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Entry tags:
open: we built this circle on rock and roll
WHO: Open (mostly), targeted toward people who care about mage problems but anybody's welcome.
WHAT: Looting a Circle, fighting some scavengers, and arguing about the ethics of falsifying records of abuse.
WHEN: Cloudreach
WHERE: Markham
NOTES: This is a sliver of a couple bigger schemes, including a plan to publicize mage mistreatment (which will double as an anti-Gertruda Divine-influencing plot) and a plan to hide some Circle valuables from the Chantry, but your character doesn't have to be aware of those plans to participate in this! They can just be along to help fight bandits and carry heavy stuff. ETA: In some places this log says Ostwick, rather than Markham, because I'm dumb. Ignore them.
WHAT: Looting a Circle, fighting some scavengers, and arguing about the ethics of falsifying records of abuse.
WHEN: Cloudreach
WHERE: Markham
NOTES: This is a sliver of a couple bigger schemes, including a plan to publicize mage mistreatment (which will double as an anti-Gertruda Divine-influencing plot) and a plan to hide some Circle valuables from the Chantry, but your character doesn't have to be aware of those plans to participate in this! They can just be along to help fight bandits and carry heavy stuff. ETA: In some places this log says Ostwick, rather than Markham, because I'm dumb. Ignore them.
Calling an outbreak of enchantment-related deaths and mysterious incidents in Markham convenient would be horribly insensitive to the various burn victims and vanished druffalo involved, but, you know. It is. All of the arguments about whether or not to make formal request for permission to secure the Circle's contents, when it's already their stuff, and if Ostwick says no it might mean the Inquisition won't give them leave to go—those arguments were all for nothing. Markham's response is, essentially, Please do. Hooray!
SEARCH & SLEEPOVER
In the morning there's porridge, then a full day of scavenging through the remains, puzzling over magically locked doors and impassable hallways, sorting dangerous debris that requires careful destruction from mundane debris that can be thrown into the growing bonfire outside, dealing with enormous insect nests that have been constructed in the wardrobes in the last five years or possessed skeletons that stagger unexpectedly out of the dark, and loading anything of value onto the carts and wagons outside.
By the time the work is done, it's too late to travel, so everyone gets a second night of campfire stories and a second morning of porridge.
ooc | Do your own sub-top-levels for whatever interests you! Make up whatever magic puzzle locks and obstacles you want, within reason. If you want your character to personally find and keep anything that would qualify as an AC reward, make sure you do that before running off with it.
Iorveth | OTA
after camp's set up in the library, he doesn't immediately settle in to rest. instead, Iorveth can be seen wandering out into the darker hallways, torch in one hand, sword in the other. No, it's probably not safe to be going out on his own, and no, he doesn't really expect that sword to do much if a spirit hops out at him, but curiosity has the best of him, and he has this terrible habit of ignoring his sense of self-preservation.
maybe follow after his dumb ass and make sure he doesn't get possessed or whatever? he could use a mage (or someone informed) tour guide anyway. ]
[[ ooc; i'm down for puzzle locks or fighting insects/skeletons/etc if you guys want, or just someone touring him around the circle and informing him on how people lived in it, etc etc. ]]
no subject
Is there something or somewhere you spotted earlier you're looking for?
[He asks as he catches up. Iorveth had to have heard him coming; stealth is not Anders' strong point even when he tries and he wasn't trying.]
Sorry. I'm not trying to supervise or something, but the Veil's always a little thin near a Circle and we've already seen a fair few nuisances. I thought I'd help.
i had a tag written and then had to restart my pc and typio didn't save it AND I WAS PISSED
Nothing in particular, no.
[ just curious? is he allowed to say that without someone blowing it off and trying to drag him back to camp? ]
Some old structures hold memories in their bones. [ his mind goes to the elven ruins he's seen here, or the ones at home. ] I've heard so much of the suffering that's come to pass in towers like this, and yet I've not had a chance to witness evidence of the life led here.
[ and iorveth makes it his business to be nosey as all fuck, so, here we are. ] If you wish, you're welcome to be supervisor as well as tour guide.
I completely understand.
[His voice is light enough, considering the topic at hand.]
I'm not entirely familiar with this Circle's cruelties, aside from the the regular ones. I was held in Kinloch Hold. But... well. If we go up, we'll likely find the Harrowing chambers. Down is probably the dungeons, because every Circle must have a dungeon for the children who don't lose their independence and personhood quickly enough. I'd frankly prefer to show the Harrowing chambers and talk of those, but it's tourist's choice today.
[He never wants to be in a dungeon again, but he's hardly about to share his fear and baggage freely. Anders gestures at a door set in the wall.]
