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player plot: the battle for starkhaven.
WHO: All
WHAT: Riftwatch and the rebel mages come to the aid of Starkhaven
WHEN: Last week of Wintermarch
WHERE: Starkhaven and outlying territories
NOTES: Open to all, with instructions/suggestions below for what your character can do, dependent on skillset and division. Violences within.
The news has been the same for seemingly endless months: the Tevinter Imperium stays encamped, entrenched, at the doorstep of Starkhaven. The Free Marches city is long besieged, strangled and dying, and its proud stone walls that keep Corypheus' forces out also entomb its own citizens as supply dwindles fast over the winter.
The Exalted March has not come. The scattered militias and militaries of the surrounding territories have not rushed to its aid. Riftwatch has done all it can with the personnel it has, sabotaging enemy movement, collecting information, supplying villages and redirecting refugees, but it seems as though all it can do for Starkhaven is stand vigil to its collapse.
That is, until some hasty conversations were had.
A trio of Riftwatch agents approached Grand Enchanter Fiona, ad hoc leader of the rebel mage forces currently under the Inquisition's banner, with a question: what would it take, for the rebel mages to lend aid to Prince Sebastian Vael?
Closed: The Division Heads, Derrica, Fenris, Julius, Marcus Rowntree, Petrana de Cedoux
It rains for the entirety of the ensuing negotiations, ice wet winter striking the impassive walls of Stoneweale Fort and the tents erected within its walls. The fort stands south of Starkhaven at the edges of Tevinter's influence, and contains the entirety of Prince Sebastian's available forces and, newly, Grand Enchanter Fiona, several rain-swept griffons, and a collection of Riftwatch agents.
Not all of them take up space in the war room (for instance, the griffons don't need to be there), but those that do bear witness to a deal being struck:
In the coming days, Riftwatch redirects its focus towards the preparation of Starkhaven's last stand. The movement of a small army of mages from the Orlesian frontline to deep into the heart of the Free Marches is the kind of logistical effort that one would hope to have plenty of time to organise, particularly in the interest of evading the Imperium's notice for as long as possible, but time is a luxury, and there are few of those available these days.
To ensure a swift and relatively stealthy travel time, the rebel mages are broken up into still sizeable detachments – they ride on horseback, or travel on merchant vessels that have been acquisitioned for the war effort, quietly coursing down the Minanter. They camp in thatches of forest or huddle within long emptied warehouses in semi-abandoned trading settlements.
Riftwatch agents of any combat capability join them, ride with them, and stay in contact through crystals to ensure coordination.
In the sky, griffon riders are tasked with keeping close monitor of any Tevinter detachments that might push close to the small army of mages moving in from the west. The going is often lonely, long hours, solo flying with reportage over the crystal network, before gathering together in small camps to feed their mounts, themselves, and sleep in hastily erected tents that protect them from the winter-time rain.
When necessary, members of Forces and Scouting will be deployed to run interference and push back and redirect Tevene scouts or soldiers and Venatori. Sometimes, larger groups of Imperial forces threaten to intercede, in which event, Riftwatch agents may find themselves working together with rebel mages to not only prevent the enemy from interfering with their people, but killing them so as to ensure there is no reporting back of a sudden influx of mage activity.
Members of Research may find themselves based at Stoneweale Fort. After some convincing, Prince Sebastian allows his various commanders to coordinate with Riftwatch to identify locations and pressure points within Starkhaven and its defences for the purposes of sabotage in preparation for Tevinter's taking. Now is the time to plan, analyse maps, prepare explosives or enchantments, and try not to look too excited about it.
Meanwhile, those within Diplomacy, if not hovering helpfully around Stoneweale Fort, are sent to make ready for Starkhaven refugees by speaking to villages further south, negotiating for supplies and accommodations, rallying any militia that are willing to assist in their protection. It's all a little thin on the ground, but if there was ever a time to cash in some of Riftwatch's local goodwill, it's now.
