrations: everything from the solo-training, to sparring, to the more physical part of the lessons he adhered to.

And when it was all over Dante finally approached, though whether his presence had been noticed or not hours before he didn't really care. He offered Dorian the most polite of golf claps as he approached, "that was a lot like watching a strip show...more clothing, less laser light...but entertaining all the way!"

No one could accuse him of eloquence.

[liberalum]

Dorian certainly won't, a look of amusement in glance over.

His armor is light-weight but-- armor, fixed snugly in place with buckle and strap, and exertion prickles moisture across his brow, shiny in his cropped hair. When his breath hits in the cold air, it carries with it steam, his blood running warm from the exercises. He places the blunt of his staff in the ground, using it at a lean -- it's an unadorned weapon, thick wood and no metal or fancy leather straps. A practice tool if there ever was one.

"I do know a dance involving ten silk scarves that might be more your to your taste," he says, his words only a touch breathless. "But I likely wouldn't perform it out here. It would startle the Dalish."

[thedevilson]

Rumors travel quickly around Skyhold, not that Dante was partial to hanging around the grapevine any longer than he could possibly tolerate. Good things, bad things, all par for the course. Still, even the tiniest part of him had to admit than anything remotely negative said about Dorian had to be said in the throes of jealousy, at least in this moment. There was quite a bit to be jealous of, not that Dante was the jealous type so much as the competitive type, but still...he could see it and that's why he was gazing at him so openly now. Dante was a voyeur in many aspects, appreciative of the world around him and the people in it with his eyes, and there was something to appreciate here. Simple.

"I'll just have to catalog that mental image away for those particularly cold nights then? Not that they aren't balls freezing already," whether or not he was being serious was very difficult to tell, he could be behind the mischief and the deviance that danced in his eyes, "damn, guess those dreams of exhibitionism will just have to go unfulfilled. I'm beginning to think these Dalish are kill joys."

[aceso]

[ Christine knows spells that cause destruction and death, but outside of having to defend herself during the mages' flight from Andoral's Reach to Ferelden, she has no combat experience. She's a healer; she doesn't like to inflict wounds. But it sounds like there is a need for healers in the Fallow Mire and she may just go, if she can learn some combat skills first. She'll be no use if she's jumping up and away from corpses every minute. She has to be able to protect her patients as well as herself if the corpses get close with their arrows. So she stands off to the side as Dorian demonstrates, her staff in one hand. ]

[liberalum]

When summoning flame, [ Dorian is saying, ] rooting one's feet to the ground achieves something in the way of both power and control. Skip around all you like in simple energy transfers, but deeper draws require balance and sure footedness. You'll find yourself less likely to lose control of how much you're giving in each casting. Swooning mid-battle is so inconvenient.

[ He demonstrates the move -- one handed on the dead wood staff, his other there to direct the flames that would have erupted ahead of him if he'd been actually casting something. Of course, none do. He doesn't want to start a riot for the crime of being magical where people can see.

Not that he's bitter. ]

You'll want to brush up on immolating in the case of shambling corpses. They've little in the way of spirit to damage, and perhaps it's better late than never, to see them off with a proper cremation.

[aceso]

[ Christine knows the proper formation for casting a spell like immolate, but she wonders if she can stay rooted to the ground as corpses charge at her. That will be the test, because she can't see how she can practice a thing like that. So she merely nods. ]

Would you suggest using a wall of fire, provided they line up nicely for us coming out of the water?

Someone broke the first rule of mage fight club

[nofury]

[ It was probably a given Templars were not invited to mage training. Even if that training were simply a bit of sparring, hardly anything impressive or up to the terrible legends of the great magics of Tevinter, it was still probably a given. But until explicitly instructed not to, Maria liked to ignore any givens and tended towards asking for forgiveness later rather than permission to start.

So there she stands, observing the staff fighting with the roughly made dueling circle. It had been a rare sight, before everything fell apart, to to see mages openly training for combat even without magic. And it said something about how the world was changing to see it now.

She waits until the current bout is done before approaching the Inquisition's current Tevinter representative (or exile or evil secret agent or demon in disguise, depending on who you listened to). Maria is in armor, but her hands rest loosely at her sides rather than on her sword, her tone light.]

I understand the Templar Order is somewhat different in the Imperium.

[liberalum]

[ Dorian is still catching his breath from that last show, but not so much to hint at an awful lot of work on his part. He fights fast and fluid, and not concerned with beating a fellow mage to death as he might a demon, and as Maria approaches, he stands and inspects the knuckles of his casting hand. They appear a little ruddy, on their way to bruising, from where they'd been caught in a clash of staves.

It's nothing his own stash of elfroot mixture can't calm down. He looks up as Maria approaches, seeing her armor before he sees her face, but there's nothing very unfriendly in eye contact. Reserved, maybe. ]

Less backchat, [ he agrees. ] More back massages. The rumours are true.

[nofury]

At least all that endurance training is still good for something.

[ She takes her eyes off Dorian to glance over as the next pair of mages begin their bout- not as skilled, certainly, but learning. And maybe putting a little more energy into it than was strictly needed now that there was an audience. But small talk had never been her strongest suit, not when it wasn't required. So no point in trying to pretend at it now.]

But I hear their dispelling abilities leave something to be desired.

[slipshot]

[He'd heard about Dorian. Well - actually, he'd even seen him, as the man was rather hard to miss. But before, in Haven, the camp had been full of rumours and whispers about them, most not particularly nice. The blacksmith, in particular, had been a fountain of rather rude words the only time Dorian had come up in a conversation with him.

It was the Tevinter thing.

