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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"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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