[Open] Weary/Hungry/Hunched Over Labwork or Irritable and Lost, Take Your Pick

[fireandsmoke]

WHO: The Dragon (Sarkan) & You
WHAT: In which the Dragon is splitting his time amongst the Gallows library, the alchemy labs/herb gardens, and the Darktown Clinic (first time venturing out there!).
WHEN: Throughout August
WHERE: Various locations around the Gallows and Kirkwall
NOTES: Includes references back to his agreement with Kit. Also seeking out the Darktown Clinic to personally introduce himself to Anders.

THE GALLOWS, ALCHEMY LABS

The herb garden and alchemy labs have been seeing a lot of activity lately.

Astute observers and wanderers may have noticed for, oh, the past week or so, plentiful flickering flames and brightly flashing lights emanating from a cracked door into the most isolated vacant lab. Lyrium blue, orange, gold, pale blue, back to gold… for a full day the blue-gold tone swells and ebbs but never extinguishes completely, a sustained and steady light show in a relatively quiet section of the Gallows. Then comes the noises: high-volume chants, eerie, lyrical whispers, an hour-long song in an unrecognizable language that could give even the least magic-sensitive pinpricks to their necks.

And just as suddenly as the preternatural activity began, it quits and silences, reduced to the flicker of unadulterated lamplight deep into the night.

It is after a few hours of relative quiet when a voice snaps curtly to an invisible presence, “I need you to come to the alchemy labs.”

A peer into the lab's cracked door would reveal a tall, youthful man bent over a lab table, turning something about the size of a small coin over and over again absently in his palm, testing its weight and other invisible attributes with the pensiveness of a fine jeweler. It is a highly weary Sarkan, the one called the Dragon, hovering over a tangle of alembics, flasks, flames, and vials, finally finished with his self-imposed quarantine. While he considers and carefully encircles the small object, he shovels a half-consumed hunk of bread slathered in thick, luscious, fatty cheese with a shocking lack of grace for such a refined and well-dressed individual (and even he would be disgusted with himself, if he were not beyond caring at this point in his efforts). He does not appear terribly aware that he is being observed -- if he's being observed -- and actually looks very much like he could use a bigger feast than he's got, followed by a nice glug of fine wine and a soft bed...


HERB GARDENS AND HALLS AROUND THE LABS, OUT AND ABOUT EARLY IN THE MORNING AFTER THE SCENARIO ABOVE

Out and about the Gallows, the Dragon walks around with a palm cupped close to his left ear, a look of concentration etched into his cold face. He doesn't appear to notice or care if he passes anyone; the most they will get is a pause and a quick glance over the shoulder, his cupped left ear tilted in their general direction. It's a strange sight, to be sure, and one probably couldn't help but wonder if he were going a trite deaf in that ear, or if some sort of pesky fly had bitten him in the lobe...


DARKTOWN

Imperiousness has a habit of sticking out like a sore thumb when it’s the slums you’re walking. It does not matter how thickly the Dragon buries his rich clothes under a heavy, drab cloak, he still manages to stand out, whether it is the nature of his strong and aristocratic gait, or his disdainful glances to the puddles of filth muddying his boots, or the gentle clinking of elixir-bottles and magical artifacts in his hip pouch, or just a combination of the entire package. Even the air smells thicker with decay and destitution to his senses. It is something Sarkan did not miss about his youth in the capital city; he much preferred to tuck himself away from prying, fearful, squealing eyes and surround himself with handsome effects, things that weren’t painful to look at.

Darktown definitely isn’t his taste, to say the least. Beleth’s warning to him about a trek to the Clinic absolutely holds true, and he heeded it wisely, keeping an eye and an ear out for any ruffians that dare to obstruct his path. Anders, skilled mage that Sarkan hears he is, is a strange one, choosing the grittiest reaches of the city to set up a respectable magic school. Was the real estate cheaper?

Though the Dragon was very careful and thorough in requesting directions from the Inquisition and a few guards on his way out, he has not yet had a chance to master his sense of direction in this accursed realm. And now he finds himself referencing his parchment of hastily-scrawled instructions with a deep, irritated frown. He made it this far. Did he miss the last turn-off for the Clinic? What a profound waste of time…

"You over there!" Yes, that is an edge of superiority and disdain in his voice. Mostly impatience, sure, but there is a definite dash of ungraciousness in that tone. "I'm looking for the Clinic. The directions I've got are absurdly useless. Which way is it?"


