faderift | [closed-ish] the price that we pay

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[closed-ish] the price that we pay

WHO: Sina, Church, Atticus, Nari, Rifts & the Veil researchers, any Rifters who want to attend, several NPC (or PC!) Templars, any healers who wanna
WHAT: an alleged venatori will study an anchor shard, hilarity no doubt ensues
WHEN: early Harvestmere
WHERE: an empty room in the former mage tower
NOTES: The room will be closed to people not in the above-mentioned groups, just so it doesn't get too crowded, but feel free to eavesdrop and/or gossip.

The room is quiet and tense as it begins to fill with people, an assortment of benches and chairs set up for those viewing, in front of which are two chairs facing each other with a table beside them. One is for Church, who can arrive, prepare, and sit down at his leisure; the other is for Atticus, who is escorted in by a Templar on either side, with several more in attendance, and who is brought promptly to his chair and kept in shackles until the need arises for his hands to be free.

Just behind and slightly to the side of this tableau is yet another bench, this one for the healers and for the two representatives from Clan Dahlasanor. Sina, looking weary and just a little thinner than usual, leans against Nari with a wool blanket wrapped around herself. She's seated on the end, nearest to Church and ready to jump for him in the event that something should go wrong. Not that she's in any shape to do much jumping.

Once everyone is settled, most importantly the mage and his subject, the experiment begins.

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He'd been tempted to make it just barely in time and hang back due to exactly how many Templars were going to be present, but Sina's asked him to be here. It makes him push back everything else and so he's here, a little early, giving a civil nod to Myr before realizing exactly how stupid that is. No matter. At least Myr will never know.

Anders joins Sina and Nari on the bench, gaze mostly on Sina as she yet again looks worse off than the last time he saw her.

"I can loan my coat if it's needed," he says quietly to them both before he turns his attention back to the rest of the room.

To say she's uncertain is to say the very least. There can't be a person in the room fully confident in the wisdom of this little foray.

Her eyes skim over Anders (an accompanying twinge of her mouth) to linger on Sina, longer than perhaps they ought. Her hand lingers on the hilt of her sword, too, and that feels —

— Perfectly reasonable, thank you.

"Fine work," Mumured low, to Myr. "If you tire of it, signal."

Wren takes her place beside the doorway, and waits.

Edited 2017-10-02 04:11 (UTC)

James enters as if the entire place is filled with dangerous vipers -- and perhaps in some ways - it is. He's dealing with a blood magic forest maker, people with idiotic opinions about Rifters, and Anders - not that Anders was going to do anything but people just couldn't seem to help themselves when he was in the room. Oh, yes, and the Venatori Magister.

Who is going to look at a shard.

How could this possibly go wrong?

He folds his arms over his chest, nods over to Wren. Arches an eyebrow at Anders, a silent question in asking if his friends are sure this is a good idea. Or even a leaning towards not half-baked idea, which he is entirely sure it is not. He's here to take out all the magic in the room when this goes sideways - he's under no illusions on that end.

Edited (tweaking for ambiguity!) 2017-10-02 04:32 (UTC)

Inessa enters, alone for once as Garahel is nowhere in sight. Her demeanor is one of implacable calm, at least to those less familiar with her. She's not, of course, not inwardly. The myriad ways this could go disastrously wrong are not lost on her, but as head of the Rifts and the Veil project, she must be here to see it through...and lend assistance, as need be.

She nods to Wren, Anders and...well, Myr won't see it so she pauses by him for a moment to give a verbal greeting before moving to one of the closer seats available. Whatever happens, she must have a clear view of it all.

His Templar escorts lead him by his shackles towards the chairs that have been arranged for the purpose of this work. Atticus walks where he is led, sparing the gathered individuals a brief, appraising glance, taking mental inventory of their number. If Myrobalan receives a look that lingers longer than the others, it is such a minor thing as to be easily dismissed.

Settling himself into the chair, he looks across at the man in front of him and examines him in inscrutable silence. Then, directing his attention to the nearest Templar (Wren, perhaps), he requests, "I should like your leave to examine his hand, please."

Church is pretty sure this is the dumbest thing he's ever done in his life. And make no mistake, he's done some pretty dumb shit. But alas and alack, his god damn stupid habit of making sure other people don't, y'know, die has reared its head again. It's getting old. Why can't he just be the selfish jackass he wants to be and let Sina take the plunge?

