Myrobalan Shivana (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faithlikeaseed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-09-06 09:08 pm
faithlikeaseed) wrote in middaeg2019-09-06 09:08 pm
[open/catch-all] live, i wanna live inspired
Who: Myr + you! Yes, you. Over there. Stop hiding behind the furniture. (Starters for L + Connor in the comments.)
When: ~Septeril 2nd to Septeril 18th,author reserves the right to update date range at random to fit around the Dorchacht trip. Myr is in dignitary group number 2, so feel free to catch him any time up until the 14th!
Where: Around the City, mostly the Haven and the Coven.
What: ~*training montage*~
Warnings: None as yet; will update if any arise.
i. coven.
Though the invitation for Monsters to sit in on classes at the Coven was made plain from the start, Myr hadn't availed himself of it his first month in Aefenglom. Call it preoccupation with adapting to his new circumstances, call it having the run of a city for the first time in his entire life, call it having a regular job.
Call it anything but wounded, festering anger that he wasn't invited to those classes as a student, because Geardagas had seen fit to strip him of his magic on passage through the mirror.
He can't sulk forever; even early on, he'd acknowledged he would need to learn how magic works here, if no other reason than his own insatiable curiosity would drive him to it. But that acknowledgement hadn't amounted to action until he'd been given two very good bits of evidence, one (the SQUIP) right after another (Dorchacht), that the Witches here couldn't all be trusted to use their power for the common good any more than Tevinter's magisters could. And what does that fucking say for the Libertarians' arguments about mage rule...
In order to beat a Witch, he'd need to know as well as they did how magic worked. And--he couldn't keep weighing their ethics, their reasoning on Thedas' scale; couldn't keep up his reflexive judgment of everything said or done by a member of the Coven if he didn't know how they thought of themselves.
They're not the happiest reasons to finally come learn magic, but they're good enough to make him an occasional fixture in the back of the Coven's classrooms in early Septeril. Maybe he's reached over politely to attract your attention and ask, sotto voce, what an instructor's drawing on the board. Perhaps his newly grown antlers are in the way of you being able to see the board. Or maybe he recognizes your voice out in the hallway and gravitates over to ask, eagerly, what class you're bound for next--because sitting with someone he knows a little is absolutely better than being among total strangers.
ii. haven.i like sticks
An advantage of profoundly disordered sleep is that there's many quiet hours in the night for Myr to do those things he'd rather not people see him doing.
Like sneaking into a deserted park in the Haven after the bells toll three one morning, staff and dagger in-hand.
There's no one here in Aefenglom who knows who he was back home. There's no one to tell him he can't fight, that he's a liability, that he'll never sit his vigil--but all those things have come with him through the mirror, and they cling close as shame and keep him furtive about his combat drills and forms. Furtive, but not unfaithful, because with the trip to Dorchacht looming on the horizon, he needs to be in his best form.
Stripped to the waist and furred up his back in pale white fuzz, he stands out like a wraith among the darkened trees. Live opponents would be better than the invisible ones he constructs for himself from memory, but his staffwork's sharp enough anyhow to almost infer their presence from how the blade slices air.
iii. wildcard.
(( GO WILD. Myr works at one of the Daisy Chain locations as a gardener and might be found literally anywhere inside the Bright Wall if he'sgotten lost exploring. Also prone to napping in some weird places when his awful sleep habits finally catch up with him. Hit me up (Plagueheart#0051 on Discord) if you'd like a starter! ))
When: ~Septeril 2nd to Septeril 18th,
Where: Around the City, mostly the Haven and the Coven.
What: ~*training montage*~
Warnings: None as yet; will update if any arise.
i. coven.
Though the invitation for Monsters to sit in on classes at the Coven was made plain from the start, Myr hadn't availed himself of it his first month in Aefenglom. Call it preoccupation with adapting to his new circumstances, call it having the run of a city for the first time in his entire life, call it having a regular job.
Call it anything but wounded, festering anger that he wasn't invited to those classes as a student, because Geardagas had seen fit to strip him of his magic on passage through the mirror.
He can't sulk forever; even early on, he'd acknowledged he would need to learn how magic works here, if no other reason than his own insatiable curiosity would drive him to it. But that acknowledgement hadn't amounted to action until he'd been given two very good bits of evidence, one (the SQUIP) right after another (Dorchacht), that the Witches here couldn't all be trusted to use their power for the common good any more than Tevinter's magisters could. And what does that fucking say for the Libertarians' arguments about mage rule...
