arcaneadvisor | ooc: inbox/plot with me

Reckon that's a word for it.

[ a pause, and then it all tumbles out in a rush, too-fast ]

Went down in th'Deep Roads, see? Couple months back. There was this gate there, got some kinda lock on it, only one of them qunari looking ones jammed his face in. Went all blind scratching himself up on it, but doing that kept it open, y'know? This big broken thing just gone and stuck on another, and behind it, more of them coming. And —

— And I know 's not the same. Ain't trying to be literal. But you said one of your doors, the glass ones, got Blight. And I know my Chant okay. And Corypheus and all his lot were opening things don't go lightly neither.

[That's worthy of Morrigan taking note of it, the soft scratch of her quill as the sending crystal is propped set down and propped up.]

An ogre. [Involuntary. Years - a little over a decade now - and still the horror of them persists in a cold wave of dread and revulsion her voice doesn't disguise. Not sympathy exactly but a certain knowing. To find one. To see one. May I never in my life face such sights again and What were you doing down in the Deep Roads to come across such a thing.]

There was a bereskarn where Merrill's clanmates encountered hers. What was told to me that was told to Merrill was one saw something move within, that it knew they were there and he saw places; an underground city, a great blackness, that he could not look away. [Blind scratching himself up. Doing that kept it open. She shifts uncomfortably.] One had contracted the taint after being knocked unconscious. The other was gone. 'Tis why I did not wish for it to be known. Venatori came for not one but two eluvians.

If he has done as is claimed...he would not take such care in opening doors that are best left shut. [And we would not have the power to stop him, she doesn't feel the need to say that.]

Edited (html why) 2017-11-26 19:29 (UTC)

[ passed on when morrigan's next at the gallows, by a nervous-mannered scout who makes his way out again as quickly as can be managed. it's unsigned; a long black feather folded between the pages. ]

They say Nevarra’s where you go for dragons. I don’t know about that.

Everywhere I’ve been, people take up scales for their own. Wear them, and break them, and play at being something more, something true —

Because there is something true about dragons. It’s easier to see ourselves in them than in the rest of creation. If spirits are our reflections upon the Fade, then maybe we're all our own sort of mirrors. Where we flourish, wyrms die: The Maker's second progeny, hungry as the first.

There’s a man here, he wanted to speak with me. To ask me, What makes a true dragon?

He didn’t want me to answer, he just wanted to ask. Everyone here asks questions as though they’re the first ones to ever think of them. I can’t hold it all ill. Better that they share the words, than hold them holed up behind their mouths, like the menageries in town. There’s something wrong about that, those caged souls just set out to be stared at. I went and loosened the bars one night when the moons had shut their eyes, when none of us three might look, and still I couldn’t stop thinking of that question. What makes a true dragon?

That man writes papers about wyverns and gurguts, whole volumes on parchment to hear himself speak. They’re interesting, but I think they miss the point. Saying that things look alike, hunt alike, doesn't say very much at all. From a great distance, giants might resemble men; darkspawn are as quick to war as any.

No. Truth is something you know in your heart, not your head. It’s a piece of the divine set inside us. Even spirits own it, wyrms do.

What makes a true dragon? The better question is, What makes a false one?

[ a rough sketch of what may be (beneath alan's particular scratchy style) recognizable loosely as a courtyard in the university of orlais. a coiled serpent spits water into the basin of a fountain below. ]

Edited 2017-11-28 03:41 (UTC)

Yeah.

[ ogre. what a fuck of a word, kid-story kind of word, for kids in places without real stories to learn. some days (good days) it doesn't seem like a real story either. never watched kit sling an axe in its neck. never seen one (gone days) take a man in one hand, and with the other,

focus. ]

I — shit. I dunno what to do with all this. Ain't — not trying to complain, or nothing. I'm right, y'know, right glad you answered. Maker. 'S just. How d'you even keep ahead of something like this?

[ of magisters. the blight. the void. ]

The more of them you got, the harder they get to forget.

[Blights. Bringing them all together through trauma, that way it makes her palms too damn to hold the quill now.]

Not without difficulty. [Let it not be said that Morrigan isn't capable of brutal honesty.] The meeting I suspect was done with the best of intentions, however, given that many voices, given the voices...

