faderift | Collect the full set of mages having a bad month (semi-open)

Julius has been, for the most part, relatively lucky so far (to the extent anyone affected by the phylactery thief can be lucky). As with the earliest days of the problem, he most often gets hit with a bout of paralysis, or occasionally the brief inability to cast. Unnerving, certainly, but not damaging.

The fire was something else again. He'd been able to dispel it before it caught anything else in his lab, but the accompanying fear meant it had taken long enough he had a few serious burns (and his robes were in sorry shape). After gingerly changing clothes, he's made his way to the infirmary; his healing skills are moderate at best, and he knows that burns are nothing to take risks with.

He's masking how much pain he's in, trying not to draw attention on the walk over, but it's taking some effort.

Julius gave Myr a bit of space to rest after the cure had been announced. Everyone had pushed themselves, arguably too much, and they deserved a break.

That said, Myr has a mind for research, and given that it's been confirmed the problem is not confined to mages who'd been at Kinloch Hold, Julius is ready to admit he could use some help. Given that remotely severing the connection between a mage and their phylactery is, if not impossible, something that no one would write about, Julius' best hope is a method for finding the culprit. But he's also willing to admit that perhaps he's overlooking something. He's still tired, and not at his best.

(And, perhaps less pressingly, Julius wouldn't mind seeing someone he considers a friend these days, though that wouldn't seem enough of a reason on its own.)

Edited 2018-02-18 18:51 (UTC)

Julius spends a lot of time in the library, for all he has his own workspace now as a project leader. It simply seems more practical to take notes where the information is, especially if he finds he needs to cross-reference something.

He's sitting quietly at a table, copying some text, when suddenly he's thrown backward, knocking the chair over. He comes to what sounds like a rough stop against a nearby shelf. (Luckily the shelf is sturdy enough not to budge at a rather tall mage being thrown into it without warning, though he does displace a book or two.) "Maker take it," Julius swears, in a voice that is almost certainly too loud for a library.

Julius doesn't actually need anything in the garden except fresh air. The quarantine has been lifted and he knows he can come and go as he pleases, but he still feels caught in a way that he dislikes. He rationally knows it doesn't have much to do with outdoor versus indoor, but he doesn't care. The sun makes him feel marginally better.

It's been a few days since he was hit by a spell, and he can't help the feeling that he's overdue. He hates that he's even so resigned to it, but an effective method to block the effect didn't seem to be forthcoming.

All in all, his expression doesn't match "relaxed walk in the garden." He's more grimly walking in the sunshine as if to defiantly tell the universe I'm relaxing now, just look at how hard I can relax.

He's not entirely sure whether Petrana wants to see him, after her illness. For one thing, she'd probably said more than she meant him to know about her past when she was in its first flush and he'd gone to check in on her. For another, she probably wouldn't be thrilled with the prospect of her room going up in flames if he happened to be the victim of a rouge fireball that day.

But eventually, his desire to assure himself she was recovering wins out over these potential objections. She was a woman who knew her own mind; if she wished to politely and summarily dismiss him, he had no doubts she was more than capable of doing just that.

He thinks about coming up with some sort of alternate pretext, but decides against it. Instead, he's simply approaching with the honest motive of seeing how she is, and leaving the length of his visit up to her.

For all she isn't expecting him, the interruption isn't an unwelcome one when he arrives at her office—she looks up at his entrance and the slight frown she'd been directing towards the reports coming across her desk clears into something warmer in a way that seems disarmingly unguarded. Isn't, entirely, when she measures even her honest responses before allowing them to breathe, but no less charming for that.

“Enchanter,” she says, and even smiling as she is that she steps back behind that formality is no accident.

She'll not show embarrassment, but it doesn't mean she doesn't feel it.

He matches her smile with a charming, if muted one of his own. Despite himself, he looks a little tired. "Madame de Cedoux. I hope you'll forgive my boldness in observing I'm glad you seem to be in much better health than when last we spoke. How are you feeling these days?"

For all he'd been in and out of the infirmary, they hadn't had much time to talk in the late days of her illness, and likely wouldn't have even if memory hadn't played a factor; still, given his concern while she was sick, he supposes his checking in on her now can hardly come as a shock.

Adalia is sitting in the library, as per usual, minding her own business and copying down some notes (she's moved on from the more concrete Thedosian knowledge to stuff that's more theory by now, and is today studying the Chantry in an effort to understand why the fuck so many people here like it so much), when there's a clang and a clatter and loud cursing, and the part of her that is still stuck in Candlekeep bristles at loud noises in a library.

She stands up from her table to go investigate, but Charis the baby dragon is way ahead of her, gliding between shelves until he gets to the place where all the noise came from. He blinks down at the mage crumpled against the shelf, then chirps to get the man's attention and holds a claw to his lips and hisses out air in a vague imitation of a shushing gesture.

