faderift | Looting the Circle

[ The Nevarra City circle is on the outskirts of town, dug into a hill, the insides hollowed out (no doubt with magic) to create a soaring entrance hall and a warren of corridors, offices and kitchens and mess halls and vast storage spaces branching off. Much of the work is to be done here, collecting records and crates of supplies to cart back to Kirkwall.

But it's not all rock and torchlight: follow the wide central hall ahead and it leads, suddenly, outdoors. They've come out the other side of the hill entirely, into a series of courtyards, their neat landscaping now run to seed, grasses and wildflowers sprouting up from the graveled paths, overripe fruit unpicked on the trees.

The courtyards are surrounded by cloisters, three stories of open air halls. Two are dormitories: one each for mages and templars judging by the decorative carvings and mosaics that adorn them, a third for classrooms and training spaces, the fourth entirely devoted to the library, a bright and airy reading room on the top floor, vast stacks punctuated by study carrels and plush chairs.

Everywhere, there are signs of abrupt abandonment: books left open on beside half-written notes, rock hard bread in the kitchen hearth, dishes on the long trestle tables still waiting to be cleared away, all of it covered in a thick layer of dust. ]

Most of what's taken away with be crates of books and records to be sorted through later, but PCs may also find and bring back:

Anything of use in the library, which has a particularly diverse and thorough section on spirit magic.
A stash of Chantry-banned books beneath a trick floorboard, including a number of volumes on spellbinding, various writings by Magister Callistus of Taraevyn, and several Chantry-critical works.
A globular device with interlocking rings in perpetual motion, which moves faster or slower depending on which direction it’s turned
A cylindrical block of solid glass, two feet tall by ten inches circumference, with purple mist moving inside it
A cabinet full of preserved potion ingredients, some of them rare.
An intact Astrarium (HEAVY).
Boxes of supplies for runecrafting, alchemical, and other magical crafting/experimentation, such as glass vials, equipment for measurement both mundane and magical, and blank runestones.

The Circle's loss is his gain. And basically the world's, in his opinion, which is why he'd been all too happy to come loot the place. While the courtyards are deceptively nice there's no forgetting that this had been a prison as well.

Anders heads for the library. It's possible most things of value are gone, but he has any number of students and any number of things that need to be taught.

"I've never gone looting a place before. It's almost exciting." He pauses and frowns after a moment. "Well. I suppose clearing out places of Darkspawn and skeletons and then taking what remained with Jonas was looting, so ignore that, please."

“Ignore what?” Kostos says from beside a nearby shelf.

"Exactly." He chooses to think Kostos is joking around with him rather than mishearing him, because he is still holding faith in Kostos having a sense of humor.

"Finding anything of interest?" A couple of books have made their way into Anders' pack, but not many yet. He's only got so much pack space, and he wants to save room for something very interesting if he comes across it. Like the rings he keeps glancing at before finally walking over and poking them.

It’s faith well-placed, even though it isn’t faith rewarded at this particular moment. If it was a joke—if Kostos does look amused under his usual layer of straight-faced irritation, only the shelf he’s looking at gets to witness it.

“No,” he says. His favorite word. It’s so multipurpose. Here it means: books I studied from fifteen years ago, when I thought my life would go very differently than it has, but nothing useful. He turns away from the shelf when he hears Anders moving and stands there watching while he touches the rings. “Enchanter Crysanthe carried those around. She never explained what it was for.”

He takes Kostos at his one word and doesn't come over to join him and peer at things. If there's nothing interesting over there, it's entirely believable.

"Carried them around on a daily basis?" He's never seen their like, and if she carried them regularly, then they have to be safe to move. After a moment's consideration he hefts them, deciding they're portable enough. "We're robbing the place, might as well not leave them. I can try to figure out what they do."

It would be a nice, low-stress project.

[ Audra is in awe of the Circle, even if the suspended nature of everything left behind makes it feel almost like a crypt. She wants to dig through everything, but she starts in the library like many others, quickly able to identify books that might be useful to the Inquisition.