A horn sounds out, long and mournful. Voices and horse hooves and sword clashing and magic casting beneath the stormy sky is reduced to a dull roar as Prince Sebastian, accompanied by Grand Enchanter Fiona, leads his forces in a frontal assault against the overwhelming Imperial presence at his gates.
As a result, the far gate has been left undefended.
Slaughtering the remaining unit of Tevinter soldiers guarding it is borderline perfunctory, but there is much still to do. The majority of the rebel mages (less those volunteers who have joined Fiona in Sebastian's host), along with any mages of Riftwatch who choose to join them, gather en masse upon the stone bridge and the shallows of the river – a small army of men and women in robes or in armor, but all holding a staff to mark them for what they are. As they begin to draw from the Fade, the air takes on the scent of bitter-storm, energy crackling and prickling across exposed skin, ruffling hair and clothing in unseen winds.
Stone cracks and wood splinters under gouts of raw magic and white-hot bolts of summoned lightning, slamming in unison against walls that have remained previously unbroken all this time. Beneath them, the ground rumbles and shivers, and debris spills where cracks form and open and widen from the base of proud walls to the ramparts.
A small group within the rebel mage forces then move together in coordination, and the stone wall before them all at once comes apart. Giant broken slabs of stone and support lift into the air as if in an explosion slowed in time, drifting away from one another as magic carries it in shimmering green-tinged telekinetic influence.
The ground shakes, again, as pieces of Starkhaven's walls land safely, if heavily, on the mud-thick river on either side, leaving a yawning opening where once were sealed closed gates of oak and iron.
On the other side, where rain beats down the rising dust, gathered citizens of Starkhaven, frightened and war-worn, stare out at an army of mages.
In the sky, over the chaos, Riftwatch uses the distraction of battle to send swift-flying griffons over the walls and into the city proper to enact acts of sabotage to Starkhaven's infrastructure. Below them, civilians flood the streets, pressing in a constant stream of bodies towards the crumbled wall. Up here, the sounds of a raging battle drift clearer from the front.
Everyone in the sky knows where they are going and what they are doing, under strict orders to avoid any harm coming to civilians. Either as a passenger or on their own, members of Scouting (and some non-Scouting mages) carry with them precise instructions from Research and the means to enact them in the form of alchemical explosives and enchanted grenade-like items that will detonate in bursts of raw Fade magic (or their own magical ability). Common targets include: the defensive weaponry and ballistae posted up on the ramparts, the chains that man the major gates of the city, certain storehouses and administrative buildings indicated on maps. Likewise, there are wealthy estates to pillage and deprive Tevinter of any coin they might find there.
But soon the city will be overrun, and those on griffonback may find themselves under assault of arrows and magic as they make their escape.
On the ground, floods of Starkhaven citizens, soon to be refugees, flow through the crumbled wall, staggering across the bridge and through the shallows of the river that surrounds the city, helped along by mages and Riftwatch alike. It is a lengthy and exhausting process as hundreds of ordinary people, wide-eyed and terrified, are herded out of the valley and onto solid ground, streaming south for where villages have been fortified and prepared to receive them.
Then, the sound of cavalry.
Racing across the rocky plain, under Imperial banner, a horde of dracolisk and their riders come galloping at a furious pace towards civilians, mages, Riftwatch alike. Their presence does not speak well for the main battle, but they arrive all the same. Reptilian screeches and hisses pierce the rumble of thunder above, and frightened cries from the refugees begin to sound out as panic grips them, turning to run in panicked stampede at the sight of Imperial soldiers upon their poison-spitting mounts.
It was enough of a likelihood that the Forces members who have been deployed to ensure the security of the evacuation are prepared to move with the rebel mages to meet them. The battle is quick, bloody, magic crackling through the air in time with clashes of shield and flying arrows. Searing poison sprays across skin and armor and flame ripples across scaly hide as a brutal skirmish ensues.
But the battle breaks when the worth of continued harassment weighed against the potential cost. By order of Itaeus Ferra, astride his own beast, the dracolisk cavalry withdraws, tiding back towards Starkhaven, now lost to the forces of Corypheus.
