Before all of this--before the Mage-Templar War, before the Breach, before Corypheus--there'd been precious little reason for a Circle mage and a Dalish one to ever cross paths. Encountering a Keeper or her apprentices was the stuff of idle daydreams for most of Myr's life, colored by turns by childhood wistfulness and Chantry propaganda (but more the former than the latter). How might it be, what would they talk about, would they even like him or be interested in what he'd learned in the Circles--
Coming to the Inquisition and meeting his cousins and counterparts in the flesh had been more than he'd ever imagined, and sometimes less, in the way a dream's fulfillment always held unexpected joys and disappointments. Even then he'd somehow ended up befriending all of them (even if Sorrel had taken the longest), and he's been rewarded so many times over by that friendship it seems entirely natural to entrust it once again to a newcomer. (It doesn't hurt in the least it's someone offering kindness when he needs it most sorely.)
"It was hard," Myr affirms, "but you know--he'd taught me all along a day like that might come, and he told me he was proud of me for going. And we wrote each other, and I thought I'd have a chance to see him again..." Again, the scene plays out, but it's loosing its force and definition for want of interest. Spirits are ever thus--
Which speaks to the particular persistence of the one following this new mage. Myr pulls his gaze from the ghostly hunter, the better to not give it substance, and gives Finel a smile without much happiness in it. Yet, it's a smile still. "I can't imagine it was any easier--leaving all you know to head off with strangers, all for an accident of birth--and you're barely of an age to understand. Was he--" From the new or the old, he can't quite articulate, giving a twitch of his head to indicate the spirit hanging behind Finel.
crawls out of the hiatus pit
Coming to the Inquisition and meeting his cousins and counterparts in the flesh had been more than he'd ever imagined, and sometimes less, in the way a dream's fulfillment always held unexpected joys and disappointments. Even then he'd somehow ended up befriending all of them (even if Sorrel had taken the longest), and he's been rewarded so many times over by that friendship it seems entirely natural to entrust it once again to a newcomer. (It doesn't hurt in the least it's someone offering kindness when he needs it most sorely.)
"It was hard," Myr affirms, "but you know--he'd taught me all along a day like that might come, and he told me he was proud of me for going. And we wrote each other, and I thought I'd have a chance to see him again..." Again, the scene plays out, but it's loosing its force and definition for want of interest. Spirits are ever thus--
Which speaks to the particular persistence of the one following this new mage. Myr pulls his gaze from the ghostly hunter, the better to not give it substance, and gives Finel a smile without much happiness in it. Yet, it's a smile still. "I can't imagine it was any easier--leaving all you know to head off with strangers, all for an accident of birth--and you're barely of an age to understand. Was he--" From the new or the old, he can't quite articulate, giving a twitch of his head to indicate the spirit hanging behind Finel.