open.

[luaithre]

WHO: Marcus Rowntree, Petrana de Coudoux, others TBA!
WHAT: A late night cabal of the magic kind.
WHEN: Late Guardian
WHERE: The gardens
NOTES: Early and accidental beginnings of mage cabal. Feel free to wander in and talk politics. Of most interest to mages and mage-identifying Rifters, but no one's counting.

It'll be some weeks before the grip of winter loosens its hold of the Gallows, and so many have done the sensible thing and retreated indoors. Near constant rain has ceased for the time being, which only means that puddles from earlier showers are likely to freeze by the morning.

And yet, two people and one dog are outside in the gardens.

There's an iron brazier currently crackling with flame which offers them both a source of light, and technically warmth as well, but it's not alone. Leaning against one of the stone benches is a bladed mage staff of dark wood and silver metal, with runic etchings currently glowing a deep volcanic red. It emanates heat in a peculiar way -- less the radial concentration of an open flame, but an even distribution of dry warmth that encompasses the immediate area by almost thirty feet. It still necessitates a cloak or a coat to totally defy the winter chill, but the temperature is much improved, and pleasant for those who prefer cooler climates.

Marcus (wearing a scarf and everything, although it now hangs loose) occasionally tends to the fire with a wave of his hand, dispersing smoke and letting fire run off magic rather than just the wood that it gnaws at. "I'd offer to accompany you if I didn't think my presence would cast some doubt as to Riftwatch's good intentions," is more good humoured than dour, leaning back then to search his coat pockets for something -- a pipe, and a small leather satchel.

There are more stone benches circled around. Don't mind the very big dog currently lounging nearest the fire.

Comments

[overharrowed]

Julius gives Vysvolod a friendly ear tossle once his knuckles have been inspected, though how much he was actually needed for collecting even a large dog remains debatable.

To Derrica, he says, "She got me in trousers once for an occasion and now she makes a small face whenever I reach for my robes and we're leaving the Gallows." He's exaggerating. Mostly.

[tender]

Even with what she assumes is a trio of attempts to put her at ease, this meeting feels slightly surreal and still anxiety-inducing. It is impossible not to shoot a second, wide-eyed look at Marcus, even though Derrica is certain she's gotten all the help she's going to get from that corner.

She's never thought of social settings as a weakness, but this is very, very far from the scene of her usual social outings.

"I can't imagine how you'd hold up against her," Derrica posits after a moment, before questioning Petrana : "Can I ask who you were fooling?"

It's possible to make a shrewd guess. Derrica certainly has never worn anything as lovely as what Petrana is wearing now, but she recognizes finery and it's purpose. Something likely related to whatever goes on in the Diplomacy tower, and out of Derrica's sphere of duty.

[ipseite]

Shooting Julius an amused, sidelong glance—

“I retain certain connections in Hightown,” she explains, tugging her gloves loose of her fingertips as she speaks to remove them, warm enough now to have tired of the restriction. “Beneficial to Riftwatch,” and to Petrana, “and necessary to cultivate. Many of them, relationships that I began as ambassador when Riftwatch was merely the Gallows outpost of the Inquisition—it would be impolitic to decline too many invitations, and find I no longer receive them. Occasionally, I accompany other members of Riftwatch on such outings—I crossed paths this evening with Commander Flint, though not by design.”

She is rueful: “I suspect he thinks much of my work frivolous. But that a rifter witch might do it at all is significant.”

[luaithre]

"Soldiers believe diplomacy has its time and place," Marcus offers. "And even more so, the other way around."

He eases back the pressure of his attention from Derrica, content to smoke his pipe and monitor the fire. Again, now, he raises a hand and turns it, and sparks and smoke suddenly gutter upwards in fits and starts, twisting towards the sky, never coming near them. The fire it leaves behind roars on effortlessly, brighter than before.

"It's a strange time, that mages see opportunity to do both of these things, frivolously or otherwise. It will be a stranger time, the day we won't feel so obligated." A glance to Petrana, as he adds, "To make ourselves useful."

[tender]

"I can't imagine that," Derrica puts in quietly.

She can't imagine what Petrana is describing, or what Marcus is considering. The idea of not scrambling to make herself useful, what must that be like?

"Are you not..." She begins, eyes on Petrana's face, then trails off, trying to think of the right words. "Does it not worry you, to make yourself so visible?"

[ipseite]

“It is not a new worry,” she says, after a moment. “I have always been visible, will I or nil I, here and before Thedas. It has always been a risk, and there have always been ways of turning it in my favour—it is no safer here, particularly, for me to be the little church-mouse. We—” we, “—will not come to a time when we do not have such obligations if we do not act ourselves to get there.”

(This is one of those conversations. She rests her hand on Julius's knee, squeezing lightly, once.)

[overharrowed]

He catches Petrana's hand (perhaps not coincidentally, the one with the anchor shard) and returns the pressure. "Aesthetic considerations aside, it is part of why I favor robes most of the time," he adds, frankly. "I intend to accustom people who may have had little or no contract with mages before Riftwatch to remembering that we are here, that we are people. It is not everyone's approach, which I understand. But for me, I'd make a virtue of the necessity if given the choice."

[luaithre]

Marcus sits listening this round of input. Watching, as well. Interest draws to Julius and stays there, thoughtful, before diverting back to the fire.

Monitoring both its liveliness, as well as the conversation happening quietly.

[tender]

"I haven't worn robes in a long time," Derrica admits. She hasn't had to think in these terms. She's thought quite a bit about blending in, but not at all about what kind of statement she could make if she were ever inclined to make herself immediately recognizable.

It's easier to consider the latter now, in the presence of three more powerful mages. Still frightening, but far less daunting than the prospect of facing whatever retribution was to come on her own.

"Do you trust them?" She asks, a question more for Petrana and Julius than Marcus. "The Division heads aren't mages."

Would they ever commit themselves fully to the protection and independence of mages? Can anyone without magic ever be trusted to do so?

[ipseite]

“I don't believe that that is the right question,” she says, though not unkindly; thoughtfully, weighing and measuring her particular feelings on particular division heads. She does not trust Rutyer or Yseult in the impersonal way that one does not trust a stranger, though she respects them both; she does not trust Thranduil because he has demonstrated by his actions that in the sense Derrica is asking the question, he is not to be trusted. She does not trust James Flint because she wishes to trust him, and that in itself must be weighed and measured.

But: “Riftwatch is not dedicated to the independence of mages; it is dedicated to the defeat of Corypheus. Its present leadership works toward that goal, whatever else they may believe and what other priorities they may hold—I trust that they understand what the stakes are. For now, we are valued most of all for what we can and what we will do. But what do we wish to be remembered for doing? And do we trust ourselves?”

She hums.

“We are in a unique position here to set our hands upon the tiller of our own fate. Certainly, we cannot do that alone—we should not disregard those around us. But if we put our trust in anyone to give us, as a generous gift, leave to rise to our feet—we shall be disappointed, and those who disappoint us will expect still our selfless aid.” Thranduil. “I believe the leadership of Riftwatch will act in Riftwatch's best interests. I trust them to do that.”