[Open]

[unharrowed]

WHO: Vasran and OPEN
WHAT: Celebrating being declared a Real Mage, training with her very own staff
WHEN: Late August
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: N/A

In the end, the pseudo-Harrowing endorsed by the Mage Council had turned out to be just like dreaming. Vasran had been prepared for what she was about to face, as well as one could be prepared. To walk in the Fade was to know that nothing could be trusted except one's own mind. And it was the mind that was truly important, because demons could trick the eyes, could distract the senses, could so easily toy with emotions. Logic and will, two things which were so simple and yet so difficult to wield effectively, were the only things that could be counted on.

It was a Desire demon that had tried to take her, offering her comfort and wealth and position enough to take whatever she wanted from a world where everything had once been lost to her. Of all things, it was Vasran's pride that allowed her to refuse the demon's offer.

She would take what she got back from the world on her own terms, and no one else's.

The day after she woke again, she celebrated in the Tavern, a place where she had rarely been seen before, dancing and tossing back as many cups of wine as she could afford — or convince others to pay for. As the evening went on, she got bolder, approaching a few people head-on with her empty cup and shoving it toward them.

"Buy a drink for a demon-slayer!"

In the days after — once the subsequent hangover had subsided — she could be found on the Training Grounds, drilling battle techniques with her staff, sending bursts of electrical energy toward the targets.

Comments

Training Grounds

[nadasharillen]

Recognizing Vasran from her embroidery work in the hall, Nahariel stopped to watch for a bit, eyes squinted against the sun.

"Ho there, lethallan," she called out quietly between salvos, "Let me know if you've ever a mind to have your great deeds carved into the haft of that." Nari wrinkled her nose, remembering how long it had been since she'd been at the pells. "Or if you've a need for some close combat sparring."

It was one of the things she'd worked on with Sina. Magic was all well and good from a distance, but if something got the drop on you?

[unharrowed]

"I might fancy some improvement with a knife." Many mages had an aversion to blades. Vasran was not one of them. The only thing holding her back in that regard was... not being very good with them. Beyond knowing that the pointy end went in the other person.

She planted the butt of her staff in the grass, turning to admire the haft and imagine just what it might look like with some great deeds carved into it. Since she had no doubt she would be performing some, it was worth considering.

"Carved how?" she asked, turning her attention to Nahariel instead. "...is that how you interpret the markings on your faces? Is it a form of writing?"

[nadasharillen]

"I was thinking more of close-combat staffwork--I know a few good tricks for if someone manages to close with you on the field," Nari began, having had the same thoughts about blade-averse mages, "but I'm happy to pass along what little I know about knives."

The elf smiled crookedly. "Truth be told, I'm a better hand at fighting beasts than men, but the same principle holds. Be quick, be clean, be the one who walks away afterwards." And yes. Pointy end goes in the other person.

"For the carving?" she said, frowning slightly in thought, "Figures in relief, most like. Demons being slain by lightning, a beast you think of a totem--something to remind you of times you were strong. Something to look at, or to feel beneath your hands as you fight, when you need to remember that strength. Or something you want to become, to remind you of what you want to achieve.

"As for the vallaslin... it's..." Nahariel frowned again, rubbed the furrow in her brow and nodded slowly. "...ye-es? In a way. I've heard it called blood writing as well--although it's not writing like one might write a letter. At their most basic, they show you which of the Creators that elf has chosen as their patron." She traced the sweeping line of her tattoo with a forefinger. "Mine is for June--the Master of Crafts.

"Beyond that, if you know what you're looking for, you can tell what clan someone's from. And if you're really perceptive, a bit about the elf themselves." The lopsided grin was back. "Or at least how their Keeper saw them."

"So yes," she finished, with a nod, "a form of writing."

[unharrowed]

Vasran continued to admire the staff as Nahariel described the potential carvings. At the same time, she was imagining what 'staffwork' might look like. She'd already seen some in action, courtesy of that newly-arrived rifter. Could be useful.

