open | full circle pt 2
WHO: Many people, mostly mages and rifters and Templars/Seekers
WHAT: Stop that Circle!
WHEN: Late Solace
WHERE: The College of Magi, Cumberland, Nevarra
NOTES: OOC post! Please note we are not doing the points game part yet. But we will later and your tags will still count then.
WHAT: Stop that Circle!
WHEN: Late Solace
WHERE: The College of Magi, Cumberland, Nevarra
NOTES: OOC post! Please note we are not doing the points game part yet. But we will later and your tags will still count then.
I. THE JOURNEY
After the meeting, there's time to talk, pack (lightly), and get a full night's sleep. But after an early breakfast the next morning, everyone heads up to the eyrie at the top of the Gallows' central tower to load onto griffons.
They do it with the sanction of the Division Heads, accompanied by some rules, like no violence, and some mandatory company. A few Templars (and a Seeker) are sent along with them, in Riftwatch uniform rather than their more traditional and more inflammatory armor. Mages and rifters and interested others have the choice of donning their uniforms or not.
The trip to Cumberland is short an uneventful. Trained griffon riders and the animals they've bonded with lead the flock, but other griffons follow cooperatively behind, each carrying one or two riders and their effects. The group lands once or twice in the Planascene Forest to stretch their legs, have a meal, etc., while the griffons help themselves to a buffet of wildlife. A few of those without bonded riders might need some extra persuasion to get back in line, when it's time to go, but nothing goes significantly wrong.
II. THE COLLEGE OF MAGI
It's late and dark when they swoop down on the city, but the College of Magi is easy to spot, because it's a palace with a hammered-gold dome roof that shines in the moonlight. The griffons land and consent to being tethered in an enclosed courtyard that, after years of neglect, is no worse off if they trample the greenery a bit. The doors inside are guarded not by Templars, but by Cumberland city guards assigned to keep looters out of the palace in the mages' absences. Once they've taken in the presence of the griffons and uniforms, they put up no resistance to Riftwatch's entrance.
Inside, the halls are quiet and opulent: in addition to the famous collection of sandstone busts of every Grand Enchanter from the last 600 years lining the entrance hall, there are marble pillars, bright frescoes, vases, art, gilded vines crawling the walls. Everything shines and glitters in the light from the braziers on the walls.
The mage who comes scuttling down the hall to give them a bewildered greeting, robes flapping and a basket of bread on his arm, is Senior Enchanter Erfried Neumayer, noted Loyalist, formerly of Hossberg. He is well into his nineties, spry but mostly blind, and very friendly. He explains, eventually and in pieces, that they have not even started the conclave, unaware they might have needed to rush, and the others are currently having a late dinner and an idle chat in the dining hall. Thus the bread.
The rest of the mages are not glad to see them, albeit mostly in a polite and/or passive-aggressive way. They make a fuss about not being prepared to house or feed any additional participants, but in the end do show everyone to one of the bunk bed-filled rooms that used to house apprentices.
The first night and every night afterwards, Riftwatch has overnight watches—not to watch for danger, but to make sure the other mages don't sneak around and convene while they're asleep. (A few of them might be caught trying to organize exactly that.) The beds are musty from years of disuse but otherwise fine. Food is grudgingly provided.
Before, after, and between sessions on the floor, there's time to explore the palace. Said to have been donated by a Duchess to keep her mage child in the comfort she was accustomed to, the College is an arguably over-the-top display of wealth and comfort, dusty from disuse but still overflowing with gilding and cushions, baths and kettles enchanted to heat and cups enchanted to cool and dozens of other magical novelties that make life a little more comfortable, art and a badminton field and a massive library. The Harrowing Chamber looks like a place where someone would be honored to complete a rite of passage; the dungeon exists but is small, clean, and devoid of spooky skeletons. It's exactly the sort of place that could serve as evidence that living in a Circle was great, actually.
III. THE CONCLAVE
The conclave, such as it is, begins the next morning, in a room whose domed mahogany ceiling has had it dubbed the Red Auditorium. It's designed to hold a few hundred attendees at a time, so the fifty or so Loyalists (and Aequitarians and Lucrosians) and dozen-plus Riftwatchers have plenty of elbow room.
At least in a parliamentary sense, Senior Enchanter Erfried is in charge—to Riftwatch's benefit. The Loyalist Contingent leads with an attempt to ignore Riftwatch's presence and ram their proposal through with no further discussion or procedure on numbers alone, but Erfried is a stickler for the rules. The name of the game is delay, distract, divert.
Fortunately, the mages prove delayable, distractible, and divertable. Creating a record of attendees and participants devolves into a series of short debates about who counts as a Circle Enchanter anymore and whether rifters have any right to be there, which easily take up half a day. From there, arguments about whether the Conclave has met all the finicky requirements to actually count as a Conclave swallow a few hours as well. Unfortunately, two witnesses profess a messenger was sent to alert the Grand Enchanter, and there's no evidence she did not reach it, so Erfried allows things to continue. In theory. Having spent so much of the day on procedural matters, there's no time to get into substance before adjourning for the evening.
Breakfast the next morning is interrupted by the arrival of the small team Riftwatch sent to alert the rebel mages at the front—and by Grand Enchanter Fiona herself, riding behind Ellie on Artichoke. She's only one mage, but she's an angry and important one. And others are coming. She makes a show of being concerned about whether it will be enough people to counteract the fifty-odd Loyalists, to avoid inspiring them to work too hard, but within Riftwatch, word gets around that they'll definitely have the numbers. All they have to do is stall.
