driftfleet | Iskaulit Mingle - Problems with Psychics

[Good thing you didn't say that out loud Fenris or Wolfe would be in that cabinet forever.

With a nod, Adalwolfe closes his eyes and tries to envision the flow of lyrium in his own body. It's not unlike envisioning the flow of magic, and soon enough he's able to phase his hand through the wood and metal. This time, however, with so much focus on the brands and how they function, he feels the ache that comes with it, an ache that rises into just this side of pain as he removes his hand and then fades again as he lays rest the will he used to control the markings.

The whole affair leaves him winded, panting not from exertion but from the spike of searing hurt that encompassed him for only a few moments but seemed like eternity. Even now the dull ache of the brands is more pronounced.]

Maker, does it always hurt like that?

[He looks at the graceful lyrium whirls on his hands, then up to Fenris again.]

Yes. It does.

[Fenris at least keeps his tone controlled, even. It is what it is, after all. No changing that no matter what. ]

There is a reason I do not enjoy being touched.

[Not all of it is due to Danarius' general skeevyness. ]

I can see why now, yeah.

[He shakes himself a bit, not unlike a dog shaking off water. Something he learned to do to shake off pain (if Drools can do it, so can he) and he comes out from behind the counter.]

You didn't really talk about it. I mean, the you I knew before.

[He breathes out through his nose.]

Anyway. Right. Magic. I feel like I should apologize, but at the very least you're old enough to be able to think capably about it, and it's probably not permanent.

[He hopes it's not permanent. It really can't be permanent!]

[Fenris rolls his shoulders in response. ]

The me you knew before didn't talk about a lot of things with you, it seems.

[There's no venom in his tone- no accusation. It was what it was, neither of them can do much about it than try to make things better here. ]

It had better not be permanent. [A pause. ] Is it always there, in the back of your head? Waiting?

[He talks about it the same way someone would being stalked by a predatory creature, which to Fenris, magic absolutely is.]

[It's the acknowledgement that Adalwolfe nods to, seeing the thoughts under it. He finds that encouraging, Fenris not using that fact as a reminder of the wrongs Adalwolfe undoubtedly committed, but as a juxtaposition to their relationship here in the fleet. He's grateful for that, especially in such a high-stress situation. It demonstrates a level of trust that Wolfe had no idea he had earned yet.]

It's always there, yes. From when I was twelve and froze the kitchen without meaning to. It came up with the anger but once that receded it was just there. It felt likely a lot like you're feeling now. Foreign and unwelcome, something under your skin both physically and emotionally. I thought the Templars would somehow just know and appear out of nowhere to haul me off or that demons would suddenly reach through the Veil and drag me into the Void.

[He smiles tightly, but there's no mirth there. It's an old, old fear instead. One that even more than twenty years as an apostate successfully avoiding capture, even flaunting his apostasy in some cases, can't truly put down.]

It's a part of me, though. I hated it then, but I loved it too. I didn't have to go to the well for water anymore, I could just conjure ice in a bucket and put it over a fire that I made not with flint but my own magic. Anything too heavy to lift I could pick up anyway with forces unseen. You can imagine how useful that is on a farm, with fences to fix and the like. I could even bring the flowers back from a sudden frost, though Bethany was always better at that sort of thing. I could learn to do the things my father could. I could protect our family.

[He looks down at his hands, magicless though he is now. It hadn't helped in the long run. It's like any other tool or weapon, he hears Malcolm's calm tone at the back of his mind. It's what you do with the magic that defines you, not that you have it in the first place.

Adalwolfe shakes his head.]

What I mean is that yes, it's always there, but it's not what's waiting. It's a tool, a valuable one that others want to use or control out of fear, but the only thing that makes it frightening is the potential for misuse. Between a sober mage and a drunk warrior, you've more to fear from the idiot waving the sword around.

[He chews his lip, crossing his arms as he looks at Fenris.]

You are lucky, though. If this lasts into the night, I doubt you'll walk the Fade in your sleep here in the Fleet. I don't.

[Fenris' lips curl a little as Wolfe speaks of using magic as a tool. That's what they say, ins't it? Magic is to serve man. But Fenris has seen magic used as the wrong tool for too long.

He's come so far since his early days of escape- where he'd snap and spew vitriol at any mage that came within five feet of him. He's become more tolerant than he ever thought he would be. But he still has his limits- he's not perfect. He's not ready to be all supportive yet. ]

You and I both know my feelings on such matters.

[His tone is even, quiet. The fact he doesn't pick a fight with it, but rather draws back speaks volumes for his progress. He doesn't use this as a jumping point to screech out how dangerous mages are, how that drunken warrior couldn't literally get possessed by a demon at any damn second- or set someone on fire. He keeps his thoughts to himself. He doesn't create an argument where one isn't needed. ]

Thank the Maker for small mercies.