That's the staircase. This floor is probably just the small rooms mages were kept in on a day-to-day basis.
no subject
[ announced from a door in the hall, before isaac emerges with hands raised placatingly. don't trip and run through any extremely charming and useful allies with that sword, friend. ]
You'll spy a reenactment of breaking curfew.
[ he hasn't been sleeping. half the party isn't, so there's no particular reason to scrutinize what he has been doing in this room. don't worry about it. ]
no subject
and after a half second, it morphs into a smirk, amused. ]
Does that make me the Templar nanny, or are we partners in crime now?
[ he doesn't want to be the templar, pls, they're icky. ]
no subject
[ past tense. but that's why they're here, isn't it? a year from now, the words could shift again. will, won't. ]
Only ever met the one. [ his chin tips toward the hallway. ] What crime did you have in mind?
Inessa | OTA
Pausing by what she believes to be the First Enchanter's door, Inessa stands back and casts Dispel at the ward. This room is bound to contain interesting information, more so than the library...though she'll be certain to inspect that thoroughly as well. Garahel perks up as he hears footsteps and responds with a happy bark, as Inessa rests her hand on the door handle as she glances over.
"Joining our search, then? The more, the merrier."
no subject
Away from the First Enchanter's office. The woman's too much an unknown for Isaac to trust a first look at whatever might lie within.
"I never had a head for this sort of thing," He's already walking, glance thrown over his shoulder in the expectation of being followed. Doesn't know yet quite what he's looking for, other than a distraction, "Too, how do you say it,"
He knows how to say it. In Orlesian:
"Fiddly."
no subject
"If it's about songs, I'm afraid we can't be of help unless you enjoy a mabari's howl." Inessa quirks a smile, the Grey Warden patting her kaddis-painted companion. It doesn't escape her notice that he's leading her away from the First Enchanter's office, but she doesn't seem to mind for the time being. As long as there's something to do, some way to contribute, she's content. The slight elven woman automatically quickens her steps, used to keeping pace with taller people. "I can certainly try to assist. My memories of the Circle aren't so faded that I can't still make good use of them, if need be."
no subject
Isaac maintains a marked distance from the dog, brows tipping upwards into a smile (Fiddly -- reminded, abruptly, of Anders. Wardens. As though nation is ever the first thing he thinks of elves)
"Five years does fly,"
Since that Circle. It's a question, for what little it's spoken like one; if she was taken before the Rebellion, she isn't so old it can have been long. A sharp left at the end of the hall. A distraction: he'll know one when he sees it.
no subject
In response to the comment (well, question), Inessa nods. "It does indeed. I remembered little else but the Circle, when that life ended and a new course was necessary. If someone had told me how those five years would pass, I would have thought them mad. The parts that were my own choosing, I do not regret." Mostly. Her gaze flits over to him, curious. "Do you miss any of it, or were you glad to shed the system, as were so many others?"
no subject
It doesn't shift the pleasant distance of his expression. Even so, he can spy the handholds, imagines anyone might. The places another might grip and tear loose argument: The freedom to choose; the cost in doing so. Hasn't that always been the fumble?
Isaac didn't choose war, more than any mage might have once chosen recruitment. One was not plucked from stones for only the cost of asking.
"I fear the two not much exclusive —" He misses certainty, or what will pass for it. What will pass for it was too often a shadow. "— Or we'd all have an easier time of it."
Matthias | OTA
He's restless the first night. And he would rather die than voice any kind of complaint, so he bears it all with a staunchness, ready to give anyone a withering look should they suggest some weakness in him.
Any left-over weariness he wears easily, translates any nerves into action, and commits himself to the tasks at hand. Puzzles and locked doors frustrate him, and he's as likely to be found kicking them as unpicking the magic that keeps them closed.
The insect nests are more his style, dispatched with fire. Matthias is good at fire. He can keep it mostly concentrated, sharp sudden bursts that fill the inner spaces of the wardrobes and engulf the nests. There's just once, that he almost loses it. A particular large cupboard, and when the door comes open, there's a particularly thick thatch of spiderweb inside. It's Matthias' shit luck that the web is occupied, and when he hits it with that first blast of flame, out scurries a great big spider, shrieking.
"SHIT," is Matthias' answer, and it echoes loudly around the ruined room. He scrambles up against the wall opposite, fumbling to bring his staff around again, to stop the spider as it barrels toward him, full of fear and vicious intent. And fire, because its head is actually on fire.
When it's confirmed that they've got to stay over another night, Matthias still doesn't complain. He's completely sleepless this second night, though he tries to play it cool, sitting up by the fire like a resolute watchman instead of a nervy kid. Once most people have fallen asleep, he puts his blanket around his shoulders, which, all right, is maybe a little childish. But the open air on the back of his neck is unnerving. With his staff tucked into the crook of his elbow, he looks like a weird shrunken hermit.