“Better,” she allows, making herself rueful and willing him to politely fail to notice the way her knuckles whiten even as she smiles, how she curls her fingers beneath her palms and slips her hands from her desk to her lap where they are less easily observed.

The fever is passed. They are remembered.

She has a great deal to remember.

“I—”

A brief pause. It isn't like her to remain behind her desk in company, she reminds herself, and rises; clasps her hands and goes to the fireside. The comfortable seats, the teapot. The trappings of normality.

“I fear I was not much use 'til the end,” she says, touching the glyph on the pot, watching it steam. “You'd all much to do.” There is an invitation in it—to sit, to speak. And for herself, to assert a kind of control over an experience that is over, and that had made her feel helpless.

Unable to help it, Julius starts to laugh (quietly). "Sorry," he manages between his attempts to muffle his laughter. "Sorry, I'm just... I didn't think I hit my head that hard."

He glances up as Adalia catches up to Charis. "...did I actually get shushed by a dragon just now?"

"In all honesty, I can't claim to have been much help either, for all the energy I expended." It shouldn't matter who found the cure, really, but it grates that he contributed so little of use.

Still, he comes to sit. "And I understand you were helpful in the end, which is something, at least." A pause, then, "I know it wasn't strictly my fault, but I'm still sorry for neglecting you when I had trouble remembering. Deliberate or not, it had to be deeply unpleasant to feel overlooked." Not, necessarily, by him in particular but more broadly.

"Well, you have to teach them young, you know. They get very set in their ways very quickly, and then I'd have a dragon I couldn't bring into a library, and that just won't do."

Adalia smiles and holds out her hand to help pull Julius up from the shelf.

"If it makes you feel better, I promise he's not dangerous unless you keep making loud noises. How did you manage this, anyway? Did some warrior come and shove you in the stacks?"

Warriors are the fantasy version of jocks, it is known.

"Hello, y--" What's meant to be a friendly greeting when he sees Julius' face gets cut off when he sees the shape the man is in. The injury shouldn't be much of a surprise, but there's a difference between knowing what's going on and seeing it.

"Here." He gestures to the cot, pulling blankets and pillow out of the way so that nothing brushes against sensitive spots. A moment later he's following it with an offering of an elfroot potion for the pain. "Drink this first off. Why didn't you call on the crystals?" Because it's obvious Julius changed, none of his clothing is even singed.

Her gaze drops to the teapot, to her hands—she picks it up to disguise the moment, and it is more poorly done than she'd like. There is tea, though, and it steadies her to do something, to feel slightly less exposed.

It had felt familiar, she will not say.

“You did all that you could,” she says, instead, softer.

He certainly doesn't look very relaxed.

In fact, Fern is eyeing him almost suspiciously from where she's at work sorting herbs in the store room, peering out the window at him as though trying to determine whether he's got it in his head to go rooting around near the warming glyphs she has set up near the embrium. He looks agitated, regardless.

...oh, right, she's head gardener now. She should probably... do something. About that.

"Are you looking for something?" Venturing out of ~~her hiding place~~ the store room, she approaches Julius and puts her best professional foot forward. It's not much of one, but she tries.

Edited 2018-02-22 21:50 (UTC)

It was a rest sorely needed, and Myr'd spent as much of it ~~humanly~~ elvenly possible asleep. Still not enough to make up for how far he'd depleted his own reserves--but it's put some spring back into his step and given him the wherewithal to face this next crisis with something like equanimity.

He arrives at Julius' door on time and with lunch (food is affection and they'd a penchant for missing meals when they really got going, besides). Given the invitation extended he doesn't bother to knock, merely lets himself in and makes a beeline for where he last remembered a suitable table. "How're you holding up?" he asks, laying out what he's brought--hearty stuff and unimaginative, given the Gallows' stores are growing thin this time of year. "No other fireballs, I hope."

Julius takes her hand and gets to his feet. "No, nothing so neat, I'm afraid." He keeps his voice quiet, both out of respect for the general library atmosphere and to try to keep the young dragon appeased. "I don't know if you've heard, but some of the mages are being targeted with remote magic. Unfortunately, there's no advance warning to speak of." He exhales, a bit frustrated. "I should probably avoid the library, but I'm also trying to research ways of finding out who's doing it in the first place so... anyhow. I am sorry I interrupted your reading."

He's clearly curious about Charis, but doesn't immediately ask.

"Luckily no," Julius says, seated at the table, still where Myr remembers. He'd normally get up, but frankly he's a bit sore these days and he doesn't think Myr will mind the slight informality. "Mostly paralysis, which is unnerving but doesn't have a blast radius, at least." (He's grateful that his life seldom puts him in situations where a few minutes frozen is more than an unsettling nuisance.)

"How have you been? It's been a rough time for everyone, but researchers have had a heavier load, I think."