The Loyalists do make every effort to resume the proceedings and make progress toward voting on their proposal. How unfortunate that circumstances prevent it. (Invent your own circumstances. Filibustering, general chaos, and minor property damage are all fair game.)
IV. THE CALVARY & THE DEBATE
The Grand Enchanter's people arrive only a few hours later than expected. There are easily a hundred of them—enough to doom the proposal, certainly. There's a sense of doom among the Loyalists when the proceedings resume. A few leave early in defeat. But the rest stick around, as they finally, finally proceed into discussing and voting on the substance of the proposal, and make fairly impassioned arguments on its behalf.
They evoke the history of the Circles: a compromise that saved them from being hunted by the early Inquisition and from being confined in Chantries to do nothing with their gifts but keep the fires lit. The hundreds of years of peace (they say) compared to what's come before and what will come after.
They say there was a mage child in the Nahashin Marshes, turned out by his illiterate and reclusive family, who appears to have lived alone for several years before recently reappearing, warped from possession, to slaughter his entire village. A town in Antiva realized a few of its new residents were mages and burned their house down, killing one and leaving the others with nowhere to go. A young fellow who'd wandered away from the Inquisition's camps once he came of age was caught picking pockets in Ferelden's West Hill and, in his attempts to flee, froze all of the tavern's occupants solid. Several didn't survive the thawing. They report—with no actual statistics, but a few anecdotes—that incidents of (child abuse cw) suspicious child drownings are on the rise. They ask, rhetorically, whether rifters think they will be left in peace by their neighbors when Riftwatch is gone.
And they go on for quite some time about their responsibility to Thedas. The risk of mages amassing power and establishing dynasties—a hundred years stand between that and a new Tevinter, optimistically. The risk of kings and emperors seizing control of the mages within their own borders, if mages are beholden to them rather than to the Chantry, and wielding them against their own people or their neighbors.
They have a reason for every item in the proposal. It's all very depressing and very sincere. A sizable number of the rebel mages from the front are moved by the presentation of the problem, if not convinced that their solution is correct.
But in addition to talking (and talking and talking), they also listen. They don't really have a choice, now that they're outnumbered. While only Circle Enchanters are technically permitted to vote in the College, Erfried will give anyone the floor for at least a few minutes. And between impassioned speeches, there are regular recesses when the Red Auditorium dissolves into more private conversations. Some are quiet, some are loud—but most mages have years of training in keeping their composure, so only a couple get worse than half-raised voices.
V. CUMBERLAND
With the mages from the front, the pressure on Riftwatch lets up somewhat. There's no longer a need for every Riftwatcher to be on-site at all hours of the day to prevent the Loyalist contingent from voting, so there's time to slip out into the city, whether for business—posting messages, buying supplies, running Riftwatch errands unrelated to mages and Circles—or just a break.
VI. THE RESOLUTION
In the end, not much happens. The proposal is voted down. It is not replaced by anything. But a date is set, three months in the future, to reconvene in a more orderly and less underhanded way to consider other options for mages' (and rifters') future. The Grand Enchanter also consents, in good spirits, to this future gathering deciding whether she stays in charge.
Riftwatch is invited. They have until then to do whatever maneuvering and advocacy they can.
It counts as a victory.
NPC NOTES
- You can do threads with NPC'd mages, or you can thread around their presence: discuss strategy, complain about a conversation with an NPC that happened off screen, take a break from the speeches outside, etc.
- Feel extremely free to make up NPC mages of your own! For natives this can include mages they already know or have history with. If you make up an NPC who you'd like kept in mind in the future, you can put them on the wiki page for this plot.
- The Loyalist camp consists mainly of Loyalists, but also some Aequitarians and Lucrosians. They're a mix of mages who sat out the war, Loyalists who fought with Madame de Fer against the rebels, and mages who fought with the rebellion but have since come around to wanting some kind of system back.
- The rebel mages who arrive on scene are mainly Libertarians, but also have some of every other fraternity—Aequitarians, Resolutionists, Isolationists, Lucrosians, and a few Loyalists along for the ride. They're all mages who fought with the rebellion and then joined the Inquisition.
- Grand Enchanter Fiona is present! If you want your character to have a significant conversation with her, either to get info or try to convince her of anything, do an info request—since she's so important and influential on her own, deciding what she would say or do is a mod call.
- You can invent friends/future contacts from either camp for your character to keep in touch with on their own. I don't have any info beyond the scope of this plot to hand out right now, either as a player or as a mod, but for the belated Part III in a few months I will try to gather folks whose characters have Done Work in the interim to distribute influence/information accordingly.
closed / ellie, kostos, matthias.
Her face is still pinched with worry. Partly for the journey Ellie, Kostos and Matthais are embarking on, partly for the looming worry about the College and the Conclave. Likely that pinch in her brow will remain, until the matter has been settled.
"It's not perfect," she is saying now. "It's only a sigil, and it will hold for at least twelve hours. But it'll keep you safe in case something happens while you're looking for the Grand Enchanter."
And obviously, something that can be declined. She isn't insisting, only offering.
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A lot's happened, and Astarion's warnings are still hanging heavily. She'll gather herself before she speaks.
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Barrow | ota
Ordinarily, Barrow would have seen himself as far away from this expedition as humanly possible. But orders are orders, and when one is asked to act like one didn't desert the Templars and lend credence to the overall public image and safety of Riftwatch, one doesn't shirk the duty. ...as much as one would like to.
