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.
no subject
What stoked those fears and prejudices? (Southern mages did not teach themselves to be afraid of their ability. Southern countries did not pull their prejudices from the air to stoke and tend.)
The Chantry must be excised form the process. It is the step beyond, the uncoupling that must occur. Derrica knows it waits, farther off. But it must be done.
"And it cannot wait," is another correction, equally gentle but just as resolved. "We do not have the luxury of waiting until our leverage is lost. We are needed now. We won't be, once Corypheus has been thrown down."
And then there may well be a return to war. It would be better to not go from one long, wrenching battle to another.
And it is just as frustrating to hear this sentiment offered from this man as it is from the Ambassador. Men who will never see the inside of a Circle Tower, saying Please wait.
no subject
So he'll argue the second point. "I would argue you would have the most leverage after, having proven to everyone once and for all that you can work, in the open, with full freedoms, with non-mages. You are tolerated right now, out there, barely and grudgingly, and that's best case." Too many people either don't think mages are needed or conflate them with the magisters, the venatori, the monsters under the bed. Where's the leverage if they haven't proven their worth?
"And if it can't wait," he adds, in slight concession, "then why has it waited to the point of these guys trying to start something behind everyone's backs?" Instead of anyone else getting in front of this. If it can't wait, then why hasn't anyone else put together a conclave to debate the matter of what all the frats agree to suggest politely to the Chantry in the middle of a war? If there's no luxury in waiting, why has it waited the better part of a decade?
no subject
Derrica turns away from the consideration of a wisp darting through the ankles of passing mages. She looks into Mobius' face, silence spinning out between them as she studies him.
Tolerated.
She weighs that word up alongside embellished. These are instructive selections. They reveal him to her.
"You would be wrong," is serene. Derrica remains self-possessed, soft-spoken still. "But I know it would be more comfortable for you, if we were to quietly wait until such a time as you feel it is convenient to remind everyone what we have sacrificed in this war. What we have contributed and continue to contribute. There are mages here who have been fighting for years. And if we wait, as you would like, hoping that we might be found worthy then we will be discarded the way any tool is at the end of its task."
Prove themselves. What have they been doing for so many years now? What will it count for, when there is no other demand for mages on a battlefield? If there is no provisions made in preparation of that day?
"Don't imagine that this is all that has been put together. It is just the only conversation you have been able to intrude upon, Knight-Lieutenant."
no subject
That explains a lot right there, huh.
He stiffens first. The title like an accusation, more comfortable for you, and it's been the sword hanging over his head for years (the better part of a decade, was it?) that seeing it start to swing down toward his neck elicits that fight or flight.
And then relaxes. He won't agree that any reactions from the others are fully deserved, but he will face them and take them and weather them. He does not have to explain himself to her the same as she doesn't have to explain herself in turn. It's not his place to speak. That she responds anyway is more than he could have hoped for.
"It's just Mobius," he says at last, directing his eyes up as though simply admiring the architecture and not silently gathering up the grace and serenity the Maker has bestowed upon him and thanking Him for it.
no subject
Barrow had done much the same. Concealed. Omitted. (Lied, it is a lie.) Allowed favorable conclusions to be drawn while moving through their midst, unknown.
This is much the same. Worse, perhaps, because Barrow had never sought to instruct her as to how her people should seek their freedom, while assuming she had no idea as to who he was. Where such opinions were rooted.
Her gaze doesn't waver, even as he directs his eyes ceiling-ward. There is a long moment of study, a point of pressure applied as the quiet spins out between them.
Eventually, she looks away. Expression unchanged.
"You can discard your armor, and omit your title, but it doesn't change what's true," she says, quiet and unyielding in this assertion. She doesn't ask if he still drinks his lyrium. If he could still sever the link that binds her to the Fade if he so chose. These answers are likely yes. Those abilities are likely still at hand, because what templar puts aside that weapon? She has never encountered one who had done so. "Or that you chose to keep it from everyone here."
no subject
Maybe not unquestioningly, he'd never been good at that. Probably not unflinchingly. But he would be there instead nonetheless. Were he still a Templar.
His gaze slides sidelong back to her. This is exactly what Barrow warned him of. Had suggested to him that being open and upfront was better. So now, now that it's getting out there, now that he will be judged in spite of being here as though that means nothing, he feels it pertinent to pose a question.