Oh right, because he doesn't actually hate her. She's just made dumb decisions, too. So if this Venatori fuckhead thinks he can just mess around with shards all willy nilly, he's got another thing coming.

He comes in, takes a look at he setup of the room, takes a look at the lot more people here than he thought there'd be, and mutters, "Fuck." The gloves are off--literally, the gloves he tends to wear are off, the shard in his left hand able to shine and glint as it might--when he finally takes what seems to be the 'dumbass sits here' seat.

When Atticus comes in, Church is as composed as he ever gets, though if the green of his eyes seems particularly cold, well, then that's just that. He hasn't taken anything or had any healing magic in a bit, nothing to numb the pain as usual, nothing to interfere with whatever examinations are to be done, but if it bothers him as he lays out his hand, palm up, then he doesn't indicate it.

"For the record, I'd like you to verbalize everything you do for these tests, or whatever you want to call them."

It's a short business to have the cuffs off by now, though that will never again be so casual as it was. The click of metal; a brief, deeper hum from some disengaged rune. The shackles pull free.

"Consider cooperation with Mssr. Church's requests a further condition," She locks eyes with Atticus briefly before stepping aside once more (this time, does not retreat to the entry). "If these are disregarded, if the situation escalates, or the session is otherwise called to a halt, we will intervene."

Her chin tips over to Church —

"Be vocal in your own responses."

And then she steps aside, just beyond the glyphs' auspices; a statue at ready again.

He watches every element come in. The Venatori, draped in chains and calm. The Templars, wearing their wariness as heavily as they'd once worn bucket helms. Inessa, silent and watching.

And the focus of all, Church, still and steady despite the one curse.

"I've painkillers if what he does stirs up too much," he says into the stillness, "but as pain is often an indication of things going wrong it may not be wise to dull your senses prematurely. On the other hand, we don't want irreparable damage being done. Say the word, Church, and you'll have aid."

He knows why he's here, and it's in everyone's interests for this to be successful.

Nari, for her part, is doing her level best to project a calm confidence she feels absolutely none of. She's not very good at it, her worry leaking through obviously - although never when Sina could see it. She's sure her clansister can feel the twinges of tension through her body, as she's got one arm around the frail First snug to her side, but is hoping fervently that whatever solidity she can provide is enough regardless.

As examinations begin she'll watch with a hungry hope, as if she could somehow will it to work.

Atticus fixes his pale eyes unblinkingly on Ser Coupe's and does not look away until she does. If he is particularly unnerved or moved, either by the intensity of Church's cold stare or the weight of other eyes resting on him as his shackles are removed, he does an impeccable job of hiding it. On the contrary, once those around him have given voice to their misgivings and deeper foreboding, he gives Church an almost sly look and remarks, all genial confidentiality, "Let us dare to presume that palliative care will not be required for either of us, after this."

With the shackles gone, he rotates both his wrists and flexes his fingers. Then he extends his hand out towards Church. "Your palm, please."

Edited 2017-10-04 01:57 (UTC)

He'd been at parade rest as the others filed in--acknowledging any verbal greetings sent his way with a nod or answering murmur--but that changes the instant he hears those shackles disengage. All his attention's fixed to the fore now, his back straight and shoulders square--a match in miniature and robes to Wren on her watch closer by. Some habits don't attenuate.

Christine had worried, of course she'd worried when he had to explain the basics to her, but he'd tried to assure her that he'd be surrounded by people ready to move at a moments notice. To see that actually be true and not just him pulling something out of his ass makes him feel marginally better.

Still some of the dumbest shit he's done, though.

Church tries to relax his shoulders some, letting out a huff of a breath as he hands over his hand. He even bites back a smartass comment, just because that's not going to help here and he knows it.

Sina watches closely, her distaste for Atticus plain on her face, but she keeps a careful eye on Church. It's about to begin, and Creators only know what will happen.

Atticus takes hold of Church's hand by the back of the wrist in a grip that is not overly firm, but is nevertheless purposeful. Recalling his request, as well as Ser Coupe's commend, he informs him mildly, "I'm going to visually examine your palm, and then apply some slight pressure to the skin surrounding the anchor with my fingers. I trust you to inform me whether any of this discomforts you." Beyond the obvious discomfort of having his hand held by a Venatori magister, that is.