It was hard to really feel anything about people from Tevinter at all. He'd met only a few, and the rest may as well have been fairy stories of long ago. They had about as much impact on him as other fairy tales did. He'd never had to fight them, and his Clan hadn't had much contact with them at all. So it was more curiosity, than fear, that he felt. Plus, he'd gotten to know Krem, who was also from Tevinter, and Krem was great - so surely the mage couldn't be that bad?

(The Blacksmith's words rang in his ears but they just made him grin.)

He'd kept his distance since then in the same way he kept his distance from the majority of the Inquisition's inner circle. A sort of respect, mingled with guilt.

Today, though, he'd been planning to come out and bother Krem while he was training and found the mages at it instead, and so sat down on the edge of the fence, pulling out the cloth he had shoved into his pockets, carefully unwrapping it. Cookies, a little cheese, and a plum - his afternoon spoils from his raid of the kitchen. He watched with both curiosity and rapt attention, eating quietly until they finished up. He'd been about to disappear back where he had come from, when he noticed Dorian peeling off, and decided (without really thinking about it) to offer him a snack.]

Staves looks like hungry work. Cookie? Plum? I ate the cheese already, I'm afraid, I couldn't help it.

[liberalum]

[ Things Dorian is excited about: putting his entire body in a hot spring and then heading into the library to fall asleep reading Hard in Hightown (thus saving him from unnecessary brain death) until dinner rolled around.

But not so much that he can't stop when approached, placing the end of his staff into the dirt as he looks down those important few inches at the elf. Faint face markings that he hadn't noticed before when he'd noticed the rest of him, staring from the sidelines, but by now, it's no cause for immediate comment. Not when there's food on offer. ]

Good thing, really. These people put cheese on everything.

[ He takes the plum, looking it over for. Spots? Dirt? Surreptitious nibbles? All of the above. ]

Enjoyed the show, did you?

[slipshot]

[The plum is, thankfully, unscathed. Though if he'd been given even two minutes more, it wouldn't have been.]

It's an acquired taste, but I think I've acquired it. [He offers a grin that makes it unclear whether he means the cheese, or the show.]

I kept expecting things to suddenly burst into flame or shatter into ice crystals, but I'm not sure if I'm glad, or disappointed.

How To Train Your Fight Club In Tevinter (I couldn't resist)

[el_tybs]

[It had become a bit of habit for him to wander near the soon-to-be-garden, to see how it was coming along, after his morning practice. By all means he had expected it to be still and quiet as always, save for the occasional gardener. So of course when he sees someone practicing it catches him a bit off guard, before it draws him in.

He's sure to walk carefully as not to disturb the practice, taking a seat on a nearby boulder as he watches the man go through the motions. The steps, the rhythm, the calculated breathing, all done with such grace. Familiar, but different, obviously gained from years of casting magic and wielding a staff.

It isn't lost on him who he's watching either. Though he's never met the man, there has been plenty of stories around Skyhold to easily identify the Trevinter Mage. Course stories fell rather short from the actual thing.

Once Dorian eventually stops, Sam gives a light applause. Honestly he was impressed.]

Pretty impressive. Must be quite the show when you're actually casting magic along with all that.

[liberalum]

[ Many people might react less than well to applause, whether with self-consciousness, irritation, suspicion. Dorian is absolutely not any of these people, his final position -- staff following the line of his arm, feet planted, other hand at a calculated hover -- held for a few seconds before he relaxes. He flips staff from one hand to the other to shake himself free of tension, turning sharp on his heel to address his audience of one.

He sketches a bow for him, staff in hand. ]

It's certainly a lot more fun that way. Less so for whoever's on the wrong end of the staff, granted.

[el_tybs]

Two statements that I can agree to wholly.

[A chuckle at that. Even if there wasn't much here - yet - in this particular courtyard, it was probably very much appreciated that there wasn't magic spells being tossed all over the place, scorching or marking the stone as it were.]

Sorry if I'm intruding. It's been sometime since I've seen anyone practicing their staff techniques. [A pause followed by him rubbing the back of his sheepishly.] Myself included I suppose.

[mythalenaste]

[Pel soaks up learning like a sponge. She attacks the lessons with the voracious appetite of a dragonling feasting upon cute, helpless creatures. In fact, her focus may be called obsessive, determined to get everything perfectly correct. Not just on the first try, but repeatedly afterward. Movements slow at first, and speeding up after. Practice does not make perfect, after all. Practice makes permanent.

When working with a partner, she doesn't limit herself to the movements Dorian is teaching. Anything that will plant her opponent on their back is acceptable. Right? So if her pragmatic fencing offends you, you need to watch out before she slides her staff between your legs and leverages it to bend your knee and throw you off balance.

[el_tybs]

[Honestly? The Elf is a little bit intimidating from what he's seen while watching her practice. Though smaller, Sam can sense that she is like a slow building storm. She could easily overpower anyone who wasn't prepared enough. Which is why it takes him a while to build up the nerve to approach her. Not because he's scared, but simply because he isn't sure if walking up with provoke an attack.

So it's with slow movements and a wide berth that Sam walks closer to the woman.]

That's good form.

[mythalenaste]

[She turns to look toward the vaguely familiar voice, and realizes he is talking to her. He looks so bashful that he briefly inspires a sort of "awwww" reflex, though her expression does not change. She stands her staff upright at her side, holding it loosely. The glow of pride he gives her barely shows on the outside.]

Serannas. [She leaves her mouth open briefly, as if she's going to say more, but realizes she doesn't know how to follow that up. He complimented her, she thanked him, there's nothing more to say. And here she's supposed to be making friends. One more try.

...Nope. Nothing's coming out. Her inherent shyness is railing against her and screaming NO NO NO NO STRANGE PERSON YOU WILL SCARE HIM AWAY NO.]