"What do you suppose the outcome would have been had I worn my former employment on my sleeve?" He straightens, spreads his hands helplessly. "What are we meant to do, exactly, but to try and keep living our lives however we can?"
no subject
There are so many mages who are not able to keep living. (Dead. Broken. Ruined.) What luxury, to simply shuck off that symbol and wander through the world free of it. Everything wrought by their hands so easily put aside, as if it has no bearing on the present.
What are templars meant to do? Jone asked her once, and Derrica had been kind in her answer too, though she is hard pressed to find generosity for templars: They should keep themselves far from those they had jailed.
no subject
He turns to her fully. "Accuse me of lying. Say it to my face. I am a member of Riftwatch, a researcher, a librarian, a laborer, a man of faith. I am not a Templar. Is who I am not enough?"
no subject
If he cannot, will not see the point at hand, that too tells her something of him. As surely as tolerated and embellished do, as surely as the decision to omit his titles, hide the work he has done.
"Who you are encompasses everything you've been. I will always be a mage from Dairsmuid, even if I were to put down my stave and never pick it up again."
Rings in a tree, she'd told Ellie once. It is much the same. The history is always there, built upon. There is no way to leave it behind.
"And you will always have served your Chantry as a templar."
There are harsher questions she might ask him. But the one she settles upon is simply put too: "Does it shame you?"
How many reasons are there from omitting this truth? It is a form of deceit, done with purpose. She could guess at the answer, has already had it from Barrow and imagines the same.
no subject
(This is a false dichotomy. It isn't the same. It's there for him to recognize, and it...only mounts his frustration.)
Does it shame him? There are things he has done, done out of duty, that he is ashamed of. Does having been a Templar as his god bade him for so many years as a whole and a total shame him? That feels more complicated. Southern mages are not taught there is another way. Templars are also not taught another way. The Chantry takes hold and does not allow for it. That in itself is shameful.
But she does not name him liar, at least.
There are those from whom that question would be disingenuous. And he doesn't know her, does not know the matter of her character and cannot divine her as much more right now than an old soul in a young body. So. A question for a question, then. "Would an answer make any difference?"
no subject
It changes very little about the broad strokes of this matter. He is a templar. He concealed it. He is here. She has observed him, pressing into conversation others in this hall, exerting his wishes on their affairs still.
But she has never had opportunity to ask the question, though she'd wondered it often. Did any of those who served this Chantry feel shame at what they are party to? All the misery, and death, and pain, did any of that ever give them pause?
One shoulder lifts, stirring the fall of fine fabric draped down her shoulder. A shrug, accompanied by the tip of her head. Perhaps. Perhaps not. She cannot say what sort of difference the answer will make.
Maybe only the difference that it was not the kind of cruelty he enjoyed.
no subject
It's not the first time he's wondered.
"Yes."
The simplest answer. There are caveats; there are exceptions; there are nuances. They did some things right with the information that they had. They did some things wrong, so very wrong, by any law or moral standard. Some have committed atrocities none can forgive, and some have never raised a hand to a mage in anything but friendship before. There are exceptions. To every rule. But it is still the simplest version of an honest answer.
"I will carry my shame to the Maker." Who he's pretty sure can't judge him for doing what He told him to. He will not look to any living for absolution. "In the meantime, I will do my work with Riftwatch to the best of my ability."
no subject
There is a hollowness to the reception of them. Like holding a blown egg, feeling it insubstantial in her palm. The words bring her nothing. She isn't sure what she had expected to feel, but maybe she should have anticipated that some expression of this shame wouldn't stir anything in her but a kind of resignation.
What use is his shame? Dairsmuid is still gone. Mages are still suffering. And he is still here, unlikely to ever face anything more than her disapproval for the role he played in their history. And for all his shame, feels himself entitled to ingratiate himself within this conclave.
"I'm going to inform the Commander of your title when we return," is all she says, breaking the quiet that's stretched out in the wake of his answer. A fair warning, directly offered. She can give him that much.
She uncrosses her arms, adjusts the folds of her shawl, the fall of her dress. The heavy gold bracelets at her wrists gleam at the motion. It is a kind of dismissal. There is nothing else to be said.
no subject
His shame makes no difference; her derision makes no difference. Dairsmuid is gone, and he can do nothing for that, and he will not wallow in grief or self-pity for her sake or anyone else's when it will do nothing constructive. None of it makes any damn difference in wartime.
But she isn't wrong to do as she proclaims. And it is more than he deserves that she informs him as much. He inclines his head.
"Enchanter."
And takes the dismissal for what it is. Moves along elsewhere.