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pullmeoutalive2014-06-27 11:45 pm
midvalley) wrote in pullmeoutalive2014-06-27 11:45 pm
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It seems he already has; your magic has no connection with the Fade, yet he happened to gain the assistance of a spirit of Compassion. Perhaps they are holding him in a place where the Veil is thin, and such thoughts are transferred easily. I have yet to receive any further messages from any other spirits, though perhaps that is only a matter of time.
How fortunate for all of us that his magic seems to translate so well to this world.
[ The journey south is uneventful, for a time; the woods are thick and lush, with little in the way of roads. There are pathways worn into the dirt from years of travel, though they extend only so far; the rest of their trip is spent by carefully picking out paths safe for their mounts.
Luckily, they do not encounter any bears.
Still, the peace is short-lived, and Solas pulls against the reins of his horse, silently signalling for the detective to do the same. Ahead of them, still ignorant of the mage and the wizard, is an encampment of men in ornate robes of black and gold and complicated-looking armor. Other men wear little in the way of protection, though they still strike formidable figures -- Solas expects these are slaves, forced into the service of their lords to fight.
He dismounts silently, pulling his staff from its harness at his back. He whispers to the detective, ]
One of these men may know something about your friend, I assume. How persuasive do you think you can be?
[ The journey south is uneventful, for a time; the woods are thick and lush, with little in the way of roads. There are pathways worn into the dirt from years of travel, though they extend only so far; the rest of their trip is spent by carefully picking out paths safe for their mounts.
Luckily, they do not encounter any bears.
Still, the peace is short-lived, and Solas pulls against the reins of his horse, silently signalling for the detective to do the same. Ahead of them, still ignorant of the mage and the wizard, is an encampment of men in ornate robes of black and gold and complicated-looking armor. Other men wear little in the way of protection, though they still strike formidable figures -- Solas expects these are slaves, forced into the service of their lords to fight.
He dismounts silently, pulling his staff from its harness at his back. He whispers to the detective, ]
One of these men may know something about your friend, I assume. How persuasive do you think you can be?
The latter. And when one of the men has been properly secured for questioning, the former.
Alright.
[ And aside from that brilliant pep talk, Solas doesn't bother with preamble. He casts a barrier that envelop the both of them, which instantly draws the attention of the Venatori mages. As theyre scrambling to organize themselves for a fight, unsheathing swords and bringing out old, worn tomes and staves, Solas manages to take several of them out of play, freezing them in place or warping the Veil and wielding it like a physical force. ]
The mages will likely rank highest. We would do well to keep at least one alive, Detective.
[ And aside from that brilliant pep talk, Solas doesn't bother with preamble. He casts a barrier that envelop the both of them, which instantly draws the attention of the Venatori mages. As theyre scrambling to organize themselves for a fight, unsheathing swords and bringing out old, worn tomes and staves, Solas manages to take several of them out of play, freezing them in place or warping the Veil and wielding it like a physical force. ]
The mages will likely rank highest. We would do well to keep at least one alive, Detective.
Very well.
[ Neither of them are one for pep talks, it seems. The jet black smoke that is Fedora uncurls from Jacob’s form, streaming towards one such mage at frightening speed. By the time it plows into the man, it’s taken the solid form of the wolf, teeth bared and eyes blazing- a far cry from his demeanor the previous night. The Summon breaks through the mage’s barrier easily, and Jacob tosses a Destruction spell his way- the man’s head snaps back and he does not rise. He’s alive, but Jacob doesn’t envy him the headache he’ll have later.
Then Fedora’s off again, slipping seamlessly from wolf to smoke and back again as he weaves through the chaos and dodges incoming attacks, pouncing on unsuspecting enemies and letting his powerful jaws do the rest of the work. Jacob dips into the more brutal aspects of his arsenal, keeping to Destruction magic, and the Venatori agents find themselves thrown around, bones breaking and flesh tearing thanks to some invisible force. The detective does not, however, need to go for his gun. He’s keeping that in reserve in case magic somehow isn’t enough. ]
[ Neither of them are one for pep talks, it seems. The jet black smoke that is Fedora uncurls from Jacob’s form, streaming towards one such mage at frightening speed. By the time it plows into the man, it’s taken the solid form of the wolf, teeth bared and eyes blazing- a far cry from his demeanor the previous night. The Summon breaks through the mage’s barrier easily, and Jacob tosses a Destruction spell his way- the man’s head snaps back and he does not rise. He’s alive, but Jacob doesn’t envy him the headache he’ll have later.