Men, women, children march through the cold and into the night, but blessedly, the rain eases itself to an icy misting of constant damp instead of the driving downpour from earlier that day.
It becomes clear that among the refugees, there had been those prepared for this journey. Temporary campsites, guarded by mages and Riftwatch alike, strike up so that all may take a few hours of rest. There is some food passed around, if not very much, and as the sun rises on a new day, the procession resumes, if no less wearily.
Eventually, all arrive at the half-abandoned township of Vallomire, chosen for its largely empty barnhouses and warehouses on the shores of a distributary from the Minanter. It is not large enough or manned enough to permanently house so many of Starkhaven's people, but it will do for the next few days of recovery and rest.
There is food, gathered in from as many corners as was willing to part with it, and warm blankets, and, just as important, a reduced sense of impending doom amongst those that had lived under its shadow for so long.
Spirits are not high, but they are tired. Mournful, but alive. As the day lurches into the evening, as the rain finally withdraws and bonfires are lit, and mages and ordinary citizens of the Free Marches mingle in this moment of necessity, news finally trickles in from Starkhaven.
It is as feared: the city has been claimed by the Tevinter Imperium. Much of Starkhaven's military has been destroyed, giving their lives to buy this opportunity for escape. And, in murmurs that spread from campfire to campfire, two names in particular are spoken in low, reverent tones: Prince Sebastian Vael, and Grand Enchanter Fiona, have fallen.
Stories of prince and mage charging side-by-side into a wave of enemy soldiers, fighting back-to-back against overwhelming odds after all their fellows had fallen, rising again and again from the mud to continue the fight, to hold back the inevitable tide until the city was emptied. Toasts are raised and tears shed for the saviors of Starkhaven—its people, if not its stones.
Smoke rises in the north, a black mark in the sky, as the sun begins to set.
WHAT: Riftwatch and the rebel mages come to the aid of Starkhaven
WHEN: Last week of Wintermarch
WHERE: Starkhaven and outlying territories
NOTES: Open to all, with instructions/suggestions below for what your character can do, dependent on skillset and division. Violences within.
The news has been the same for seemingly endless months: the Tevinter Imperium stays encamped, entrenched, at the doorstep of Starkhaven. The Free Marches city is long besieged, strangled and dying, and its proud stone walls that keep Corypheus' forces out also entomb its own citizens as supply dwindles fast over the winter.
The Exalted March has not come. The scattered militias and militaries of the surrounding territories have not rushed to its aid. Riftwatch has done all it can with the personnel it has, sabotaging enemy movement, collecting information, supplying villages and redirecting refugees, but it seems as though all it can do for Starkhaven is stand vigil to its collapse.
That is, until some hasty conversations were had.
A trio of Riftwatch agents approached Grand Enchanter Fiona, ad hoc leader of the rebel mage forces currently under the Inquisition's banner, with a question: what would it take, for the rebel mages to lend aid to Prince Sebastian Vael?
23 Wintermarch: Stoneweale Fort
Closed: The Division Heads, Derrica, Fenris, Julius, Marcus Rowntree, Petrana de Cedoux
It rains for the entirety of the ensuing negotiations, ice wet winter striking the impassive walls of Stoneweale Fort and the tents erected within its walls. The fort stands south of Starkhaven at the edges of Tevinter's influence, and contains the entirety of Prince Sebastian's available forces and, newly, Grand Enchanter Fiona, several rain-swept griffons, and a collection of Riftwatch agents.
Not all of them take up space in the war room (for instance, the griffons don't need to be there), but those that do bear witness to a deal being struck:
Prince Sebastian speaks plainly: the situation is beyond dire. They are at the precipice of surrender, and between himself and his commanders, they've been preparing for a last-ditch effort to save as many of his subjects as he can spare. By directing his forces in a (likely suicidal) full-scale attack against the enemy, he has hope that this will distract them for long enough so that a select few of his soldiers can fell the far gate and evacuate as many citizens as they can. He welcomes any assistance the mages could offer.And there is little time to prepare.
