[closed]

[heirring]

WHO: Wysteria & Holden
WHAT: Research kids doing research
WHEN: Early Justinian
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains
NOTES: OOC Info

For the record, she'd carefully harvested a healthy sample of the deep mushrooms found en route to the mouth of the cave. Wysteria is in fact still wearing the elbow deep work gloves which had helped her to do so, using the heavy leather as a fine deterrent for avoiding nettles and the various prickly parts of the underbrush through which they are presently crashing as they trace trace their way through the Vinmark foothills. And though it's cooler here in the various hollers and shadows of the mountain than it had been during their approach along the coast, it is still the sort of stiflingly warm work which pinks cheeks and elicits sweat (particularly when, it must be said, a person insists on wearing various skirts and underskirts and short stays and so on).

She is not huffing and puffing. She has, however, perhaps gotten a little clumsy and increasingly laissez-faire about the management of branches shrubbery as they've proceeded, which likely counts for the accidental early release of a particularly prickly wild berry vine that swings back to swat Holden full in the face.

Fwhap! says the leafy limb.

"Oh! My apologies, Mister Holden! I thought you were much farther along than you were. Are you quite all right? We are rather high up here. If you should like to stop for a rest, I believe I see a gap in the growth ahead which ought to serve us well for it."

Comments

[acreage]

He doesn't actually go down from the tree-on-man violence, but he does stagger backwards with a "Shit!" and a hand to, briefly, his face. That doesn't stop him from waving her off with his free hand, and a "No, I'm fine," as soon as he looks up. It'll probably bruise, but it's not like he's never broken his nose before or, generally, had worse.

"What kind of gap?"

— is what he asks a beat later, with some real interest, and cranes to see a break in the foliage up ahead. He doesn't recognize the cave for what it is yet, amidst the greenery and enchantments, but there's enough to catch his attention, anyway. They should, actually, check it out while they're here.

[heirring]

"I'm not quite sure. But there is something strange about it. Come along, then. We may as well see for ourselves."

Assured that she hasn't done him any lasting harm, Wysteria is all too happy to bush on through the undergrowth guided by that strange pressure at the very edge of her senses. There is a texture and density to the air emanating from that gap in the foliage which she hasn't bothered to truly mention much less to explain to her companion. And like many of her hunches (it is not really that at all, but it is a convenient story for what she knows as a certainty), this one soon reveals itself to be significant.

"Ah. You know Mister Holder, I suspect this must lead down into our alleged mine."

Or would, if not for the shimmering barrier of ice filling the cave mouth which the break in the growth reveals. Suffice to say, the weather isn't exactly the sort which ordinarily supports the existence of a slab of ice, and so there can be little doubt that they are facing an enchantment of some kind.

"I don't suppose you brought a pickaxe with you by any chance?"

Ha ha. Good joke.

covers timestamps with my hand

[acreage]

He has no magical senses of his own, of course. No notion that they're heading towards anything of significance, besides that Wysteria is sure there is something strange about it. But he learned a while ago not to doubt Wysteria's instincts, and so the appearance of the cave only merits a brief eyebrow raise. Of course she was right; when isn't she?

"I think you're right about that."

He walks closer to the mouth of the cave slowly, eyes narrowed, as if wondering if it might react to their presence. He's seen weirder things in Thedas, surely. The biting chill that emanates off the ice makes him feel like he's walking into a freezer, a stark contrast to the heat beating down on them from above. He breathes out (it plumes, briefly), and then retreats back to her with a dry look.

"I must've forgotten it in my other pack." He frowns thoughtfully, glancing around once again, says, "We could try making a fire."

my turn

[heirring]

"Yes, the seems perfectly reasonable." She is all approval, nodding eagerly. This suggestion is complicated only a little by— "Have you ever built one?"

From the cheerfully expectant look which swivels in Holden's direction, it must be clear that if Wysteria ever had the skill herself she has fallen grievously out of practice.

(She had, once. Helped to build a fire. And that is very like doing it all herself, particularly when one has read at least one book on the subject to prepare.)

[acreage]

He's known Wysteria long enough that this doesn't come unexpected. At least, he would've been incredibly surprised if she'd answered with something like, Very good, I always keep flint on my person just for this purpose. So there's no real hesitation when he smiles, says,

"I'll take care of it. "

It's mainly a matter of collecting fallen or breakable branches from the nearby trees and piling them near the ice, and when that's done, he turns to her.

"Do you want to light it?"