To make matters worse, they're flying to Cumberland, which has its own set of baggage attached; a person never forgets what it's like to fall from a panicked griffon, and whichever (hopefully small) individual is tasked with driving the beast is subject to a death grip from behind every moment that they're in the air.
Ib. Resting
Given the opportunity to be landwards, Barrow can be found helping build a cook fire or sitting nearby on a stump or a log, smoking a cigarette with a shaking hand and a grim expression. He doesn't engage anyone who doesn't approach him first, knowing full well how his presence is likely to be taken by the primary company.
II. Night Watch
Orders are orders.
It feels all too familiar, sitting by the door and watching for movement from his own fellows, and it's difficult not to wonder if this is some manner of cruel prank being played on them all. The occasional privy break is waved on without incident, but if one person seems too active, or too many people try to leave the room at once, they receive a plaintive "come on now," in hopes it can be settled at that.
III. Conclave Business
What with the constantly being on his guard and the late, watchful nights, something so serene as a roomful of people shouting at each other quickly becomes background noise, and Barrow dozes off more than once. It's probably better this way, all things considered, but he can still be woken easily if someone has a pointy enough elbow.
IV. closed to Tiffany
It's a balmy evening and the day's activity has calmed, which allows everyone a little time to themselves. Barrow makes his way out of the Circle for a smoke, and is pleasantly surprised to catch sight of Seeker Hart nearby. He raises a hand to her in her greeting, the first time he's had a chance to fully acknowledge her since the journey began.
V. Wildcard
IV (obvs)
When she sees Barrow, she raises a hand back and even manages a smile. Wherever she was headed, whatever task she was to attend to--it can clearly wait, as she makes the quick decision to divert her path toward him instead.
"How are you? Given the circumstances."
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ii.
"Having us watching their every move is what they're trying to sign up for again, right?"
He has a handful of nuts. He shakes it as if to sift them before opening his palm and choosing one to pop into his mouth.
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derrica / ota.
the debate.
Except he doesn't come back, and he's sitting on the floor in the corridors later, when she's excused herself from the auditorium. There's a bench beside him. He's using it as an armrest. Looking aimlessly at the gold-plated vines winding their way around a column on the other side of the hallway, with a wisp drifting in proximity of his knees.
He doesn't turn to look at her when he hears footsteps, but he says, "Enchanter," voice distant with a hint of questioning archness. He missed the debate about whether or not she was one; he only knows she's being referred to that way now.
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The Debate
After, there are others who want to talk to her. Who are talking about her. Who are shaken by her very existence. Ellie wonders if now that Derrica's revealed that she was a survivor of an Annulment, if there will be a target on her back. Someone who feels that a mage so dangerous must be dealt with.
She doesn't trust that there isn't. She doesn't trust a single soul outside of Riftwatch, and some inside are on thin ice.
She sticks close enough to know when she has a moment, and appears in the doorway, laying a hand on the gilded wood, staying there for a second to be acknowledged before she comes inside.
Ellie reaches out a hand before they meet. Find's Derrica's, gathers it up in hers, and squeezes.
"Hey."
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the conclave.
Loxley's voice, from behind, not long after Derrica made her retreat into the opulent hallways, her eyeline directed up to the art mounted on the over-gilded walls. Meanwhile, he's paused a few feet back, holding a small silver object in his hand, recently changed out of clothes suited for travel, and into garments aimed to be eye catching. A deep blue shirt, a sash almost entirely composed of golden brocade wound around his waist, grey trousers tucked into the nice, runic-inscribed boots he'd rifted in with.
And a glint of gold, where bands of metal decorate his horns, matched in a ring or two, a necklace, his eye colour. His focus swivels back down to her, and he amends, "Not the art," and lifts the object he's holding. A flask, which he shakes slightly. "I mean the generously proportioned wine cellar that no one saw fit to tell us about."
He has, evidently, helped himself, and now uncaps the flask and holds it out on offer.
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debate
Hearing about this other way that they had is...well, it gives him a lot to think about. He can see why the Chantry wouldn't be a big fan of it all. He thinks it sounds a little too open and free, dangerous for everyone, but it worked out as far as Derrica explains it.
Can Thedas truly ever have that? Take away or dismantle the Chantry rule, educate people on magic, is that something that could take hold?
He steps up beside her, hands folded behind him, during a recess. "It's not my place to speak." The caveat. To show that he knows he is owed nothing. He is not a mage nor a Rifter, here more as an interested third party than anything else. They are not friends.
But he will still speak, to her, if she'll hear it.
"Was it really like that? Or was there embellishment?" Not an accusation. In all things requiring debate, one must present the very best version of what they argue for. That's simply how rhetoric works. There have to have been downsides glossed over, which he wouldn't grudge her for. Right?
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after the debate.
Petrana does not determine to elbow ahead of these, but she is present and listening throughout her speech on Dairsmuid in matter of fact support, and in due course — when there has been time for those other conversations, and space for Derrica to gather herself in whatever ways are necessary after flaying open and exposing so raw a grief — when the opportunity arises, much later in the evening, she greets her with a hand at the elbow and one gentle to her cheek. Her staff is secured to her back, and the diamond glows to light her way as the sun decreases, casts its pale light over her shoulder and brightens the blonde of both their hair.
“I wish to say,” warm and quiet and serious, “that I am immeasurably proud of you. I hope in doing so I don't overstep.”
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hallways post-conclave
As she disentangles herself from her earlier conversation, he says, "That was deftly done. I imagine not easily." He doesn't pretend he knows how it must feel, but Kinloch Hold came within a hair's breadth of annulment during the Fifth Blight, and even if it's not much discussed, it's not something he has ever forgotten. "Do you need anything?"