Then Fedora’s off again, slipping seamlessly from wolf to smoke and back again as he weaves through the chaos and dodges incoming attacks, pouncing on unsuspecting enemies and letting his powerful jaws do the rest of the work. Jacob dips into the more brutal aspects of his arsenal, keeping to Destruction magic, and the Venatori agents find themselves thrown around, bones breaking and flesh tearing thanks to some invisible force. The detective does not, however, need to go for his gun. He’s keeping that in reserve in case magic somehow isn’t enough. ]
[ Solas keeps an eye on the detective and his Summon, renewing their barriers as needed to guard them from the archers loosing arrows in their direction. The projectiles bounce harmlessly off their shields, and Solas takes time to pick them off, ice and lightning and fire dancing on his fingertips, blasting from his staff with precise swings.
It's like a dance, really, wielding and warping the Veil as if it were an extension of himself. He was much stronger than this, at one time, though his abilities are hardly anything to scoff at now. Between the combined efforts of the three of them, they've cut a swath through the Venatori encampment, leaving a few mages desperately casting to ward them off.
They need only to wait them out, and Solas sends a few lazy spells their way -- if only to keep up appearances that their attack is still on. When he senses their spells flagging -- indicative of a poor connection to the Fade, as he suspected -- he takes initiative. With carefully aimed blasts, he knocks the staves and tomes from their hands. He slams his staff's blade into the ground, and ice races like lightning toward the cultists, binding their feet and crawling up their bodies until they're bound by ice to their elbows.
Satisfied, he nods to Jacob, then to the three mages he's trapped; he keeps his staff poised, feeding the ice his magic to keep their captors bound. ]
In case you need to make an example. [ He says it by way of explanation for capturing three rather than one. ]
It's like a dance, really, wielding and warping the Veil as if it were an extension of himself. He was much stronger than this, at one time, though his abilities are hardly anything to scoff at now. Between the combined efforts of the three of them, they've cut a swath through the Venatori encampment, leaving a few mages desperately casting to ward them off.
They need only to wait them out, and Solas sends a few lazy spells their way -- if only to keep up appearances that their attack is still on. When he senses their spells flagging -- indicative of a poor connection to the Fade, as he suspected -- he takes initiative. With carefully aimed blasts, he knocks the staves and tomes from their hands. He slams his staff's blade into the ground, and ice races like lightning toward the cultists, binding their feet and crawling up their bodies until they're bound by ice to their elbows.
Satisfied, he nods to Jacob, then to the three mages he's trapped; he keeps his staff poised, feeding the ice his magic to keep their captors bound. ]
In case you need to make an example. [ He says it by way of explanation for capturing three rather than one. ]
[ Fedora pads over to stand next to Jacob, and the wizard doesn’t miss the way their captives eye the wolf in equal parts fear and curiosity. Fedora bares his teeth silently, blood staining his muzzle. ]
I’ll cut to the chase, then.
Your compatriots have taken a friend of mine, and I’d like him back.
[ As he speaks, he begins casting, the white light of his magic illuminating his face. At least one of the mages lets recognition flit across his face before schooling his expression. ] How is it you put it? His magic doesn’t draw from the Fade. I’m sure at least one of you knows something.
[ The spells dissipate and the ground around Jacob becomes thick with black smoke, which takes the shape of four more wolves, similar in size and look to Fedora. More Illusion, but it’s good. The wolves move individually, and behave like the real thing. ] If not, well... my companions are quite hungry. I hope you don’t mind.
I’ll cut to the chase, then.
Your compatriots have taken a friend of mine, and I’d like him back.