In order to beat a Witch, he'd need to know as well as they did how magic worked. And--he couldn't keep weighing their ethics, their reasoning on Thedas' scale; couldn't keep up his reflexive judgment of everything said or done by a member of the Coven if he didn't know how they thought of themselves.
They're not the happiest reasons to finally come learn magic, but they're good enough to make him an occasional fixture in the back of the Coven's classrooms in early Septeril. Maybe he's reached over politely to attract your attention and ask, sotto voce, what an instructor's drawing on the board. Perhaps his newly grown antlers are in the way of you being able to see the board. Or maybe he recognizes your voice out in the hallway and gravitates over to ask, eagerly, what class you're bound for next--because sitting with someone he knows a little is absolutely better than being among total strangers.
ii. haven.
An advantage of profoundly disordered sleep is that there's many quiet hours in the night for Myr to do those things he'd rather not people see him doing.
Like sneaking into a deserted park in the Haven after the bells toll three one morning, staff and dagger in-hand.
There's no one here in Aefenglom who knows who he was back home. There's no one to tell him he can't fight, that he's a liability, that he'll never sit his vigil--but all those things have come with him through the mirror, and they cling close as shame and keep him furtive about his combat drills and forms. Furtive, but not unfaithful, because with the trip to Dorchacht looming on the horizon, he needs to be in his best form.
Stripped to the waist and furred up his back in pale white fuzz, he stands out like a wraith among the darkened trees. Live opponents would be better than the invisible ones he constructs for himself from memory, but his staffwork's sharp enough anyhow to almost infer their presence from how the blade slices air.
iii. wildcard.
(( GO WILD. Myr works at one of the Daisy Chain locations as a gardener and might be found literally anywhere inside the Bright Wall if he's
i'm running with the assumption she hasn't told him she's a necromancer, haha <3
But there were always people who'd seen things, and Myr's open to the idea it doesn't work that way on other worlds. So little else seemed to, whatever the similarities were.
He--laughs, then, at her question; it's not humorous so much as troubled. He doesn't even need to lie when he answers: "No. Since we all arrived through the mirrors."
Every night without fail, though where in the night it fell had drifted a little as his sleep schedule did. He ducks his head in something a little like shame, running fingers through his hair--trying to run fingers through his hair but getting hung up on his antlers instead. He huffs out a breath in annoyance and mild pain, shaking his hand out to dispel the sting. Ow.
she hasn't told ANYONE tbh
She shrugged, but she was smiling-mostly to herself with some dark amusement. She had heard so many stories, seen a few ghosts and other undead things in her time. But she had a way of attracting them with her energy.
"And that is what we call a broken sleep schedule." She tsked him then, and moved forward to lightly brush a hand over his shoulder. "Is it because you miss the Fade?"
wise, given [gestures at all of aef & necromancy]
He turns his head as she touches his shoulder, tracking her roughly; the question...gets a thoughtful look out of him. Was it? He'd been sleeping even worse than usual since his arrival, and... It could've been he was avoiding a night filled with empty, meaningless dreams. If anyone had asked him before now he'd've said he was relieved that nothing stalked him in his sleep any longer, and he'd never much been fond of spirits either...
But they were a part of home, and their absence is a reminder he's not there any longer. "Might be," he admits, once he's thought it through. "I hadn't thought of it like that until you asked, but...I do miss it."
Of course that doesn't go to the root of why he's using his sleepless hours to practice combat drills in an abandoned park, but that's a harder thing to verbalize.
yeah, she's not dumb
Huh. So he hadn't started out blind. Then again...it made sense, considering how he covered up his eyes. First was for healing, and now...what was it now? She'd find out, sooner or later. Maybe, if they trusted each other enough to talk about such a time.
"And as you said, the Fade was a connection from home-and a reminder that you were a mage, for better or for worse. I know I've been feeling cooped up because I'm in a city I didn't choose to be in."
Sokie made a noise, one of dissatisfaction.
"But you need your sleep. Maybe some meditation will help settle you down?"
no subject
Which would give her an idea of just how completely blind he was.
He nods along with her assessment--it runs the track of his own, after all--and he echoes that noise, because: Yeah. Exactly that.
"Never been much good at it, I'm afraid; too hard to stop thinking. Prayer's worked sometimes but I've worn the Maker's ears out already tonight," which was only slightly sacrilege, but it is late and he's, well. He is tired, even if he's not sleepy. "So it's exhausting myself instead; I'll drop eventually."
His tone has the weirdest edge of cheer to it when he says that. This is someone who has a lot of practice making the best of a miserable situation.
no subject
"Possible. But if you can feel heat...that's a thought I'll have to keep for later. If I or others get further along, we might be able to make something to help."