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minor cw for mention of violence
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The Debate
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sometime post debate.
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marcus rowntree. ota.
On overnight watch, Marcus can be found prowling around, restless and curious in equal measures, as given to exploration as he is keeping a keen ear out for sneaky Loyalist behaviour. On marble floors, and at this quiet hour, bootfalls ring out strange and echoing as he moves, taking it all in without outward indication as to what he thinks of it all.
Without Circle robes, there are moments of being politely stopped and queried by the guard, but his Riftwatch pin eases these conversations aside, and he eventually loops his way back to the old apprentice dormitories.
There's an issue, so it would seem. In one of the many circular arguments about who constitutes an Enchanter entitled to a vote, Marcus makes himself a subject by, well, existing, and having recently had a warrant against him for treason in Orlais.
On the plus side, there is a benefit to this: part of their tactic must simply be a matter of delaying and diversion, and generating problems and relentlessly arguing their worth is certainly a means of doing so. The squabble is silo'd rather than made centre stage, but is noisy through crosstalk, protest, stubborn attempts to leverage out a sure-fire vote against a current but temporary majority.
Can one really be privileged with the responsibilities of an Enchanter if that Enchanter contributed to the destruction of his Circle? How seriously can a vote expected to be taken when concerns of one's loyalty to Thedas have yet to be fully dissolved? Would it not be the responsible thing to have him removed from the College altogether, rather than risk the legitimacy of these proceedings in the eyes of the Chantry?
Overblown or perfectly reasonable, Marcus doggedly argues these points, the occasional barked raising of his voice risking a swift end to the matter, but otherwise leaning into patience over temper. Eventually, in all the chaos, it is simply made an easier thing to allow him to remain, but by the time he walks away, it's with the air of a man who would not mind strangling someone.
After heartfelt accounts of child death and horrific village massacres, there comes a time at which Senior Enchanter Marcus Rowntree, formerly of Starkhaven, takes for himself a few minutes of talking. There are prepared notes on the surface in front of him, although not many, shorthand written on one or two loose leafs of paper, which at some points feels like a mistake on his part during the occasional lapses in momentum, short silences and the uncertain lifting of a corner in the process of thought gathering. He does not resemble, much, a Senior Enchanter, wearing instead his nicest clothes that hark of an upper middle class merchant of the Free Marches than a Circle mage. This as if to slightly salt the wounds of those who had made some attempt to disparaging his claim to his own rank the previous day.
Anyway. He speaks, at first semi-quietly and eyes down before abandoning seeking refuge in note taking and instead watching the gathering. There is some preamble, thanks made to permitting them late entry that does not sound sarcastic or passive aggressive, but he is swift to get to his point now that taking up time is no longer the object.
"My hope is that there will be those among us who are able to speak to alternative, to their experiences, to how we may continue on outside the shadow of the Circles. But for myself, I wish mainly to speak on the point of what we can expect to occur, should those that assembled this meeting have their way in their reinstatement. It would be war. It can only be war."
There's a sound of wooden scraping as someone in his periphery of the Loyalist faction simply stands and leaves, followed by one or two others. There is no immediate reaction out of Marcus, but he does stop looking at his notes entirely.
"Your assembly here is a threat, your proposal an act of aggression against anyone who fought for their freedom, and if it is permitted to continue, it will be met with the swift and firm response of any living creature being made cornered. When your brothers and sisters gave their lives in pursuit of liberty, you hid and watched on in hopes that that storm would pass you by. This time, you will be given no such ability. If you sign your name to that thing we tore down those years ago, then you ally yourselves with those we will tear down again, and be torn down in kind."
Now a little louder, edged, focus aimed towards the specific side of the chamber full of those he's addressing.
"As it seems your cowardice direct your actions still to this day, then let it compel you to stand aside—"
Which is when Senior Enchanter Erfried Neumayer calls for order, and Marcus scrapes up the pages in front of him, drawing in a breath. At sea, suddenly, but satisfied enough with a point made that he does not protest when it is firmly suggested that whoever is next rise to their feet. The impulse to leave right away is strong, but he sits instead, laying some claim to his remaining in the room.
And then he finds he is hardly listening, and so when it seems appropriate, if likely too soon, he adjourns outside, a fresh cigarette lit before he exits the auditorium.
If you wish to find him, he won't go very far: a quiet hallway in the sprawling chambers of the College, cigarette smoke and silence woven around him, or up to where the griffons have been tethered to see that Monster is content, and direct his energy forwards, into something else. Otherwise, find him back in the auditorium, listening pensively, or during a recess, speaking to those of Fiona's cavalry with quiet but friendly familiarity.
[ ooc ; whatever you want babey ]
post-debate griffons
He isn't seeking out Marcus now. He's seeking out Mouse, hauling a bucket of water in either hand to add to the embellished bathing tub that's serving as the griffons' water dish.
"You still sound like you want it," he says to Marcus as he walks past, "but you made Hermant cry. So."
Good job.
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a quiet hallway.
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also a quiet hallway.
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man this hallway is crowded.
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Ellie | OTA
Ellie arrives more than a little tired, hungry and careworn. She has an important passenger, and once she situates Fiona, she takes Artie to roost and rest up with the rest of the griffons.
If anyone wants to check in with her, she'll be scanning the immediate area for familiar faces.
