(closed) She thought that I'd be wiser

[dashing]

WHO: Herian & Wanda
WHAT: Two people who have/had magic and are very chill
WHEN: vaguely end of year
WHERE: Kirkwall (Lowtown, perhaps a sprinkling of other-towns)
NOTES: Heads up for Tranquility (starts off with violence towards a Tranquil)

The balance of cost and benefit that Lowtown has seen since Rift Watch's arrival was ever at risk of being violently swung to the negative. Objectively speaking there had been many good intentions, much effort made by a good many of Rift Watch, and yet, how great an impact had been made was not so easily measured. How many more came to Kirkwall from Starkhaven, from across the Marches? What resentments were stirred by those not directly aided, or even those that were but still lost loved ones to the violence and chaos that Rift Watch's presence drew here? How much energy could rightly be given to resolving the systemic issues of Kirkwall when a war spread across all of Thedas?

All this would explain why Herian is surrounded as she is, and the thin thread of blood rolling from her cheek. The rock opened the wound lies nearby, others near by that didn't meet their mark.

Her voice is quiet, as taciturn and empty as her expression.

"The Tranquil are an outlet for your ire for which you will face no opposition. However, your concerns and frustrations would be better articulated--"

Another rock cuts her off, joined by others. Herian has raised an arm to partially shield her face, but lacks the urgency of a fighter, or the tension of fear.

Comments

[dashing]

"For most peoples of Thedas, their connection to the Fade grants only the ability to dream. Mages find their connection to their magic thence, and within that truth lies a well of anxiety for those fearful of magic."

She steps to the side, so she can point to the Gallows. "Our base of operations was once a mage circle, a place where those with magic were kept under Chantry supervision. For our own safety and the safety of those without magic, ostensibly."

Herian is still placid, none of her complex relationship to such places able to surface. "I have no wish to condescend to you; these are elements necessary to undersranding Tranquility. Am I covering matters already known to you?"

[explosion]

"Some."

Wanda clasps her hands in front of her waist and twists her fingers absently. Her gaze lingers on the Gallows, a familiar sight now that she's been in Thedas for a handful of weeks. Is it right that it's somewhat become a place of safety for her? She likes its familiarity. Perhaps it was always meant to be a little pocket for her.

"I know they're not… overly fond of foreign magic." Hers feels different, for one, and if the response she elicited only moments ago is anything to go by, Wanda's walking a very precarious tightrope.

[dashing]

"Nor native magic. Mages are considered dangerous both for their inherent power, and how greatly their to spirits and demons as vessels for possession. A mage possessed is consumed, and leaves devastation in their wake. Entire villages might be lost."

Unmoving, her gaze lingers on the tower.

"That was why mages were kept to the Circles. So too, why the Rite of Tranquility came into use; to severe us from the Fade and our magic."

She turns back to the stranger, now. "What is your name?"

i am so sorry it has taken me this long — life gobbled me up.

[explosion]

"Wanda."

It's the easiest answer to give. She's Wanda—just plain Wanda—and she may truly be in over her head.

But she doesn't allow the threat of overwhelm overtake her. She's in a strange place, with new rules, and what she's come to rely upon as a crutch is frowned upon so heavily she may just find herself in more trouble than the Raft. But this woman won't send her to the turbulent seas to rot away in a cell with a thick, heavy collar around her throat. Wouldn't that be asking for damnation for herself?

She wrings her hands together to stop herself from summoning what she wishes to summon. Magic. Power. A great, red wall. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"