"I'm not a healer, but I do know enough healing to be sure I wasn't going to collapse on the way over," Julius says, sitting and accepting the potion without complaint. "And you have your hands full enough. I came straight here." After changing clothes.

"At least I was alone," he adds, "and I didn't catch anything structural." So, you know. Silver linings. He still drinks the potion without further delay, suggesting that his demeanor is in spite of pain, rather than indicative of its absence.

"There's that," he agrees with mild amusement. "The Gallows won't collapse today, seen to by the Loyalist."

There's no judgment to the title, though. It's said in the old tone he'd used a lifetime ago, back in Kinloch Hold. The Loyalist and the Libertarian.

"Do you need another to drink?" The question is asked as Anders is already casting. He can stop to get more pain relief for Julius, if it's needed, but he's not going to wait when the burns are obvious.

"Whether I need it or not, I wouldn't say no, but it can wait." He may be in a bit more pain than he's showing, at that. If he felt better, he might lightly banter back, or even prod at the use of the title; he doesn't.

"It's a wonder the place hasn't burned down yet, when someone keeps lighting its mages on fire," he mutters of the Gallows instead, focusing on his genuine frustration as a (slightly) more productive reaction.

Anders snorts at the latter, trying to cover it up with a cough before breaking off from the healing to bring a second potion and offer it out. He knows Julius enough to read between the lines unless something has dramatically changed in the years they were apart.

"Maybe it shouldn't wait. Healing seems easier when someone is in less pain. I don't know if that's more that their body is less on the defense against something being done on it, or if pain inhibits Creation magic, but it's not something I'm going to commission a study on. The Gallows, though, I might. All the things this place has been through... can buildings survive on spite?" People certainly seem to be able to. He resumes healing, grateful that at least Julius has the energy to muse. The other mage doesn't look well and Anders can only guess at how many spells he's been hit with.

"People certainly can," Julius agrees, taking the potion. "I wouldn't put it past a place. Though I'm not sure whether it's comforting or the opposite to remember it's seen much worse."

It's not that he's making light of what they're dealing with -- if anything, the opposite -- but context certainly matters as much as ever.

"How've you been managing?" he asks, once Anders seems to be in a position not to need his full concentration.

"I hadn't heard, that sounds... Well, terrible, honestly. Though I suppose I don't have to tell you that, do I?"

Just one more reason to be glad she isn't a native sorcerer, honestly. Where some might take this news as a cue to get the fuck away from the afflicted mages, Adalia doesn't go anywhere, instead stooping down to collect the books displaced by his hitting the shelves.

"I wasn't reading about anything all that important, it's all right. Would you like help with your research? I don't know too terribly much about your native magic, but I read quickly and I take good notes."

"It's certainly not ideal," he says, of the situation generally. At least he's in good enough shape to help her collect the books. "I wouldn't mind the help, if you're not otherwise occupied. It's a tricky problem. Phylacteries are meant to track mages down, they're not meant to track back to whoever possessed them. I suppose for obvious reasons."

He pauses, then: "Wait, first, do you know about the phylacteries?" Because he should probably back up if not. It's going to be hard for her to know what she's looking for without at least a cursory frame of reference.

"I know a little of them. Acceptable blood magic, as opposed to every other kind."

Not that anyone told Adalia that — that's a conclusion she's come to on her own, determined to find fault with the Circles and the Chantry. It's magic done with blood, ergo... The Chantry are hypocrites, no one should listen to them, et cetera et cetera.

Though perhaps saying this to a Circle mage is not a great idea.

"We have similar things in Toril, though not for every sorcerer, only those who try to achieve lichdom. They store their... mortality, I suppose you could say, in a phylactery. So long as that phylactery exists, the lich can never truly die. So I'm familiar with the idea, if not your plane's version of it."

He gives Julius a wry flash of a smile at the first bit. Kirkwall is always caught in there - it could be worse, it has been worse, but it could absolutely be better and comfort is a rare thing here.

"I haven't caught fire, so there's that," he says with a return of the wry smile. "It's not easy to hide being hit by it anymore, and the number of people that know is growing rapidly so that's an added layer of stress. Pain I can deal with, but it's that that worries me." He doesn't want to put other mages in danger, but if this goes on too much longer word will absolutely get out.

"Most, so far, at least, are Wardens. And the Wardens here aren't about to sell me out."

"Acceptable very much depends on who you ask. Sanctioned, certainly." Julius feels strongly about blood magic on his own terms, not simply because it was forbidden, but saves that set of opinions for another time.

"Though if making them rendered mages immortal, I sincerely doubt that the Chantry would have made such an exception to the general rule. Are there many who achieve lichdom, where you're from?" It sounds more than mildly unnerving, but the theory interests him at least. What a world with unkillable mages might be like. (He suspects Tevinter would love to find out.)

Collect the full set of mages having a bad month (semi-open)

For Anders

For Myr

For Adalia

For Fern

For Petrana

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