Ellie is not the type to be anything but put off by the ostentatious display of wealth in the College, but she's been here in Thedas long enough to understand the value that impressions can make. As soon as she's able to get some food in her and a few hours of sleep under her belt, she'll give herself a good scrub clean and get dressed. For those who saw her in Rialto, they might find her beautifully fitted navy blue silk tunic a familiar sight. She's paired it with a well-fitted pair of breeches, high boots, and an openly worn dwarven-make dagger (far from the only one on her person) strapped around her thigh, along with her curiously made fade-crystal bow and arrows.
She openly wears her Riftwatch pins, and for the time being, has left off her hand coverings, just as openly showing the anchor on her palm.
She doesn't want there to be any mistaking who she is, or why she's here.
Ellie takes watches, and when she's not on duty she checks on and exercises the griffons to get a lay of the land. It's not her first time in Cumberland, but the last time she was here, it was far more cloak-and-dagger than this affair.
When all else fails, she does head off to the art gallery to stand silently in front of one painting or another, and if someone comes close enough, she'll mutter, her tone faintly disgusted:
"Comfy little nest they've got here."
II. Cumberland
Inevitably, as the days drag on, Ellie finds a reason to pack up a day bag, put on her street clothes (and hand wrappings) and steal out towards the gates. It isn't until she gets near enough to them to realize something she should've earlier. It narrows her options, or maybe it's serendipitous, and she's found precisely the person she wanted some time with.
"Got anything to do out in the city?" she asks. "We should probably be using the buddy system. I'm getting Rialto flashbacks."
III. Wildcard! Throw whatever you like at me, or request a bespoke starter.
check in
Abby, noticing Ellie's arrival (but who didn't, that was the point) pushes through the crowd to get to where she's drawing her griffon away from the congregation. Everybody is circling the Enchanter. Abby has something for her (Fiona, not Ellie) but it isn't the right time to approach with something meant only for her eyes; she lists to the side instead, crossing to where Artichoke is finding himself corralled.
When Ellie notices her, Abby lifts her chin in a nod of acknowledge, a silent good job for the work done.
"Hey," she says after jogging the rest of the way over, braid leaping over her shoulder, "Can I talk to you for a sec?"
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art gallery
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Cumberland
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cumberland.
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john silver / ota.
harrowing chamber
She makes her footsteps loud so he won't be surprised by her, tilting her head back to see all the way to the ceiling. For a wild moment she has the urge to yell out at the top of her lungs, because the echo would probably be incredible.
But as beautiful as the place is... there's something about it Abby can't quite put her finger on. Something to put her on edge.
She says (quietly), "It's creepy in here." Not entirely a question, but not just an observation.
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the conclave.
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the conclave.
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wildcard, by crystal.
best friends club commence
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tony stark. ota.
The most talking Tony does in one time happens during the name taking and voter accounting, in which he argues with an elderly person about the legitimacy of Rifter Enchanters. "But hear me out," he proposes, hands spread, shard winking innocently in the centre of his palm.
Say a rifter was an expert in the mystic arts, charged with the responsibility of safeguarding dangerous magical items, of protecting the world from wild enchantment, of training up apprentices and filling the ranks of a remote order dedicated to the preservation of magical lore. Yeah, sure, 'Enchanter' is a specific title connected to the Circles themselves, but if we're gonna call a spade a pitchfork—
"Oh, where did I practice magic? No, I was talking about a guy I knew. No, he's not here. But he could be. Probably a matter of time. But I'm, like, his best friend."
The matter is shelved. He does not get a vote. Can't blame a guy for trying.
And no, he doesn't talk during this part.
Tony sticks around for much of it, seated sometimes at a slouch, or tipped forward at the waist. Dressed not as ostentatiously as he could be, but not plainly in a deep wine red shirt and vest of some kind of soft hide, a sight more cleaned up and groomed compared to the aftermath of a frantic griffon ride and forest pit stops two days ago. The pin that marks him as Provost glints golden near his collar.
He makes use of recesses to do the rounds, quick introductions and handshakes and yes, he's the Provost of Riftwatch's Research division, but mainly here to represent himself. Conveying gratitude for the collective 'budging up', sorry for the property damage, can't wait to do this again sometime.
In the auditorium, he is mostly attentive, with the occasional burst of bad kid at back of classroom energy that has him whispering and giggling. Other times—kids drowned in lakes, Abominations tearing through villages, magical mistakes that cost lives—he is deadly serious, silent, absorbing it all with focused measure.
It's towards the end of the last litany of horrific, heartfelt anecdata that he goes to get some air, but returns before long.
[ ooc ; whatever you want babey ]
The Auditorium
She opens one as Tony comes back in, pulls it into halves, scoots closer to him to semi-discreetly hand him a section. She leans in to whisper.
"You missed the part where that massive dick in the stupid green hat hinted super heavily that Rifters still might be demons, actually."
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Smoking behind the bleachers (lmk if you want any adjustments)
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conclave
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recess.
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the conclave.
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auditorium
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mobius | ota
He didn't fly here. Someday, someday he'll take a chance on one of those majestic beasts. He'll scream bloody murder the whole time, but if Ellie's got a knack for actually riding one of those griffons, maybe he'll trust her about it.
No, he arrives on...wolfback. His hands ache from clinging into Jude's not-insignificant fur, so do his thighs, and yes, he feels fucking weird about it, thanks for asking. Did it take a certain amount of convincing from his Rifter friend that this was totally a legitimate way to travel, absolutely.