[ As he speaks, he begins casting, the white light of his magic illuminating his face. At least one of the mages lets recognition flit across his face before schooling his expression. ] How is it you put it? His magic doesn’t draw from the Fade. I’m sure at least one of you knows something.
[ The spells dissipate and the ground around Jacob becomes thick with black smoke, which takes the shape of four more wolves, similar in size and look to Fedora. More Illusion, but it’s good. The wolves move individually, and behave like the real thing. ] If not, well... my companions are quite hungry. I hope you don’t mind.
[ As the wolves stalk forward, one of the mages visibly recoils, though he's halted by the ice binding him to the ground. He eyes the wolves with apparent fear, and Solas watches him closely, counting down in his head until the man breaks.
And break he does after the span of at least ten heartbeats, with a startled cry when one of the mirages stares up at him, baring its teeth. ]
We have overtaken a villa fifty miles south. He's being held there! They have begun preparations for the ritual to alter his mind -- if you want him unharmed, you must leave now.
And break he does after the span of at least ten heartbeats, with a startled cry when one of the mirages stares up at him, baring its teeth. ]
We have overtaken a villa fifty miles south. He's being held there! They have begun preparations for the ritual to alter his mind -- if you want him unharmed, you must leave now.
Thank you. [ Jacob waves his hand, and the Illusions break apart like mist. ] Solas?
[ It’s less a question, and more a go ahead for the mage to do with the three of them what he pleases. Fedora returns to his smoke form and vanishes while Jacob treks back to where they left the horses. ]
[ It’s less a question, and more a go ahead for the mage to do with the three of them what he pleases. Fedora returns to his smoke form and vanishes while Jacob treks back to where they left the horses. ]
[ Solas takes a step forward, and with the slightest tilt of his head, the ice cracks and gives way, allowing the mages to step free from their bonds. They sag, relieved, murmuring their thanks for Solas' mercy.
To which he responds quietly, ] I am not so forgiving.
[ He drives the bladed end of his staff into the ground just once, drawing down on the Veil and summoning through it the memory of lightning, which arcs and crackles as it splits the sky. It strikes the mages, and in the blink of an eye, they all fall over, dead.
Solas is not a monster, but neither will he allow those men to live. Not if it meant they would go on to enslave more men and women, to strip away their wills and force them into a life of servitude.
The elf turns, sliding his staff back into its harness at his back. When he reaches Jacob and the horses, he mounts his horse with ease, as if they hadn't been riding practically all day. ]
We'd best hurry.
To which he responds quietly, ] I am not so forgiving.
[ He drives the bladed end of his staff into the ground just once, drawing down on the Veil and summoning through it the memory of lightning, which arcs and crackles as it splits the sky. It strikes the mages, and in the blink of an eye, they all fall over, dead.
Solas is not a monster, but neither will he allow those men to live. Not if it meant they would go on to enslave more men and women, to strip away their wills and force them into a life of servitude.
The elf turns, sliding his staff back into its harness at his back. When he reaches Jacob and the horses, he mounts his horse with ease, as if they hadn't been riding practically all day. ]
We'd best hurry.
[ Jacob is well-aware that, if left alive, these people could very well take more people like Andrew, but he just isn’t acclimated to the way they do things in Thedas. Objectively he realizes that this is, in essence, a war, and that the captured mages would be better off dead, but Jacob is a cop and there are certain rules by which he lives his life. He just can’t shoot someone in cold blood. Not now.
Maybe if he were here for months, like Charlie had been, he’d get used to the idea, to the laws of this world, but for now it’s better left in Solas’ hands.
Jacob is already perched atop his horse when Solas joins him. ]
To the south, correct? I’ll follow your lead.
Maybe if he were here for months, like Charlie had been, he’d get used to the idea, to the laws of this world, but for now it’s better left in Solas’ hands.
Jacob is already perched atop his horse when Solas joins him. ]
To the south, correct? I’ll follow your lead.