Though goodness, that was really blind. That had her want to ask more questions but-she always wanted to ask more questions.
"Dear Myr. You don't have to get to the not thinking in meditation. The only way that happens is if you fall asleep." At least her voice was kind, if a little amused.
"But lucky for you, I have a staff. You have a staff. So I guess my only question is...you wanna hit my stick?"
no subject
It is also definitely the case he'd never really...meditated right... Too rambunctious for it. Which explains why, hesitation and shame neatly thrust aside, he nearly jumps at her offer. "Do I ever. D'you know how long it's been since I've had someone to spar with?"
He's going to embarrass himself, he's fairly sure. But that...maybe wouldn't be so bad, as a trade for company to train with again.
no subject
"I'll ask around. Meanwhile...I'm sure you haven't practiced just as long as I have. Let's see how we do for the three blocks? High, mid, low? We can go slow, see if we know different methods."
Because she didn't plan on shipping off with a few broken fingers from having too much fun.
no subject
But truly he doesn't much care; she's likely right that it's long enough to be rusted over, and she's...also right about the fact they ought to take this slowly. "Right," he concedes with a sigh, "that's the safe thing, isn't it."
Though Enchanter Philomela had drilled the need for safety in practice through all their heads often enough it's hardly a real protest out of him.
"You'll likely get the better of me to start," he adds, taking a measured step away from her to put some distance between them. "It's--doing this blind is new on me."
Had to be said, but it clearly hurts a little to admit.
no subject
"Yes. That's safe because you need your fingers." She was amused at his being just a little let down that they had to go slow. Myr...he really was young, wasn't he? He just seemed that way somehow.
"That just means you'll have a better chance of concentrating. But then again-I'm rusty too. I'm trying to save my fingers here as well."
She paused, even as she moved to step back to get into position. "You know that'd I'd still say to go easy, sight or no sight, right?"
She didn't want him to misunderstand. She wasn't going soft on him or trying to coddle him. Babying him due to what he did or didn't have wouldn't do either of them favors.
myrobalan "excited stick boy" shivana has a nice ring to it, also wow this tag got away from me
Literally all anyone needed to do anything. Fingers, haha. Imagine using them for basically every daily function of life.
(He was young, but not so young--chronologically--as he often came off. The Circle left him sheltered and fundamentally innocent in ways he still doesn't have the full measure of.
But, Maker--he's trying to remediate that lack.)
"I know." At from his tone, he does; he trusts that much and more about her for all they've known each other for a month at best. "But I'd wanted someone else to know that."
His first response to being dumped into a terrifyingly unfamiliar situation was to act as if he knew what he was doing and had all along, and he'd just...kept it, as the days worn on. It's heavy to carry that around when often all he'd wanted is for a templar to wake him up and tell him he'd been dreaming more deeply and strangely than usual, and it was time to go, and he didn't have to make any of these decisions for himself any longer...
Too much thinking. He slides his left foot back, falling into a familiar guard facing her side-on. Ready.
it's the stick mania
She smiled a little, and watched him. At least he had some sense of humor and was trying...well, trying not to let what happened to him pull him down. Even if he was homesick. She understood it. She wasn't homesick per se, but she did miss what she used to be.
"Mm." She slid her feet into position, side-on, even as she lightly tapped her staff against his. Letting him feel where she was, before she called out.
"All right. Low block."
She moved slowly, going in with plenty of time for him to block her. After that, she'd call out mid and high, again slow, and remembering how it felt. She'd missed this practice.
concur. stick mania a real danger. also i'm so sorry!!
He won't, really; prehensile toes were not among the advantages the Maker had given elves over their human counterparts. But it's sort of amusing to entertain the idea that he could.
He tips his chin up as she makes first contact, silently appreciative she gave him that much warning, then moves smoothly into the low block as she calls for it. His form hasn't suffered much for however long he's been out of practice, but the fact he can't see her is--well, quite obvious throughout the entire series. Though he improves on the mid and the high, expression one of intense concentration as he listens for her and tries to make sense of the flow of air around them.
"Again?" he says immediately when they're through. There's a note of frustration--at himself--to the word, but his enthusiasm's hardly dampened any for it. He can figure this out. He has to figure this out; he might be a liability now but he won't let Philomela be right for the rest of his life.
no worries! time for stick mania~
But for now, practice was more then good enough. It was satisfying to feel the tap of wood against wood; they were well connected, even if they were going slow so make sure it happened. It was obvious that Myr was blind, and was only going by sound.
"Again. Remember, slow and steady. We're still warming up." Just to remind him even as she readied herself. "Low, mid, high. First block."