Fiona, understanding the lethality of what Prince Sebastian and his men are going to attempt, first states that the rebel mages can be mustered to assist in this evacuation by destroying the wall and shepherding Starkhaven's people to safety. She also pledges to personally join the Prince and his men in their attack on the main force.
It's with gratitude that Prince Sebastian accepts her offer.
23-29 Wintermarch: The Minanter River
In the coming days, Riftwatch redirects its focus towards the preparation of Starkhaven's last stand. The movement of a small army of mages from the Orlesian frontline to deep into the heart of the Free Marches is the kind of logistical effort that one would hope to have plenty of time to organise, particularly in the interest of evading the Imperium's notice for as long as possible, but time is a luxury, and there are few of those available these days.
To ensure a swift and relatively stealthy travel time, the rebel mages are broken up into still sizeable detachments – they ride on horseback, or travel on merchant vessels that have been acquisitioned for the war effort, quietly coursing down the Minanter. They camp in thatches of forest or huddle within long emptied warehouses in semi-abandoned trading settlements.
Riftwatch agents of any combat capability join them, ride with them, and stay in contact through crystals to ensure coordination.
In the sky, griffon riders are tasked with keeping close monitor of any Tevinter detachments that might push close to the small army of mages moving in from the west. The going is often lonely, long hours, solo flying with reportage over the crystal network, before gathering together in small camps to feed their mounts, themselves, and sleep in hastily erected tents that protect them from the winter-time rain.
When necessary, members of Forces and Scouting will be deployed to run interference and push back and redirect Tevene scouts or soldiers and Venatori. Sometimes, larger groups of Imperial forces threaten to intercede, in which event, Riftwatch agents may find themselves working together with rebel mages to not only prevent the enemy from interfering with their people, but killing them so as to ensure there is no reporting back of a sudden influx of mage activity.
Members of Research may find themselves based at Stoneweale Fort. After some convincing, Prince Sebastian allows his various commanders to coordinate with Riftwatch to identify locations and pressure points within Starkhaven and its defences for the purposes of sabotage in preparation for Tevinter's taking. Now is the time to plan, analyse maps, prepare explosives or enchantments, and try not to look too excited about it.
Meanwhile, those within Diplomacy, if not hovering helpfully around Stoneweale Fort, are sent to make ready for Starkhaven refugees by speaking to villages further south, negotiating for supplies and accommodations, rallying any militia that are willing to assist in their protection. It's all a little thin on the ground, but if there was ever a time to cash in some of Riftwatch's local goodwill, it's now.
30 Wintermarch: Starkhaven
The wall
A horn sounds out, long and mournful. Voices and horse hooves and sword clashing and magic casting beneath the stormy sky is reduced to a dull roar as Prince Sebastian, accompanied by Grand Enchanter Fiona, leads his forces in a frontal assault against the overwhelming Imperial presence at his gates.
As a result, the far gate has been left undefended.
Slaughtering the remaining unit of Tevinter soldiers guarding it is borderline perfunctory, but there is much still to do. The majority of the rebel mages (less those volunteers who have joined Fiona in Sebastian's host), along with any mages of Riftwatch who choose to join them, gather en masse upon the stone bridge and the shallows of the river – a small army of men and women in robes or in armor, but all holding a staff to mark them for what they are. As they begin to draw from the Fade, the air takes on the scent of bitter-storm, energy crackling and prickling across exposed skin, ruffling hair and clothing in unseen winds.
Stone cracks and wood splinters under gouts of raw magic and white-hot bolts of summoned lightning, slamming in unison against walls that have remained previously unbroken all this time. Beneath them, the ground rumbles and shivers, and debris spills where cracks form and open and widen from the base of proud walls to the ramparts.
A small group within the rebel mage forces then move together in coordination, and the stone wall before them all at once comes apart. Giant broken slabs of stone and support lift into the air as if in an explosion slowed in time, drifting away from one another as magic carries it in shimmering green-tinged telekinetic influence.
