[OPEN] You were my direction and my roots.

[faithlikeaseed]

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.

Comments

[faithlikeaseed]

At that, he laughs. "All right--extravagantly flattered, in that case; you've knocked a whole decade off." He looks like he'd say more--and then scent of ozone catches him as the breeze shifts, and his thoughts clunk to a halt.

...Has he been sassing a templar this whole time?

Maker's nails.

Well, whatever. The fellow's been so kind as to roll with it and he'll get over the fatal embarrassment eventually. "--Uhm. It's," he takes a breath to steady himself, "my own design, ser, though they're modified from a similar passive glyph we use for marking things. They're extremely flexible, if you're willing to experiment and risk the periodic exciting failure."

[judgemewhole]

"Well then I have greatly flattered you, and am pleased to do so." Norrington stated simply, before he went to kneel down to check out the glyph more closely.

He tipped his head, to the side, looking from one end to the other. "That is remarkably amazingly complex magic, serah. I'm impressed by the skill." This kind of magic was unbelievably delicate and this ... man had handled it with a magical grace that was amazing. It took a lot of power to create these.

[faithlikeaseed]

A very strange expression crosses Myr's face at all the praise, accompanied by a faint blush. He's not used to anyone being quite so effusive about what he does under normal circumstances, but Norrington's...a templar? Which complicates his usual interpretation of this kind of praise something fierce.

"Thank you, ser," he manages, and promptly clears his throat. "They'd be less complex, I think, if I had more practice with them, but there's a lot of the underlying structure I was hesitant to modify. It could surely be removed and I've got plans, in fact, to do more in-depth testing on that when I've got a free moment, though as they work just fine and the war effort against Corypheus certainly needs all our attention it's a project I'll have to lay aside for the moment. Uhm."

He's babbling. This is bad.

[judgemewhole]

Norrington is a Templar, but a Templar carefully trained that magic being used in service to the Maker was practically holy, and should be encouraged and not disparaged. He rose to his full height once more, giving the mage before him a quiet smile of approval, letting that roll in his voice.

"I can think of several uses for them out in the field - as a warning for troops when they are camped in the evening, if there are invaders. Or using them for tracking in foreign territory, so you can find your way back to camp without getting lost. Just a thought, really." A pause, before he realizes that he should probably introduce himself. He knew the conversation would probably be cut off after that point -- but he did owe it to the other man not to lie.

He was blind, after all. "I am Knight-Commander James Norrington. To whom do I have the pleasure of conversing?"

[faithlikeaseed]

Sweet Andraste singing--this isn't just a templar, the man's a knight-commander and here Myr is chattering away like a nitwit over minutiae of glyphcraft. Clearly the man's got the patience of a saint to be able to listen to this and offer suggestions, but that doesn't soothe Myr's anxiety any. (Especially because he still can't place the reason for that effusive praise. A knight-commander in good standing wouldn't fraternize, would he?)

He swallows hard and takes a deep breath to steady himself. "Myrobalan Shivana of Hasmal Circle, ser," he answers, tone passing even. Nailed it. "And I, ah, apologize if my previous behavior was in any way out of line."

He'd gotten onto sometimes-joking footing with Knight-Commander Brycen of Hasmal--it was hard not to when there were so few of them left in the broken Circle and humor kept things bearable--but that's a very different situation than this, isn't it?

[judgemewhole]

Oh Maker's Damnation, the young man looks terrified. Norrington takes a step back, casting a quiet glance around the courtyard. All right, everything seems fine. No one looks like they want to smack him about for making a mage look anxious. He lets out a relieved sigh before looking back at Myrobalan. A smile works over his face, briefly, as he puts his hand to his chest.

"A pleasure to meet you - I never heard much about the Hasmal Circle - I was posted in Ostwick, myself." Yes, the most laid-back, 'who really cares?' Circle outside of the one further north. No fear here, Myr.

[faithlikeaseed]

"I was posted in Ostwick, myself."