[ He nods curtly, pulling sharply on the reins to steer his mount in the proper direction. More than an hour of hard riding brings to them the villa in question, visible some distance away when they crest a hill; it's far from the main thoroughfares, secluded and hidden in a heavily forested area, making it an ideal location for a hideout. Evidently the Venatori were unconcerned about maintaining any sort of illusion to hide their presence, obvious due to the dozen or so men in sharp, angular-styled robes milling about the front garden, enclosed by a large wall. The main entrance is a wrought iron gate, currently chained shut. ]
We will have to be quick. [ he says it as he dismounts, bringing out his staff again. ] The ritual may very well have been a bluff, but I imagine neither of us would like to take that chance.
We will have to be quick. [ he says it as he dismounts, bringing out his staff again. ] The ritual may very well have been a bluff, but I imagine neither of us would like to take that chance.
[ Jacob nods, slipping of his horse to stand next to Solas. The by-now familiar black smoke is coiling around him, and he quietly says, ] Can you find him?
[ In response, the smoke drifts off, sliding over the garden wall and vanishing. It makes Jacob feel more at ease, because the last thing he’d want to happen is to break the door down and for the Venatori to kill Andrew in a panic. (He doubts they’d outright kill their bargaining chip, but it never hurts to be safe.)
Though, speaking of… ] Do you want me to break the door down?
[ In response, the smoke drifts off, sliding over the garden wall and vanishing. It makes Jacob feel more at ease, because the last thing he’d want to happen is to break the door down and for the Venatori to kill Andrew in a panic. (He doubts they’d outright kill their bargaining chip, but it never hurts to be safe.)
Though, speaking of… ] Do you want me to break the door down?
Until we know the whereabouts of your friend, I don't believe we should act.
Unless you think we can eliminate these men quickly enough to avoid their raising an alarm.
Unless you think we can eliminate these men quickly enough to avoid their raising an alarm.
[ he hums his agreement, nodding once, and he reaches behind him to pull his staff from its harness. ]
At the very least, we should ensure your friend is kept safe. Fedora should stay with him, if only to ensure they do not attempt to take him elsewhere during the of our attack.
At the very least, we should ensure your friend is kept safe. Fedora should stay with him, if only to ensure they do not attempt to take him elsewhere during the of our attack.
[ Dorian is not a subtle person.
One could blame it on his upbringing, if one were so inclined. In Tevinter, a would-be magister must set himself apart from the rabble, must show that he is more talented, more intelligent, more everything than his peers. In a country where magic is revered and the powerful survive, it is exceedingly common to use one's talents for mundane tasks -- lighting a fire, sweeping aside curtains, keeping one's hands free by levitating some ancient tome or other.
Which means that when one Dorian Pavus, once of Minrathous, most recently of the Inquisition's keep, Skyhold, arrived in Colorado, he had the occasional slip-up. In his more primal moments, sparks would fly across the tips of his fingers; when researching the nature of Charlie's magic, he would send a file floating before him while he occupied his hands with another book. He would wave out candles, summon flame in his palm, drop ice in a drink here and again. On the occasions that Detective Randall had work for Charlie, and if the mage happened to be present, Dorian would accompany him, let his magic fly with the same graceful abandon he would demonstrate at home. He was not nearly as careful with his displays as he promised Charlie he would be, but the two of them had assumed he had kept his shows of magic relatively quiet.
They were wrong, naturally. Or at the very least, the small displays were enough to garner interest, and the rumors took on lives of their own. At some point, whispers began to circulate among the wizarding community. There's a strange man, you know. Suddenly arrived from nowhere. No family to speak of, no heritage, and yet he exhibits a strange sort of Elemental magic. Casts spells near instantaneously, or so they say, and yet he doesn't have any Enhancement tattoos. Almost as though he creates his runes so quickly as to not be seen, or he has no need of them. Have you ever heard of such a thing?
No, they certainly had not. But most were glad to leave it as an idle curiosity, to leave it as a silly story warped by the retellings.
Some, however, were not.
