driftfleet | Iskaulit Mingle - Problems with Psychics

You're not doing an altogether terrible job of that right now, you know.

[He tries to smile encouragingly but has a feeling that it may fall flat.]

You're not just casting spells willy nilly anyway. But I could teach you, um... There's a fire magic exercise my father used to do with me for practice, if that might help?

[He gives a soft, shaky laugh in response. Yay him, he hasn't killed anyone with his magic yet. Weee. ]

I...do you think it will help?

[He very, very blatantly doesn't want to do it, to cast any kind of spell, to be actively allowing it to be a Thing. But he has to control it, that much is plain and simple. ]

You need to control it, as you said.

[He frowns.]

You either learn to do that, or it does whatever it wants, which can be very inconvenient at best or deadly at worst. And this is the first thing my father taught me, so it's very basic. Go ahead and sit wherever you'd be most comfortable, I'll go find a candle.

[With another calming exhale, Adalwolfe disappears into the back to rummage. He's glad for the moment of separation, honestly. Yes he wants to actually be friends this time, or at least reach a friendly camaraderie, but Fenris makes that so difficult. Wolfe can understand being afraid of magic, but the sheer amount of hatred that radiates from the elf is very hard not to take personally. He feels a little better with Fenris having admitted there should be a better way than the Circle, but he still wouldn't count on Fenris to help work towards what that change should be. Take Templars out of the equation and Adalwolfe imagines Fenris wouldn't find that to be a viable solution at all. In his eyes, and the eyes of so many others, mages will always need to have swords to their necks before they'll feel safe and it makes Adalwolfe feel just a bit sick and a lot frustrated.

He may take a little longer getting the damned candle than strictly necessary, just to cool off long enough that he can honor his word and not jump head first back into the argument.]

[Fenris does as is asked of him, sitting quietly on the floor, staring at some point in the distance. He feels his stomach twist horribly, sickeningly. He hates this, being inflicted with magic- but the worst is knowing that this could very well have been his life. Varania is a mage, after all, he can't deny it being in his blood. He could have just as easily have been born with magic, and what would have happened to him then?

Certainly, it wouldn't have changed his slave status. Mages were just as likely to be slaves in the Imperium as anyone else. If you're born in the wrong class, that's just that. You're either a slave or just holding off long enough until you or someone in your family is sold into it to get by. No. His life would not have changed there.

But perhaps he would not have been chosen by Danarius. The man wanted a warrior, after all. He may very well have avoided...all of this. Perhaps even his own skewed anger towards magic would not have been. Without Danarius there, looming over as a being of pure nightmares- colouring his views on magic forever.

He exhales slowly, calm, collected. Thinking about it will do nothing. What is, is what is. His scars are what they are. He can learn to manage them better, learn to open his mind a little, but he knows he'll never be truly okay with magic. He'll never be comfortable around it. He'll always be on tenterhooks- waiting for it to strike him down. ]

[Minutes stretch by and Adalwolfe finally reappears with a pair of candles, the short fat sort used for mood-lighting in romantic dinner spots. Not that he would call most of Malum romantic with Crowley's tendency towards ridiculous gimmicks, but he's glad the candles are present at any rate.

He has to look around for a moment to actually spot Fenris, seated in a clear space on the floor instead of at any number of the tables that dot the establishment. Sometimes Fenris does things and Adalwolfe has to wonder if it's a Tevinter thing, a slave thing, an elf thing, or just Fenris being weird.]

You know there's tables, right?

[Even so, he plops himself down across from Fenris, facing him, and stands one of the candles on the floor between them. The alright dim lights of the bar seem dimmer down lower, and when Adalwolfe moves his arms he catches the vague glow of the lyrium tattoos on his arms. He's still not certain how to feel about them. They're not a blessing, obviously, considering how they came about, but he can feel the power in them. It's... different than magic, but similar. Fade-touched. But honestly unless a life-or-death sort of fight suddenly breaks out there's no reason for him to know how to use them properly. Still, he may yet ask Fenris more after their magic exercise. If the elf's in any mood for that, anyway.]

Alright, so. This is sort of like a game, only it also teaches you control and finesse.

[Adalwolfe leans back on his hands to observe.]

Light the candle with magic.

[Probably a bit of all the options, but mostly because Fenris is weird. And sometimes takes things literally. ]

I am fine on the floor.

[He so didn't think about the tables. At all. But he'll save face all the same. He frowns at the candle between them. There's a desire to snap out, to say magic is never a game, it's not something to be used for fun. That when it is, it's a sign that it can slip into darker paths.

But he keeps his opinion to himself, for a change, breathing out. He tries to focus on the candle, brow furrowing. ]

...Do I touch it?