[Given that she trusts some of them as far as she might throw them, well there's a saying about good intentions and where they lead. They'd be safer leading them into the Deep Roads at this point.]

You treat it as most things you wouldn't wish to have biting you. Find the weakness, look to the past for what we might have overlooked, learn to shout down the voices so busy wringing their hands they fail to realise they wring not only their own necks but the one next to theirs. Remember that there is so much to be lost that allows you to move forward.

Mistakes were made in the past. Learn from them else you lose your skin or worse.

[Remember that time you asked about hunting for her mother Melys...]

[ The rough sound of something not quite laughter — ]

Reckon I got the skin bit down. You think she's got something on this? Your old story?

[ Your old lady. ]

I cannot fathom her fingers not being somewhere in this. All else in these past ten years, there she is? This, the greatest chaos thus far in this Age and she falls silent? I imagine trouble the longer it goes.

[One blood mage in a Circle tower, kill them, you deal with it. Leave it alone suddenly the tower is crumbling as the abominations try to pour out through the walls.]

If she ain't nowhere you been looking, where ain't you been looking?

[ places gone black? out beyond the walls? couldn't nothing come back from that, at least not the same. ]

Edited 2018-01-09 05:30 (UTC)

Older places where they love us not. Places such as the Tirashan, unless she has taken to the mountains or lands the maps fail to record. What is distance when one is a dragon?

[None of those are comforting thoughts but how little of that does she have in her when it comes to Flemeth.]

'S a lot of ground to be spotted between, is what.

[ dragon ?? ?? ?? so that's true, which is just. something to think about when the pits of her eyes ache a little less. ]

Flying ain't real discreet. Even folks in the sticks take notice of something that big, might be looking for ways t'get rid of it. Inquisition's half-mad for dragons, bet you could get 'em to keep their ears open on that shit easier than the rest.

Do not remind me, retracing my steps to the Wilds felt burdensome enough, and I've walked places few dare dream exist.

[Well Melys she can't blame you for not wanting to trust what people read in The Tale of the Champion because her mother came off a bit more sane than she's used to in that.]

Ah, but she is very old. A dragon with wits. After all, how many know the story of the Fifth Blight where the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair were saved by old Flemeth? Or better yet, the Tale of the Champion where Hawke was saved by old Flemeth? They still think she will help them. They shut their ears to that they do not wish to hear until sleep comes where it leaks out their mind in the night.

Lady Morrigan,

We have not been introduced. My name is Marisol Vivas, recently come to the Inquisition from Antiva. I was hoping we might discuss a project I am working on to better the Inquisition's relationship with Antiva, and certain skills of yours which I have heard rumour of. Would a meeting be agreeable?

Faithfully,

Lady M. Vivas

Marisol,

If there is a place other than the Gallows that we might meet in then I can make myself available; you can imagine I am in no hurry to find myself told I am unable to leave. If not...well, depending on what you have heard I am shall be able to leave if I can trust your discretion.

Morrigan

Morrigan,

I thank you for the prompt reply. I was fortunate enough to be absent from the Gallows at the time the quarantine was declared. You are welcome to visit my estate in Hightown, if that would be agreeable?

Marisol

[Morrigan arrives fast as she ever does which is to say as the crow flies because it's the only way she goes to and from Sundermount when travelling alone.

At least Hightown is used to her presence, all the long months of her visits to the Vauequelin estate; she doesn't look as if she belongs but she's good at not showing if she's uncomfortable.]

What was it you wished to discuss that you might call upon me?

Thank you for your haste in attending.

( Unexpected, a little; she was not sure that the request of a noble would be of much interest to one so whispered about as Morrigan. )

I wished to discuss the current situation in Nevarra. I am putting together a diplomatic effort, but I think... care is necessary. Precautions, if you like. I had heard that you might be the person to talk to.

( She gestures towards the doorway, a servant in attendance. ) Mulled wine?

[So long at the side of the Empress and now with the Inquisition? Tut tut Marisol, don't you know who her dearest terrible young lady is in these parts?]

If you have heard anything of me you will have heard the tales that followed in my wake in Orlais; the one who bewitched Celene's mind? The scandal in her court, well, not the greatest scandal to come out of it these days but at the time. Though my magic has served the purpose she required as it has the Inquisition.

[At the offer, she inclines her head, settles herself more. So out of place here but where does she fit. (Where do any of them?)]

