[OPEN] Some new guests in the Gallows.

[minrathousian]

WHO: Atticus Vedici, Benedict Quintus Artemaeus + OPEN
WHAT: A magister and his apprentice getting acquainted with their new digs.
WHEN: The beginning of Matrinalis.
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Open to anyone, though especially to mage and templar characters

I. THE GALLOWS DUNGEON


Their accommodations leave much to be desired, but truth be told, their prison cells have better amenities than Atticus had been expecting.

There is a window, for example. It is a high window, barred and covered with magic-repulsing runes that prevent even the most determined and ingenious escape artist from making use of their abilities to make a break for freedom. There are wooden cots for sleeping, a blanket to ward off the chill, a basin with clean water in it for washing up--and a chamber pot, behind a small partition for privacy. (Atticus is unclear whose responsibility it will be to tend to that, but grimly, suspects he already knows.) Directly across from the door to his cell is the door to his apprentice's cell.

The door to the cells are steel bars, to allow for interrogation without the interrogator having to get too close to their subject. Atticus has already been subject to at least one round of rigorous questioning by Inquisition soldiers, but he is sure more are to come.

It is the middle of the afternoon, a few days after their arrival in Kirkwall and confinement in their cells. Having made an attempt at washing his face and hair, he stands with his back to the cell door and his eyes turned up towards the single window letting sunlight spill into his cell. He chafes the palm of one hand against the several day old stubble shadowing his jaw and the hollows of his cheeks.

It occurs to him, almost like an afterthought, that he's exhausted.



II. IN THE CORRIDORS


If Atticus Vedici and Benedict Quintus Artemaeus are to remain with the Inquisition and subside in relative comfort, then they are expected to make themselves useful in the process. Whether or not Benedict objects, Atticus does not.

And so, under a Templar guard and with their hands and feet bound with enchanted shackles, the pair of them are being led through the Gallows grounds en route to the Gallows' library, in order to perform (under duress), the research that will bring the Inquisition that much closer to gaining an edge over Corypheus and his Venatori forces.

[OOC:  If you don't feel like your characters would necessarily interact with two chained up Venatori mages under Templar guard but would still like to be involved, please feel free to post your characters' reaction, or interact with each other while witnessing this happen. w/e floats your boat really.]



III. THE GALLOWS LIBRARY


The work station that the Inquisitions' most senior enchanters and Templars have arranged for the two Venatori mages is located within the Gallows' library--but it is hardly situated in an area where a young apprentice or researcher could encounter either of them by random happenstance. In a converted cataloging room, Atticus and Benedict have been quite literally chained to their desks with a number of tomes, stacks of parchment, and other assorted tools laid out before them in order for them to perform their work. They have enough light to work by thanks to some light reaching them through an open window elsewhere in the library; the rest come from sconces and lanterns.

Atticus endures the dim lighting with aplomb, or appears to at any rate. After a length spell of silence--overseen by whomever has been (un)fortunate enough to chaperone them today--he makes a few final notes on a slip of parchment and passes it to Benedict across the table. "Cross-reference these with the notes we took yesterday," he instructs, his tone quiet and almost conversational. (His fingers, however, sport some suspicious bruising from where, the previous day, they had connected with Benedict's face.)


IV.  WILDCARD

(Surprise us!) 

Comments

I

[altusimperius]

The first few days involved a lot of rattling of the bars, insisting he can't be treated like this, demanding to be allowed contact with his family in Tevinter; but Benedict has gone quiet lately, nursing his injured pride and growing fear.
The turning point came when he tried to make a break for it, on one of their many journeys to the library. He'd attempted to slip between the guards, shackles and all, only to be caught almost instantly and manhandled by both back to his cell. He didn't accompany Atticus to the library that day, but has since sworn he'll behave himself, no doubt as a result of the soreness in his arms and upper body from when he was grabbed slammed against the wall.

He's been silent and sulky since then, avoiding looking at Atticus but no doubt still very much open to any visitors who might address him.

The evening after Benedict's escape attempt.

[minrathousian]

When he is returned to his prison cell that evening, Atticus waits in neutral silence for his templar escorts to unlock the door to his cell. They push him into it with a bit more force than necessary, but though he has to catch himself against the side of his wooden cot, he maintains his façade of calm.

He straightens and takes a moment to flex his sore wrists, still shackled together and growing raw. Then he turns and paces back to the door of his cell to stare disdainfully across at his apprentice in the chamber opposite him. "I expect it's unnecessary to reprimand you for that idiotic display in the corridor today," he says quietly.

[altusimperius]

"I don't need your opinion on it, thanks," comes the rash reply, Benedict sitting on the floor of his cell by the bars, this being the best place to get any view at all of the halls. "On this or anything else."

