faderift | [OPEN] You were my direction and my roots.

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[OPEN] You were my direction and my roots.

WHO: (open) Myr and everyone; (closed) Myr, Vandelin, and Kit
WHAT: Some days in the life of a busy blind mage as he settles in.
WHEN: First part of August
WHERE: All around the Gallows.
NOTES: no one here but us elves

i.

Myrobalan had hardly put his request in to Casoferrazza before the harried seneschal had given him his approval and chased him off again. The man's haste to get the mage out of his hair had been a little alarming, but Myr isn't about to question what small blessings the Maker dealt out to him.

He places the first of his glyphs on the door to his double room and builds outward, weaving a network of sound and magic he can follow like a spider does the strands of its web. One glyph by every room he needs to know, a matching pair at the end of every major hallway. They're only active when he's close, glowing green and chiming softly in an assortment of different tones; otherwise, they fade to near-transparency and fall silent.

Still, they're a fairly obvious indicator of where he's been and where he hasn't in the three days it takes him to map the length and breadth of the Gallows, measuring his steps and marking what he needs to find again.

[OOC: Myr will be everywhere but the inside of the templar quarters and the upper levels of the mage quarters; feel free to encounter him anywhere but the dungeon.]

ii.

It's been no more than two weeks since the Hasmal contingent arrived and Myr's already out of sync with the waking life of the Gallows.

It isn't something that troubles him much any longer. His gutted Circle had grown used to him being awake all hours of the night and asleep much of the day, or elsewise--he contributed as much as they all did to their survival, so what of it?--so there had been little reason try and repair his schedule.

Besides, it's afforded him certain opportunities for peace and quiet he couldn't have otherwise. He'd marked how some of the more dedicated templars (and at least one knight-enchanter) were up well before dawn to attend to their own conditioning in the courtyard; how it rang with blades or hurried activity at all other hours of the day and into the torchlit evening.

The second hour after midnight, however, sees it standing empty, and Myr slips out into the darkness as gladly as a man going to meet a lover. He takes a moment to stand without the door of the mage tower, muting the glyph there so he can enjoy the velvet silence of the night. Then he begins to pace the courtyard in a regular grid, marking obstructions as he finds them. It isn't so hard like that to locate the space others have cleared for their own practice and bound it in his mind.

Only once he's sure it will be large enough for his own needs does he strip to the waist, folding up his light robe and laying it aside outside one corner of the practice area. Then he retreats back across cleared space, staff in-hand, counting his steps to the center where he stops and crisply salutes an imaginary opponent. The ritual gesture flows easily into the first of the forms, the patterns of attack graven into his muscle-memory.

Out here, unwatched, in the predawn darkness, he becomes for a little while the creature he was meant to be.

iii. (closed)

While they're harder to notice when Myr's not nearby, the locator glyphs aren't invisible at rest. They won't be so hard to follow back to their source at his room in the mage tower, where the glyph on the door gleams faintly in mute indication of the mage's presence.

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He lets out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding when Kattrin tells him to relax. "We didn't get much chance to be around animals in the Circle," he says, a little self-deprecating. "So I was afraid I'd startle him if I--did anything. Too much." Like breathe, or shift his weight slightly. Now he feels a little embarrassed for being that paranoid, though he keeps it from his face.

"Where did you meet him? If that's not presumptuous to ask." ...You know what is presumptuous, Myr, is your prying into this lady's history without any introductions. "--And forgive me for forgetting my manners. I'm Myrobalan, of Hasmal Circle. What's your name? And--your friend's name."

People did seem to be very fond of their companion animals around here, at least; it behooves him to learn more about them, if only to smooth things with their owners.

"I am Kattrin the Exile. My friend's name is not known to me just yet."

She didn't sound offended about the lack of manners though. It could be easy to forget something when one suddenly became distracted by a fennec. Besides, she was still learning what lowland manners were like in the first place. Still, at least she had confirmation that he was a Circle mage.

"I met him soon after I left the Frostback Mountains though. In the Hinterlands."

The fennec relaxed more when he did and shifted closer so that way he could actually sniff more at the mage's foot. Kattrin smiled gently at the creature, letting the two interact freely.

That's a kind of name that even Myr, in all his endless curiosity, knows better than to ask questions about. At least, not on their first meeting, and not the very stupid question--'So, what got you kicked out?'--that first springs irreverently to mind. He'll focus on the safer subject: "Do...fennecs ordinarily come with names? How would he tell you?"

