Former arcane advisor to Empress Celene that she was, the stipend was a generous thing for how little Morrigan ever required coin in her life of mending, making, living off of what was around her so with a smile to the vendor and the interruption to pay, to say that why yes she is so fond of Nevarra, that she hasn't been to the Necropolis yet but she plans to tour elsewhere ends with her paying for two spiced wines. Passing one to Inessa, the head is a shock for a moment to fingers so used to a chill that eats into her bones. A hazard of favouring frost spells and entropy magic.
"A thing that came from the Chantry is a thing that has grown from glutting itself on hypocrisy, writing and rewriting much. Likely he would have had it destroyed in time." Back then she would have been content to leave the Circle to its fate or to go along with the mages too full of their own fear to defend themselves but there's no sense in dredging any of that up to someone who lived through it.
Blowing steam from her wine before taking a careful sip (cinnamon bursts across her tongue, cloves, mace, even nutmeg) she glances at Inessa, at the people busy in the street though there's always a chance for Venatori lurking around or Tevinter presence who'd be only too happy to report back. "The meeting, if it can be called that with far too many voices," Church should come with an interpreter, he gives her a migraine when he speaks too long, "I wondered what you made of it, in light of the Blackmarsh." Inessa had stepped through an eluvian too, is a Warden, is an elf, is a mage, is working rifts and the veil; there are possibilities here that Morrigan isn't about to put aside.
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"A thing that came from the Chantry is a thing that has grown from glutting itself on hypocrisy, writing and rewriting much. Likely he would have had it destroyed in time." Back then she would have been content to leave the Circle to its fate or to go along with the mages too full of their own fear to defend themselves but there's no sense in dredging any of that up to someone who lived through it.
Blowing steam from her wine before taking a careful sip (cinnamon bursts across her tongue, cloves, mace, even nutmeg) she glances at Inessa, at the people busy in the street though there's always a chance for Venatori lurking around or Tevinter presence who'd be only too happy to report back. "The meeting, if it can be called that with far too many voices," Church should come with an interpreter, he gives her a migraine when he speaks too long, "I wondered what you made of it, in light of the Blackmarsh." Inessa had stepped through an eluvian too, is a Warden, is an elf, is a mage, is working rifts and the veil; there are possibilities here that Morrigan isn't about to put aside.