If you like. It might help you focus.

[Malcolm had let him touch the candle at first, when he'd just started trying to control it. It made it easier to make sure the fire ended up on the candle and not on the floor. Or worse, on his father. But after enough singed fingers, Wolfe had been more than willing to try without touching.

What had made it easier at first though was Malcolm calling it a game. Yes it was serious, of course it was serious, but when you're twelve years old and thinking your life is over, knowing that there are still games you can play makes life just a little more bearable.]

You don't have to though. If you do, be careful of burning your fingers.

[Of course, Fenris doesn't think about how a child would deal with it. He may have made strides, but he still fails to take not of things outside his general periphery of experience.

He stares at the candle, nodding, before reaching out, putting his index finger on the wick. He can feel his stomach twisting in knots, this feels wrong. HE feels wrong. But needs must. ]

Alright. Now I just...put it on fire?

Yup. Magic flowing feels like what you told me to do to make the lyrium brands work, so just picture the candle lit in your mind and use that image to guide the magic.

[He doesn't know how else to explain it. Malcolm, as much as he was good at making things fun or interesting for him and Bethany as children, was not a very good teacher in general. Mostly because he was something of a magic adept. He learned quickly with very little instruction on his own, which mean he had little instruction to pass on to his children. He tried of course, but Adalwolfe at least had a similar aptitude and caught on with not terribly much explanation after a few tries.

Which, of course, doesn't really help Fenris, but at least he's trying?]

It's not really some beast you have to wrangle or anything like that. It'll follow your direction. Just be mindful of how you're guiding it. You've got to be self aware.

[The trying means a lot, in all honesty, even if Fenris struggles to find the words to say as much. He focuses on the castle with quite the heated (ahaha) intensity. He inhales, exhales. Right. Self aware. He can do this.

There's a flash of flame, but it dies out quickly, not igniting the candle. Fenris is aware a lot of it is likely him, pulling back on the reins, trying to control it. To stop it moving freely. Afraid to take the chance. ]

This is...difficult.

Yup.

[There's an emphasis on the p, a pop to highlight Fenris' observation. Magic may be something only some people are born to have a talent for, but that doesn't mean they're good at it immediately, or even that they can do much more than create sparks. Like any other skill, it varies from mage to mage and takes practice to cultivate. The majority of magic users aren't going to be able to call down a storm the second they manifest abilities. Most can't even spark a cookfire on command.

The main problem, as Adalwolfe sees it after having experienced, observed, talked to Merrill, read Anders' manifesto, and spent at least ten years thinking on it, is society. If you look at the Dalish - or what he knows of them from Merrill and short talks with Marithari - they don't punish their own for just having magic. They teach control and they acknowledge its help. How much easier is it for a nomadic people not to have to carry flint and tinder, or to still be able to spark fires when its wet out, or when there's drought to be able to summon ice for water. Digging with magic is so much less time consuming! Something he'd used in his little farm hideaway in northern Orlais with Anders before the whole Inquisition thing.

In Rivain too magic is a part of life. Mages aren't just kept in a tower to be called upon at the Chantry's behest. He's found out all he could about Rivaini seers and while the practice seems too dangerous to him, they're always more wise women and helpful to their communities so long as they're not crossed. And that's anyone, really. If you treat everyone around you with a basic mortal decency, you're not going to end up with nearly as many people ready to, say, burn down Chantry buildings. Just as an example.

And without training? The average mage never even could do so much damage unless they were in a major fit of emotion. You know, like fearing for their life. The conceit that most have regarding mages in the South is that they're all power-hungry boogeymen who would turn to blood magic and demons in a heartbeat for their own advancement when really most people just want to be left alone to live their lives. Have families. That's all his own father ever left the Circle for. Not power, not wealth, not even freedom for its own sake. He just wanted to have a family.

Really, that's all Adalwolfe wants too.

True to his word, however, Wolfe keeps all that to himself, trying not to let on that any of it is even circling through his mind.]

You need to relax just a little. If you try and keep too tight a reign on it you'll hurt yourself.

[Fenris nods his head, a very tiny, very slight gesture. To show he's heard Wolfe, that he's trying to understand, trying to take his lesson seriously. It's terrifying, but Maker he is going to try.

He releases it a little more, not much, not enough, his grip is still too tight, too fearful. The worries of harming someone are too strong, they whirl and twist in his mind, making a mental block he really can't shift away. ]

What if I let it too loose?

You won't.

[He leans forward, leaning his arms against his knees.]

