pullmeoutalive | RO > call me out; a forever open RP post, version 2

Lovely. I'll just wait here, shall I?

If you don't mind. Maybe take a nap.

Naturally.

[ He can't help it-- he sinks down to the floor, shifts only enough so that the wall keeps him upright. ]

Go on, then. I expect you have a dramatic exit in mind. Some ominous line you'd like to impart before you leave.

Not really, but I do mean it when I say "take a nap".

[ Because Warren etches out another rune to knock Dorian unconscious. He'll wake up with one hell of a headache, and his magic still muted, but there will be a small bed and blankets and a tray of food in his cell. ]

[ When he wakes, it's with the small hope that yesterday had been a dream, but he's never been quite that lucky. Quite the opposite, in fact. He notes the changes in his cell, and with effort, he moves to curl himself into the bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around himself. He ignores the tray of food -- too often in Tevinter did his fellow mages take to poisoning or magicking food and drink, and in a situation like this, that memory rises to the surface.

He still tries to call up his magic, tries for a flame, a burst of lightning, anything -- but to no avail. The best he manages is a chunk of ice, not much larger than an ice cube, and with a sigh, he pops it into his mouth. He thinks bitterly, at least he'll be able to stay hydrated.

There's not much he can do beyond that than wait. ]

[ Warren appears some time later, making his way down with a pile of books in his arms. Without a word, he leaves the books on the table and leaves, returning after a moment with a mug of coffee. ]

Not going to touch your breakfast?

[ He stiffens the first time Warren arrives, ignores his exit as best he can. The second time, however, is a bit harder to ignore, considering the man addresses him directly. And Dorian is never one to pass up on a conversation. ]

I'll have to pass, thanks all the same.

[ The words come out tightly, sharpened by his discomfort. The broken rib certainly isn't doing him any favors, nor is the way his body aches from the repeated blows of the previous day. ]

Help yourself, if you'd like.

[ He waves a hand, dismissive ] I already ate.

Are you feeling up to answering some questions? Or will I have to beat the answers out of you, too?

[ Against his better judgment, he sits up carefully, a hand moving to his injured rib when it sends pain up his side. With his other hand, he wraps the blankets more tightly around himself -- he hates the cold. ]

You leave me little choice. [ Rather than sounding resigned, there's annoyance in his voice. Anger. ]

[ His gaze flicks to Dorian's rib, briefly ]

Do you have the capability to heal that?

[ He hesitates for a moment. ]

No, I don't. [ words sharp and clipped. ] I've many talents, but healing isn't one of them.

Is that the truth?

[ He smirks. ]

You could always drop your dampening field, if you're so keen to find out.

I would have done, but if you can't help yourself, then that's the end of it.

"Can't help myself"? As though I have no self-control?

[ he says, while an immolate spell lies in wait behind his teeth. ]

I either heal myself, or I won't. Isn't that what you're testing for, here?

[ Warren simply shrugs, lifting his coffee cup to his lips with one hand and dropping the wards with the other ]

[ He spares only a moment to flex his fingers, breathing in as deeply as his injury allows--

and then both palms fill with flame, and he reels back, flinging both fireballs toward Warren. ]

[ A set of runes on either wall flare to life, erecting a barrier between the wizard and the mage. The flames spread over the invisible wall, but it holds. Warren slams the wards back into place with a snap of his fingers ]

Next question: how do you do that?

[ When the wards come back into play, it briefly knocks the breath from him, and Dorian lets out a soft grunt. He braces his arm around his middle again, leaning back against the wall.

When he's caught his breath again, he responds dryly with, ]

Magic.

I only have so much patience for your sarcasm.

Where does the magic come from? You don't use our runes, and every time I cut you off from your power you react like it's a physical blow.

[ He hesitates again, reluctance written on his face. He settles at last on the short version: ]

I-- have a connection to another plane of existence. I expend energy to draw power, and when you put up these blighted wards, you effectively drain that energy from me.

Happy?

[ There’s that grin again, and he grabs a notebook from the top of his pile to jot down some notes. ] Another plane of existence? Fascinating. Is that where you’re from or are you simply connected?

And if it’s the latter, where are you from?

[ He finds he dislikes that smile the more he sees it, which is why he answers simply: ]

Yes.

Middle-Earth.

[ Warren gives him a flat look for half a second before sketching out a quick spell- it’s not enough to throw Dorian around this time, more like the equivalent to a punch in the gut. ]

Don’t get cute with me.

[ He can't help the quiet noise of pain from escaping him, and he silently curses himself for it. After a second, he grits out, ]

I'm not often called "cute." And I imagine neither are you used to calling someone such. New experiences all around. Hurrah.

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