At one point in the night, some far-off noise echoes from the bowels of the Circle, and Matthias looks around, wild-eyed, with a breathless, "What was that?", issued at large to anyone still awake. Or just to himself, if he's alone. At least it's a human sound.
no subject
Flat. Isaac isn't sleeping either, though he's neglected to do anything useful about it — one can't watch a great deal by leaning against a wall with eyes shut. He does crack them open, though, and a moment later something more like focus muddles through; collects upon Matthias. Right.
"Or the building," Offered, a touch lamely. It may well be a ghost, but nothing feels particularly good about kicking a boy in a blanket. "Do you suppose we ought to check?"
A gesture to the little ring of bodies. Sally forth or stand guard? (Lean guard. Whatever.)
no subject
"I mean," he says, slowly, "if it's only the building," but Isaac hadn't sounded that convinced of it either. And if it is ghosts, it'd be better to know now rather than later, right, because if they know now, they can act now, rather than later, when they've dropped off to sleep. If they drop off to sleep. Matthias won't. He knows that now.
"If it's only the building," with renewed conviction this time, and he shrugs the blanket off by squaring his shoulders, so he looks less like an idiot, "then we won't lose anything by going off to confirm it's only the building, right." He can't back down, especially now that Isaac is paying attention to him. "And it won't take very long. Right?"
no subject
Death is the more usual phrase. Isaac stretches to his feet — doesn't seem worth shaking anyone else awake for watch. Like as not, the most dangerous things in this ruin are those lying about the fire.
A hand finds his staff, all the same.
"From the left hall, was it?"
Probably not. Deep sounds are down sounds, but he's in no particular hurry to root through a midnight basement, just see the boy doesn't try it alone. Isaac shakes the end of his staff into embers, and flame tints the shade about them low, ruddy; not quite light. It tastes a little like someone else's dream: Waking to find one's house set strange, askew. Down this corridor, there ought to be a staircase — there's nothing at all.
no subject
Hastily, Matthias gets to his feet. He'd like to be coordinated. He comes off as scrambled instead, and even when he's up, the pins-and-needles in his legs and his feet make his walk a little more awkward than it ought to be.
But he has his staff as well. There's not really a need to light it up, not when they have Isaac's to go by. He does it anyways--a brighter, cracklier light, more like a lit torch with its edges snatched by an unseen wind. Fire is a comfort. Something real.
"I think it was down," he says, quiet, lest the ghost or whatever else might be around hear them. "Below, I mean. It sounded deep."
There's no staircase down the corridor, and Matthias knows that. He scouted any hallway connecting to the library on the first night, busying himself like he was on a patrol, like someone needed to secure the perimeter. Perhaps someone did. Perhaps that first effort was more necessary than even he had known at the time.
"There's not actually a ghost," he says, as disinterested as he can manage, and spoken entirely to Isaac's back. "You were just fucking with me. Spiders, though. There's loads of spiders."
no subject
Glanced over his shoulder, squinting approval against the flame.
"I remember your voice," They aren't brimming with Marcher mages — to say nothing of those under twenty, young enough the Circles might have missed them entire. "During that talk of votes."
Isaac taps the end of the wood against stone, listens for the echo of pipes, hollows; some mysterious trapdoor. No such luck. Isaac lingers, not quite yet willing to go search for the steps (to admit he needs searching), turned around despite the past days' work.
Someone else's dream. Still ever a maze.
"We could do with a few more."
Voices, or votes; and never mind, how little their points agreed.
no subject
Do spiders have noses?
All this is to say that Matthias flushes when Isaac looks at him, as if it might be possible to read all of these stupid thoughts from a mere glance at his face. It hopefully goes unnoticed, in the dimness.
"Oh, yeah?"
Just in case it doesn't go unnoticed, he breaks his own stupid hot-face awkwardness by choosing to step manfully close to the wall. What if a ghost sticks its arms out and grabs him? He's not worried. Watch as he puts his ear against the stone, demonstrating how closely he is listening for echoes. That's probably what Isaac is doing. Or else he hopes it is, or else he'll look doubly stupid.
Anyways, there's nothing, and he leans back again, tugging straight his leather armor.
"Seems like there's loads of talking and voting. Dunno why you'd want more. I don't. I'd rather, you know. Do things." Clearly. That's why he volunteered to get up and go wandering about in the dark. Other than the two of them talking, the corridor is deathly quiet. Like a tomb. It is, sort of, a tomb, isn't it. True, if not precisely the thought Matthias wants. "What about you? 'Cause I remember hearing you as well, and thinking you were hard to get a read on."
Not a compliment.
no subject
Worse: Their friends, their roommates, their — whatever they're calling De Cedoux today. The glance he casts back toward the library is measured, instruction and not instinct.
"We know a deal more than when it began," So it's we now. "What they'll stomach."
