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

[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.”