Contrary to popular belief, magic doesn't just go out of control on its own. There has to be some kind of will behind it. The mage in question has to try, and yes you could get flame on the floor or something, but it's a metal floor and it's not going to catch, and that's not what you're aiming to do anyway.

Most of what causes magic-related accidents is fear. Panic. You know how most mages, when they first get their magic, burn something down? Because they have a panic reaction to something. An emotional reaction. I froze our kitchen because I was arguing with my father. We saved a girl from the Gallows who'd been a servant and the lord tried to get in her smalls and she panicked and lit his hair aflame. There's still will there, an instinctual drive to protect yourself or a physical manifestation of your emotions. Learning to control magic is more about keeping that in check than the magic itself, and if you keep too tight a hold, you end up burning from the inside. There has to be a balance.

Does that make sense to you?

[Fenris listens- there's a moment, when Wolfe mentions the servant that the elf shifts a little. It's the smallest of movements, a fraction, really, something you'd have to be watching him carefully to see. But it was absolutely there. He relaxes when Wolfe continues with the lessons instead. Exhaling slowly. ]

Balance. I...understand.

[He looks down at his hands. Fenris can, at least, admit his own shortcomings here. He's perfectly aware that he's constantly a powderkeg waiting the blow. ]

I am not...good at that.

[He knew that might make him uncomfortable, but the story about the servant girl is the best example he has of the worst situation and how magic can be brought out uncontrolled through fear. If he knew the real effect it had on Fenris, if he had even an inkling of the history it dredges up, he wouldn't have said it at all.]

Then consider this an exercise in balance too. It's going to be alright, though, Fenris. I do promise you that.

[He rubs the back of one hand idly, massaging it as though that will be able to alleviate some of the ache. No wonder Fenris is so fidgety a lot of the time.]

Just take it slow and know that if you don't want to hurt anyone, the magic won't.

Edited 2017-01-18 00:30 (UTC)

[Of course, Fenris won't talk about the fine line Wolfe skirted, because talking about things isn't exactly his strong point. Instead, he tries to focus on the magic, uncomfortable as it is. Deal with this. This first. ]

Magic is used to serve man.

[The tone is flat. He doesn't believe it, not completely, but he tries all the same. There's a flicker of flame from his fingertips, and he jerks back in response. The candle doesn't light, but at least the metal means the fire doesn't catch when it's dropped. Yay. ]

[Fenris isn't the only one who can hide a flinch. All that shows of Adalwolfe's discomfort with the elf spouting Chantry doctrine is a slight narrowing of his eyes for just a split second. He's not even sure why it bothers him still; he doesn't necessarily even disagree with it. It's just those words being twisted to mean that mages should be used to serve man that gets under his skin. It didn't used to. It used to just be something holy sisters and revered mothers spouted that could be ignored. But Anders had changed his mind, made him see the insidiousness of that attitude even if Fenris means it in a way of his having control of the magic.

He lets it pass. As he must.]

Close. You're still too afraid of it. Try again.

[If Fenris noticed it, he makes no comment on it. He's not in the mood to go back to the circular arguing they have on the subject. For now, he needs to get control of this, lest anyone be harmed.

He gives a soft, annoyed huff, eyes narrowing. Of course he's afraid of it. There's fire coming from his hands. He casts his glower at the candle though and with a woosh, it promptly lights.

A lot.

Good thing they're surrounded by metal.]

[He'd missed it the last couple times because Fenris was so afraid, didn't draw enough mana from himself even to cast a real spell, much less pull from around him. But this time he can feel it. A tug, a strange pulling sensation that drags mana from his skin. No, not his skin but the tattoos in it, dragging the mana from the lyrium. He doesn't know what to make of it in the first moment he feels it.

The next he's doubled over, his skin feeling hot and stretched. It's not pain so much as overwhelming and thus being translated into something indescribable. His senses don't know what to do with the new sensation, and in trying to figure it out he curls in on himself, missing entirely that Fenris did, in fact, succeed at lighting the candle.]

[Fenris shifts away from the fire, not happy with it at all. Nope. He's starts to look for something to put it out when he catches sight of Adalwolfe and...oh...right. That.

He rubs his forehead a little, exhaling, before standing. ]

It will pass. I need something to put the fire out.

Water. Behind... bar.

[The sensation fades with Fenris no longer drawing on mana but still leaves Adalwolfe panting and sweating over the lit candle, all but oblivious to the little embers burning but not spreading on the floor nearby. How did Fenris stand it on the station when they'd fought the slavers, Wolfe casting spells left and right? How did he stand it back in Kirkwall, with not only Wolfe but Anders and Merrill too? True he's likely used to the sensation of mages around him, but that doesn't make it any less a revelation to Adalwolfe. It's one thing to hold person prejudices but he'd never said anything about how much it hurt.]

