WHO: Adalia, Alistair, Freddie, Herian, Loghain, Medicine Seller, Melys, Nathaniel, Notas, Teren. WHAT: Rescuing a king, maybe. WHEN: Early Wintermarch WHERE: An island off Seheron, the Fade NOTES: Violence, disturbing imagery.
Adalia listens, and she tries, she really does, to put herself in the shoes of someone so entirely alienated that the Circle would be a boon and not a prison. Could she say she would think differently of Candlekeep, if she'd had the opportunity to form memories before she ended up there? Maybe she'd have been grateful for the respite from the damp as well — maybe her family would have been such that she would have eagerly glommed onto any sense of kinshp she could find there and be grateful for it.
It's an entirely foreign thought exercise for her — she has never had anything to compare Candlekeep to, and so its merits, whatever they are, are just givens. A bed of her own and stone to keep out the damp are great things, it seems, but they did nothing to keep her from wanting more. Is that a fault of ingratitude, then, or a tragedy on the part of these sorcerers, who don't know to reach for all that is within their grasp?
"I understand, I think," she says slowly, mulling over her words and thoughts carefully. "The Circle offered you security, and the world had taught you to be afraid of your abilities, so safety seemed an adequate exchange for freedom."
There is little judgment in her voice — much as Adalia abhors the idea of giving up freedom for any reason, she's done similar, after a fashion. Still —
"I'm sorry, I've tried, but it still sounds to me like your Circles trick you into thinking you need them. Not that I think sorcerers should just run around throwing lightning bolts at people until they get what they want, but there is always a middle ground between murder and complete subjugation to the point you're grateful when you get scraps of decency. And if there isn't —"
Make one. Too naive? Adalia moves through the world as if thngs will be so because she wills them, because that is how magic works. She wills a lightning bolt to be where it was not before, she decides it should be there, and it is. She decides that Thedas should completely and utterly reform its institutions and opinions... There would be work to do, of course. Not even a spell gets done with will alone. But there will never be a change until someone decides there should be and takes the first step.
"If there isn't, you make one. You're all already well on the way. Circles as magical universities, places of learning and instruction — that makes complete sense. Send children there to learn, then back to their families to help with the summer harvest — or whatever, I don't know, I'm just thinking out loud. But as it stands, the Circle just sounds like a jail that's better than the alternative."
"I feel that you are quick insult my dignity and my intelligence," she replies, mildly. "I know not if it is because my experience differs from that presented to you first, or if I have caused some offence or faltered in my explanation."
It is very possibly the latter. She is not engaging or dramatic in the way that some are; not persuasive with her wit, not an artist at storytelling. She used to be, but that part of her was tied to brashness and impulsivity, and she dreads it is as likely to wound as it is to do good. She could not afford to be brash, to be emotional, when so much in the world was at stake. No; Herian remains entirely steady. That is what a knight should be, steady.
"I experienced great kindness from many in the Circles, and more than simple scraps of dignity. Please respect my word for what it is, and do not dismiss it so lightly. Calling the Circle a jail..." she swallows, and perhaps that gesture is the sole indication of how insulting she found that remark, jail, how painful.
No. Focus. This is not about me. This is not about my hurts.
"Our foremost duty is to serve the purposes of this mission, and I've not want to cause disturbance within our party. If your wish is to dismiss me as someone foolish or deceived, so be it, but I would pray you spare me your prejudices until we have completed the task the Warden has begged our assistance in." She keeps her tone even, respectful.
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It's an entirely foreign thought exercise for her — she has never had anything to compare Candlekeep to, and so its merits, whatever they are, are just givens. A bed of her own and stone to keep out the damp are great things, it seems, but they did nothing to keep her from wanting more. Is that a fault of ingratitude, then, or a tragedy on the part of these sorcerers, who don't know to reach for all that is within their grasp?
"I understand, I think," she says slowly, mulling over her words and thoughts carefully. "The Circle offered you security, and the world had taught you to be afraid of your abilities, so safety seemed an adequate exchange for freedom."
There is little judgment in her voice — much as Adalia abhors the idea of giving up freedom for any reason, she's done similar, after a fashion. Still —
"I'm sorry, I've tried, but it still sounds to me like your Circles trick you into thinking you need them. Not that I think sorcerers should just run around throwing lightning bolts at people until they get what they want, but there is always a middle ground between murder and complete subjugation to the point you're grateful when you get scraps of decency. And if there isn't —"
Make one. Too naive? Adalia moves through the world as if thngs will be so because she wills them, because that is how magic works. She wills a lightning bolt to be where it was not before, she decides it should be there, and it is. She decides that Thedas should completely and utterly reform its institutions and opinions... There would be work to do, of course. Not even a spell gets done with will alone. But there will never be a change until someone decides there should be and takes the first step.
"If there isn't, you make one. You're all already well on the way. Circles as magical universities, places of learning and instruction — that makes complete sense. Send children there to learn, then back to their families to help with the summer harvest — or whatever, I don't know, I'm just thinking out loud. But as it stands, the Circle just sounds like a jail that's better than the alternative."
no subject
It is very possibly the latter. She is not engaging or dramatic in the way that some are; not persuasive with her wit, not an artist at storytelling. She used to be, but that part of her was tied to brashness and impulsivity, and she dreads it is as likely to wound as it is to do good. She could not afford to be brash, to be emotional, when so much in the world was at stake. No; Herian remains entirely steady. That is what a knight should be, steady.
"I experienced great kindness from many in the Circles, and more than simple scraps of dignity. Please respect my word for what it is, and do not dismiss it so lightly. Calling the Circle a jail..." she swallows, and perhaps that gesture is the sole indication of how insulting she found that remark, jail, how painful.
No. Focus. This is not about me. This is not about my hurts.
"Our foremost duty is to serve the purposes of this mission, and I've not want to cause disturbance within our party. If your wish is to dismiss me as someone foolish or deceived, so be it, but I would pray you spare me your prejudices until we have completed the task the Warden has begged our assistance in." She keeps her tone even, respectful.