The ground shakes, again, as pieces of Starkhaven's walls land safely, if heavily, on the mud-thick river on either side, leaving a yawning opening where once were sealed closed gates of oak and iron.
On the other side, where rain beats down the rising dust, gathered citizens of Starkhaven, frightened and war-worn, stare out at an army of mages.
The sky
In the sky, over the chaos, Riftwatch uses the distraction of battle to send swift-flying griffons over the walls and into the city proper to enact acts of sabotage to Starkhaven's infrastructure. Below them, civilians flood the streets, pressing in a constant stream of bodies towards the crumbled wall. Up here, the sounds of a raging battle drift clearer from the front.
Everyone in the sky knows where they are going and what they are doing, under strict orders to avoid any harm coming to civilians. Either as a passenger or on their own, members of Scouting (and some non-Scouting mages) carry with them precise instructions from Research and the means to enact them in the form of alchemical explosives and enchanted grenade-like items that will detonate in bursts of raw Fade magic (or their own magical ability). Common targets include: the defensive weaponry and ballistae posted up on the ramparts, the chains that man the major gates of the city, certain storehouses and administrative buildings indicated on maps. Likewise, there are wealthy estates to pillage and deprive Tevinter of any coin they might find there.
But soon the city will be overrun, and those on griffonback may find themselves under assault of arrows and magic as they make their escape.
The retreat
On the ground, floods of Starkhaven citizens, soon to be refugees, flow through the crumbled wall, staggering across the bridge and through the shallows of the river that surrounds the city, helped along by mages and Riftwatch alike. It is a lengthy and exhausting process as hundreds of ordinary people, wide-eyed and terrified, are herded out of the valley and onto solid ground, streaming south for where villages have been fortified and prepared to receive them.
Then, the sound of cavalry.
Racing across the rocky plain, under Imperial banner, a horde of dracolisk and their riders come galloping at a furious pace towards civilians, mages, Riftwatch alike. Their presence does not speak well for the main battle, but they arrive all the same. Reptilian screeches and hisses pierce the rumble of thunder above, and frightened cries from the refugees begin to sound out as panic grips them, turning to run in panicked stampede at the sight of Imperial soldiers upon their poison-spitting mounts.
It was enough of a likelihood that the Forces members who have been deployed to ensure the security of the evacuation are prepared to move with the rebel mages to meet them. The battle is quick, bloody, magic crackling through the air in time with clashes of shield and flying arrows. Searing poison sprays across skin and armor and flame ripples across scaly hide as a brutal skirmish ensues.
But the battle breaks when the worth of continued harassment weighed against the potential cost. By order of Itaeus Ferra, astride his own beast, the dracolisk cavalry withdraws, tiding back towards Starkhaven, now lost to the forces of Corypheus.
31 Wintermarch: Southwards and Vallomire
Men, women, children march through the cold and into the night, but blessedly, the rain eases itself to an icy misting of constant damp instead of the driving downpour from earlier that day.
It becomes clear that among the refugees, there had been those prepared for this journey. Temporary campsites, guarded by mages and Riftwatch alike, strike up so that all may take a few hours of rest. There is some food passed around, if not very much, and as the sun rises on a new day, the procession resumes, if no less wearily.
Eventually, all arrive at the half-abandoned township of Vallomire, chosen for its largely empty barnhouses and warehouses on the shores of a distributary from the Minanter. It is not large enough or manned enough to permanently house so many of Starkhaven's people, but it will do for the next few days of recovery and rest.
There is food, gathered in from as many corners as was willing to part with it, and warm blankets, and, just as important, a reduced sense of impending doom amongst those that had lived under its shadow for so long.
Spirits are not high, but they are tired. Mournful, but alive. As the day lurches into the evening, as the rain finally withdraws and bonfires are lit, and mages and ordinary citizens of the Free Marches mingle in this moment of necessity, news finally trickles in from Starkhaven.
It is as feared: the city has been claimed by the Tevinter Imperium. Much of Starkhaven's military has been destroyed, giving their lives to buy this opportunity for escape. And, in murmurs that spread from campfire to campfire, two names in particular are spoken in low, reverent tones: Prince Sebastian Vael, and Grand Enchanter Fiona, have fallen.