There is a cafe a few blocks away from the bookshop -- small, unassuming. "Hipstery," Charlie had dubbed it once, though he declined to elaborate further. Dorian stops by, sometimes, when he arrives too early in the day for Charlie to properly close the shop, but too late to tempt the wizard with lunch. The staff recognizes him by now, considering he's nothing but charming with them -- and considering at least half of them would gladly give up their right hands to have dinner with him at least once.
He's sitting at a table in the corner, near the shop's front, a worn book in his hands and a cup of coffee on the table -- a cup which, evidently, he has forgotten, as when Dorian absently takes a sip, he immediately grimaces and sets it back down. Cold, it seems. After a furtive glance around, he flexes his fingers, and a glowing red rune appears just above the coffee's surface. Not a moment later, steam curls and drifts from the cup as Dorian lifts it to his lips again. ]
One could blame it on his upbringing, if one were so inclined. In Tevinter, a would-be magister must set himself apart from the rabble, must show that he is more talented, more intelligent, more everything than his peers. In a country where magic is revered and the powerful survive, it is exceedingly common to use one's talents for mundane tasks -- lighting a fire, sweeping aside curtains, keeping one's hands free by levitating some ancient tome or other.
Which means that when one Dorian Pavus, once of Minrathous, most recently of the Inquisition's keep, Skyhold, arrived in Colorado, he had the occasional slip-up. In his more primal moments, sparks would fly across the tips of his fingers; when researching the nature of Charlie's magic, he would send a file floating before him while he occupied his hands with another book. He would wave out candles, summon flame in his palm, drop ice in a drink here and again. On the occasions that Detective Randall had work for Charlie, and if the mage happened to be present, Dorian would accompany him, let his magic fly with the same graceful abandon he would demonstrate at home. He was not nearly as careful with his displays as he promised Charlie he would be, but the two of them had assumed he had kept his shows of magic relatively quiet.
They were wrong, naturally. Or at the very least, the small displays were enough to garner interest, and the rumors took on lives of their own. At some point, whispers began to circulate among the wizarding community. There's a strange man, you know. Suddenly arrived from nowhere. No family to speak of, no heritage, and yet he exhibits a strange sort of Elemental magic. Casts spells near instantaneously, or so they say, and yet he doesn't have any Enhancement tattoos. Almost as though he creates his runes so quickly as to not be seen, or he has no need of them. Have you ever heard of such a thing?
No, they certainly had not. But most were glad to leave it as an idle curiosity, to leave it as a silly story warped by the retellings.
Some, however, were not.
There is a cafe a few blocks away from the bookshop -- small, unassuming. "Hipstery," Charlie had dubbed it once, though he declined to elaborate further. Dorian stops by, sometimes, when he arrives too early in the day for Charlie to properly close the shop, but too late to tempt the wizard with lunch. The staff recognizes him by now, considering he's nothing but charming with them -- and considering at least half of them would gladly give up their right hands to have dinner with him at least once.
He's sitting at a table in the corner, near the shop's front, a worn book in his hands and a cup of coffee on the table -- a cup which, evidently, he has forgotten, as when Dorian absently takes a sip, he immediately grimaces and sets it back down. Cold, it seems. After a furtive glance around, he flexes his fingers, and a glowing red rune appears just above the coffee's surface. Not a moment later, steam curls and drifts from the cup as Dorian lifts it to his lips again. ]
[ Warren West does not take things for granted, so when the rumors start flying about the strange wizard who showed up out of nowhere, he listened. He listened and he quietly took notes and when the name Jacob Randall inevitably surfaced, he became interested.
The Destroyer kept tabs on all of the Randall wizard’s friends- it wasn’t hard to do, really- but ever since the fire elemental had burned his house to the ground, he did so at a distance. (He had other homes, of course. Properties all over the globe purchased under a dozen different aliases and warded by the best Defenders and Illusionists money could buy. His issue was knowing that he’d underestimated Jacob and the company he kept once, and he would not do so again.)