Every once in a while she stops to thumb through forgotten notes. She sighs a little, wistfully. ]

I would have loved to study here...

Likewise. Now I almost wish I had transferred....

[If the Circles hadn't fallen, perhaps she would have done so. Inessa pauses at her side, Garahel sniffing -and sneezing- at just about everything, however dust-covered.]

Garahel has some room in his side-bags for those books, if you'd like. I can take a handful as well, though he can carry far more than I.

[Inessa remains outwardly stoic, though those that know her well can sense a tension within her. It's not easy for her to enter the abandoned Circle, the quiet halls and various signs of life that had existed reminding her all too well of the time when Kinloch Hold was under siege, and the aftermath. Circumstances are thankfully different; there are no abominations or blood mages to fight, and she keeps telling herself this silently whenever a glance to dusty shelves or abandoned meals has her stomach twisting in knots. Garahel is at her side, of course, unusually quiet and alert.

What draws her interest? The spirit magic books in the library, the Chantry-banned books beneath the floorboard, the rare potion ingredients, and runecrafting supplies. Much of her time is spent in the former storeroom previously manned by Tranquil, mulling over schematics and notes. So absorbed is she that Inessa doesn't hear the approach of footsteps even as Garahel wags his tail at the newcomer. She smiles and lifts some schematics to her wisp-summoned light.]

Sweet Maker...now this could be useful!

"What," She prods at the block of glass. "D'you reckon'd happen if we broke it."

She rocks back onto her feet, casts the little room an appraising glance. It's been a pleasant few hours' wandering: She'll be sick off the plums later, but a nap in a sunlit chaise lounge is just the thing to cure what ails.

And in the mean time, there's plenty just waiting for the take. Some other lot's already seen to the supplies, and it's a bloody miracle those haven't upped and walked off already. Have to be right stupid or desperate to chance breaking into mage territory — let alone ones this fucking flash — but stupid grows everywhere, even cities rich as this. Desperation does too.

"Ain't getting it back in one piece, neither way, I figure."

May as well see what it does.

"D'you want the worst-case for that one? Because it's definitely the mist in there boils out and kills us before reanimating our corpses."

While he's not so much use for reading titles or evaluating schematics, Myr's another pair of hands for crating books--or alchemical supplies--or whatever else someone with eyes might deem worth retrieving en masse for the Inquisition's clerks to dig through later. It isn't as if they've got unlimited time for this little expedition, leisurely as it might be; anything he can get into a box is something they'd not otherwise take with them. (The garden by itself was reward enough for him; he's seeds to take back to Kirkwall for Fern, to see how they'll prove out in the blustery southern climate.)

"Though I doubt even Nevarrans are crazy enough to keep something like that sitting around where anyone could bust it open," he adds cheerily, tucking another jar of dried herbs away in his half-filled crate. "S'pose I could feel it out a little before you tip it over, though."

No telling it had magic enough in it to respond to prodding with energize, but it's worth a shot.

"It could be some kind of super high condensed magical energy, and prodding at it could cause it to explode in a horrifically violent manner, that'll blast us into bits of dust before we can even say 'well, shit'."

It's rude to insert yourself into other people's conversations, but either no one told Gareth, or he just doesn't care. Either way, he appears at the doorway, all smiles and good cheer, as he casually contemplates horrific deaths. Despite his predictions, he saunters up to the block, and tilts his head, examining it curiously.

"But, I mean. It could also just be high grade room deodorizer. Hardcore lilac smell, to combat all the decomposing corpses."

She thinks about letting Myr do it. For a second, she really does — sure, go shove some more magic at this place, that's just what we're all missing —

And then Gareth's talking. Melys fishes a finger along gums, thinks; taps teeth that can't have survived to be this white and shiny through anything short of divine intervention. A moment to rock back on her heels.

She thinks about it, she does. It's all a grand show of consideration. Then she turns her eyes on Gareth, hovers out a palm before the glass, and shoves hard.