Stories of prince and mage charging side-by-side into a wave of enemy soldiers, fighting back-to-back against overwhelming odds after all their fellows had fallen, rising again and again from the mud to continue the fight, to hold back the inevitable tide until the city was emptied. Toasts are raised and tears shed for the saviors of Starkhaven—its people, if not its stones.
Smoke rises in the north, a black mark in the sky, as the sun begins to set.
no subject
Unsurprised, that Julius is still awake, or had slept only so lightly. Marcus finishes taking off his boots, nudged aside. A hand, then, felt at Julius' waist, smoothing up towards his back, back down, as Marcus considers his impulses: to find a warm place in the bracket of the other man's limbs, or to rouse him into a conversation about the things that nag, or both, or neither.
Puts off the decision by leaning in, nudging something between a kiss and more general press of contact against Julius' clothed shoulder.
no subject
"I'm not sure how long I slept," he murmurs, "I was mainly dozing." Marcus hasn't asked, but it still seems pertinent.
no subject
"A couple of hours, I think," he says.
Here, that scent of woodsmoke, and at this proximity, an earthier muddle. Unwashed clothing, something slightly canine in the way rain has settled into wool and linen and untied hair. Unguent and blood.
"Do you need more?" is the kind of question where the answer is yes, but something of a request for delay.
no subject
"Have you been anywhere in particular?" is clearly an opening toward the conversation in lieu of more sleep
no subject
Which he can translate to mean: nowhere important, or that he feels like raising, or thinks Julius needs to know in the moment. The likelihood of some other thing pushing further to the forefront, while he gently anchors an ankle over Julius' ankle. Tired, too, but can imagine the absurdity of trying to sleep, with everything left unsaid.
The hand resting at Julius' hip gathers the fabric there, an idle fidget. "I knew about Richard," he says, after a moment, quiet. "His abilities in blood magic. I never imagined it would— that I'd see it this way. Or need it."
no subject
Julius had hoped that it might wait until they got back to Kirkwall. (A small part of him might have hoped for never, but not with any real expectation.) But it's there now and trying to pretend it isn't won't help.
On the other hand, it isn't immediately clear what to say.
"I'm not sorry you're alive," finally, is a thing he can be sure is true.
no subject
"Nor am I," Marcus agrees.
Lets a short moment of silence settle, and then says, "Tertia, who came here from Tevinter, a blood mage's slave. She asked if the south practiced it in the same hushed way they do in the north."
(He is, a little, speaking to buy Julius some time to adapt to the conversation, but it isn't irrelevant.)
"I explained no, it's not that way exactly. But that it's done, aye. The stories I've heard," because he never did see it up close, fortunately, having left the Gallows before Orsino could make the worst of sacrifices, "always struck me as sad. Mages grasping for what they had to grasp for."
Quiets, there, studying him in that small space between.
no subject
After a moment, he goes on. "I think it's true sometimes. That it's people who are backed into a corner, who are desperate. But I also think it's very seductive to start ranking what's a bad enough problem to solve that way." A briefer pause before he adds, "So many of the nightmares are about Kinloch, and I wasn't even there when Uldred decided the problem worth it was not having as much power as he thought he should."
Julius has moved away from so much of the politics that Uldred's rebellion had initially shaped for him. But his feelings about blood magic had, he'd been certain until this, remained steady and uneroded at the base. It's unsettling to find his own answer to the question of what he can't accept.
no subject
Rests there.
"Do you feel as though you did something evil?" he asks, and it's a real question, not a rhetorical twist. An earnest regard that seems to suggest he'll accept any answer at all, while he toys with blonde strands between his fingers.
no subject
"I think I know now that I would do worse if it meant not losing you, and it's an unsettling thing to learn."
It's not exactly what Marcus asked, he's well aware. But he's also not sure that his participation out of love has some moral purity that Richard's businesslike approach lacks. He knows what he would have said a few days ago.
