[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.

III

[altusimperius]

Benedict has weathered the research sessions with considerably less grace, much resembling an ornery child in the way he goes about most activities, but anyone who saw him in those first few days might note a marked difference in behavior.
The slip of parchment merits a sigh and a roll of his eyes, but no sass more overt than that. It may be related to the bruising on his face, surrounding a small scar on his cheekbone where the skin split from a blow taken full-force.

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."

[unbrokenoath]

She hadn't believed it, the first time she'd heard about it. Not until she got a glance at him from a distance--and promptly had to step away to laugh about it. None of the other Wardens were going to believe this shit--Maker's ass, did Teren know?

It's a shame her dress she'd met him in hadn't quite come out of the events of that time in the same condition it had entered her life, but perhaps it was for the best. After some thought about how to present herself, Kaisa opts for a casual outfit--but one that made sure everyone in a ten mile radius was acutely aware that she was a Warden. Perfect.

And thus, she flounces into the library like a storm of blue and gray, grabbing a seat and all but throwing it down between the two men, elbows propping up on the table.

"What, did your mother finally agree on the match? Mamam wrote to her ages ago, but we figured the letter must have been lost. Yet here you are! I suppose your mother's letter of agreement must have been the lost one. How do you feel about summer weddings?"

Atticus is, after a moment, glanced over at, and given a dazzling smile. "Are you going to be the best man?"

[minrathousian]

It's fair to say that Atticus startles when the chair comes clattering down between himself and Benedict, but he recovers with aplomb. He stares between them in bemused silence, his eyebrows creeping archly higher.

"Are you going to be the best man?"

"Felicitations," he informs his apprentice mildly.

[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?

[altusimperius]

For his part, Benedict looks like he's seen a ghost. In a sense, he has, but there are details to this ghostly figure that simply don't add up in his mind: the colors, for one, and the... her... being here, for another. It takes him some time before he's even able to articulate a response, and when he does, it's a thin "it's you."

[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."

I

[limier]

Steel no longer shrouds her, but there’s armor about this all the same: Expression ground pointedly neutral, hands folded neatly behind her back.

"Magister."

She’s not been back long, and their introduction had left much to be desired. Duty asks a public remove. The Inquisition has dedicated agents for the rest: trained and skilled at digging; sharp instruments where hers have always conjured a blunter refrain.

But she doesn’t only serve the Inquisition, and they'll be seeing no shortage of each other in the days to come. The sooner they acquire some understanding, perhaps the sooner that her instincts might be smothered — they'll do little good here, without opportunity to heed them. Paranoia can be as dangerous as inattention, as preoccupying.

(It's been chiming loud from the first word of news.)

"And your apprentice." Either a remarkably good actor, or terribly out of his depth. Perhaps he'd deserve more focus, if he could be separated from the fold. As it stands? Evenly, "I trust we'll not have a repeat of the other day's incident."

Brief and uncoordinated as it was. It seems unlikely that Vedici was consulted; still, best no one grow to assume the task will always be so easy.

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."

Re: I

[minrathousian]

Seated very still on the wooden cot, Atticus opens his eyes. For an instant, his pupils are blown wide and black; then he blinks, and seems to come back to himself. He glances towards the Templar and rises to his feet, like a gentleman demonstrating courtesy when a lady has entered the room.

"Ser Coupe," he greets her courteously. "How kind of you to visit us."

When her attention shifts to Benedict, he says nothing, and his gaze starts to wander again.

[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.

[altusimperius]

Benedict gets to his feet when the Templar arrives, not one to be caught sitting down and small when such a symbol of brutality is present. He wraps his fingers around the bars, spaced in such a way that his shackles hang loosely, as comfortably as possible.
"I trust you sent my letter?" he retorts imperiously.

[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.

II

[eolasemah]

Periodically Sina visits the Gallows for the Inquisition's infirmary, both to assist with the herbal remedies and to receive treatment and study herself. Her anchor hasn't done anything too interesting lately, for which she's thankful, but she'd be lying if she said she doesn't feel it seeping further in, penetrating her very bones.

She's got her basket and, apart from being visibly Dalish and having a green glow in her chest, is unremarkable as she traverses the Gallows courtyard. She happens to glance up while passing the two captives and their escort, and what she notices stops her dead. Neither one is familiar, yet one... is, in some unspeakable way. She's certain she doesn't recognize him, but she stares anyway, eyes wide in bewilderment.

[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."

Re: II

[minrathousian]

Their small procession is guided through the Gallows courtyard at a pace just the uncomfortable side of being brisk. The Templars don't permit them the chance to loiter and speak to others, but there's really nothing they can do to prevent the Venatori prisoners from look at the loitering passers-by.

So it is at that moment when Atticus, noticing the presence of someone in his peripheral vision, fixes his eyes on Sina and recognizes her immediately. His very pale eyes flick down to the green glow emanating from her chest, then back up to her gaze. For a fraction of a second, he smiles a smile clear as glass.

Then he looks forward again, and on he goes.