faderift | And in the sea that's painted black

"Grisha." The word is foreign and feels weird when it's said--but exciting, too. What's better than magic, whatever name it's called by? "Hang on, so-- there's a whole army of Grisha?"

And it's got a title, so that means it's got some manner of organization. Matthias scoots closer, eager to hearmore about this, whatever and however she's willing to tell it.

"I was in the mage rebellion--here in Thedas, 'course. And we had an army--sort of. We were all of Circles, but we came together 'cause we had to. Wasn't always the easiest or best but it was better'n staying in the bloody Circles. I liked it better. Is Ravka a country or a person?"

To think that Zoya doesn't have the patience for his energy would be a fair assumption; the feared Stormwitch of Ravka is better known for her power and her lethality than any softer quality.

But the fact is: she spends a lot of her team training younger Grisha as part of her duties to the Second Army, has personally gone on a number of missions to rescue Grisha abroad and offer them a place in Ravka. She isn't unused to this.

Besides, as far as introductions go, he could do much worse than I was in the mage rebellion.

"The kingdom of Ravka has two armies. The King's Army, or the First Army, is made up of otkazat’sya. Grisha are given the opportunity to train their skills and serve their nation in the capital."

Ravka. The only real safe haven for Grisha this side of the True Sea, in all the world aside from Novyi Zem. She loves it ferociously.

(She chooses not to speak of her king's Nolniki, the soldiers belonging to neither army, and both. No way to know that Thedas, however removed from her world, is safe for secrets so tied to Ravka's martial innovations.)

"What happened to your army?"

Edited 2021-05-09 03:54 (UTC)

Matthias nods, not because he knows what she's on about, but because he doesn't know what she's on about, and he's eager to know more. He latches on to those spare details and new words, and edges even closer like proximity will help him on this. Yes, and?

Oh, but also--

"We're still around. Corypheus has sort of distracted everyone--there've been some agreements and talks and treaties and all, and the Inquisition did their part to support mages, or so they said. The Inquisition was before Rifthwatch, right, we're sort of split off from them. But after Corypheus is defeated and all of this--" He gestures around, the Gallows and all-- "is over, we'll have to go back to it, right? Or most of us will. Those of us who haven't found a way to settle and compromise, or gone into hiding."

The former two are more deserving of scorn than the latter, according to Matthias' tone. He chips at the ground with the heel of his boot.

"But there'll be enough of us. And by then, the whole world will have changed."

She wasn't much older than this, when the civil war broke out. Alina was probably around his age when she lead the Second Army, herself, when she faced the Darkling one-on-one and lived to tell the tale more than once. Adrik, Saints, was hardly more than a child when nichevo'ya ripped his arm off.

The whole world will have changed.

She wonders what what this boy will look like then, if he lives to see the end of this war.

"So they're happy to use you while they need you," she says scornfully. "As long as you're good little soldiers. And when they don't, you'll go back to being unnatural, witches."

She's only passingly familiar with the concept of Circles, but she can tell already that she's going to hate it.

"Yeah," Matthias agrees, readily, and just as scornfully. Well. "That's what I think, leastways. Me and others. I'd like for it to be a long-term thing, right, for them really to give a damn about us, but I reckon I know too much about how it all works now. The only one that gives a damn about us, really, is us. Most everyone else only wants something."

He folds his arms over his chest, satisfied with this assessment. It might be cynical, and he might be exaggerating just how much he actually knows. Better, maybe, to say that he's gleaned this hardened wariness from others who might actually know. But that's nearly the same thing, isn't it? Either way, he knows.

"But you only have got an army, where you're from. There's none of that shit about. Circles and, you know, choices and politics and votes and all. That's brilliant. I wish it were so easy here. The First Army," and there might as well be little sparkles around the words, with the amount of reverence Matthias gives. "Who's in the Second Army, then, when it's at home?"

"Some things don't change."

Nikolai is, of course, different; but most otkazat’sya only care for Grisha for the distance they give them, for the peace they buy them.

"The Second Army," she corrects — not ungently, actually. Don't tell anyone. "The First Army is for those without powers. We call them otkazat’sya. I don't know what you would here."

She hasn't heard of any equivalent term, actually. Just mages for those with power, and nothing for those without. She doesn't like that, now that she stops to think about it.

"There's a draft, for all children of a certain age. We have nothing but enemies at our borders, so our military needs all the help it can get."

"Oh, you said that before, sorry. Right. Oat-katz-zatya." The word is clumsy in his mouth and definitely not pronounced correctly, but he did say he was sorry. "S'ppose we'd only say soldiers. Or knights, or Templars, even, I s'ppose," but even to Matthias, none of those answers really seem right to describe what she's getting at. Why would there be a name for someone without magic? It's mages or not-mages. And Templars are absolutely something different besides.

"But you weren't drafted, were you? To the Second Army? That was different, obviously." I'd think it would be the opposite, y'know? First for mages--Grisha, sorry--and second for everyone else, 'cos they'd not be as useful. I wonder why it's the other way around. D'you know?"

This endless stream of words and questions he doesn't apologize for, but he should, probably.

And in the sea that's painted black | OTA

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