WILDCARD

For any scenario outside the two described above. He is most likely to frequent the libraries. You may also run into him fielding some of his ‘rifter’ magic in quiet, secluded areas or gardens (like creating little mist-sentinels which he can theoretically send out to spy and listen in on other people, like certain Tevinter in the dungeons, but obviously his range will be much poorer than he’s used to). Any other ideas, you’re welcome to just surprise me or hit me up at kriskristofferson.

Comments

[fireandsmoke]

Rather than say anything, Sarkan smoothly tears a sheet of parchment out of his journal and slips it to Cosima's side of the table along with a quill and inkwell. Go to town with your middle-grade charts and figures, girl.

"Of course I do. Spectacles and spyglasses use curved lenses," he answers at last, helping himself to a languid sip of wine. "They're more common in people without ability in sorcery. Some wizards--" like Solya, the Falcon, "or mages, whatever you want to call us, prefer using their magic to magnify or manipulate their Sight. But those abilities are notoriously difficult to master and singular to the magician's talents."

[youwonscience]

"Great. OK. So most of what I deal with back home is biological tissue too small to see with the naked eye, or even hand magnifiers. And if we have magic, it's so well hidden from everyone without magic that it effectively doesn't exist where scientists are concerned. So."

She carefully sketches out a very simple compound microscope - she's not an artist, but she's precise with diagrams, going carefully from memory.

"This is a compound microscope, which is probably the most common kind -- there are even simpler ones, but these are the ones you'll find in schools and laboratories, unless you need a special kind for something particular. Here," she indicates, "is the eyepiece, the ocular lens. And here," a new spot, "is where you can alternate between different levels of magnification. These are the objective lenses, since they're near the object you're studying."

A second, even simpler sketch of a typical slide. "You prepare a slide by suspending the material you want to view in liquid, usually purified water, and covering it with a very thin protective slip to keep it in place. Then it goes here, and you can move the objective lens up or down using a knob to bring what you're looking at into focus. Down below there's a flameless light source that illuminates the whole setup."

Agh, I'm sorry about the delay here.

[justice_is_blond]

He watches Sarkan take measure of the place. It's not fancy or elaborate, but there is no abuse and no forcing. That's the difference he'd needed. At the statement, Anders' lips quirk into a smile.

"I've no idea what you might have been expecting, but this is a massive step up from how mages used to be taught." Not used to learn. They hadn't had choices; they weren't truly active in it. "Have you seen the Gallows? That used to be where all of the mages for the region were locked up, taught a restricted selection of spells, and beaten or worse if their behavior wasn't precisely as required. I'm not exaggerating - I used to rescue the mages who were at risk of the worst treatment before the Templar in charge got authorization to kill them all for being too willful. This is my take on how schooling should be."

He gestures at a table where a few adults are sounding out letters. "They're being taught things that will help them in life, while being introduced to the concept of mages as people rather than punishments for a family's sins and something to be terrified of."

Anders' expression voice turns as dry as Sarkan's earlier tone as he continues: "I've as long as it takes to beat Corypheus to prove this concept can work without causing death and destruction, because otherwise the power players will be able to make their moves to imprison us again. This is the setting our world demands if we're to maintain freedom. ...But I'd be very interested in hearing about the schools you're used to."

[fireandsmoke]

Sarkan, for once, merely eats, sips, and listens with a rapt sort of attention on the diagram, brows knitted. He is mildly grateful for the lack of outright demands and a chance for rest and half-decent, unfoolish human interaction. But he has to admit that this is a kind of device he has never seen before, nor can he quite conceive of a practical use for a microscope, no matter how fascinating such a device would be to use.

"For what applications do you use something like this?" he asks outright as he mulls it over with a decent swig of wine. "You're talking about looking at biological matter under glass. What does that tell you, what do you use that information for?"

Perhaps the difficulty lies in not quite understanding just how closely a microscope magnifies. Studies at the cellular level are currently unfathomable to him.