Well, that does explain some things. They'd never heard anything untoward about Ostwick in the north; maybe Hasmal wasn't so unique after all and there were other Circles where templars and their mage charges regarded each other with something approaching amiability. Myr takes another breath to dissipate the last of his anxiety.

"To be honest with you, ser, I'm glad there was never much to hear about us." He musters a smile to grace the words. "We didn't dissolve quite so peaceably as I've heard others did in the end, but we did all right by ourselves." Which is not anything even approaching the full truth of the three years the remainders of the Circle had spent struggling to survive, templars and mages together, by a city grown increasingly hostile to both--but, well.

He doesn't want to think of it--and assumes that as a knight-commander, Norrington's probably heard the grim details of the whole thing besides, from the rest of the Hasmal contingent.

[judgemewhole]

"...Ah, I see. Yes, I ...I understand what you mean. Ostwick did not ... end as much as explode in violence." He made a face, shaking his head a little. "Things had gone absolutely ... insane."

Right, let us just not talk about that. He could feel the tension in his voice, feel as his entire body had tightened in memory. Remembering at the two faces of his mentors, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling of the First Enchanter's personal quarters ...

"At any rate, I am pleased you turned up here. We have need of strong mages. Is your Knight Commander still alive?"

[faithlikeaseed]

...No. Right. Better to avoid discussion of that entirely; the same tension in Norrington's voice has a match in the sick feeling curdling in Myr's gut to hear it. Hasmal's dissolution had been violent, but-- Not so bad as some.

"He is, ser. Knight-Commander Brycen came with the rest of us from Hasmal to join the Inquisition, though he is at present on his way to Skyhold with the rest of our contingent who didn't wish to remain here at Kirkwall. I don't know whether or not his intent is to return."

[judgemewhole]

"I see ... well. Welcome to Kirkwall, then. If this is an example of work that you are bringing to the table, you'll be most welcome." James made sure to fold his hands behind his back - see, authoritative but not threatening. "I am in charge of answering for any and all Templar queries here, so if you have any problems with any of my brothers or sisters? Please, come and see me first."

There is a ... long pause, and a faint, "There are also Seekers here as well, if you wish to go further up the ... diminished ladder - but!" And that was added quickly, "I will pleased to handle any issues that crop up."

[faithlikeaseed]

Something about all of this strikes Myr as profoundly surreal. He's silent a long, long moment in the face of Norrington's offer as he recollects himself, putting all he's been told away to consider sometime later (Seekers of Truth among the Inquisition; a knight-commander in great haste to reassure a single mage of his good intentions) when he's ready to consider the implications.

"Thank you, Ser Norrington," he manages at last, once he's sure of his own voice. He even musters a smile, though it's a wan shadow of his usual cheerful expression. "I've always thought very highly of the Order and don't anticipate coming to grief with any of your templars, but if something should come up, I will bring it to you first."

They don't feel like words he should have to say. None of this feels quite solid, and it isn't a feeling he likes at all.

[judgemewhole]

Norrington is wondering himself if he ought to take another step back, just in case. After what happened with Cade, a Templar now had to be twice as careful with their behavior with mages, going above and beyond whatever they usually did. Even the most vehenement had fallen silent, after the Seekers had proven what they would do, without mercy, to a brother.

"You are ... quiet welcome, Myrobalan, of Hamshal." He paused, and then let a little more warmth infuse his tone. "I promise, we are here only to protect you."

[faithlikeaseed]

He wishes he didn't hear Vandelin's voice in the back of his head reminding him that a templar's "protection" comes at cost; it makes it harder to say what he does with the sincerity he feels it deserves: "I know. And I'm glad of it, believe me, ser."

The uneasy feeling all this has given him has quite ruined any benefit he was getting by soaking up the sun. Time to find something to do to drive it out of his mind. "Though--my apologies, ser. I'd only meant to take a brief break from my work, and would like to get back to that, if you've no further need of me."

[judgemewhole]

He nodded his head slowly, before making sure to take a large step backwards so the mage could feel free to move in any direction he wanted. "Well, thank you for taking time to speak with me, serah. I hope your work goes well, with the Inquisition."