faderift | when you've gone about things all wrong,

WHO: Myr + YOU! (With starters for Herian, Vandelin, and Newt.)
WHAT: Bees, glyphs, knight-enchanting, just plain Chant(ing), and other things relevant to Myr's interests
WHEN: Early to mid-Solace
WHERE: All around the Gallows & Kirkwall
NOTES: Will be added as needed!

i. when the day begins to break // the Gallows courtyard

With the height of Kirkwall's summer cresting hot and muggy, Myr's made even more effort to confine his conditioning to the early morning hours. He's up and out before dawn to run laps of the prayer garden (much smaller than the courtyard, but fewer people there and the obstacles don't change day to day); after that, staff-sparring or grappling with whoever might be about, or barring a live opponent, a session with one of the dummies.

Then, magic: Today, he bends all his focus to a knight-enchanter's disruption field, throwing a rippling bubble of slowed time over a secluded corner of the courtyard. A footstep overheard, a voice--at the sound of someone approaching he'll toss a sunny smile their way, and a request: "If you've got a moment, d'you mind stepping inside there? Promise it's harmless; you'll just slow down a bit."

ii. in the things & the way they could have been // the library

Thursday evening, Chant discussion group. In light of recent concerns over the rifters, Myr'd opened the floor to talk of spirits--something he'd never have done on his own, uncomfortable as he is on the subject, if it hadn't felt like an inspired necessity. Tonight's discussion lingered long over Senior Enchanter Baden's treatise, with particular attention to how mankind's darkest desires intertwined with with the spirits' needs to lead them both into destruction. Not an easy topic to cover, not by a long shot, but--there was no true acrimony behind any of the arguing and no one had stomped off in a huff this time, so it went well enough.

Thus it's with a quiet sense of relief that he lingers as the rest of the group files out; he's usually the last to go, since it's his pledge to the archivists that gets them the study room every week and they expect the door locked when it's not in use. But today especially he needs a little bit of extra time to process what's been said and tuck it away--

Though he'll not be averse to anyone who wants to talk a little more privately on anything that came up in discussion.

iii. don't forget son when he's out on his own // Kirkwall alienage

Like many city elves born to the alienages, Myr's no precise idea when his nameday falls in the year. "Mid-Solace" is the closest he remembered from the little celebrations his father and Ben threw for him; he'd chosen the fifteenth himself much later out of a love of symmetry. (That it happened to coincide with the nameday of the comely Imayn--whose eye he'd been striving to catch at the time--was a nice bonus.) It had since stuck there, celebrated informally in Hasmal's Circle right up to the year of the rebellion.

After that--

After that he hadn't felt much like celebrating another year's survival, nor had anyone else. It still feels a little wrong to do so, even though the Inquisition's been a boon in other ways--but it is his thirtieth and that requires something to mark it.

He brings honeycomb and wildflowers to offer at the vhenadahl, that little bit of paganry even his father embraced. (The Maker, Iolan had said, had made the People as they were and given them to the lives they now led; He would not begrudge them their traditions, so long as it drew their hearts back to Him in the end.) He kneels at the foot of the great tree to make his gift of them; remains there, after, in quiet prayer to the Maker and His Bride, asking guidance for the coming year.

And then, as quietly: "I hope you can hear me, Dad. I know the Chantry says otherwise--but you'd always believed the Maker kinder than that, and I want to, too."

iv. wildcard

(Surprise me! Or hit me up on Plurk or Discord if you'd like a specific starter.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It would be instinct to simply take the words at face value--at "all right"--and continue blithely onward with their conversation now that they're past that hurdle of awkwardness. It would be instinct, it would be easy, and--Myr doesn't do easy. "It's a damned shame you've had to get used to it and I'm sorry to have contributed, Serah Draco. You deserve better of the world."

Especially given how tumultuous it's been lately, to say nothing of exactly how--fraught--it was to be a professed Loyalist in the Inquisition. They need to be better to each other.

Myr settles back in his own chair as Mal seats herself, steepling his hands before him and giving her words due consideration. "Right, though I'm afraid we haven't access to the arcanist or the notes; the Inquisition discovered all the crystals we've got in Skyhold, without any creator in sight. Which doesn't mean we couldn't recreate one from scratch--but that might not be the best use of our time."

Something in Mal's chest loosened in a way she had not felt in a long, long time, and she felt the corners of her mouth curl up. Even if Serah Shivana couldn't see it, those words healed some of the smaller wounds she had gotten lately.

"I ... thank you." She fiddled with her fingers, before listening closely to him. She sighed - balls she was hoping they at least had a blue-print. "Well, then we can start layering enchantments on top of them. That'll take less time, but we'll have to be careful since we don't really know what kind of magic this is.

"That's one way to proceed," Myr agrees, sitting forward a little in his chair. (Awakened by all the talk, the Comtesse--the nug--lifts her head from her hands, ears working as she considers Mal warily. At length, she determines the young woman to not be a threat and resumes her nap.) "Who'll be doing the enchanting, and what precautions are you planning to take in case you disrupt something volatile?"

Here, Mal started to relax more, and her voice reflected that. Becoming more animated, more excited as she started to speak. "I can do some enchanting - I have some hand in this sort of magic. Unless you can suggest someone I can work with, and I'd be happy to take guidance or even just assist. There is no worry about protecting the area - I'm extremely good at glyph magic - in fact it was my major area of study outside of trying to learn about Necromancy."

...Ah. Well. Myr's expression grows guarded, thoughtful as Mal goes on; he laces his fingers together before him as he considers her words. The silence stretches out a moment or two longer than a normal conversational pause as he picks and discards what he'll say.

When he does finally speak, his tone is kind--but there's a hint of steel behind it. "There's always a worry whenever we're working with magic we don't know, Serah Draco. No matter how familiar the spell seems, all it takes is one interaction you didn't anticipate and you or someone you care about could end up dead. Going over your plans for securing your space, yourself, and the spells you're working on gives you a chance to catch those mistakes before they happen."

The relaxation, gone. Immediately she leans back and folds her hands even more tightly over her knees. She looks down, jaw right, then nods her head.
"Of course, Serah. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume."

She continued to look down at the floor, waiting for him to say, tense for more disapproval or at the very least, a brisk dismissal.

There isn't any to come; having offered his rebuke, Myr's done making his point. She seems a bright kid; she'll surely act on the advice--

Although it doesn't take eyes to catch on to the sudden change in her demeanor. That's not quite the effect he wanted. "It's no presumption at all; I simply don't want a mage under my supervision coming to grief," he says, kindly. "Though I hadn't thought to ask before we started if you'd ever taken on a project like this before by yourself. What's your experience been?"

And then, after a beat of a pause: "And who mentored you in glyphs?"

She nods her head and looks anywhere but his face. Not that it matters because he's Blind, but, she just can't right now. She's just waiting for it now. The shift, the coldness and the heavy weight of disappointment.

"I ...started while I was just an apprentice in the Cumberland Circle. However it was First Enchanter Lydia of the Ostwick Circle who really saw to my glyphs education. She wasn't a Necromancer but she has - had - a really wide variety of subjects under her belt."

That's a mark in her favor, in the often-complex politics of the Circle. (Which Myr liked to pretend he could ignore--but there's a meaning in a mage being marked out by a First Enchanter for training, and he's not ignorant of that.) "What drew you to them? That's not a usual pairing for necromancy--which, I understand, takes considerable dedication itself."

Considerable dedication that he doesn't like even thinking about, but it's her speciality and he can bridle his own unease long enough to learn a little more about her--set her at ease.

when you've gone about things all wrong,

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