[fireandsmoke]

Sarkan's expression blackens. No, this certainly is not what he expected, and the situation here is much more fragile and downright barbaric for sorcerers than he ever would have imagined. And how could he conceive of something like this? The Dragon came from a country where, in its distant pasts, sorcerers could be kings and wizards were welcomed as high-ranking members of the royal court, regardless of lowliness of birth. Power is what mattered, and though most without the gift of magic thought of sorcery as something to be feared, it was certainly not condemned.

He cannot take his relative freedom for granted here. He considers, perhaps for the first time, that he has been too lax and offhanded about the way he practices his magic in Thedas.

"There are no schools for magic in Polnya because the gift is quite rare," he says finally. "I am accustomed to apprenticeships and private tutors. Provided by our royal courts, naturally, and in return we swear fealty to our regents and serve the realm in a capacity that suits our skills." A grim pause. He is not quite looking directly at Anders, but staring off into the middle distance, turning inwardly, darkening further still. "Or not so naturally for Thedas. Mages are not charlatans and demons by default -- absolutely barbaric that you were no better than slaves. Shocking that there was no rebellion even sooner than this."

Sarkan willfully shrugs off his deeply unsettled, rattled feelings, shutting them away, turning them off so he may resume the business at hand. He looks Anders in the eye at last, firm and commanding once more.

"Are you proposing to stall out on ridding the world of Corypheus?"

[youwonscience]

"A lot, actually," she says with a smile. "A few centuries back, a guy figured out that plants were made up of these little units called cells, and later we worked out that animals are too. We're pretty sure that all life where I'm from is made from collections of cells," pesky viruses, throwing a wrench in that, "and complex organisms, like humans, are made up of a lot of different kinds. Cellular studies have helped identify and treat diseases, and have helped us understand a lot more about biology in general."

She sits back. "I'd be fascinated, for instance, to see what a scraping from the anchor shard looks under a microscope. Are the host's cells somehow infected, or is it truly a foreign substance displacing them? We might get closer to some answers that way."

[fireandsmoke]

The Dragon stares at Cosima intently, attempting to tease through and work out what is meant by 'little units called cells.' Even if he doesn't grasp the details without a visual aid, he can appreciate working to develop a deeper understanding of the form and function of anchor shard corruption. He polishes off the last of his bread and cheese before responding.

"A jeweler or some other craftsman -- maybe a builder -- might be able to put something like this together." He rolls his eyes skyward, frowning. "The flameless light source is bothersome, though. Lyrium has some glow but I don't know if it's enough to suit the device." His voice falls to a self-directed murmur, considering the options. "An enchanted stone or glass, perhaps. Or you might need a mage plastered to your side whenever you work the thing, if that's not possible...."

at long last, I'm so sorry

[faithlikeaseed]

He has to laugh at Sarkan's pessimistic assessment of things, a nearly helpless sound without an ounce of malice in it. It doesn't last long; the backlash headache sees to that, and he breathes out sharply as the pain flares up. Maybe the spell he's got for concussions would help... Though before he can do that he owes Sarkan an explanation for his mirth; the wizard's prickly enough as it is without Myr's offending him on top of it.

"'Almosts' pave the way to success, messere--at least in my experience," he says. "We've learned one way not to do it--and that our magic can interact at all, which I wasn't sure it would. So that's something."

Pausing, he covers his face with a hand and mutters his way through the words of one of his few healing spells--cringes a little when it completes and draws on the remaining dregs of his mana--and heaves a relieved sigh as some of the pain ebbs. Not the total analgesia he'd been hoping for but better than nothing at all. "--Glad you won't be needing my glyphs, though. You're not otherwise hurt, are you?" There's an earnest concern in his voice; spell failure's a nasty thing.

"That--yes, that would be wise. I'd advise it, though from what I've heard it may be too late to avoid rifters being named demons. You did all emerge from the Fade, after all." He's almost apologetic about that. "Which reminds me--d'you run into them in your dreams now that you're here? Demons, that is?"

[justice_is_blond]

So much jealousy wells up in Anders' heart, and is calmly, deliberately stamped out. Their worlds are different, and it's work that will see Thedas improved, not envy. The question pulls him the rest of the way out of his mood.

