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

[nofury]

[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.]

[liberalum]

[ 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.

[nofury]

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.

[liberalum]

[ 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. ]

[nofury]

[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.

[liberalum]

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. ]