faderift | I. OPEN.

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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Power for the sake of power alone is an unsettling concept anywhere, Altus. Whether the source is magical, physical, or Divine.

[ Or all three, in the case of the claims made by their current adversary. But the differences between what Tevinter and Ferelden found unsettling could last well into next week if they started in on it. A tiny head shake as she tapped the fingers of one hand along the side her elbow, together a small dismissal of that potential side-track. On her end, at least.]

Point being that's something that needs to be rectified. You're one of the few openly training the mages in anything not related to herbs and healing. So you're the one who gets to be asked. Would any of your students be receptive to...cooperative training exercises?

[ She paused briefly, then turned her entire focus to meeting Dorian's gaze. Personal approval or disapproval was irrelevant at the moment. Even the fate of the Circle, of Mages and Templars, was irrelevant. That would one day all be in the hands of those far outranking her, left to the new Divine herself. But making sure the mages and Templars within the Inquisition wouldn't be too busy being terrified of each other to effectively face the enemy wasn't something in the vague, distant future. That was the only mission that mattered in the here and now.]

Or I have no pressing plans this afternoon, if you'd like to try my proposal first hand before making up your mind.

[ Dorian isn't sure if he'd have given her the benefit of the doubt; if the Knight-Captain had a reputation beyond what hints he'd seen of her around Skyhold and on public sending crystal correspondence,it's not one so cut and dry to him that he could guess either way if a reprimand was waiting on the end of her observation, or a deal of some kind.

Where it ultimately winds up seems to brighten his manner, ever so. ]

I'd be delighted, [ he says, and somehow at once sounds both ironic and sincere. Curious, above all.

So, too, are bystanders, especially as Dorian takes a step to pace around her, with an intended trajectory out of out of the way. ]

Would you care to take up the staff, or did you have something else in mind?

[ His own staff cuts the air in absent swoop, but drawn aside in pantomime show of being willing to discard it for something else. ]

Dulled blade and shield. But-

[She glances at the crowed around them with a wry smile.]

Maybe somewhere a little further out from the grounds. Morale may not survive if the tavern goes up in flame.

[Staff and blade were fine practice, but she had a far more hands on exercise in mind. How templar abilities fared against half trained apostates she knew well enough. Against a trained magister, though? That was the interesting question. And one she wasn't sure it would be best to answer where there was so much potential collateral from either of them.]

[ It only takes a split second for Dorian to catch her meaning, and perhaps it should make him hesitate. Her superior -- regardless as to whether or not he's chosen to remain in Skyhold -- had outright threatened his death. Wiser men might turn her down.

Instead, he glances over towards the onlookers. ]

If I don't return before supper, you'll know who to interrogate.

[ The uneasy chuckle that brings is as much for the dicey humour surrounding real and true tensions as it is for the fact no one is readily volunteering to care about what happens with the evil magister publicly. Not even in jest. ]

There's a decent flat of rock to the west of the bridge that doesn't get much ice on it at this hour. Good for picnics, usually. Shall I meet you there?

[Her eyebrow goes up a little at 'picnics' but she's gathering the fact half of what the man said could simply be discarded. No point challenging what was clearly meant for his own entertainment rather than as any kind of suggestion.]

I'll get my gear.

[And true to her word, after gathering the training sword, some water, and a handful of lyrium potions (in case it became an extended session, regardless of the supper check in time), she arrived at the designated location.]

[ Yes, those are what we term jokes up in the north. The mild, crooked smile that Dorian reflects back at her at skeptical eyebrow arch is not entirely articulate enough to communicate this verbatim, but it tries.

A gentlemanly gesture bids her temporary adieu, and he goes to get his own gear.

When he returns, he's dressed still in the same leathers, but now, little gleaming vials of lyrium are fixed to a strap in easy reach, and his casting books jangle at his hip. He probably won't use them, but they're familiar weights he's used to accounting for when he fights. The staff he has in hand is a grander item than the practice one he was using -- polished black wood gleams almost as proudly as the serpenstone. ]

We'll have to bring with us an audience for next time, [ he says, by way of greeting. ] Trusting we don't kill one another in the course of this session.

I'd heard Tevinter prided itself on having more control over their magic than our southern barbarians. I guess every rumor can't be true.

[It probably says something about how much Maria actually enjoys a good sparring match that her tone is lighter now as she secures her shield than it had been up to this point. And more than just training, she was poised to learn something potentially new and interesting. Something that could serve to help in the war ahead. That the training exercise came with a constantly running mouth attached was a small price to pay in the face of that.]

But public exercises will have to be contained. At least at first. Strictly set limits and simple routines until there's some faith established.

[Shield now in place, she finds a patch of clear ground to plant her feet in, falling easily into a defensive pose.]

This isn't that kind of match.

[ He laughs, first, a flash of white teeth visible beneath the articulate curl of mustache. With a lifetime of posturing under his belt, Dorian is equally as likely to allow actions to speak for themselves as he is to brag with words alone. In this instance, with a match about to begin, he allows her sass to stand uncommented on.

He will show control.

Warming himself, he hefts the staff to one hand and spins it lazily, up over head, down again, a fluid movement that trades from one-handed to two as he listens, and settles in to his own defensive stance, all the while listening. Pleasantly; ]

Then I shan't go easy on you.

[ He fires off a surge of energy, the kind easily turned aside by Templar shield, but the same movement sees the weapon hit the ground, and a ring of pulsing white light begins to circle Maria's feet, marking the ground she established herself upon with runic threat of an impending spell. ]

[The shield performs its job, deflecting the energy away, and Maria gives him a knowing look as the light hits the corner of her eye. It's early in the match, still feeling each other out. So she only calls upon her faith- or the lyrium, or whatever people wanted to call the source of their abilities- to dispel the building magic rather than attempting to shatter the source.

Even with the spell interrupted, she's on the move. Mages had the upper hand at range, and she was intent to close the distance before too many spells could come between them to drain her stamina.]

I don't need coddling.

Neither do I.

[ But they are, both, taking a measure of one another, not to mention, attempting not to commit murder. A sharp swipe across of staff sees a glimmering green quality in the air, recognisable to those who have participated in mage combat as a buffering, guarding energy, before Dorian makes swift strides to rather gamely meet her head on.

Better than running around in a circle until he cultivates enough energy for another, meaner spell, and his staff suddenly ignites in crackling electricity as he brings it around in a strong armed swing directly for the Knight-Captain's head.

He expects to meet shield or sword. Forks of energy will travel on connection, leaping to her armor, zapping and sparking. ]

I. OPEN.

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