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
"Oh," he says, somewhat stupidly, "right, yeah. I s'ppose that's true." Or rather, as he wrinkles his nose in disgust-- "Only--work with the Chantry? That's not likely to happen anytime soon."
no subject
A dismissive gesture, flicking ash into the grass,
“But the Chantry's hurt a lot of people, and stood by and let it happen to more. If the people it doesn't care about worked together, they might be more effective.”
no subject
"But we want different things. Or, well--we need different things. I mean, I don't want to go to a Circle or made Tranquil or-- or any of it. And that's not what an elf needs out of it all. Or, well," again, as he frowns, "s'ppose theirs is they don't want to go to an alienage. But who's to say an elf's even going to want to work together with me?"
no subject
Some bitterness curdles the words, but she's more focused when she says,
“Was I talking about elves or mages? Trick question.”
no subject
(And to, again, watch how she holds her cigarette. He'll never be able to do that, surely.)
"I s'ppose that's true. I mean, point well-made, yeah. That's only the broad bits, though, isn't it? There's smaller stuff. And we--mages, I mean--we can't barely agree on our own, can we--that's half why we're here, 'cos some Loyalists are trying to pull one over on us. Shouldn't we work here to start with, instead of scattering off?"
no subject
She crosses her ankles, leaning back against the wall.
“But you don't have to stop this to do that. You can make friends anytime. Derrica had some thoughts about it, too. I'm not talking about scattering, just about being more forward-thinking. The Loyalists are thinking about what they want the world to look like, when they're done. Rowntree, when he said people should imagine their futures, I think he was right, that's all.”
A twist of her mouth, “And, you know, you've got elven mages. Say you get freedom. What's that mean for them?”
no subject
"It's hard," he says, after a moment of quiet. "Thinking like that. Like-- it's only ever been about being a mage. You know? Even the elves what were in the Circle with me, they were mages first. Least that's how I thought. I were poor, before the Circle, the place I was from doesn't even have a name, proper--and then there's Enchanter Averesch--we stayed at his uncle's house, in Antiva, and it was a bloody palace--like this Circle is. So the only thing we have in common, him and me, is that we've got magic. People think that way. You are a mage, or you aren't. And I spent so long getting told that's what matters most--being a mage--first 'cos it was bad, then 'cos it was brilliant, actually--and there's things about being a mage which don't, I dunno, cross, or translate, or however you want to say it--but," he wrinkles his nose up, thinking hard, "but you're saying it's what's the same that matters. Being friends. Making this future together. Well, if it were people like you, that'd be all right with me. I like you."
Shut up, Matthias. Scowling, he puts the cigarette to his mouth again and takes a fortifying drag before he flicks it, clumsily. But not so clumsily he throws it away or extinguishes it, or anything. Normal clumsy, where his fingers knot up and he fumbles and ends up tipping his wrist instead of doing anything elegant.
"But I think--there's some people I'd not want there, in that future. I don't mean like, elves, I don't mean that, elves are all right as well, generally. Just--others. Templars. The Ambassador, most days. Loyalists--Enchanter Rowantree said to try to talk to them, to understand, but I'd rather they all fall in a great hole. But they're mages. So I shouldn't think that, but I do, and if that's how I think of other mages, who I do have things in common with, right, then-- then it's even harder to get to others. I don't think I'm clever enough for that the way you are. Or Derrica. Though I know she'd not invite Templars either."
no subject
strange, sometimes, where she's ended up. The things she let go of on the way, and the things she believes now. It's not where she'd have pictured her life going, ten years prior.
“I don't think any mages should have to deal with Templars if they don't want to,” she says, thoughtful, “though I also think it's fucking insane that the Chantry can take children to train into soldiers, indoctrinate them from that young, get them addicted to a thing that'll kill them eventually so it can use them against you, and they ended up fighting literally anyone except the Chantry.”
Templars are sort of a nightmare, when you think about it. It's not a thing she expects anyone here to have great sympathy for, but it's always been wild to Gwenaëlle they fought each other instead of the Chantry itself, together.
She draws one knee up to her chest, exhaling—
“We don't get to choose who we're saving the world for,” she says, after a moment. “We're not going to like everybody who's in the future with us. We're never going to be happy about everyone we share the world with, but it still...we'll still get more done if we're not all trying to do it completely by ourselves. Because all the other dickheads are still going to be here, we're not going to be able to ignore them, we're going to have to figure out more than that. Figuring out who you've got the most in common with and going from there is a good start.”