Her eyes narrowed a little during the description of the vallaslin. Like many in the Inquisition, she'd heard rumors about what exactly they meant, how they were done. The phrase 'blood writing' was not new to her.

"Writing in blood?" Blood mixed in with the ink? Was that how it worked?

[nadasharillen]

"Well..." Nahariel gesticulated vaguely, the subject of their conversation crinkling on her face as her brow furrowed in thought. Her mouth opened and closed several times, lips thinning farther in frustration each time, until finally the elf huffed out a sigh and quirked a grin at Vasran.

"I don't really know," she said, green eyes sparkling with self-aware mirth, "I never thought much more deeply about it than simply meditating on which of the Creators I wanted to honor. I bled some, during. Most everyone does. I guess I thought that's where the name came from." She shifted her stance, lifted her shoulders, let them fall.

"For all that I went through the Rite, I'm no Keeper. I didn't know much more than it was how you became an adult, how you said to your Clan and the Creators--and anyone else you met--that you chose to keep the old ways. That you were the last of the Elvhenan, and never again would you submit."

Tavern

[circleprodigy]

Inessa doesn't normally enter the tavern considering how rowdy it can get, but it's fairly early in the evening and she's just arrived with the resupply caravan from Halamshiral. A little relaxation before slipping away as the noise gets to her seems worth the risk. Her mabari follows her into the tavern and makes himself welcome by plopping down on the floor where people can't trip over him. Giving him a treat to keep him satisfied, Inessa only leaves momentarily, to request some wine while she reads.

Or at least she plans to read, but the Grey Warden mage doesn't get to take out her book before her eyes lock onto a familiar face belonging to a dancing mage. "Vasran?!?" It's been about a year and a half, but Inessa has a knack for remembering names and faces, and it's hard to forget someone she basically grew up with.

[unharrowed]

The exclamation makes Vasran wonder if she has, perhaps, a very large stain on her robes — until she does a double-take and realizes exactly who's eyes she's looking into.

"Ness?!"

Once upon a time, Vasran had viewed Inessa as some blend between a friend and a rival. They were the same age, both elves that had been taken from their parents into the Circle, both eager students. Vasran could remember swallowing her resentment at the fact that Inessa had been chosen for the Harrowing first, that there was now a gap of knowledge and experience between them that couldn't be breached.

Not so anymore — and besides, she had thought all the others from Kinloch Hold were long dead. She moves immediately from the dance floor, staring at Inessa the whole way over.

"Maker," she breathes. "You're alive!" She's uncertain of what else to say, until she looks down and notices the mabari.

"...and you have a dog!"

[circleprodigy]

It's been a long time since Inessa's heard that nickname, and despite any past rivalry, it makes her smile. She hadn't expected to see Vasran again any more than Vasran had evidently expected to see her. Kinloch Hold isn't something she's had in common with many mages in the Inquisition, despite its relatively close proximity. This surprise is definitely a welcome one, though, and she gesture to the seat in front of her.

"If your feet are in need of a break, please join us. This is Garahel. He imprinted on me soon after my Joining." Upon being introduced, the mabari perks up and wuffs quietly, tail wagging. He loves meeting new people. "What's this about demon-slaying?"

[unharrowed]

"Joining," Vasran echoes with a shake of her head. One more reminder of what the rebellion had forced all of them into. But she's in no mood to get bogged down this evening. She's celebrating.

"A tragic injustice has been put to rest," she says, smirking as she leans against the table rather than sit all the way down, for the moment. "You remember how I was very nearly put through my Harrowing before everything started falling apart? As of today, no one can make the claim that I'm a permanent apprentice."

[circleprodigy]

That definitely gets her attention, and Inessa raises her eyebrows. "Harrowings are performed here? I didn't realize." Don't worry, she's not going to get political about it. In the Circle, Inessa was nominally an Aequitarian, but she cared more about her books and research than anything else. And Harrowings served a purpose. "Congratulations, Vasran. Knowing that your will is stronger than any demon is a feeling not soon forgotten. Let me buy you a drink, and tell me all about it."

