Cannot Find The Words

[el_tybs]

WHO: Samouel Gareth and ANYONE
WHAT: A lots happened since the Fallow Mire. Sam reflects and keeps busy before getting shipped out again.
WHEN: Between returning from Fallow Mire and leaving for War Table operations
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Just the usual.

{Magic Lessons - Before/During/After}
Even though Fallow Mire had been trying, it doesn't mean that he can just take a break from his lessons. Sam is progressing with his Spirit magic with the help of Lady LeBlanc, as well as learning to control Ice spells to a point, though having difficulty. He's also trying to get the grasp on Storm magic with the help of Roul.


{The Armory}
With the new shipment of ores from the Fallow Mire there have been numerous orders for armor and weapons. Seeing as his sparring lessons with Krem have been put on hold for now for... reaons, he spends most late afternoons/early evenings helping with the forges.


{The Library}
He's still having issues falling asleep since the bog so Sam spends a good amount of time in the library in the evenings. That's not the only thing keeping him up. There are a number of crumpled up papers on the floor as he tries to figure out what to say in a letter.


{Wildcard}

Comments

[slaveking]

That sounds like good advice for any universe in which the word 'demon' holds the same connotations. Watching the young mage, Marcel's eyes flatten then sharpen again. He isn't usually one for comforting. It's better that our local magic users know what they're up against, by his measure— the sole exception being, when they're up against him.

"Makes sense, they've come out in time for a war."

And now he does push himself off the boulder. Only stands on his own two feet long enough to move a couple steps closer, dropping into a crouch on the grass a conversational distance away. "That's what this is, right? People united, versus demons. That the war you all have fought here?"

[el_tybs]

He's not sure why Marcel has to get closer to talk, but it doesn't seem to phase Sam much, except maybe draw his legs back so that he can sit straighter. A war against demons? Is that what Marcel thought this was? Much had not been explained to him apparently.

"There isn't a war going on against demons. It's an ongoing struggle since the time we came into existence. But there has been quite an increase in their activity, a side effect of the war currently going on. We are currently fighting a war against an ancient corrupted magister and the people who have chosen to follow him."

[slaveking]

"Ancient?"

It's probably a slightly peculiar word to latch onto, in a sequence of extremely interesting words that Sam just said. 'Since the time we came into existence' is a good one. 'Corrupted magister.' 'The people who have chosen to follow him.' Apparently there are certain conflicts between good and evil, the latter side captained by very old leaders, that find permutations in many dimensions of existence. Or whatever the Hell this happens to be.

But ancient.

Any abilities that mirror his own are wont to draw Marcel's interest. "Are magisters human?" He folds his arms over his own knees, making himself comfortable.

[el_tybs]

"I assume most magisters are, though Corypheus is no longer human by any means. All I know about magisters is that it means they'ree part of the Magisterium which is the ruling senate for Trevinter. If you want to know more about them you'd have to ask someone from Tevinter about that, or someone better read about that particular subject. Dorian Pavus would be your best bet."

[slaveking]

Marcel marks the name down in memory. Dorian Pavus. It's certainly suitable to the era. Dorian is a name he otherwise thought was reserved for cats, irritatingly pretentious werewolves, and elective decisions made later in one's adult life. "I'll have to ask him," he says, and then he starts to straighten again, getting back up on his feet. But he extends Sam's sitting figure a hand.

"Thanks for the information, Samouel. I appreciate it. Some people have been looking sideways at me."

He wiggles the fingers of his glowy-palmed hand by way of explanation, but he probably means-- because he's a Rifter.

[el_tybs]

"Any time, Marcel." Sam takes the hand gratefully, pulling himself up from the ground, though doesn't release it once he's on his feet, instead giving it a firm shake. "They've been doing that to all the Rifters, especially because of the clothes; you stand out. It'll just take some time."

[slaveking]

New threads. Marcel puts that on the list in the back of his mind. Maybe the next person he bites, if they are his size.

It'll be fine. No permanent harm, no real foul.

He squeezes Sam's hand firmly. He has a good handshake, confident, dry. A little cool, but it is winter out here, and the calluses are contoured across the heel and inside of his knuckles in a pattern that Sam might recognize as those of a warrior's of some sort. He lets go. "I'll leave you to your practice," he says. "Best of luck."

[el_tybs]

Marcel is definitely more then what he lets on, but nothing that phases Sam at the moment. "Thanks. Luck to you as well."