After all—
“I used to think Circles were good. I'd never met any mages, I didn't know anything about Templars except that the ones I'd met were handsome and seemed heroic. And when I was eighteen, I was terrified every hour of every day and I thought there was no one in the world it would ever matter to. A lot can change, in a few years.”
no subject
"I'm eighteen." More or less. First Day, cold and clear. Laura was still with Riftwatch. This was a stupid thing to say. Matthias puts his mouth behind his knees so he can pull a face without being seen. "I mean, what I mean is-- I think you're right. Things change. Things can change. It's-- It's what happens." He pulls in a breath and lets it out again, hot. "I don't think I'll change so much that I'll start loving Templars. Or feeling badly for them. They can think for themselves."
But. He presses his mouth against his knees, staring fixedly ahead. But.
Abruptly, he sits back so he can take another swift drag on the cigarette, and another exhale. Even better this time. It's almost burnt out, which is a shame.
"Why were you scared? When you were," he gestures toward himself, self-deprecating, "eighteen."
no subject
“My birth mother was an elven woman,” she says, eventually, “my mother's lady's maid at the time, and later the chatelaine of the country estate. Payment for services rendered, I suppose.”
Yes, and no. It's simple to Gwenaëlle; it was not simple for Guinevre to live.
“Her name was Baudin, I took it when I was stripped of my inheritance. But when I was growing up, it was the closest kept secret of my life— I was a thing that my mothers had sacrificed to have. Their pride, their dignity, their lives. And if someone found out that I came out of the wrong cunt, it could all go away. And a lot of it did, but it could have been a lot worse. The Inquisition and Riftwatch exposed me, in some ways, and protected me in others. I was terrified of being sent to an alienage, which probably wouldn't have actually happened. I was terrified that if my mother had her way and I married some comte or duke or marquis, he would find out, and it would be...easier if he made sure there was no way for anyone else to find out.”
She taps ash off the end of the cigarette.
“The easiest way to have silence is to slit a throat. People have always suspected that my grandfather poisoned his own wife so he could use his grieving period to avoid declaring for either side of the civil war— I don't,” for the record, “believe that he did. But I wasn't wrong about the danger, if I'd married. No one would want to admit they were duped. Just get rid of the evidence, and now you're a sad widower and can probably leverage that to cry into someone else's tits. I wasn't even good at it,” which is nearly funny, and she nearly laughs, “they gave so much to raise me up and I've never been suited to it. I was half the time afraid I'd get myself killed and that it would be so stupid my mothers would die of the shame.”
no subject
Their stories aren't the same. Not even close. If he'd've been eighteen when she was, Gwenaëlle would have been a girl in a tower and Matthias would still have been a mage, a poor and dirty and low. The things that she's had to worry about, and think about, the things she's had to be afraid of--poison and windower grandfathers and two mothers and sacrifice and marriage and titles and inheritances and exposure--couldn't be more different from his.
And here they both are, sat on the ground in the Cumberland Circle, smoking together. Matthias taps ash off the end of his cigarette as well. Not nearly as good at it as she is, but getting better every time.
"D'you think they're proud of you? Your mothers. Where you are now, I mean. What you're doing."
no subject
What she settles on, eventually, is: “I really have no way of knowing.”
Guenievre, whose name Libby definitely didn't forget how to spell for like a year, was never permitted close to her daughter. The moments that they shared were fleeting and impersonal and strange, and the last months that they spent together before the elder woman's death hampered by that awkwardness, by the uncertainty of both, their inability to bridge a gap that had been created purposefully. Anne—
Her mother was a wounded animal in a trap. Gwenaëlle thinks she'd have been cruel, too, in her place.
“They never intended the lessons they taught me to be used as they are. Maybe it would still matter that I remember the lessons. I'd like that to be true.”
no subject
"Somebody once told me that we're bits of people that we've known. Not actually, like." He flexes his fingers, tightens them again. They all belong to him. "But you learn things from everyone and take them with you when you go on and then a part of you is them. For good or for ill. You get to decide which way you go with it. So--I reckon you're right. It matters that you remember. You're yourself 'cos you chose how you were going to use it."
He twists his hand so he can see his cigarette. It's nearly smoked out.
"Who taught you how to smoke?"