Should he even be here in the first place? Probably not. Definitely not. He only fits one of the criteria for people suggested going, and even then, it's not currently valid, and not many people know about it. On the other hand, he's become fairly well known for being a deeply religious Good Chantry Boy who's not bad at getting a read on people, two things that can't exactly hurt their chances.
He's here...to stand somewhere in the middle of it all. He wants to do it quietly; he wants to do it behind the scenes; he doesn't want to alienate every friend and every potential ally he's ever made or might make just because he holds the, to him, perfectly reasonable view that Circles are not inherently evil. Just going behind literally everyone's back to send some official-sounding resolution to the Chantry that yes yes all the mages want everything back almost exactly the way it was with just a few small caveats, that's something worth stopping. It's shady as fuck and needs proper discussion through proper channels.
So. Don't mind if he looks a bit like a disheveled mess by the time they all walk into the College. There's wolf fur all over him, and he looks like he needs a lie down. That doesn't, of course, keep him from paying close attention to Senior Enchanter Erfried, or from being enamored with the College's interior. Catch him doing big eyes emoji at the architecture, the art, the magical knickknacks.
Conclave & Debate
Mobius looks much better by the time it all officially starts--cleaned up and somewhat rested, only somewhat, with tensions and stakes so high. He's not as interrupted by nightmares here, so the exhaustion of travel too lends him a better sleep than he's had in a while.
He knows better than to actually speak during these meetings. It's not his place, first of all, and he doesn't actually want everyone to clock immediately that maybe he does, in fact, want to see Circles return. But between, he speaks to mages in question, not so much distracting but dissuading. There are better ways to go about this, for one thing, and for another, consider the loopholes and consequences of voting for this proposal as written. Consider the damage done to the fellow fraternities when they catch wind of this. Consider how the Chantry might view this as being illegitimate without more voices. He flits from mage to mage, or cluster to cluster. Sometimes ignored completely, sometimes grudgingly listened to, sometimes looked at with intrigue.
"Knight-Lieutenant?"
Under less fraught and exhausting circumstances, he might have feigned confusion at being addressed so, or immediately dismissed and corrected the title. But as it is, with a voice that rings a chiming bell in his head, slipping into old habits is so easy, and he so easily replies, "Yes?"
In this place of familiarity, he should not be surprised to see any familiar faces. Ostwick Circle hadn't been burnt to ash, just dissolved into the normal amount of bloody chaos when talks broke down. Still, it's both heartening and terrifying to see and be seen. To recognize and be recognized in turn. He meets it head on, if stiffly.
"You're not in uniform, Mobius," notes the woman who, at a guess, is probably right around his age or so: Enchanter Ullia de Stradi. She smiles politely as she all but glides towards him, poised, elegant. It does not reach her eyes, but nor is it cold. "Don't tell me it doesn't fit anymore, young man."
"Oh, but I am," he says with a little twirl, showing off now-familiar fabric. "Riftwatch uniform." A breath. "I'm not here on any official behalf of the Chantry." Cautiously. "I left that years ago."
"I see." The smile vanishes. "Then you're not here to argue on our behalf and return to the order of things. And here I thought you might like to come home again."
"Ullia, don't. I'm here--" He glances around and sighs, offering an arm. "Why don't we go somewhere more private and catch up." At which point, they sequester themselves to another room.
During the actual debates, when Enchanter Ullia takes the floor, she is still firmly for the proposal, herself giving an impassioned story of how the rest of the population eyes them with suspicion in the very best case scenario, that it's nearly impossible to use magic in public spaces as it is, and how having a safe space to retreat to is sorely missed. But also makes quick note that there are certain sections of it that may, certainly, need reviewing with their esteemed fellows, now that they are here. (That part is less well-received by her fellows, but given the turn of the tide, it's grudgingly accepted without incident.)
Elsewhere
The College is the most elaborate Circle he's ever been to, certainly much nicer than even Ostwick could manage, and the library makes him salivate. Catch him mooning over books there and bemoaning the lack of time he has to read them.
Around the College, and then also around the city itself, he can be found with a packet of notes that he's adding to, asking people questions. About their sleeping habits, about frequency of nightmares, where people have been when they've had or not had them. Among his pages is a small map with even more messy notes crammed in. (Funny how the city still feels so familiar even though he's never been here before. He won't, however, mention that.) Among the mages, obviously not everyone is keen on answering questions regarding dreams, but he certainly gets responses to his impromptu survey.
He takes one overnight shift, not terribly happy about it but uncomplaining. Catches one mage sneaking around and turns him about without any fuss, but it does leave him tired the next day. He takes to the chapel each day, pretending not to be taken in by how elaborately decorated it is.
[or wildcard shit, I'm easy]
Conclave
He gives his hand a friendly lick once he's off. See, it wasn't so bad -- but they do have to wash up, and Jude's-
Well. He's in for a very uncomfortable stretch of time on non-shifting.
He spends his time wisely, however, and mostly it's listening, learning, curiously asking someone to elaborate on this point, that one, how do you feel about this, what are the pitfalls of this? He hasn't heard much about that, what's your experience with it?
Slowly, he's piecing together more and more of history, knitting it with personal, anecdotal data, learning the parallels and the differences. His mother -- the lawyer -- would've been aglow with questions, drinking it all in. While he doesn't have her passion for justice (and that may be surprising for some who've heard him speak) he tries to imagine what she would ask, to press the points she would insightfully lean into.
Periodically, he circles back to his pack- the few scattered members of Riftwatch that he has decided are his own.
He steps into earshot as someone calls out for Mobius, and stands there with open curiosity, letting it all unfold.