Picking out the stranger’s routine had not been too difficult, and several weeks beforehand, he began frequenting the same café. He’d offer Dorian a polite nod and a smile. Brush past him once or twice and apologize for bumping into him. He kept his own schedule, coming or going partway into Dorian’s stay as he waited for the Maxwell wizard to finish at the bookstore. Sometimes he stayed longer and left after Dorian had departed, sometimes they left together. He was just another face in the crowd; nothing remarkable, though he made sure the greetings became friendlier the more they saw each other. Warren wasn’t friendly by any stretch of the imagination, but at over a hundred years old, he could fake it with the best of them.
He’s sitting at a table on the adjacent wall from Dorian, ostensibly for the outlet, since he’s typing away on his laptop. (He’s been watching, though, out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the slight glow illuminate the stranger’s coffee cup before steam began to rise. He’d be damned if he wasn’t curious.)
After a while, he gets up to stretch, meanders over to the counter for a refill on his coffee, and on the way back pauses by Dorian’s table. ]
Good book?
The Destroyer kept tabs on all of the Randall wizard’s friends- it wasn’t hard to do, really- but ever since the fire elemental had burned his house to the ground, he did so at a distance. (He had other homes, of course. Properties all over the globe purchased under a dozen different aliases and warded by the best Defenders and Illusionists money could buy. His issue was knowing that he’d underestimated Jacob and the company he kept once, and he would not do so again.)
Picking out the stranger’s routine had not been too difficult, and several weeks beforehand, he began frequenting the same café. He’d offer Dorian a polite nod and a smile. Brush past him once or twice and apologize for bumping into him. He kept his own schedule, coming or going partway into Dorian’s stay as he waited for the Maxwell wizard to finish at the bookstore. Sometimes he stayed longer and left after Dorian had departed, sometimes they left together. He was just another face in the crowd; nothing remarkable, though he made sure the greetings became friendlier the more they saw each other. Warren wasn’t friendly by any stretch of the imagination, but at over a hundred years old, he could fake it with the best of them.
He’s sitting at a table on the adjacent wall from Dorian, ostensibly for the outlet, since he’s typing away on his laptop. (He’s been watching, though, out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the slight glow illuminate the stranger’s coffee cup before steam began to rise. He’d be damned if he wasn’t curious.)
After a while, he gets up to stretch, meanders over to the counter for a refill on his coffee, and on the way back pauses by Dorian’s table. ]
Good book?
[ It used to be that Dorian was suspicious as a rule -- every person he encountered would garner at least some level of distrust, would make him wonder, "Are they speaking with me for me, or for my social standing?" Granted, in his later years in Tevinter, his social standing was nothing of consequence, but that spark of doubt always remained, flickering at the back of his mind. It's a bad habit he's trying to break, and indeed, in a place as alien to him as this world is, he has no need of it. No one knows him here, after all, and unlike Skyhold, his heritage does not precede him. It's-- surprisingly freeing, even if his magic must be tightly reined.
He recognizes the man by face, though not yet by name, and knows him as friendly from their few encounters; it's not much of a surprise when the other man initiates conversation -- it rather seems as though they'd been leading up to this for some time, after all.
Which is why Dorian puts on one of his pleasant "this is my social smile" masks and nods to him. ]
Engrossing, to say the least. [ And with a nod to Warren's table, where his laptop sits, ] You seem quite absorbed, yourself.
He recognizes the man by face, though not yet by name, and knows him as friendly from their few encounters; it's not much of a surprise when the other man initiates conversation -- it rather seems as though they'd been leading up to this for some time, after all.
Which is why Dorian puts on one of his pleasant "this is my social smile" masks and nods to him. ]
Engrossing, to say the least. [ And with a nod to Warren's table, where his laptop sits, ] You seem quite absorbed, yourself.
Really? I never would have imagined. Are you making any headway?
Some, but my editor can be a real beast sometimes. One step forward and two steps back, as the saying goes.
But I’m being rude. I’m Lucas. [ And he offers Dorian a hand. ]
But I’m being rude. I’m Lucas. [ And he offers Dorian a hand. ]
Edited (Why did I put brackets there? We may never know.) 2015-12-09 22:11 (UTC)
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