I do. And I understand. I've faced more than my fair share of blood mages and power-hungry apostates. I don't believe in anyone ruling by the fist either, whether it throws daggers or fireballs, but you do understand what I'm trying to tell you, at least, even if you don't agree, don't you?

[He doesn't want to push, but the words come out of his mouth anyway. They're soft, gentle as he can make them, but they still take a life of their own. He needs... something, from Fenris. Approval, maybe. Acknowledgement that he doesn't think every mage in the entire world is going to turn around the try to become an Archon. Not everyone is a zealot, not everyone wants to rule the world. Even if Fenris doesn't trust most mages on principle - likewise, Adalwolfe is prone to mistrusting anyone in Templar armor - he should still at least agree they deserve fair treatment when they've done nothing wrong.]

We're just people. You just having magic isn't causing any real change in who you are, Fenris. You can see that, surely.

[There's a crackle of static, charging the air- as Fenris takes a few deep breath. Keep it down, keep it down. He can't let it get the better of him, however much he can feel it crawling in his skin- however much he wants it out. ]

Of course not. But it it something that needs to be taught how to control just as any fool swinging a sword around needs to learn how to wield it properly. It can't be left without any guidance at all.

[Because that's how people die. Or get possessed. ]

As I have said, mages who understand this- who try to keep their abilities from harming others, I have no quarrel with. Mages can be good people, even I can see that much. Your sister is a prime example- and I have no real issue with you...or Marian...to an extent.

[That blood magic thing still sticks in his craw like no one's business. ]

[He tenses at the upwelling of electricity. It aches in his skin, the lyrium tattoos reacting in some way that he can't quite fathom, he just knows that it hurts. For both their sakes, he shouldn't follow this line of conversation but... well. When has a Hawke ever done what's good for them?]

No, you're right in that mages need schooling, need to be helped with our abilities. But there has to be something better than being locked up, torn away from your entire family and not allowed contact for the rest of your lives. Guidance is different than imprisonment and learning should be different than punishment.

[He bites the inside of his mouth, as if the rest of him knows he probably shouldn't be saying all this, especially not right now, but his mouth just won't follow direction.]

You'd never have met Bethany, if the Circles got her when she'd first shown talent. She'd have been... who knows. Shipped off to the White Spire in Orlais. Marian, too, if the Chantry had their way, cut down because she so urgently needed to get back to our family she resorted to desperate measures. I could have been a Tranquil at Ostagar without the wherewithal to run when the Darkspawn broke over the army.

[He swallows hard at that, a nightmare he's never really shared with anyone, not even Anders. There are few things that Adalwolfe Hawke is truly afraid of, but Tranquility ranks highest.]

There has to be something better than what it is. At least tell me you agree with that, after Kirkwall. After seeing what Templars like Alrik can get away with. At least give me that and I'll stop.

[He laughs a bit, a self-deprecating thing that huffs out through his fingers as he runs his hand down his face.]

I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be pushing all this now, of all times.

No, you shouldn't, but here you are, doing it anyway.

[There's a terse humour behind the sharp words.He's not shouting, he's still trying to keep a hold on himself, on having this thing he's learned to fear and hate crawling in his skin. Varania comes to mind. Had she not been born in Tevinter...well, what would have happened to her? His issues with his sister run deep, but he would not have wished that on her. What tranquility does to them. ]

I don't disagree there has to be a better way- but as it is, the circle is all we have. I would not wish for magic to go unchecked. That is how the Imperium exists, and I could not watch the world to go the way of that place. Where magic is used to squash any who get in that particular mages way.

[Where blood magic is such an easy answer to anything- no matter how much it's publicly frowned upon. Begin able to control another person, to hold endless power- not because someone deserves it or have the actual ability to wield it , but because they took it...that terrifies him. ]

If there was a happy medium, that would be the best- but currently that does not exist.

That's why we have to create it. No one else will.

[He has to physically bite his own tongue. He'd told Fenris he'd stop, at least for now, and if he can't be taken at his word then what sort of man is he? Slowly, Adalwolfe breathes in deeply, and then out through his nose, trying to calm himself enough to tear his brain off the subject. Funnily enough, he doesn't realize until he opens his eyes again to a dimmer ambiance that the tattoos had been glowing as he pressed his point.]

Alright.

[He runs a hand back through his hair.]

Okay, I'm good. Another time, not now.

[Another breath and he offers a vague sort of smile.]

Um. Do you have... questions? I mean, speaking practically. I'm not sure how else to approach this.

[Fenris exhales, glad to be moving away from the subject. He's never in the mood for that discussion at the best of times, much less now. He doubts he'll ever really be able to sit down and talk it through properly. Not with any sense of calm anyway.

He noticed the glow of the brands- they do the same for him. He's vaguely aware that it wouldn't be pleasant for Wolfe- but then again, neither is the magic. At all.]

I- do not know. You can't stop it so I just... I don't know.

[He just wants it GONE. ]

I need to control it.

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?

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