"No." That has to be clear, he feels, and he meets Sarkan's gaze directly. "Corypheus' forces are slaughtering people and destroying the integrity of the Veil that separates the world of the living from the Fade. Every day he continues is so many more days, weeks, months, even years of work to repair. He has to be defeated, as quickly as possible. And I must do my work here as quickly as possible, simultaneously."

Anders takes a breath. He knows how huge a task there is before him and anyone who chooses to help him.

"Mages, Dalish, Rifters, elves, all of us have this time to prove that we're people who deserve equality. The best ways to do this for mages are to assist with the fight with Corypheus and demonstrate what we can do with freedom that helps the people in general. If the public views our freedom as valuable and useful rather than something to be feared, we'll have defenders when the Chantry comes for us again."

[fireandsmoke]

"Well, my head appears to remain firmly attached to my neck. My pride has a gaping hole in it, though."

Then the Dragon falls silent for a time, after Myr's last question regarding dreams and demons. He first caught wind about the importance of dreams from a dwarf that gave him the impression of either severe drunkenness or some sort of derangement. Yngvi was his name, if Sarkan can recall it correctly. At that time, he did not understand at all what the dwarf was going on about. Now that he has read and studied a fair bit about Thedosian magic and the Fade, he has started to pay much closer attention to his nightly dreams, whenever he has an occasion to remember and think over them. He even keeps a neat, hyper-organized journal at his bedside so that he may record exactly what occurs each night and not lose the memory to oblivion.

"Only occasionally, so far," he admits. "It's a new type of intrusion than I'm used to, and I've scarcely scratched the surface. I just record what I remember each morning."

[limier]

"Anyone with half a mind left to them," Firmly (Sarkan, so that's settled), she moves forward, arm outstretched not to bar his way — but to imply rather distantly that it could. "Has handled lyrium dust carefully, before or after its processing. You would do well to avoid direct contact."

Theres no way of knowing who instructed him upon this subject, how similar his own world's agents, what books he's found to substitute for sound advice. Her mouth thins,

"Press the foxite before you dice it,"

A last little tug of war, before she retreats to begin fetching supplies.

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr swallows his own smile at the mention of wounded pride; that's something he well understands, though in this case it seems better to let it go unremarked upon. Instead, reaching for the very last bit of mana he's got, he recasts the spellbloom around them. He likely shouldn't be wringing himself dry this way, but it'll return more than he put into it and take the edge off the continued backlash hangover besides.

"Only occasionally, so far."

Well. That's both a relief and a disappointment. "Then you know by now not to treat with them, at least," he says, unable to keep the worry out of his tone. "I was wondering if they'd even try for rifters, or if--" you'd even register to them because do you even have souls? is not a charitable or wise thing to say, and Myr trails off, temporarily stymied. "--they'd leave you alone.

"But I s'pose anything that dreams can lure them in. What--ah, hm." He breathes out a huff of laughter at himself, winces again. "If this is too personal, tell me to shove off, but what have your dreams been like since coming here, messere? The outlines of them, anyway--any worse or better than what you're used to?"

[youwonscience]

"That'd be one way," Cosima agrees, wry. "Or a small mirror might work? You could have a nearby candle and reflect the light up and through if you positioned everything correctly. Not that we're just tripping over quality mirrors or anything, but while we're spending money I don't have on a craftsman anyway."

She smiles, crooked. "Or, you're right, a really patient mage."

[fireandsmoke]

Sarkan gives a sharp nod, a vaguely approving gesture. If he had any questions about Anders's character, that answer cleared the air for him: the man wants to do right by his people and by this world. It is a damn pesky shame that Thedas as a country does not smile upon sorcery and magic as the powerful assets they should be.

"So we'd better hope the people aren't stupid enough to let their fears dominate when the time comes." Sarkan does not sound particularly optimistic about that. He has had some very, very bad experiences with human nature, to say the least, and does not have too much faith that the populace would favor mercy over elimination. "But for now, speaking of helping the masses--"

He regards Anders very seriously, now. Grimly. Troubled, even, and when he finally presses forward, it's between grit teeth.