Is it always...?

[He takes a breath, shakes his head, and gets to his feet to stamp out some of the flames that aren't likely to hurt him.]

I mean... why didn't you ever...?

[Another pause and he drops pretense, drops his confusion. Instead, for just a moment, he looks positively wretched that he could cause that sensation without ever realizing.]

I'm so sorry.

Edited 2017-01-23 23:34 (UTC)

[He nods, getting up toe retrieve it, throwing it on the fire to douse it out. He remains standing for a moment, silent. The honest answer is that he never thought to say anything about it. He'd been forced to become adjusted to it, it never mattered if he liked it or not. His pain was Danarius' delight. ]

It's not your fault. You didn't do it to me.

[He looks down at the little bucket he'd got the water in, before moving to place it back behind the bar. His movements are careful, methodical. ]

It is what it is, Adalwolfe. I've had to learn to live with it. I quite literally didn't remember a time I didn't have that in my life.

[He looks down at his hands, unmarred. He had wondered, what he looked like, without the brands. Now he knows, at the cost of someone else receiving his burden.]

If I had said anything, nothing would change. You couldn't stop using your magic, not in battle. Just like Anders couldn't stop healing people. Worse, if you'd tried to stop using it around me, you would have likely got yourselves killed- given the times you've had to use it the countless times people have attacked us.

['I don't need your pity', that is festering down in his chest, but he doesn't say it. It won't help matters, and he doesn't really mean it in the way it would no doubt be taken. Feeling sorry about it changes nothing. He is what he is. Danarius' final victory over him, he supposes. ]

No, but I...

[What, would have been more careful? Wouldn't have brought Fenris along save on errands where magic was likely to be cast? He already did that for interpersonal reasons. Fenris is right that it wouldn't have changed anything, but even so he can't help but lament that he didn't know. Not for that, but because of what he's trying to do now. To actually get to know Fenris, the good and the bad, and find some kind of common bond that tells him he's not insane for caring about the damn elf when back home he'd tried to chop Hawke in half out of prejudice.]

It wouldn't have changed anything in action, no. It couldn't, not with what was going on, but I do want to know when I'm hurting someone I care about. It's never something I want to do. I have to wonder if you - the you from my Thedas - resented that I never thought to ask.

[How could Wolfe have asked, when he had no idea? But that logic doesn't enter his head. All he sees is where he did wrong, all the flaws in his best intentions. It's all he ever sees. At the very least, it shows it isn't pity, but something more internalized to Hawke. His fault somehow, inevitably, because everything is somehow his fault, and therefore his responsibility to make it right. Its been ingrained into him since he was a child. Be an example, protect and keep safe, and any failing of that whether he could have done something or not is a deep cut in him.

Not for the first time, he wonders if he deserves the great scar down his chest, the last memory of his Fenris or perhaps deserved worse. He couldn't, not in that final showdown. He had to get to Meredith, had to defend the mages, there was no way he could be allowed to lose that fight. But the cost...

He runs his fingers over his shirt, rumpling the vest that's part of his bartender uniform as he traces the scar, and looks grimly at the lit candle.]

[Fenris pauses, considering, his eyebrows knitted in a frown. ]

My Hawke never asked, and I didn't especially resent him for it. I resented him for a lot of things, but not that. People generally don't ask about it.

[Either because they're afraid to or they don't want to breach the subject. Perhaps, like Adalwolfe, they don't even realise it at all. He's never really held it against anyone. It's just a thing he has to live with.

Still, even Fenris isn't completely without ability to sense the tone of a room. He looks at Adalwolfe, watching that hand movement and sighs. ]

I am not your Fenris, I cannot guess what would have changed to make me turn against you. But I can promise you, it would not be that.

Mm.

[He hears Fenris, but isn't sure what else to say besides giving a noise of acknowledgement. He knows it's not this one thing that would have made the elf stand against him. It's a collection of little things, a lack of understanding between them even when Adalwolfe would have gladly helped Fenris with anything, asked or not. He'd just kept too much distance because he'd thought that was what Fenris wanted. Maybe that was what Fenris wanted, just... not what he needed.]

No, I know some of what it was.

[His fingers stay where they are, moving as if the scar underneath aches. Perhaps it does.]

I wasn't there enough. Didn't show you - him - that I could be trusted.

[He sighs and drops his hands, then gives an awkward sort of half smile with little mirth behind it.]

Sorry, we should be dealing with magic, not my idiot mistakes.

Iskaulit Mingle - Problems with Psychics

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lemme know if I need to change anything on how the lyrium works

nooo this is perfect

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wrap?

wrap!