Now that Vasran is a properly Harrowed mage, there's no reason to hold back from exchanging insights about it. She couldn't before, it wasn't permitted, but now? Well, now they're both Harrowed, and on even footing.

Tavern

[demonicbeauty]

Ariadne spent a good deal of time in the tavern. It was a wistful place for her, one that made her think of Marcel and how much she missed him. It was funny. She so rarely had the time or the luxury to miss someone. Let alone someone she'd barely known. But the Fade had had quite a few strange influences on her. Who was to say that wasn't one more?

She was sitting on the railing of the upper floor, watching the sea of humanity ebb and flow below. It was her favorite little perch and she'd made friends with enough of the staff that they smiled and politely ignored her, leaving her alone with her thoughts and observations.

As soon as Vasran walked in, Ariadne sensed a certain change in the other woman's carriage. The probabilities were too numerous for her to pin down a single cause, but it was fun to watch her cavort.

The night wore on and Ariadne kept to herself, until she saw one of Vasran's efforts to win a drink fail. "Careful, Elf," she called down with a bright, playful smile. "You might be losing your touch."

[unharrowed]

By that point, Vasran had had enough wine that she was starting not to care how successful her attempts were.

Although not enough to stop trying. Especially not when she was being challenged.

"First thing I lost today, if so," she crowed upward, raising her empty glass, "Human."

[demonicbeauty]

With a giggle, Ariadne raised an invisible glass back to her. Alastrians couldn't be intoxicated, so drink had never had much interest for Ariadne. Anyway, she didn't carry money. Occasionally, a stranger might send something over, but tonight, she'd been particularly inconspicuous.

"What are we celebrating?" she asked. "I heard something about demon slaying."

An involuntary shudder crept up the back of her spine.

[unharrowed]

As exuberant as she was feeling, Vasran had no desire to conduct an entire conversation through shouting. So she climbed up the stairs to join Araidne on the second level, settling next to her by the railing, letting her feet dangle over the edge.

"There's a tradition in the Circles," she explained. "A ritual, after which one may be considered a legitimate mage, rather than a mere apprentice. I wasn't able to go through mine, because some people decided we ought to all go live in the woods instead."

Her smile grew. "Not so anymore."

[demonicbeauty]

A rite of passage? How wonderful. Alastrians had none themselves, other than bonding with a mate. So Ariadne had no firsthand experience with such things.

But plenty of second-hand.

In her position, both as niece of the royal translator and as resistance spy, she'd attended many parties celebrating such things. Weddings and Daruc rituals. Naming ceremonies and retirements. Each had its own unique flavor, but they all shared a sense of joy and family. Ariadne loved that.

She smiled at her friend, offering her a light touch on the shoulder. "Congratulations!" she said with genuine enthusiasm. "No wonder you're in such a good mood."

Tavern

[justice_is_blond]

He's been near the edge of the crowd, sipping his drink slowly as he reads through some notes, idly noting Vasran wandering around. While Anders doesn't put much stock in the Harrowing, old or new, so long as mages are going in fully informed, aware, willing, and trained, he has no problem with it. It could mean other people fear mages less.

Celebrating it, however, hadn't occurred to him. Anders blinks at her when she pushes the cup near him. After a beat, he shrugs and nods to the bartender.

"One for her on my tab." She's making a life. Boldness and belligerence would serve her well out here when it wouldn't have in the Circle, so he can't very well begrudge her demand.

[unharrowed]

In the Circle, Vasran's enthusiasm would have been tempered by the secrecy and solemnity that surrounded the Harrowing. The boldness that Adelaide has been encouraging her to embrace would have been, at best, honed into the fuel for ruthless power games — at worst, an excuse for Tranquility or execution.

Here, she can be as young and brash as she is — and not stop to think about what that truly means.

She gives her head a little satisfied toss as the barman refills her cup.

"Thank you kindly, Ser." She's smiling at him. Beaming, actually. At Anders. There may be something slightly biting in it, but it's bright all the same.