Later, though- he finds him.
"An old friend?" he asks, easing into the conversation sideways. He gets the decided feeling it might be a difficult one.
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conclave, across the room.
the chapel.
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arrival
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elsewhere - the library
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closed | arrival, for petrana
It is fifteen or twenty minutes into the minor commotion, when many of the Loyalists and Friends are filing out of the breakfast hall to go strategize elsewhere, that he sees Cassius Black among them.
He had been beginning to list slightly to one side, where he was standing beside one of the dining tables to eat a slice of bread smeared with tomato and pepper preserves, but he puts the bread abruptly down, half-dropped, and starts in that direction with a renewed flare of focus and fury.
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Nearly white wood rises a few inches above her own height into elegant knotwork, featuring a perpetually hovering diamond in its center that presently glows only enough to cast a glow on its very nearest surroundings, square cut and hovering at an angle, pointing up and down, its wooden cage mimicking its shape. About the grip of the staff, presently somewhat obscured by Petrana's hand, twin gold bands wind thin. It is as lovely as its wielder, and it is presently illuminating mostly Kostos's chest and the underside of his chin where she has briskly clotheslined it in front of him.
Her free hand, as she begins to consider lowering her staff, comes to his elbow.
“Enchanter Averesch,” she says, pleasantly, “I am afraid I have need of you, but I'm certain there will be other opportunities to discreetly reacquaint ourselves with old friends.”
ota | kostos
This was his first Circle. His hometown, too. There are statues of his ancestors in the streets and a necropolis full of their mummies beneath the ground. Comfortable would be an overstatement, always, but he does look like he belongs here. The ornamentation and excess don't faze him. He knows where he's going, where things are. He issues terse directions to anyone who looks like they do not. He retrieves things from cabinets with an air of assumed ownership. The people in the streets outside share his accent and style of dress, save the Riftwatch pins and capelet he's layered on top. And the people inside, he knows.
At dinner he sits down with a table of hushed Loyalists, all challenging eye contact as he joins their conversation with the familiarity of someone who would once have been invited. He looks more and more pleased with himself as each one of them makes an excuse (or doesn't bother) to relocate or skip eating altogether—one turning back on the way to give him a placid fuck you gesture—until he's left sitting there alone. He leans back to look beneath the table and beckon for the spell wisp that emerges, humming happily at its success in following instructions.
During the debates, he most often haunts the back of the auditorium, sitting in the furthest row or standing against the wall. Sometimes he's not alone; once Fiona's rebels have arrived, there's often enough one of them beside him, both watching the proceedings with eagle-eyed attention, but with their heads leaning closer to murmur commentary on what's being said and who's saying it. (When Kostos smiles, it is a good bet that his company has just said something mean.)
Kostos never gives a speech himself. Even if he wanted to, which he extremely does not, it would be a terrible idea. The closest he comes to public speaking is proof of why he should not come any closer: he interrupts one of the Loyalists' speeches about the impossibility they will ever be allowed to live peacefully in Thedas with, "Fuck you, Verena," as loud as he ever gets, which is not loud, but loud enough to carry and give her pause—"Where the fuck were you when we were in Redcliffe? We had refuge, we had the Queen, we had a fucking chance, and we couldn't hold it because the fucking Templars you sided with—"
That is the point where his not-loud-enough loudness is drowned out by protests against his interruption. He keeps going for a few unheard sentences. But when Senior Enchanter Erfried manages to make his calls for order heard over everyone else, he holds his hands up—less surrender than fuck this—and exits into the corridors to simmer there instead.
Corridor
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apprentice quarters
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closed | late in the debate stage, for tskenka.
early in the conclave. closed to tsenka.
But it is.
And something else occurs to him in the moment, and he feels a little foolish for not having thought of it already, and so the importance of this occasion and its meaning and his own frustrations and misgivings all slide aside, somehow, in favour of finding Tsenka in some corner and curling his hand around her elbow.
"Come on," he tells her, tugging. If she was perhaps talking to someone, he didn't notice, and it's not relevant. He uses his not inconsiderable strength advantage to pull her along after him.
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“What 'come on', I was going to find out where Black's sleeping so I can put an eel in his bed—”
This may not be true. At the very least, she hasn't got an eel.
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Open
There was a small part of Julius, unvoiced even to those closest to him, that wondered if he had lost his edge.
First of all, it had been a very long time since he'd been in a situation anything like this one. Even before the war, Kinloch Hold was hardly a prestigious or well-respected Circle; after Uldred, they were small and had barely escaped annulment, and both before and after, they were in Ferelden.
But then as now, Julius had never let someone's inclination to dismiss him slow him down much. And, rather by accident, he's suddenly found himself rather senior, in practice if not by title; he's been an Enchanter for decades, and he occupies the unusual position of having been active in the wider world for many years without having fought on either side in the war. It's a benefit as often as it's a drawback, in the many one-on-one conversations he has between sessions. He is, it could easily seem, everywhere: reconnecting with old friends, acquaintances, and even opponents, and leveraging all three to get introductions to people he hasn't met, those he knows by reputation and those fully new to him.
It is easy to see, in these moments and in the formal debates, how Julius would have been very good at this in a world where the war never happened. That he is, now, good at putting people at ease, making them feel like he has genuinely heard them. And, unlike many of his Riftwatch colleagues, no one can put forth a single good reason why Enchanter Julius's vote does not count.
All the more striking, then, that he's dressed in a Riftwatch uniform, a deliberate choice for a man who still wears robes as much as he doesn't in daily life.