And how would you learn to ask about them? Was it something done with magic, or a part of a culture and system of worship he maybe shouldn't be showing so much interest in, as a loyal son of the Chantry? (Though he can't honestly see what harm would come of asking in the course of studying another people. It isn't as if he's taken with the idea of speaking to animals himself.)

If she comes from the Frostbacks or beyond, though, that's a point toward the latter. "You're a long way from where you started, too, then. What brought you to the Inquisition? If I'm not prying too much by asking."

By this point in the day, his boots smell like Gallows and more Gallows. He's been tracking back and forth across all of it placing his glyphs, picking up scents from places as diverse as the armory and the baths. Potentially interesting stuff, for a creature who lives by his nose.

"Sometimes we might name them but I believe he is meant to show me the way to his own. He will show me when he is ready." Such was the life of believing this fennec was her spirit guide in this life. She didn't know what that would mean for the future but in the now she knew that he was guiding her in some way.

She didn't bother shaking her head at the thought of him prying. He wouldn't see it and she knew that now. "No. You would not be. I came because I witnessed the closing of a rift. I believe them to be on a holy quest and I wish to offer my services to this cause."

Which was a little awkward currently given the fact that she was an Avvar mage. Not many wanted to trust someone like that.

Whether or not she's a coreligionist--and he's leaning toward "not"--Myr won't mock at the idea of a holy quest. "That was the Divine's intent," he murmurs, "--may she rest in the Maker's arms."

He's been standing still long enough to get well and truly chilled by now, and gives a spasmodic little shiver. Carefully, so as not to accidentally kick the fennec, he straightens up and takes a step back, then makes his way back to where he's left his folded robe. "What d'you do here for the Inquisition, then?" he calls back over his shoulder.

The Divine. That was...the leader of the lowland religious order if she remembered correctly. Honestly she'd spent very little time in her life paying attention to the beliefs of the people below until she'd needed to live among them.

"I am a healer. Magical or otherwise. Some are not comfortable with an apostate healing them magically and I have no desire to push magic upon the unwilling."

...Ah, so. Myr shrugs into his robe, using the action as a cover for his sudden discomfort at the word "apostate". He knew to expect as much--his own cousin's with the Inquisition now, after all, and there's not really any better word for what Vandelin had desired so long to be--but it's a different thing to actually hear another mage announce it.

"There's certainly always need for healing, though," he replies, once he's certain he can do so evenly. "What--ah--school d'you practice?" ...No, maybe they didn't talk about it that way outside the Circles, or so far aways as the Frostbacks. "That's to say, do you work with spirits to do it, or just draw directly on the Fade?"

"School?" She wasn't sure what he meant by that and was grateful for the explanation. It helped to be able to tell what he was trying to ask her. "Ah. I work with the gods. They provide me with the power I need to help those around me."

She had quite a different take on spirits than most, she knew that. But she could hardly help it when she honestly didn't see why people feared them to begin with. It seemed so...unnecessary.

"I work with the gods. They provide me with the power I need to help those around me."

Maker, but that's uncomfortable to hear; it's only Myr's curiosity--and bone-deep civility--that keeps him from pouncing on that in ardent denunciation. There is but one god, and He is our Maker.

She's been here longer than he has, though, and has surely heard enough of that to make some kind of decision on by now. No need to make enemies with misplaced zealotry. "I think," he says, carefully, "we'd call that spirit healing back in the Circles. It's not something I had much aptitude for myself."

Robed once more, he returns to where Kattrin's seated and takes a place on the ground nearby with his feet tucked under him. He's not quite facing the right direction, but good enough. "What are your gods like? Who are they?"

Misnaming the Maker's first children...probably isn't so sacrilegious as worshipping demons or the old gods. Probably.

"There are many gods and each with their own personality. It would take a long time to explain them all to you, I am afraid."

She smiled a little though because he'd seemed cautious about what she'd been saying yet was still willing to listen. To her it was...a good sign. Even a little openness was better than none at all.

"Do you know of the old gods at all?"

"Here's to hoping we've got a long time, then," he replies, with a wry smile. "No telling with Corypheus around."

...And then she neatly demolishes the nice little rationalization he'd been building about how her gods couldn't be so bad as he thought. Or--well. She hasn't said yet she follows the old gods, and while his smile fades, curiosity keeps him in place.