Again, slowly, even if it was frustrating. They needed to be sure they could keep up with each other.
S T I C K M A N I A
But when she advises him to go slow and steady, rather than bristling at the advice as he might--he lets out his breath and nods his assent. She's...kinder than Enchanter Philomela would be about this, but has some of the same energy about her.
It's reassuring. It's--damned reassuring, to have someone who'd take that sort of interest in helping him better himself. Even if they are doing it as more of a trade.
He lifts his staff to the first block; he does better this time, being a little less tensely focused on doing it right. Trust will do that for you.
S T I C K M A N I A!!!!!!!
But she's glad that he's taking his time. They're both a little rusty at this. But it's nice, as she can feel her body remember, bit by bit. She wouldn't be doing any tricks any time soon, but maybe, with a little more practice...she'd get there.
And maybe Myr would too.
"Better." Sokie praised because it was honest. She didn't give out fake praise usually. "You're remembering to breathe. That's good. Maybe once you're feeling more comfortable, we can start to speed up-or even move, a bit."
no subject
"You'd think," conversationally, as he's setting up for their next pass, "breathing wasn't something you'd forget how to do."
He can't really say he's comfortable yet with what they're doing, but time--how little he's got of it, before a confrontation with the SQUIP becomes inevitable--weighs heavy on him. He has to be better than he is now. He's got to get back to where he was before--
"We can go a little faster this round." Does that sense of urgency show through? Maybe a little.
no subject
"You'd think, but it happens when you're out of practice." Her tone was warm, letting him hear the smile she had on her voice. But not knowing the possible stakes, she makes a soft noise, seemingly concerned.
"Just a little. Just to see if we have the right breath for it. This isn't a race, right Myr? We're just here, having a good time."
no subject
It's a rhetorical question and therefore one he's not obligated to answer, but... The tangled knot of responsibility and worry and doom-seeking that sent him out here tonight--that set his feet on a path he's half-certain has only death at its end--could use a little light shined on it. (Besides, she's one of Everett's friends, too. If she knew and could be around to comfort him if the worst happened--or, better still, could help Myr get through this alive...)
"Afraid it's a little more urgent than just good fun." Rueful, resigned. "While I don't fancy my chances against anything hostile around here without magic, I'd like 'em better if I were back in practice."
no subject
"Oh Myr." She grimaced, and pulled back with a sigh. "Well now you just ruined fun stick time. You're trying to go against someone specifically. Right?"
She tapped her staff on the ground. "Before you answer, I'll say I don't want specifics, I don't want in either. I'm also not going to tattle, because you're...mostly an adult...and it's your life."
dw ate my notif for this, SUPER RUDE
Myr's expression is decidedly chagrined as he grounds his own staff. "Only mostly an adult?"
Now that that's out in the open, he can--abide by her wish in good conscience, and let himself be decoyed off into being querulous about the idea she sees him as some kind of kid. He's been Harrowed for nearly a decade!!
SO RUDE
She smiled a bit though at the fun little sidetrip. He might remember to tell her about it, he might not, but it was fine. Maybe he'd feel better for having a silly conversation like she was planning to have.
"Only mostly. To be fair, it's like a sliding spectrum of being an adult and then not being an adult-you're just on the mostly adult side right now. I also slip and slide on it."
and a slip n slide is the best way to not be an adult. wait, what?
Someday that'll be less of a sore spot. It hadn't been back home, but...
"It's another Witch," he continues, rebounding back to the previous topic. "That's come out acting like one of our demons from back home. I can't simply stand by, knowing that."
I cackled
One day he may not be prickly about it. But today wasn't that day. And hearing about the Witch...Sokie wrinkled her nose, and rubbed her hands against the wood. Acting like one of their demons huh...
"And you haven't asked one of the Coven to provide a behavior modifier without evidence of their transactions, previous and current? Because frankly Myr, while I understand your position, there's also the ethics of you doing something about it. Are you better then them if you hurt them for what they've done? Especially when you're not in a position of Authority?"
8D
There's sparks of anger, well-controlled, beneath the words; he is clearly upset about all of this. "I don't know whether they're charmed or warped and I suppose it makes no difference in the end, but if the Coven will allow it to go on until it hurts or kills someone else--I can't, Sokie. I can't let it, even if it means they'll hang me for murder."
Which is what they'd do with an elf who went after (something shaped like) a human back on Thedas. If he even stayed alive long enough for hanging and wasn't otherwise disposed of. The more he learned of the Witch and Monster dynamic, the easier it was to slot that into the same mold...
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)