[minrathousian]

"I expect you will," comes the calm reply, "unless you wish to remain a captive of the Inquisition indefinitely." Atticus has made no overtures towards escape for himself; who knows, maybe he secretly really likes living the lifestyle of an ascetic.

[altusimperius]

"And whose fault is that," comes the retort, "you make it out like-- like it's my fault we're here, like I was the one stupid enough to get us caught." Being out of striking distance, he's more confident speaking this way. "And you haven't even tried to bargain for our release, have you! Do you like it here? Sticking your nose up the arse of these southern Templars?"

[minrathousian]

Atticus closes his eyes. He should have just left the boy to stew in his own impotent rage.

"My ability to bargain with anyone for your release is limited when you compromise my efforts with these idiotic bids for freedom." He casts an appraising glance towards whomever it is who has been tasked with keeping an eye on them this evening; no one he recognizes, at least not from this angle.

"We aren't going anywhere unless they choose to allow it. With that in mind, consider your words carefully."

[altusimperius]

"Bullshit," Benedict snaps, "you haven't tried. You were silent for days before I made an attempt. If I sit around waiting for you, I'll die here." He sniffs in a way both derisive and pathetic-- he'll die in awful, dirty clothes, in a dungeon. Would he even get a funeral?

[minrathousian]

How did this boy expect to survive Minrathous politics if he was incapable of tolerating a few days of relative discomfort.

"You have a bed," he says frankly. "You're being fed and watered. You're given tasks to occupy you. You haven't been tortured. You won't die." More's the pity.

He turns away from the door and walks over to the water basin, where he washes his face and makes an attempt at washing his hair. Already his beard has grown beyond what can be reasonably considered kempt; he grimaces when he inspects it with his fingers, but not much can be done about that now.

[altusimperius]

"Yet," Benedict grumps, slouching back against the wall with his arms folded. Narrowing his eyes at the nearest guard, he mutters "I've heard tell of how the southern savages treat their mages."

OK REALLY speaking of southern mages

[faithlikeaseed]

"Down that way, serah, but keep you back from the bars. Can't trust these Vint bastards further'n you can throw 'em."

"Thanks. Shouldn't take long. I'll yell if they start anything."

The steady tick, tick, tick of a staff tapping against stone precedes Myrobalan's arrival at the cells. He keeps near the center of the hallway, only stopping briefly to exchange a quiet greeting with the guard on duty. Down to the very end of the cell block, counting his steps until he reaches the end of it, where he signs the wall with a locator glyph the size of a coin.

Then he turns sharply on his heel, pacing back the way he came with the same measured tread until he's near the two occupied cells. halting there to frown to himself and chew his lower lip. It takes a little nerving up to step in close to the wall abutting Atticus' cell, to place another glyph--faint-glowing, softly chiming--on the stones before stepping back out of reach.

His objective complete, he knows he should leave--but doesn't, turning his head this way and that as he sightlessly studies the two men behind the bars.

Magisters. Childhood bogeymen. It's a little like being in the presence of some nasty caged predator; they're harmless now, but what had they been doing out there in the wild before they were caught...?

Re: OK REALLY speaking of southern mages

[minrathousian]

He's in the midst of towelling excess water from his face and hair when he hears the tick, tick, tick of the staff against the ground. Folding up the modest rag, he sets it next to the basin and moves quietly to stand beside the bars, inquisitively glancing into the oppressive corridor to catch a glimpse of their visitor. He raises his eyebrows; well now, this was rather unexpected.

A blind mage. Was this done to him by the Templars? He examines the barbarism with dark curiosity, saying nothing when Myr approaches his cell. The markings on his robes look distinctly Tevene, and yet not; interesting.

Atticus smiles; Myr can't see it, but perhaps he can hear it in his words. "What an interesting glyph," he compliments quietly. "I can't say I've seen its like before."

[altusimperius]

Benedict is blessedly silent for this, watching Myr with an expression of vague disgust and, if he can find it within himself, perhaps pity. It puts him on edge to see someone with no eyes, in particular a mage. Even if he is an elf.

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr turns fully in Atticus' direction as the man speaks, lifting his chin in defensive defiance. He...wasn't expecting them to be polite. "It's of my own design, magister," he says, tone level. "I trust they won't be a nuisance to you. The sound will stop once I've moved away from them."

[minrathousian]

"I see," Atticus replies. His tone is light, conversational, possibly even admiring. "A rather ingenious bit of thaumaturgical engineering on your part. How did you select the resonance frequency?"

It's difficult to get a look at the spot on the wall where Myr placed the glyph, but Atticus comes closer to the bars all the same.

[faithlikeaseed]

He folds both hands around his staff, lacing his fingers together--a nervous gesture to keep further nervousness from spreading to the rest of him. "Trial and error at first, once I discovered a configuration that would make any noise at all. I assembled a library of modifications to the tone and pitch through my experimentation that let me fine-tune them once I had something I liked."