His other hand detours up to adjust his spectacles to rest lower on the bridge of his nose, and then he leans closer to consider the anchor mark in Church's palm, taking pains to conceal his avaricious enthusiasm for this task. He tilts the rifter's palm at the slightest angle, as though trying to determine how natural light interacts with the other-worldly green glow emanating from the mark. His brows draw together into a small furrow, but he voices no opinion on his findings.

He shifts his eyes to Church beyond the rim of his glasses. "Try to relax," he suggests, in a tone of voice that suggests he knows that's beyond impossible, and doesn't particularly care. Then he looks back to the mark and begins to depress the skin around the site of the anchor with firm pressure from his thumb.

By the grace of not exactly being from around here, the discomfort of a Venatori magister is not as much as someone more native might have. He knows enough in his years, of course, but it really boils down to 'bad guy mage'. So add in 'bad guy mage poking at unstable unknown magical marks slowly killing people', and yeah, he's got discomfort.

Still, he makes a concerted effort to relax his shoulders, breathe normally, let the guy do his thing.

"Nothing so far," Church reports. "Just feels like he's about to try and read my palm, tell my fortune." Because humor's the way to diffuse any tense situation.

He leans forward, watching everything Atticus does. Church's breathing is regular enough, no real sign of pain or paleness yet, but that might change.

Or it might not. Maybe today is one of the rare days something will go well, but Anders is not about to count on anything where the Venatori are concerned.

Anders' gaze flickers over to Sina before going back to Church.

"Just feels like he's about to try and read my palm, tell my fortune."

Quietly, as though not quite listening to anything Church says anymore: "Not today, I think."

What a magnificent and peculiar anomaly these anchor marks are. While he has glimpsed others before during his clandestine journeys through the Fade in his sleep, this is certainly the only one he has had occasion to examine openly, and with such single-minded focus. No matter how he touches the flesh around the anchor itself, it remains unchanged, hardly even seeming to adapt to the changing light when Atticus shadows it with his hand.

"I can discern no clear scarring of the flesh attributable to the anchor mark," he muses out loud, then turns his eyes towards Church. Eyes on his, he considers him in silence, then turns his attention to Ser Coupe. "I would like to cast a simple spell at the anchor, and request your leave to cast a protective force field around Serah Church. It will be impossible to include his hand, but," this added with a brief glance back towards his test subject. "I think you will agree this is a necessary protective measure."

Shivana could handle it, but she wants him minding that glyph (and away from the action — Maker, if anything happens the last thing they need is a blind man in the middle of it). Anders they require to be ready, should all go amiss. And Sina,

Out of the question.

"Warden Serra," Curter address than she'd typically favour; they're in public. "If you might cast the protective field? To allow the Magister focus."

To Atticus,

"You may engage with the anchor."

Edited 2017-10-08 06:01 (UTC)

"Of course." Inessa responds with a curt nod before concentrating and casting the spell. Whatever she may think of this plan or how it might go, it's time to see it through.

It's a good plan! A good idea. He likes this idea right up until the 'but cannot move' part of the force field, not that he's planning on diving out of the way or anything, but still. Most magic that's aimed at him that isn't healing has been mostly from, oh, you know, Red Templars, Venatori, and demons out of rifts. So. This is going to be fun. He flexes his hand on impulse but soothes it back out to relatively flat and mmmmostly relaxed.

But it's this guy's stare that probably unnerves him most. He's thinking something. "Appreciated," he says of the bit of protective magic.

"Pardon, Ser Coupe--Magister Vedici," Myr breaks in. "What, exactly, do you intend to cast?"

No saying the magister won't lie, but it gives him a bound on what to expect--and what to trigger the glyph for.

Edited 2017-10-09 00:05 (UTC)

"What, exactly, do you intend to cast?"

Atticus' response is in Tevene initially, before he offers up a hasty, quite literal translation in the trade tongue: "Spell might, I believe you call it in the South. It will not affect Serah Church as such; I intend to explore how the side-effect of surplus magical energy reacts near the anchor."

Having said this, he shifts his eyes once more to Ser Coupe, regarding her expectantly. He won't move a finger without her express permission, lest he inadvertently give her a reason to strike him down where he sits.

Her chin tips aside at the Tevene.

The blunt-force approach isn't a reassuring one, but neither is it unexpected. She can't think him likely to draw upon that degree of energy for long —

"Proceed."

There's no need to remind him of his limits, that should he surpass them, this little gathering won't be easy to reconvene.

It's an effort, but she keeps her knuckles from twitching inward. Only paranoia expects open malice now, but if any aspect of the fool experiment seems likely to provoke the Anchor, it's this.