After another, briefer, pause, he says, "Back when I thought the Circles could be reformed, it bothered me, when I felt that anyone was rhetorically flirting with the idea that the Chantry had made us needlessly frightened of blood magic. It too directly violated my own experience. Even later, when our opponents used the rhetoric in bad faith, I was frightened that it would lead well-intentioned people to throw out the truth along with the exaggeration. But I was always clear that the danger blood magic posed was from other mages, not from my own temptation toward it."
no subject
But here they are instead.
He has a point to make, or a question to raise. He considers it, fingers finding a place to rest vertical down vertebrae. The blunt set of his fingernails, in idle skritch.
"But did you feel it was evil?" he asks again. "Or that what Richard was doing was evil? Was there true harm happening, in the action taking place in that tent?" And to spare Julius doing the work alone, he states, "I don't think there was. Even if it wasn't me or you, laying on the table."
no subject
"I don't know how it works, what he did," Julius says, quietly. "And it's not that everything that has a cost is evil. Regular magic has costs, it's not just that, but it's more ... I don't know what the cost was. Or will be. And I don't like operating that blind. It didn't feel evil, but I don't want to base my entire ethical system upon my own feelings." It's not meant as a reproach and isn't said in that tone. But he also wants to put it didn't feel evil in the context he experiences it for himself.
no subject
Marcus draws his hand back, but not away. Resting on Julius' shoulder, a curl of amusement evident if subtle in his expression, as he says, "That's suited me fine, so far."
You know, for a given value of fine.
"I don't know that centuries of doctrine can be built on nothing," Marcus concedes, next. "But where it's my belief that the Chantry exaggerates and uses the threat of Abomination as a tool, it stands to reason that blood magic could stand a similar interrogation. That you didn't do anything wrong. That it was nothing to do with the ugly thing that any magic can become, in the wrong hands."
no subject
He's not a man often lost for words; the silence is a choice. Finally, he says, "Fear-mongering is an old and effective political tool; I don't deny that. But I also lived through a Blight that people were actively writing off as fear-mongering until Darkspawn nearly overran Denerim. It's not a perfect analogy, I know that, but ... just because someone is using fear of something as a tool for their own ends doesn't mean that thing isn't a real threat."
no subject
And is silent for a moment after, laying there, studying him. Eventually, he moves his arm down from Julius' shoulder to take the other man's arm he slid up under. Peels back his sleeve to where the slice run through his arm has been healed, or bandaged, or however Julius chose to see to it in the past few hours.
Regardless of vanishment or obfuscation, Marcus knows precisely of where the knife had bit, and its gentle, the action of turning Julius' arm, thumb set against wrist, to kiss that spot.
no subject
"I trust you," he says, a low murmur, after a while. "And if you think he does more good than ill, today and generally, I will ... attempt to keep an open mind. As long as you understand why I find it challenging."
no subject
"You should speak to him of it," he suggests, likewise quiet. Content to continue to speak, even in the slow winding down of knowing he's not going to solve anything for either of them tonight. "His approach is academic, his perspective as a rifter might be illuminating. You might feel better or worse about it, but at least you'll be informed."
Marcus is certain that if Julius had been a fraction less stressed, he'd have also been curious instead of mostly horrified.
no subject
"Perhaps I should," he allows. "Though he hardly has the air of inviting such conversations. But you're right, I'd rather know more than less, regardless. Other worlds presumably have their own ..." He looks for the word he wants for a moment before letting it go. "I don't want to be reacting only out of fear, I do grant you that." Even if he isn't ready to grant yet that native blood magic might have a place.
no subject
Still. Maybe Julius would have better luck.
There's a span of silence that passes by before Marcus speaks again. "We should tell Petra of it, the means of my healing. You or I?"
no subject
To the extent Julius would rather Marcus do it, it's mainly to avoid a scolding for not telling her when they spoke, but 1) he can't tell Marcus that without getting into having spoken to her in the first place and 2) even if that happens, he has perfectly logical reasons for not doing that if he needs them. It's fine.