"I came here because the spells I know best aren't functioning properly. It feels like casting through a vat of molasses. Eminently unfortunate, because I have many corruption-cleansing curatives, salves, and incantations that would be abundantly useful against Blight or anchor-shard disease. Or Corypheus, if we're massively lucky, but I won't hold my breath over that one." Not without something as high-level as Luthe's Summoning or its equivalent, which is lost forever, as he's painfully aware. He takes a deep breath. "If you know of a way to combine different methods effectively, I want to hear them. Otherwise I'll need to become more proficient with the Fade and Thedosian workings if I'm going to resume anywhere near the level of work I'm used to."

[fireandsmoke]

"You really do have an excessive preoccupation with dreams here, don't you," Sarkan all but grumbles, almost marveling in tone. He does not miss the hesitation in Myr's tone, the hitch where his sentence trails off, but rather than remark on it he casts the mage a searching, frowning sort of look. Of course, being blind has its advantages; Myr is unlikely to be phased by a look he cannot see.

Sarkan throws his arms up in a half-shrug. "I don't know. Worse, marginally so, I suppose. Who wouldn't be unsettled -- that's putting it lightly -- by falling through an otherworldly tear in their realm? Of course it will manifest in dreams, too."

[fireandsmoke]

Sarkan grins languidly, a hint of self-deprecation.

"Don't look at me." Unless Cosima really thinks that the Dragon is the absolute paragon of patience. "I won't wed myself to a tedious project like that until I've found an effective way to use Thedosian magic alongside my methods." And even then, only if he can also experiment with shrinking or damaging anchor shard material with his purification techniques. "As you can guess, I've only made some headway. Some."

He swirls his goblet absently.

"So have you learnt anything worth mentioning? I want to know how quickly disease sets in, and if --" an image of the gardener-girl whose name he never requested flashes in his mind's eye, "where shards are located on our bodies makes a difference."

[youwonscience]

She gives him a crooked smile in return. "Did you hear me asking you?"

As to his question, she shrugs. "The biggest challenge is a frustratingly small data set. There just aren't enough of us, and the phenomenon didn't exist until a couple of years ago as far as anyone seems to know. It doesn't seem like anyone's ill from it right now, so onset is somewhere between now and five years in the future theoretically." She worries at her thumbnail, absently. "Have you met anyone with it somewhere other than one of their hands? I haven't, so far."

[fireandsmoke]

"One person. A girl."

Sarkan frowns absently and presses his palm along the length of his breast.

"It was enormous, embedded straight over the heart. Certainly she must be dying. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't think she'd be capable of walking." The corner of his mouth twitches. "I suppose I regret not catching her name, but I was working." Not to mention it was a relatively awkward circumstance which involved stepping on a bunch of flowers and exchanging some uncomfortable, snarky words to bury his own unsettled thoughts. She ended up flitting away, the little irritating witling, while he completed testing on Kit's custom-made enchanted device.

"She was especially concerned about a few flowers I carelessly crushed in the courtyards." He crooks a brow. "If you want to ogle her for yourself, you'll probably find her tending the gardens."

[faithlikeaseed]

Of course, and Myr's got to nod at the wisdom of that. His response is a little chagrined: "Right. So there wouldn't be any sorting out whether it's demons or stress causing them to worsen." ...Though now that he thinks of it, why'd he even assume a rifter mage would dream in the first place, if wherever Sarkan's from hasn't got a Fade to begin with? He lapses silent to think about that for half a minute--then gives himself an abrupt shake to clear the maundering.

"Not so much of an excessive preoccupation, for a mage--the Fade's the realm of dreams and the wellspring of magic alike." Most forms of magic, anyway. It didn't bear to talk about the kind that didn't draw on the Fade where anyone might hear and suspect. "We pay the price for the gift of it in the attentions of demons when we sleep. I--imagine it doesn't work that way, where you're from."

There's a note of awe and a little jealousy behind those words. What would that be like? How much easier would it be, to fall asleep every night without the fear of possession?

I can play this out or handwave the rest, whatever you decide <3 I know this is getting old!