His first instinct when he hears Atticus move is to bolt; he squashes it ruthlessly, though his grip on the staff tightens. They can't reach him here.

[minrathousian]

He can feel the bird-like flutter of the magic just out of reach, but the runed shackles that are visibly rubbing his wrists raw prevent him from even reaching out to touch the glyph. Atticus doesn't bother to hide his injury from Myr; the young man can't see it anyway.

"Fascinating," he says, and one gets the impression that he means it. "I am impressed that your Circle allowed you the chance to experiment so liberally. It was my understanding that such freedoms of expression were denied to the Southern mages. I'm pleased to see that some of you thrive despite your circumstances."

[faithlikeaseed]

"That isn't true," Myr replies hastily--then thinks of Vandelin, and the maimed Circle that once lived in this very keep. "--For all Circles, magister. While our lives are circumscribed in some ways, we're given a great deal of freedom in what we might pursue. Our enchanters are even permitted to travel," albeit under guard, in limited ways, "to further their research and share their knowledge with others."

His knuckles are whitening where he's clinging to his staff like a lifeline. The pain of bone and joints complaining of their mistreatment finally cuts through the fog of anxiety; Myr forces himself to draw in a breath and relax, loosening his grip digit by digit.

"We did well enough, here in the south. Magic was meant to serve, and we did." There's a quiet and absolute conviction behind the words.

[altusimperius]

A scoff is Benedict's only contribution, and he shakes his head. Chained dogs.

[minrathousian]

Perhaps all that is needed is one seed of doubt. A lighter touch.

Atticus allows a weighted length of silence to fall between himself and Myr. Then, still quiet, "I see," he says, in a voice that suggests that he sees much--such as the way that Myr grips his staff like it is all that he has left, and those unspoken words that lend darker nuance to the lived experiences of mages outside the Imperium. Yes, he sees that very well; Myr doesn't have to tell him about any of it for it to be plainly wrought across his face.

"My mistake, Ser Enchanter."

[faithlikeaseed]

He didn't realize until the words were out of his mouth that he'd been speaking of the Circles in the present tense--and then wasn't, as reality caught up to him. They'd done well, but now they weren't any longer, and this was no temporary supervised jaunt away from a home that was still there to return to, and his life--for the first time and ever--is now entirely in his own hands.

A sick feeling curdles in the pit of his stomach, fertile ground for the very doubt Atticus hopes to sew. Leave, whispers the voice of reason; there's nothing to be gained by standing and fighting here.

Except not being seen as a coward in the face of a pair of monsters. It's Benedict's derision that puts steel back into Myr's spine. "You object to my description?" he directs over his shoulder, then turns and steps back and widens his stance so he's better positioned to speak to both of them.

To Atticus, he adds: "I never earned that title, magister." What other form of address he'd prefer he keeps to himself; he may be digging in on this like an idiot but he isn't so stupid as to give everything away.

Yet.

[minrathousian]

Atticus watches him go, leaning against the bars of the cage to keep him in sight. He considers him; the young man is rattled, but respectful. Principled, clearly gifted. What a waste of potential.

"I never earned that title, magister."

"Forgive me for saying so," he replies, "but I think that is a great pity."

[altusimperius]

"Southern equivocation at its finest," Benedict drawls, raising his eyebrows as Myr turns toward him. "Magic is meant to serve man, certainly. It's also meant to be used to its full potential, not caged and muzzled like a lowly beast."

[faithlikeaseed]

Atticus' thoroughgoing politeness does not sit easily in Myr's head with the image of what a Tevene magister ought to be: sneering, self-superior, contemptuous. He hasn't much experience with monsters, let alone polite monsters, and does not know what to make of one when it sits before him. Bereft of guidance, his own native good nature takes over. "I don't ask for pity, but I forgive you and thank you all the same."

Benedict's jibe, on the other hand, is well within the remit of Myr's experience. One corner of the elf's mouth twists upward in a wry smile. "Do you also keep wild horses in your stables in Tevinter, and wolves in your kennels?" he retorts. "Or embrace fire's full potential to burn down your house?"

[minrathousian]

Atticus closes his eyes and exhales, reining in his impatience, and chooses not to reprimand Benedict as the stupid boy runs his mouth again. Undoubtedly, Myr would suspect duplicity if Atticus came to defense of his perspective.

So he remains silent and observes the exchange between them. Biding his time, more or less.

[altusimperius]

"No," Benedict scoffs, "and nor would we. Are you comparing learned magic to the savagery of wild animals? How little do they teach you in these pathetic Circles?" The corner of his lip twitches up slightly, a challenging smirk. "You hold the fire in a lantern, but still you control it. You don't have to shut it in a room guarded by knights to keep it from burning things down."