Despite his near constant activity, it's easy to catch him during the day in a hallway or in the evening in a dormitory, as often as not making notes for who to follow up on and when, but easily interrupted all the same.
Debate
He initially doesn't plan to speak.
He doesn't think he needs to, for one. His allies — his friends — have given a variety of persuasive speeches, and as Fiona's people arrive, their ranks grow. But there's one point that sticks with him, and try as he might, he can't quite let it pass. He gestures to Erfried that he would like a chance to speak.
"Any conversation like this one is going to necessarily include discussion of abominations," he says, calm but loud enough that even those older mages a bit hard of hearing can't miss his words. "I can sympathize with the concern, and I know many of you hold it genuinely. For those of you I haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting, my name is Enchanter Julius of Kinloch Hold. A few of my colleagues from Kinloch Hold are here today," he nods at a couple of them, "but not many. And everyone old enough knows one of the main reasons there are so few Enchanters and Senior Enchanters from Lake Calenhad."
Julius doesn't shift his weight, his body language open, his attention focused. "I have seen firsthand what an abomination can do, on more than one occasion. I doubt everyone here can say as much. Many of you know that, years ago, I counseled caution in a gathering not unlike this one, for some of the same reasons you cite today. But I have seen more of the world since. And the main thing it has taught me is that there are very rarely only two options for any serious decision." As he speaks, his focus sweeps the room, occasionally holding the gaze of a particular listener.
"I do not suggest a different way forward because I fail to mourn the many friends and colleagues I lost to Uldred's pride and vanity. I miss them. Now. Still. I suggest a different way forward because the false choice between the former status quo and anarchy is one that can only be put forward for one of two reasons. Either panic has genuinely pushed you to failing to see other options, or you wish others to panic into that very mistake. My fellow mages," it's no louder, but his emphasis is clear, "We were never members of only two fraternities. When I wrote to some of you on matters of arcane lore years ago, I cannot remember a single time I received only two perspectives. The choice we face is not between danger and safety. It is between imagination and fear. And I have known too many of you too long to believe that the outcome is predetermined."
So much for not saying anything.
He lingers, after that particular session breaks up, making himself available for anyone who wants to challenge him. By default, however, that makes him equally available for his allies, too.
Wildcard
[hit me with your best shot]
the debate.
Returning into the auditorium during a break, Marcus roams around the borders of everything, slowly drawn towards where he sees Julius locked into debate with two others. He is almost certain that it is the same two he'd been speaking to since Marcus last left the room, and although all is being handled with grace, well,
there's something he can exploit.
He nears in time to hear one of them saying something like the core principle at stake is a matter of oversight or none at all, which from Marcus' interpretation of latent microexpressions in Julius' face is probably a talking point that they've circled around several times, now.
So he just sort of joins the conversation both by commenting, "Mages can get up to all kinds of mischief, can't they, when no one's watching," as well as simply appearing at Julius' shoulder, and the speaker stammers around a I don't know what you think I'm referring to— while the other cuts in, telling Julius they've likely taken up too much of his time, how nice it was to speak to you, Enchanter.
On their way out. Marcus watches them muddle around a polite exit, disinclined to help.
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tiffany hart || ota
CONCLAVE AND DEBATE.
ELSEWHERE.
WILDCARD.
a recess.
Apparently, when Tiffany slips out into a hallway for a moment of peace, she isn't alone. They've never spoken, and why would they have cause to, besides sharing a division? But Loxley is so markedly of Riftwatch that it would be hard to mistake him, dressed in bright colours, a gilded sash, his Riftwatch pin affixed near his collar, and that he is a qunari, lean and long limbed in the way qunari are generally not. A rifter, through and through.
It's the next day, from 'the prayer bit', but it's what he thinks to say from his lean against a marble pillar, and then offers her a smile. "Would the Maker have found it funny, do you think?"
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chapel.
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matthias || ota
DEBATE.
EXPLORING.
WILDCARD.
exploring, courtyard.
Still—
She doesn't sleep much. It's been months since she can remember having a half-decent night's sleep, and she's always been prone to keeping late hours, prone to curiosity about everything around her. She isn't looking for Matthias when she finds him so much as she's looking to see what's so fucking great about Cumberland that all these Loyalists want to be locked up here again,
but she telegraphs her presence with a flare of light from a firestarter, only ordinary cigarette smoke this time that curls up into the night air, and she doesn't wait to be invited or told to fuck off before she sits down next to him by the wall, not too close.
“I don't usually smoke tobacco,” she says, by way of a greeting, calm as you like and offering no immediate questions for him to tense up to, “only the smell of it's been inescapable, I think half of your mages are getting through the debates with it. Gave me a craving, I suppose.”
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third night
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Entrance Hall; Aftermath
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post-speak wall-kicking
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harrowing chamber.
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closed for Gwen
"Okay," she says tightly, and makes herself ask, "It kinda sounds like slavery, though. Isn't it just slavery."
And several others butt in at once to prove her wrong, speaking over the top of each other in their indignance. Catching Gwen's eye from across the hall, Abby widens her own in a silent plea for aid.
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There's a good reason for that, because she briskly takes Abby by the arm and begins hauling her out of the clutch of mages with a firm, “Sorry about this, I'm sure they didn't bring the rifters to talk,” which is also entirely inaccurate, and if she thought about that for thirty seconds she'd probably know it herself, but appealed to for assistance with no forewarning to prepare,
well, this is her best. And why she's not in Diplomacy. And not physically capable of moving Abby if she digs her heels in, actually—
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