Another twist of hallway; a supply closet. He'd be willing to bet (not a great deal, mind you),
The door swings open onto dim shelves, a disarray of empty bottles, rags; nothing of value. The whole Circle stinks of disuse, the decay that settles into still places. In here, something heavier lingers, smoke and kohl.
"Try the back wall."
Worth a shot.
no subject
Trickery isn't what he's good at. Playing both sides of the fence, holding back some part of the truth--he's shit at cards, at any game that requires deliberate deception, because it all somehow ends up showing on his face. And he likes honesty, besides. You should know where you stand with somewhere, and where they stand on what matters to you.
"And that's s'pposed to make it easier, for me to get a read on you?" Oh, wait. The wall. Obediently, before he's thought anything like why-don't-you-try-it-if-you're-so-keen, and still narrow-eyed, Matthias ducks past Isaac to step inside. The smell is a bit manky, nothing horrific. He's smelled worse. He puts a hand out, tentatively, to touch his fingers against the wall to his right--a light pressure, first, and then more firmly. Nothing happens. "You'd have to say for certain your opinion at some point. If you're saying you actually agree."
He tries the left wall, next. Same treatment: light touch, and then a proper push. Two this time, for good measure. Nothing happens. Now there's just the back wall left, which is what he was told to go for originally, but he's got to put up at least some small resistance.
no subject
Someone carved their initials into this shelf. Or someone's initials. Could be it's just a squiggle that looks like a B and —
"I don't think anyone needs to tell you how to read." Not an admitted liar, here in the manky closet where some dead mage, or dead knight, or plain dead body went to skive off. All the dreadful things that secret passages are used for, suffocated into routine. His chin tips toward the wall again, arms crossed. "But some of them,"
Those people. He shakes his head.
"I fought with Voss." Not often, happily, or for long. Details. To which end: "The loud Nevarran."
no subject
"I remember hearing her, yeah." Voss, by voice, and before that Voss, a chance glimpse: red hair, striking, striding across the dining hall and not looking at Matthias, laughing at whatever the man she was walking with was saying. Not that Matthias had blamed her; the man she was with had been striking in his own way as well. The Inquisition is rather unfair in that regard. "So what did you have to argue about with her, if you're not actually anti fair chances and hang the Circles and generally everything good and decent. 'Cause to me that's what it sounded like, right. Whatever your secret intentions were or weren't."
The wall: with nothing else for it, Matthias at last puts his fingertips against the stone. Nothing here, nothing there, and then with his last push, there's a quiet ch-thunk that sounds like a very, very large lever being moved. Matthias moves his hands, quickly, ready to dodge any trap.
The next sound is a ponderous scraping, slow and deep. Matthias takes five steps back--or would, if his retreat hadn't backed him straight into Isaac.
"You were," he says, and then, "right," because the whole back wall is moving, "how did you bloody know--"
no subject
And not scorched mothballs. He waits a moment before nudging Matthias' shoulder (I'm moving); steps around toward the cavernous dim. It seems wider in the dark. Instinct skitters at the back of his neck -- Out after curfew. Isaac likes spiders. He's seen enough ghosts. And he's taken night shift every evening for years straight,
That doesn't make the prospect of surprise any more appealing.
"Arguing with the people you agree with is how you better their arguments." Cool, damp air wafts from the passage; rat droppings crunch underfoot. That deep groan again from below. "What do you think will happen if the Circles return?"
He knows what will happen to Nell. Prefers his own head attached.
no subject
Or not. The smell of the passage reminds Matthias of something he can't place, or maybe even something he's never smelled before. Like a memory inherited, maybe. Is that possible? Is he being weird? He's definitely being weird. Not afraid of the wild dark, Matthias is finding the enclosed dark to be definitely creepy. It's the fault of the Circles, he reckons to himself. He's not been in these sorts of confines in Maker knows how long. The Gallows don't properly count.
Thusly preoccupied, the wisdom of what Isaac says first is lost on him. Matthias marks the tail end of it, decides it is maybe worth committing to memory, tries to trap the words, and immediately gets distracted by the Circles again.
"Dunno," he says, trying to ignore the muffling effect the enclosed passage has on his voice. "'Cause I wouldn't stay, would I. I'd get out before they got their hands on me. I'd not letting myself get put back, and I'd definitely not let them do me in. Like to see them try."
Them, the nebulous them. The faceless Chantry, Templars with helms that hide their faces. The stuff of nightmares, but Matthias would still take them over this sodding damp darkness. He scowls.
"But they won't come back. Will they? They can't. Not after everything. No matter what comes next, we've come this far, won all this freedom and independence and all. I mean, Maker, the Inquisition backed us, more or less. Half the reason I'm even here, is that. How does anyone reverse everything we've done?"