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
(I feel some days as if you remade me in your image and then hated what you saw.)
She shrugs, taking it back from him, breathing smoke in deep.
“Stopping Corypheus doesn't improve the world, it just makes sure we've still somewhere to stand. What the fuck would be the point of it all, if at the end of that we looked at the everything ripped open and shrugged, oh, well, might as well have the same shit we had before? I hated the shit we had before.” A nod back towards where all the voices are coming from— “I want to be where the people who give a fuck about that are.”
It's not something she's articulated in so many words before, but she doesn't have to think about it to give him the answer honestly.
“I want to be useful,” is more to herself than to Marcus.
no subject
right now, when she speaks a little like him too. Worlds being remade. Why it is a person of no magical talent might care for the plight of magekind.
Marcus holds out a hand for the joint.
Leisurely partakes, taking seriously the prospect of letting it work on him. "And where do you stand," he asks, "in this new world, ripped open?"
no subject
“I don't know.”
Which is — a messy and frustrating honesty, but in a couple of years she's going to be thirty and she never imagined living so long and needing to be anything. For so many years, what she would be was prescribed to her, decided for her; now she gropes for meaning in the dark, without a map, without the assurance that it will matter worth a damn to anyone else when she's done.
That she could just try and try and try, and have nothing to show for it. What's the alternative, though, not trying at all?
“I don't know what it looks like, I don't think that's for me to decide, and all I want is...” She shrugs, the sweet, thick smoke heavy around them. “I want to be standing somewhere I chose. It doesn't seem like such a great fucking ask for any of us, actually.” With some bleak humour, “Someone who decided to care about me against her better judgment put a lot of work into making me see what I could be capable of if I chose to be, and has hated more or less everything I've chosen to be since, so. Careful what you wish for, I suppose. I just think— well, all this hasn't worked,”
with a gesture,
“shouldn't we try something else? We had a whole fucking civil war in Orlais just to put the same murdering bitch back on the throne. I don't—”
Gwenaëlle talks nearly as much as Marcus doesn't. She takes the joint back possibly to see if she can make that stop, but she still says, “Wherever I'm standing, I don't want to be thinking, I could have done more but I didn't bother.”
no subject
—is mildly delivered, as far as advice goes. Throughout all that, Marcus had been silent, but listening. With the air, maybe, of someone who knows that the other person might well be working through a thing, and whatever quality he has to be the person she chose to do so in the presence of may not be because his advice is expected. May not be because she thinks he needs to hear it, but then again, perhaps.
He is not exactly everyone's normal choice to confide in, after all. So he says that, arms crossing once she's taken the joint back in a loose fold. "During the rebellion, we spoke of the future. At abstraction, at first. We wanted to be free, but not all of us knew what that meant. So we started deciding. A marriage with children. An academic career. A farm, or a noble title, or a ship with a crew. The shores of Rivain, or an apartment in Val Royeaux."
Marcus holds out a hand to accept the joint back. "Something to hold onto, when the present doesn't feel real."
no subject
it had been alright, not to know. Exciting, even, because it wasn't just I don't know, it was: we will decide together, when it comes. (And she had been mostly sure, most of the time, that he wasn't going to decide without her and expect her to abide.) In a way, and in a way that she hasn't found herself so directly confronted by til now, it feels like one more unraveling thread.
She stopped mending Thranduil's clothing months ago. It is a real thing, now, if she unpicks this stitch, too, and makes something for herself. It feels real, abruptly, that whatever her future holds is only hers.
“You're right,” she says, passing the joint to him, and she doesn't especially think she has anything to say that Marcus urgently needs to hear (more inclined to worry about the limits of his tolerance for the sound of her voice) but a case could be made that she could do with hearing that.
It leaves her in a more thoughtful frame of mind, quieter and turned inward where a moment ago she'd just been bouncing from one lily-pad to the next in train of thought, but after a short pause she adds, “I've got a houseboat, now. I won it, and it needed some work doing but when we get back to Kirkwall, I'm going to move into it; I imagine I'll take it with me, wherever I go afterwards.”
And then, curious, “What do you imagine? I told my uncle, not the mage, he's got to stop pining for anything involving Julius because it was harmless before with Mme de Cedoux but I'm fairly certain you could punt him into the Fade.”
no subject
Or maybe he would, at this next comment, a skeptical look steered sideways through the next puff of smoke. But he thinks on the question, without real intent to go so far as to share so much as he might: there was a dream, we were on an island, we had a daughter. No, increasingly, this information has been lodged further and further somewhere safe behind his heart.
Marcus offers back the twist of burning elfroot, feeling the latest lungful of it pick apart the threads of psychic tension that congregating in an absurdly beautiful Circle might create. Sleeping in the beds of stolen children. He feels moved to add, "I would speak around the fire of a community. Something small or great, but ours. Not so apart from what Derrica spoke of. Our own traditions, families. Where we might see what happens when mages are raised without fear of themselves, each other."
He pauses, and adds, "Somewhere peaceful," eventually, then, for flare, "with horses," because that sounds nice.
no subject
stops, turning the joint in her fingers. I've been thinking about that, too, she doesn't say, what if no one had been afraid of my aunt, would she still have abominated, would I have known her. It is tangled and personal in a way that she doesn't consider much of what else she's said to be, and not — she imagines — the sort of conversation he'd have with her, particularly, if he might have it with someone else.
She shares blood with mages; she has shared her bed with others. Has imagined what she would do, if a child of hers showed signs of magic (the answer, now, probably: flee to the Morrigan). Derrica makes sense to her now in a way that she didn't, before this trip; she understands, she thinks, the things she wants. And, in her own small way, the grief of what's been taken from her.
“A friend of mine,” she says, instead, “her son was my ward for a while, because she didn't want him to have to live in the Gallows. So he stayed with me in my grandfather's house, in Hightown. They're mages. I don't know if you know of her, Morrigan. He's the brightest, loveliest— most curious boy. Well, he's nearly grown, by now, he'd probably die to hear me call him a boy, but I just think— what happens when you get to take care of your children and keep them safe and love them? They're brilliant. He's going to be brilliant. He's proof as much as Derrica.”
Not for the first time, she misses them both fiercely.
no subject
They have Derrica, they have this boy of Gwenaëlle's, and an argument can be made for Matthias as well, untested as he is, lacking in the formal training that these Circles provide. They have John Silver, and every apostate who has survived into adulthood. And then the Loyalists have their stories. They have their Abominations, their blood mage cults, their child drownings, their Tevinter Imperium, mad with power.
They have years of freedom, now, too. That's something. But what he says is, "They don't want him to be brilliant," because it's true.
They. Loyalists, Chantry Mothers, the Divine herself, perhaps even the Maker.