Glass shatters, purple vapour snaking up amid shards and into the air. Melys shrugs to her feet, inhales to speak,

"Well, shit."

It's high and tinny, voice squeaking like a child's.

It definitely isn't hardcore lilac deodorizer.

"Melys," the name's made even more plaintive by how Myr sounds like his credulous seven-year-old self, "what did you do."

She pushed the block over, of course. Of course, and they're lucky it wasn't highly condensed magical energy, but it's hard to be upset about that when they're obviously not dead and arguing about this from the Maker's bosom. He heaves an exaggerated soprano sigh and adds, "If this is permanent you're helping me with a cure."

Van will be delighted while it lasts, though; maybe he ought to call his cousin and share the embarrassment around.

This is so much worse than hardcore lilac deodorizer.

Gareth is already squinting and starting to take a few steps back when Melys makes a big production of thinking. It's not that he doesn't trust her specifically, he just doesn't trust anyone, save roughly three people. And his paranoia is, naturally, completely right. But he hadn't been paranoid enough, because those few steps don't manage to put him far enough away to escape the purple vapor.

He has enough time to think about what a horribly embarrassing way to die this is, after everything he's done. Then keep thinking about it. Because he's not dead. He opens his mouth to yell about how lucky she is that they aren't dead, because his spirit would've killed her spirit again, when Melys speaks. Then Myr speaks. And Gareth clamps his mouth shut. Or--?

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Nope, it's squeaky and high-pitched and Gareth promptly shuts his mouth again, letting his glaring do the rest of the talking.

What did you do.

"Didn’t stand around like a pussy is what," She squeaks — hears herself, scowls, tries again: "Maker, if this keeps on,"

Ugh! Why do actions sometimes have consequences!!

She stands, shoots a look between them daring a comment, and alright. Maybe that’s not the best way to dissuade Myr, but —

The restless stamp of a foot as she turns to collect a box, threatens:

"Don’t need words t’gut y’all." Like she’d get half as far against two mages, but they all know that; she wouldn’t be saying it otherwise. (She would, but it’s all in the context.) "Where’d that other lot get off to, anyway?"

Myr shoots Gareth's approximate direction a don't ask that; you're not getting an answer sort of look, though there's amusement in it all the same. He's not known Melys for long, but it's long enough to know she's not going to dignify something like that--

QED.

"We'll just pack up the rest of these in dignified silence," he supplies for her. "And then go into dignified exile somewhere warm we haven't got to talk to anyone."

He hasn't got an answer for the other question--one part blindness to not notice when they'd taken off, one part distraction with his task--and so is more than happy to get back to the box he's been working on. But not before thumbing his crystal on and very quietly giving it Vandelin's name, followed by a high-pitched, sotto voce, "Don't say anything, just listen."

He'll explain later.

"Well, I'd only need one word to--" Luckily for everyone, even people not in the room, Gareth doesn't manage to finish what would have probably been an ill-fated threat. Myr's right, dignified silence probably the way to go, here. Not that silence has ever been Gareth's forte, but the whole horrible squeaking voice thing will be a great motivator to give it a try.

And to be as vague as possible to Melys, because all he offers to her when she asks about the others is a shrug. And then Myr's already back to his task, and Gareth should probably go see what the others are actually up to. And cry to Kostos and Nell and see if they can fix his voice. So he makes a face at Melys, and then makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a fairwell for Myr, before turning and starting to beat a retreat. Later gators.

Gareth has a box of books he's already sorted out, but he's found the astrarium, and is now inspecting it closely. He puts both hands on it, and gives it a mighty push, with all his strength....which does absolutely nothing, not as much as a wiggle. He gives another push, really trying...with the same effect.

With an angry huff, he steps away, and contents himself with inspecting the astrology readings it offers, instead. "Yeah, well, you would've been useless to cart all the way back with us, anyway." He informs the astrarium angrily, as he begins manipulating the dweomers. Still. It would've been cool to show up at Kirkwall with an entire astrarium.

Looting the Circle

OPEN to whoever

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Nerd alert

OTA

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