Edited (double edits orz) 2017-10-10 06:25 (UTC)

Short of launching some sort of magical projectile at Church's hand, Atticus can conceive of no alternative method. Were he allowed more freedom to determine his means of research, to propose his own solutions without having his innovation hamstrung by these constricting precautions--well, they just won't know what might have been, will they?

A slight tip of his chin to Ser Coupe--an acknowledgement, rather than an expression of gratitude--and he turns back to his immobile test subject. Taking hold of Church's wrist again, Atticus grows very still, centering himself. He lifts his free hand, and a ripple of magical energy courses through him; it leaves him feeling as though flush with adrenaline, like conjuring a maelstrom into existence in this very chamber would be as effortless as running. But instead of spelling any horrors into existence, he simply holds his hand above Church's anchor mark, watching for any reaction with thinly-veiled anticipation.

Just because he can't really move thankfully doesn't mean he can't speak. Because boy howdy would he be upset if that was the case.

When Atticus moves his magically fueled hand over the shard, he sucks in a breath. "Oh. That...kinda tingles." And after another moment: "Yeah, that's kind of a...like an ache, kinda like you get when near an open rift but not that bad?" And then, a few tense moments after that: "Did I say not as bad? I think it's getting worse. Like a--like a gradual thing. Slowly turning up a dial, but I guess you guys don't have dials here, huh, so useless metaphor is fucking useless. It's--"

His hand twitches, and he sucks in a breath. "Yeah, that's getting worse. I think--"

Before Church can enrich everyone's lives with telling them what he thinks, the shard reacts, glowing bright for a split second before energy lashes out of it. The projectile of otherworldly magical force bowls into Atticus, all but flinging him back and away. Church meanwhile gives a yelp, both of surprise and pain from that unanticipated...let's be honest, he's going to call it a pain bolt.

The blow is forceful enough to send the chair Atticus was sitting on clattering across the stone floor. The magister himself hits the ground solidly and rolls a foot or two before falling dreadfully still; it's unclear whether his head striking the ground is what has knocked him unconscious, or the bolt of power from the anchor.

Either way he's down for the count.

Sina has been growing increasingly worried by Church's reactions, but even she isn't expecting what happens. She gives a shriek of alarm when Atticus suddenly flies backward, clapping her hands over her mouth before she hurries to kneel by Church's side, searching his face. "Church!" she gasps, "are you hurt?"

Anders moves nearly as quickly as Sina, hands already glowing green as he focuses on any injuries done to the Rifter.

"Breathe, and tell me how much pain you're in." Atticus... sorry, dude, but he'll be there after this. Mages come first in his books except when they're magisters and Atticus doesn't look dead so Anders' assigned priority doubles as his chosen one.

There's barely time to curse.

A hiss to be only caught in Orlesian as Atticus goes flying. Silver smothers out to purge any lingering energy; instinct pulls her blade half-free as she stalks over to his prone form.

(Others will mind Church; unless the anchor does worse than this, she's her own priorities.)

The nudge of a boot on ribs, none too gentle. No response. Sword sheathed again, she stoops to haul his torso up, hand probing more carefully for blood or injury.

"Shivana," It's not quite an order. It's certainly not a request. "He's out, I need an assessment. Mind your step."

The fallen chair. A curt gesture to the nearest pair of free hands —

"Shackles, please."

Edited (Late late typo fix) 2017-10-11 00:53 (UTC)

A shout, a clatter, a body hitting the floor-- Myr turns his head sharply toward Wren as if looking to her for orders, the glyph kept in abeyance. (The surge of magic felt wrong, sharp and distinct from Vedici's might that winked out the instant the shard flared.)

No time to contemplate whether it was the right decision. "Ser," the word's a crisp response to that not-quite-order; he steps away from the wall and toward the sound of her voice. The chair's easy enough to find and avoid with his staff and shortly he takes a knee beside Wren and Atticus. One hand goes to the latter's shoulder and he breathes the words of a diagnostic spell, emerald light twining out from his fingers and seeking evidence of whatever shock or insult put the magister under. A hard fall on a stone floor suggests concussion but there's not any telling, is there, with rift magic involved...

Inessa was expecting a violent reaction of some sort, so when it happens, she automatically casts Barrier over herself and others nearby. She's seen what those 'pain lasers' can do, and would rather not risk anything. When the magister falls, she has a private, petty moment of satisfaction, though squashes it down to inspect said magister. As he doesn't seem to be more than unconscious, she'll leave him for Myr and Anders to tend, instead looking over Church with concern.