[heirring]

"Oh, yes I suppose I—" She has begun to pat through her skirt pockets, then pauses. Then digs a little deeper into each of them, producing a sheaf of papers and a roll of twine and her sending crystal and a little tin with bits of charcoal in it and even a rather vicious looking folding knife which by rights likely ought to live tucked into her belt rather than in a skirt pocket.

"I believe I have left my lighter with the horses," she announces finally, dumping the extracted contents of her pockets back where they'd all come from. "I'm not used to carrying it with me yet."

[acreage]

The more items she pulls out of her pockets, the higher his eyebrows go, until they're in danger of becoming one with his hairline. He pauses incredulously, then asks,

"You have all of that and not a lighter?"

[heirring]

In reply: a shrug and an expectant look. Well, Mister Holden?

[acreage]

Well, indeed.

He extricates his lighter from his pack, setting it down on the ground long enough to dig the little thing out, and then carefully sets the pile of wood ablaze. The boughs catch, and it doesn't take long for a little fire to start blazing right next to the ice.

Normal ice would start to sweat, and melt.

[heirring]

She allows the fire to be built with only a few remarks disguised as questions —'Oh, is that really how that is meant to go?'—, and otherwise stands by perfectly patiently as the kindling begins to smoke and burn.

To say that the ice barrier doesn't melt is one thing; it also isn't touched by the dark sliver of smoke which comes off the small fire. Wysteria watches all this with a renewed sort of intensity, her gloved hand absently floating up to set a finger under her chin.

"Well," she announces after a long, long beat of thoughtful observation. "It would take far too long to melt through even if it did work. But the smoke is quite informative, yes?"

Is it?

With a soft clearing of her throat, she— pauses. Cuts a glance sideways to Holden.

"Mister Holden, would you consider yourself in possession of a great deal of discretion?"

[acreage]

Is it? He's not sure he's learned anything from this exercise, save that fire doesn't seem to have any affect on this ice barricade (fucking magic), and that Wysteria's wilderness survival skills leave something to be desired. A part of him is tempted to see if brute force might not work any better — he's not thinking about punching the ice, but he's not not thinking about it — when he notices Wysteria's hesitation.

Which feels incredibly furtive, coming from her, in ways it wouldn't from someone else. She tends to be so herself at full force, that this feels

important.

He says, eyebrows furrowing, "I can keep a secret."

[heirring]

She studies him for a long beat further, some opaque calculation transparently occuring behind her eyes. And then with a soft clearing of the throat and a curt nod, her attention returns to the barrier of ice filling the crack in the cliff face.

"Very good. Then let me just—" Her hands float up absently as if she is unaware of the gesture she is making with them. "You recall the pyramid which we examined, yes? It reminded me a little of that. Not exactly of course. But a variation of the same. The weave of it is rather similar."

Before her, Wysteria's gloved hands are moving absently in the faint pantomime of how one might play some stringed instrument—the vague curling of fingers after some invisible harp, perhaps. Or the delicate examination of a weaver inspecting a great arrangement of threads. In truth, it is closer to the second than to the first. She has no ear for music, and this most closely resembles something manufactured. The spinning of cloth; the ticking of a great old clock whose makers marks must merely be traced in reverse in order to effectively disassemble it.

"No, this one is much simpler." Here is the anchor, she thinks, and the moment she identifies it something palpable in the air—

Reasserts itself. It is not magic. It is unmagic. It is enchanting in reverse. It is the pulling of a loose thread which causes an unwinding. One moment, Wysteria is just studying the wall of ice and chattering along. The next, the barrier is sloughing apart. Not melting. Disintegrating.

[acreage]

He considers saying something like, I guess both things are some kind of ice magic, but then she says the weave of it with a certain deliberate conviction, and he stops.

Instead, he watches her, listens, understanding that he's seeing something unfold. There's no question that she perceives something far beyond his senses, that she is taking the measure of it somehow.

It's a beat after the wall starts to shimmer apart that he notices. Looks from Wysteria to it, briefly slack-jawed, as the great barrier goes from impenetrable ice to sheer white magic, to nothing.

Sometimes he thinks that he's known her long enough that she can't surprise him anymore, besides the kneejerk startle that can accompany her appearances. Other times, like now, he realizes that he's a goddamned idiot for ever thinking so.

The paltry fire still burns, and that will need to be attended to before they leave. But when he finds his voice, he only says,

"That was something."