"The dragons men worshipped in place of the Maker--the ones who lured the Magisters to the Golden City?" Those are the only old gods he knows; perhaps she means something different.

"No. The old gods of the Alamarri tribes. I was born and raised Avvar."

He wouldn't be able to tell by her looks given the state of his vision and not everyone would know her accent. That meant simply saying as much honestly. She certainly didn't mind. It wasn't as if it was a secret.

Oh. Oh. That explains much, from the accent to the Frostbacks. Myr somehow manages to look both a little chastened and a lot intrigued at Kattrin's explanation of her origins.

"Oh! The, uh--" Same ones who failed to answer the Prophetess when she prayed for aid against the slavers, doesn't seem particularly diplomatic here. "--the Chant does mention them, but not in so much detail. I'm afraid I never studied them much. We didn't hear much about your people as far east as Hasmal, and I'm certain most of what we did hear was wrong."

"I imagine one is not so likely to hear much of the Avvar in the Circle either. Templar are forbidden in the mountains. No hold will allow them to enter to be near the mages living there."

It was not an accusation of any kind, just a statement of fact. The Templar had something of a history when it came to apostates and how they treated them. It was true all were not like that but the fact that enough were...

"The Avvar also tend to keep to themselves rather than share how they live their lives with the lowlanders. Given how fearful many are just looking upon me when I do nothing but walk by, I can see why."

What little he does know of the Avvar suggests just what would happen if the Order had gotten so bold as to try and take their mages back to the Circles. "No, of course not; you'd be rightfully wary of them," he says, with some sympathy. Whether or not they consort too freely with spirits and spit on the Chant--reason enough for other Andrastians to condemn the whole lot of them--no one wants their home invaded or their relatives taken by force.

(So why then are the people of the Free Marches so complicit with it?)

"Mm. But it might be the lack of knowledge that begets the fear--if you'll forgive me for saying so, serah." Myr softens the comment with a smile. "I don't know I would've sought out an Avvar myself to talk to her, from what little I had heard--so, thank you for talking to me."

"There is nothing to forgive when it is truth." She wasn't offended in the slightest and even gave a small laugh. "It is why I am willing to share knowledge of them. I only ever ask to learn something in exchange."

It was what was fair and she believed strongly in fair trade. One thing for another. She would share about the Avvar people but never for free. At least that was proving to not be a problem here since those who sought knowledge usually were ready to share some in return.

"There is no need to thank me though. I simply followed the fennec."

He laughs in turn and ducks his head, taking that as reproof for the needless apology. No telling how delicate he needed to be around someone he'd only just met. "That's hardly onerous. Is there something I can tell you about in return?"

It is only fair, after all; whatever the differences in their beliefs, that's one Myr can agree with her wholeheartedly on.

"Then thank you to the fennec," he adds, smile widening. "But I'm still glad you took it to mean you should speak with me." He's no stranger to the idea of signs, and just how variously one might interpret or act on them. And that gladness is genuine.

She considered his question carefully, wondering what she might like to learn from him. In the end, she knew that there was just one thing. They might not ever agree on matters of the Circle but the fact was that he was from it. He would be able to tell her what it had been like for him.

"Will you answer my questions about the Circle? If so then I will answer your questions about the Avvar."

"Gladly." Even if it weren't in return for new knowledge about a people he barely knows, he'd be happy to answer questions about the Circle. His own experiences were far more sweet than bitter; something in him will always be glad to speak of home. "Though I may need to study up before I even know enough to ask questions.

"And while I'd be glad to talk your ear off all night," he continues, wryly amused, "I think it's growing late--or, ah, early--enough I ought to get to the baths before I get about my day."

"May I ask one thing before you go?" She paused a moment to consider if it would be right to ask. But he hadn't seemed to be hiding his blindness, even if he was moving well despite it.

"How do you see without sight?"

...Ah.

Well.

His smile takes a turn for the rueful. "I don't." The words are suited to match his smile. "I've gotten very good at listening and remembering where things are, over the years."

She smiled a little. Yes, it might just be hearing and remembering but...

"It is beautiful." Rising to her feet, she went to wander off, the fennec following. There was no need for her to do something like follow him to the communal baths. She could go other places now.

"It is beautiful."

It's not something he's accustomed to hearing, and it leaves him speechless as she walks away.

Perhaps being interrupted wasn't so bad a thing after all, he thinks at last, and climbs to his feet to head for the baths.

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[OPEN] You were my direction and my roots.

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