Edited 2017-10-11 01:08 (UTC)

Instinct already has James's blade bared, ready to press into the ground to disrupt any stray magic that might just go beyond this room. He breathed out when both Church and the Venatori are ... mostly all right, putting his sword back within it's sheath, and leaning over to pluck up the shackles.

Moving to put them on the unconscious Venatori's wrists, he muttered. "I suppose that was supposed to happen?"

Atticus, unsurprisingly, remains utterly unresponsive when nudged or touched, and the results of Myr's diagnostic spell should be predictable at this stage. He's concussed.

Myr breathes out a slow hiss of breath as the spell completes. "Severe concussion," he reports. "But no bleeding on the brain and his neck's still in one piece, lucky for him." Too bad for us, is the undercurrent, though that's not quite right--Atticus has proved nothing if not useful and the Inquisition would do poorly to lose him.

"Would you like me to address it, ser?" It's one of the things he can reliably heal, at least.

"Shit," he breathes as a lot of things start happening all at once, a lot of voices and concern and holy shit that guy's out like a light.

But perhaps more importantly: "I'm okay! I'm all right, I'm good." Church snatches his sharded hand back close to his chest, rubbing at it absently. "It's--the pain's fading now that he's not voodooing his magic over me, I guess? It...he didn't do anything."

Maybe that's wrong. Maybe that's not really the case, because Atticus did do something, just...not to him. "I mean he didn't like attack me or do anything unexpected. You saw. I've never had anything like that happen before, though. Only time anything other than a shield's come out of it has been in closing rifts, and he's most definitely not a rift."

Anders confirms that there's no damage done and sits on his heels, listening to what's being said around the room. There's a slight pang of sympathy for Atticus when Wren orders the shackles and they're put on the man, but Anders buries that quickly. He can only fight on so many fronts at once.

"There are other Rifters who have shot beams from their shards. It may be some sort of defensive measure for the bearer. Or the shard." There's no intelligence behind the shards, but action and reaction aren't unfamiliar concepts.

"If you're sure you're fine," Anders starts saying to Church before he glances over at Atticus keeping emotion off his face. "I can help with him if I'm needed."

I suppose that was supposed to happen?

A moment's calculus: Atticus is too valuable an asset to risk, but neither is the injury life-threatening. Shivana's here as support, not a dedicated healer — to shirk Anders is to slight the man. She couldn't give a damn for that, save their direly-mixed company; the whole bloody room's just seen Myr leap to attention, and she's under no illusions as to how that will play before some eyes.

"Thank you," to Myr. "Please do so."

The boy could use the encouragement. More to the point, they could use the healers. If this isn't his particular focus, there's only one way to improve.

"It seems in hand," A measured look to Anders: Let's not do this now. "But he will need monitoring. Outside a cell."

Let the man keep him in clinic a time. An imperfect solution, but it will gall the lot of them, and that's close enough to compromise to serve.

"When these abilities have previously manifest, they have been retained, no?"

To Inessa, to Sina, to any a shade better-prepared to own the knowledge. She's plenty to work with — but templars who pay attention have a way of shutting down discussion.

Edited 2017-10-11 03:29 (UTC)

As it so often does, the political aspect of the situation slipped Myr's grasp the instant he had something tangible before him to do. It therefore comes as a dim surprise that Wren passes Anders over in his favor--he's long accustomed to his own limits--but he doesn't linger on it; merely nods and sets to work.

The words that remind him the shape of magic needed are long-practiced from healing his own injuries. He calls on the Fade sotto voce in one long sentence, the light of creation once more rising from beneath his palm where it rests on Vedici's shoulder. It's a subtle spell otherwise as it slips through skin and skull to ease swelling and mend sheared nerves, sop up blood and wick away bruising, setting the injured brain quietly to rights.

He only leaves off the last codicil meant to push the unconscious subject back toward wakefulness; if Atticus rouses on his own, so be it, but it seems better to Myr that their Venatori guest remain safely out until he's been moved somewhere quieter.

Well it was certainly going to gall James, who is going to give her an incredulous look, as if to say, 'Has the magical light-show made you forget this is a Dangerous Criminal?'

Lips pressed together, he looks over his shoulder at Anders and Inessa. "He will be under guard." Statement, not question. "I do not care if it is Templar or Warden, but he is not to be left alone at any time."