[heirring]

If it's any consolation, what becomes instantly apparent in the aftermath is Wysteria's own surprise. She makes a small squawking noise of delight—something between a laugh and a real explanation—in reply, and lowers both hands with an immediacy which recalls a naughty child who has been discovered with their hands in a cookie jar moreso than it fits some accomplished magician.

"Oh! It worked! And without damaging anything. How interesting."

Sorry Holden, were you aware you were assisting a fledgling science experiment? But lest he get the impression that she will be dwelling on this fact—

"Well, how happy. Let's be on our way."

A boot's worth of dirt or two is promptly kicked over the open fire.

[acreage]

Surely by now he knows he's always assisting a science experiment, when he's with Wysteria.

Which isn't to say he's interested in dropping the question. He first double-checks the fire before following her into the opening of that yawning, musty darkness. But it's not long before he's asking,

"How long have you been able to do that?"

[heirring]

How long have they been plucking their way along this dingy old passage? Certainly not long enough for the daylight to have faded or to demand the use of Holden's little lighter to illuminate their way (maybe they ought to have fashioned a torch from their little fledgling fire instead?). So, with perfect candor:

"Oh, I suppose it is as of a minute or two ago." Ha ha ha. She's quite funny, but not so hilarious as to leave the thing entirely unexplained. "I dreamed something similar, and so have been thinking of it since then. We ought to be cautious here. Where there is one enchantment, I believe there is likely to be another."

[acreage]

Not long enough for him to realize their mistake, though when he does he'll be annoyed at himself for it. The surprise of Wysteria destroying a wall of ice without laying a finger on it could be to blame, as much as some reflexive expectation of flashlights. Regardless, it'll be a pain in the ass — later.

Unless Wysteria also pulls out some hitherto unknown light magic. That'd be nice.

"What else can you do?" Because her answer isn't unreasonable; but he'd dreamed himself able to fight all kinds of monsters with a sword, and that had definitely not been the case when he'd woken. And, "You're right about that. Do you think you'll be able to," help him, "sense them before we step into the next one?"

[heirring]

"It's possible. The density of enchantment or residual arcane energy can sometimes make deciphering the origin and nature of the spellwork difficult. But if we go slowly—"

Well. This brings them back to his other question, doesn't it? What else can she do?

"A little of this and that," is a poor explanation. "I've a fair arcane sense, but am evidently a rather poor channeler. I see much more clearly than I can do, I suppose. If that makes any sense at all. —Have they the arcane in space, Mistrr Holden? I can't recall whether I've asked or not. May I borrow your light please?"

[acreage]

He has a hard enough time following any of that, that there's a brief delay before the question registers. He looks back towards the lit cave entrance behind them — here's later already, where he's started to kick himself for forgetting — before handing over the lighter.

"No," he says after that, "there's no magic where I came from. Which," he may as well get out into the open, "means I didn't understand a word you just said."

[heirring]

With a snap of the lighter, the little flame ignites in the dark tunnel. It isn't exactly luminous, but it's better than nothing and so she extends her hand before her so they might continue on into the deepening dark. Wysteria addresses the ground as she goes, careful of her footing though as far as caverns go the floor of this is one remarkably even. One might suspect it was made or at least maintained by some cognizant intervention rather than on the natural whim of the mountain.

(But that only makes sense; someone would have had to ward the place.)

Patiently—

"In Kalvad, the arcane is a naturally occurring phenomena. Scholars theorize it comes from a great sort of...well, as it were, and that it's naturally drawn into this—or rather that, meaning the place I'm from—world where it may then be ordered or tamed for use by an appropriately Talented individual. Arcane sense is the ability to perceive magic. Not everyone who can do magic has it, but most do to some degree. Just as everyone who can see magic very well isn't necessarily skilled in manipulating it. Each Talented person, you see, has a finite measure of the arcane which they can control. Think of it as a cup, I suppose. You can only pour so much into it before it overflows and certain spell weaving requires a great deal of—" She struggles for some word he will parse. "Stuff to accomplish. Does that make more sense?"

She half turns back toward him, still walking, and trips forward over a loose stone.

[acreage]

He can make some sense of it, if he draws comparisons of his own. Maybe magic is like language; being able to understand, or follow context clues, isn't the same thing as being able to speak it. And it sort of makes sense too, that people would have limits to how much magic they can do. He knows multiple mages and rifters with magic now, and none of them are omnipotent.

So he says, "Yes," before lurching forward to catch her in hopes they don't both go down. Distracted as he is with concern for her peril — and visibility obscured by the darkness — he doesn't yet notice how the pathway is widening, an open (but not empty) cavern up ahead.