[justice_is_blond]

More surprising than anything else is the smile. For a moment Anders just stares, before giving her a small smile back.

"Anders, please, Vasran. It may not be my name, but it works." Ser is about as far from what he is as one can get, and lately he feels it more. "Take a seat, tell me how it went?"

Anything had to go better than his. And if she's smiling, even with that edge, maybe she's amenable to chatting. He can read his notes again later.

[unharrowed]

She settles next to him, still looking smug, accepting the refilled wine.

"It was frightening." And she can admit as much, because she made it out the other side. Because she pushed through under her own power. "Even though they did tell me what was going to happen, they couldn't say what kind of demon would appear, or what it would do to try and sway me. And the raw Fade is... an eerie place."

She is no longer so envious of those who were tossed into the Fade in the Western Approach.

"And it's odd, isn't it? You know what the demon's telling you is wrong, but you can feel it working to persuade you." She takes a sip of wine, and remembers who she's talking to. She wonders how it felt, talking to Justice, if he'd been able to tell the difference, but isn't certain how to ask... so instead, he gets a glance, half-knowing, half-curious.

[justice_is_blond]

"It's very odd, and very eerie. And it's about time that mages were informed beforehand rather than being ripped out of bed and sent into the unknown." It's good she's pleased with herself, that she feels some confidence in defeating a demon... but at the same time, there's nothing the old or new Harrowings can really do to prepare a mage.

"They've ways of getting inside your head. I've been in the Fade..." He exhales and shakes his head. "Three times?" Harrowed, dealing with the Black Marshes, and then helping Feynriel, even if he'd been barely a passenger for the last. "I'll be glad to never go back in. But I know how my luck tends to turn out."

training, cause where else would one find Cullen?

[lionheartedman]

It wasn't Cullen who noticed her first. It was actually Puppy. He came over, the ever expanding bulk of him surprisingly light on his massive feet. He picked a spot near the edge of her range of destruction and sat back on his haunches, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted, head tilted in a deceptively human gesture of attention.

It took a good ten minutes for Cullen to notice the absence, another few to find his hound, and when he did, rather than calling him away or interrupting Vasran, he stood beside the mabari, watching with the same focus and attention. It hadn't taken him long to discover than anything Puppy was willing to devote his attention to was something worth noticing. So he tried to see what his dog saw.

but of course!

[unharrowed]

When Vasran first noticed the hound, she merely paused in her target practice, looking to confirm that he was, in fact, watching her.

"Come for a rematch?" she asked lightly. Her own answer to that was to continue shooting electrical volleys at the target, watching the edges of it gradually singe.

She nearly forgot the mabari was there until another several minutes had passed, and when she turned to see whether he was there still, she started a little, her spine straightening.

The Commander was watching.

[lionheartedman]

"Oh, don't stop on my account." He could place the face from the snowball fight, one of the unfortunate souls that Puppy had decided to make the focus of his eager attempts to get all the flags ever for his person.

She seemed very focused. Maybe a little angry. He could understand that. They were all a little angry, some just hid it better than others. "Something on your mind?" It was entirely possible that it was nothing, that she had simply reached that enviable point in life of being able to devote all of her attention to a task at hand without some deeper issue fueling the fire.

[unharrowed]

Not long ago, Vasran might have been more angry than focused. Of late, her anger had become more of a tool. She knew how to be angry, how to let it fuel and hone her fire, even when there was nothing in particular to be angry about.

"The staff is new, Ser," she said, weighing it in her hands a little. She'd been doing that a lot when she wasn't casting, working toward a place where it felt no different from an extension of her body. "I've been eager to get accustomed to it — wouldn't do to be fumbling on the battlefield."

[lionheartedman]

"Certainly not. You have exceptional aim." A little whuff of agreement from near his knee, and he chuckled. "Puppy agrees."

Still, he watched enough to have a suggestion. "If I may? Try taking deeper breaths. Much deeper." Meditative, almost, but he didn't outright say so. Tension in the frame didn't do much good when one was wielding a staff, not a sword.