He would prefer Templar, but he knew how Anders felt about them and he would like to avoid further events like the one that kept happening between Cade and Anders, thank you very much.

"A defense against being removed...I can't say I'm surprised." Turning her gaze from Church to Wren, Inessa nods. "There is reason to believe so, yes. At least, I haven't heard of them appearing only to vanish. Fortunately, those who manifest such abilities can gain control over them."

She quirks an eyebrow at James, not about to protest this. The Venatori magister cannot be trusted, that is a certainty. "Agreed; if not a Templar, then at the very least one who can cast Dispel. We can alternate, if you wish." She honestly doesn't care one way or another who is left to guard him, as long as it happens.

A blunt stare back to James. No, I imagined he might be set loose on a fast horse,

This isn't the moment for a pissing contest.

"I would be cautious," With a calm she doesn't feel, "To assume much at this stage."

Raw energy applied to a seemingly open connection. A link to the Fade is as much a link to feeling -- even so. Perhaps comparisons might be made to early, involuntary casting: An apprentice's pre-reflex.

Considerations to be heard by those closer to the root of her interest. Gwenaelle's shard isn't for any more public consumption than may be helped.

"I am going to lift him," A hand to Myr's shoulder: Step back, as she drags Atticus up. They'll want to avoid knocking him about any further, but the magister isn't small, and she's not about to ask Norrington for assistance after that. Sometimes young men need to be reminded you could put them through a wall.

A huff of breath to sling him up over a shoulder. Dignity was never the order of the day.

"When you are ready, Warden."

Edited 2017-10-11 15:02 (UTC)

The looks between the Templars are a little amusing, though Anders keeps thought off his face. Later he can take a moment to think on it. There are too many political motions going on for him to fully keep up; he's not made for this.

But for now, it's his turn to look around, glancing between Wren and Inessa as he attempts to figure out which Warden she means. Probably him? Possibly not. Now he lets the amusement show.

"We've names, which would help indicate which Warden you mean." He thinks it more than likely the fact that they're both mage Wardens is the reason she's not bothering to give them names, but it's not like he's going to say that in mixed company. "If you mean me, I'm ready."

"Hey, not to interrupt, but can we have this big bad dick measuring contest some other time? We're kind of not here for that, you know." Church shakes out his hand again, but whatever violent backlash of energy had shot out of it, the shard is docile again.

"No offense, Sina, but I'm glad I volunteered now. That wouldn't have been pleasant."

Shivering from the surprise and stress of it all, Sina shakes her head quickly. "None taken," she whispers, her voice trembling, "oh, lethallin." Whether Church wants it or not, he's being hugged tightly around the middle by the elf kneeling beside him. "I'm so sorry."

"Whoa--" Things he didn't expect today: most of this, honestly, but definitely this. He's hesitant to touch at first because...Sina is fragile, unfortunately, and also they haven't always gotten along? So this is...new.

But eventually he brushes a little hair away and settles his hands lightly between her shoulders, something like a hug back. "Hey, no, it's okay, I promise I'm fine. It'll take more than an unexpected pain laser to take me down. I'm the one that stupidly agreed to this, remember?"

"Quite."

A gesture to Anders with her free hand. Sina’s voice isn’t well, and she’d prefer to get out of here before anyone begins crying —

"If you might support his head through the doorway."

She's already making her way out.

Edited (i totally remember what names my dudes call other dudes) 2017-10-12 17:11 (UTC)

This.

This is what continued oppression is - Templars getting to ignore niceties while a mage is called out for being gentle about bringing them up. It's never the right time, and it's never the right place. He hadn't even been angry, but no, it's a dick-measuring competition.

He shakes his head once. The amount of work still to do if they're ever going to be equals is ridiculous, but he did agree to help so he'll continue that. Anders keeps Atticus' head from hitting the doorway before glancing back.

"If you feel any surprise pain, Church, let me know right away." Church is a Rifter. He doesn't get what shutting mages up does, so Anders can't hold it entirely against the man.

And with that, he follows the Templar out.

As the participants make their way out, Sina remains kneeled on the floor by Church's now-empty chair, on the seat of which she folds her arms and buries her face in them to cry. Likely only Nari and now Church know the real extent of her distress: there was, perhaps, some part of her which hoped this would go well, that there would be a miracle.
There wasn't.

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[closed-ish] the price that we pay

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