( Marisol laughs softly. ) If you could betwitch the entire Nevarran court, that would be very convenient.

( Her manner is easy and relaxed; she certainly does not seem fussed or concerned as she pours then both some wine. )

I have heard your called a woman of the Wilds, with rare and devious magics.

( There is a smile at the corners of her mouth, as she holds out a glass of wine to Morrigan - warm, richly spiced. ) Is it presumptuous to ask if you are able to take the forms of animals?

Nevarrans do not turn with the season as they do in Orlais, subject to the whim of fashion. A far greater challenge though there is the old king, their old dragon hunting days of glory, their honoured dead.

[Same game, different trappings. She swirls the wine in her glass before drinking; Marisol might have come by the tale any number of places, it certainly isn't a secret but to request it? That's another thing entirely.] There are many tales told, I have heard rumour of a witch in the Antivan swamp as so many have heard legends of my own mother, I wonder which you were raised on.

But to answer the question, I can. There are limits to it but 'twas how I came to this estate faster than legs or mount might carry me.

Each nation has its quiddities. ( Antiva, flaw free and perfect as it is, included. Perhaps perfection was its quiddity? A thought for later. ) The honoured dead are a good part of the reason I wish to go. The events of what happened at the Necropolis must be investigated, those responsible found and evidence gathered to clear the Inquisition's name, else we must proceed without Nevarra's support at best, and perhaps facing deliberate sabotage from them.

( All logic and reason, but there is still a spark i her when Morrigan confirms the rumours, a sort of childish delight that is in her eyes moreso than in her smile, pleased as it is. )

All magic has its limits, but that is a fantastic ability. ( So full of possibility. ) I have logical, tactical questions about whether you might be willing to employ those skills to aid our investigation where the Mortalitasi and nobility could prove less than helpful.

( BUT SHE WANTS TO ASK ABOUT TURNING INTO ANIMALS. SO MUCH. )

Tempering some children to weapons for the same cost as steel and iron at market? [Mmm what's good Marisol?] The Inquisition sabotages itself readily and willingly enough, it needs no audio, let alone from those who lie so close to Tevinter's door. I am willing to come and lend my aid.

[Ready to get of Kirkwall for a time too after the current mess unfolding around everyone.]

There are limits to that which I can be, forms that I prefer for going unseen, for combat, for exploring. Ravens are often overlooked I have found, able to fit through most gaps, and what dark terrible place is absent a giant spider.

[Just gonna sit back. Sip her wine. Look dramatic and goth suave about all this.]

( Hot, tbh. There is an appealing sort of allure to Morrigan, which she does not doubt Morrigan is aware of, nor that Morrigan is capable of making use of it. The gothic suave babe factor is noted, and categorised, and duly set aside. )

What magic is without limits? The quality of the mage is in their wits, not their raw power. I am sure we would all of us love to learn more dramatic magic, but what is the good of it without sense?

( She's delighted, basically, but chill. ) You are not wrong. The same can be said of how mages are treated, in most nations, to an extent; we are desirable to some only as tools, and if we cannot be useful, then we can be broken.

( Matter of fact. Sad, but not what she is hoping they will discuss. )

A giant spider is not without its drama, though that tends to come with the fright and squeamishness of others. [And the smell of urine when the giant spider launches itself at others, the last thing certain people have ever had the certain misfortune to ever see in their miserable little lives. Still, this is less judgement than expected from a Circle mage but Morrigan is careful. Coy.

Celene had her reasons for asking after particular talents and knowledge, all to mutual benefit until it had reached an end but this could easily tip either way. The Inquisition never allows for folk to so easily avoid one another should a thing go ill.]

Well if there are those who will go about as sheep in a field, they cannot be surprised when the wolves come as do the butchers. [Myrobalan had much the same speech of her once; the Circles were what they were, too many offered their throats. Perhaps people will one day notice that Morrigan has so seldom called herself a mage at all.]

No. Although some of us would sooner be the wolf.

( Metaphorically or literally. Become a pack to be reckoned with, not a creature of flight. )

Or maybe the dramatic spider.

I confess, I have known this life so long I cannot imagine being unable to live it as something else. To see and hear and smell. However much you might know it, you may still be what you are.

[Marisol can hold her own in conversation though, she has that going for her.]

ooc: inbox/plot with me

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