[fireandsmoke]

"Certainly," Sarkan merely snorts and conjures a pair of gloves out of thin air with a murmured incantation. Yes, press it first to bruise the oils, loosen the tough fibers, release and thoroughly work its potency. He knows what he is doing. Or at least, he is doing his damnedest to convey the sort of confidence-bordering-on-arrogance that he's known for. And he will be absolutely content to prove his superior competence to Wren by demonstrating how methodically he works, referencing all appropriate herbology tomes if he must.

He is also becoming abundantly aware that he will need to spare some time for rest soon while the initial concentration agent distills, and that he will need to rely on the sunrise to warm his face enough to wake him. No drawn curtains for him this night.

"And when you're back, don't forget to give me some idea what volume I'm brewing."

And so when Wren returns, she will discover several cleared laboratory tables, a pair of cutting boards and knives and several large mortars and pestles along with a tangle of tubes and flasks. In the corner by the window he has tossed his cloak atop a mound of massive cushions fashioned into a makeshift resting space for his use once there is a break in their work.

[fireandsmoke]

"Not even remotely similar," Sarkan begins. He clasps his hands together in his lap.

"Dreams are nothing, just products of the imagination." His tone is void of derision; it is simply a fact of the reality he once knew. "Of course there are all sorts of stories trumpeted by the troubadours about fanciful witches that divine the future through their dreams, but it's all nonsense. Anyone can claim after the fact that they dreamed up an event before it happened. There's no evidence, and they don't have to prove it. It doesn't help that most of these snake-oil peddlers are predisposed with silver tongues, and speak in vague terms so anything can be interpreted as an accurate prediction. Simple-minded, ignorant idiots fall for it every time."

Myr may be able to detect the smallest of chuckles.

"You can imagine the challenge in wrapping my head around true demon dreams."

[youwonscience]

"I might look for her, then. I've got to imagine she's in some serious pain." Cosima chews her lower lip, absently. Then she adds, "Some of those flowers do have practical uses, you know."

He probably did. Still. For the record.

[fireandsmoke]

Sarkan shoots Cosima a Look, and bends beneath the table for a tome he set atop his travel-trunk. He tosses it on the table and slides it to her.

It's a herbology tome, of course: a catalog of Thedosian flora and fauna and their alchemic properties.

"Yes, I'm eminently aware of that."

The dryness vacates his tone for what he suggests next.

"I should like to know about it if you learn anything from that girl's case." As it is, all he can imagine doing with his constrained magic is watch how quickly the shard saps that girl's life away. Any attempt at purging her shard was more likely to result in a painful death -- or worse -- than not. "If you find her."

[justice_is_blond]

He gives Sarkan a very sardonic look at the hope. Fear will dominate. Fear often dominates when it comes to magic, rather than hope, because the Chantry has seen to that.

But that's an academic debate that won't help either of them right now. Anders nods as Sarkan goes through what's holding him back.

"I've worked a little with another Rifter mage whose magic draws from her and a wand she brought from her world. It's made the transition particularly difficult for her. So to start, I think I could use an understanding of the source of your casting. Thedosian mages use our own energy to harness and shape Fade energy; the magic comes from our connection to it rather than purely ourselves. Do you manipulate another force?"

As he talks, he gestures to a small desk with two chairs and takes one of the seats. This will likely be a long conversation.

[fireandsmoke]

Sarkan accepts the gesture and takes the remaining seat. He threads his fingers atop the table, gazing somewhere into the middle-distance ruefully as he goes on to describe his own understanding of magic.

"Mages--wizards and witches are what I'm accustomed to calling us--we are born with a gift for magic," he begins. "Magic is an innate property within the self: you either have it or you do not. There are very few of us, discovered at various times in our lives before we are shipped off for immediate apprenticeship. I was 'found' when I was three. Others, not until adolescence." Like his own apprentice. He shrugs to banish that thought. Not that this information matters much to Anders. He steers himself back on topic. "We fuel our spells from within ourselves, and we are able to see, breathe, and sense when other people are steeped in magic. It's possible for us to affect and manipulate another creature's magic, but only if we can effectively match it or overpower it with our own power and skill."

Sarkan again meets Anders's gaze.

"To make things short, we can manipulate other forces, but power is derived from ourselves. It's not much like drawing energy from a massive force like the Fade, and if I didn't know better at this point, I would certainly distrust a magic power on that scale as malevolent until proven otherwise."