faithlikeaseed | [IC/OOC] Fade Rift Inbox & Contact

Myr has a visitor.

Not in the traditional sense of a guest to his door, invited or otherwise. This visitor comes quietly into the periphery of his sleeping mind, more a silhouette of a shadow than the easily discernible shape of a man, and there he stays; a leaf on the surface of a still pond.

This dream is one of brightness and light, soft at its edges with nostalgia; there are few shadows here for a visitor to hide within,
but Atticus creates one to suit his purposes, disappearing into the shelter of an arched doorway that surely was always a part of this dream's architecture. Wasn't it? Shrouded, his identity obscured, he can nevertheless feel the dry heat of a Hasmal summer against his skin, smell sweet desert flowers on the air, can hear the distant call of a bird of paradise somewhere within the boughs of the trees that shade the courtyard of Hasmal's Circle of Magi. And there, seated on one of the benches at its center, surrounded by high stacks of parchment paper and sentimental tokens from a life he no longer lives, is Myrobalan. His head bent in concentration, he's writing something furiously--and he isn't alone.

Lounging nearby, a demon has taken some pains to guise itself as a human--but to Atticus' discerning eye, it's easy to mark the creature for what it is: a Pride demon.

For now, Atticus is still; he watches, and waits.

I can only apologise for my tardiness - I've been greatly diverted in my work. Did you wish still to speak of magic?

( there's a pause-- )

This is Madame de Cedoux, we spoke previous regarding glyphs.

Edited 2017-08-15 10:01 (UTC)

[It will have been a while since Myr's heard from his cousin, though he may by now be aware of the reasons for that. Vandelin has assumed, since everyone else has got a crystal and nobody's seems to have been smashed or anything, that the agents back in Kirkwall are well apprised of the situation, and informing people individually is unnecessary.

But it's lonely here on the island, and even if there's no shortage of things to do, he tells himself there is, so that he can attribute his longing for a friendly voice to boredom rather than emotional need. He wanders off to an empty part of the beach, and reaches for his necklace to send his cousin a private buzz.]

Greetings from sunny Rivain. And to think, I always wanted to vacation here.

[The shelters have all been built, and the Inquisition castaways have gathered up enough fruit and fish and hardtack to make a good meal, and it's only the growing darkness of the sky that jogs Simon's memory and makes him think he should check in with the one person back in Kirkwall who might worry. Just in case the official message about what's happened hasn't quite filtered down through the ranks yet. He excuses himself from the campfire and reaches for his crystal.]

I hate to say it on such short notice, but I'm not likely to be around for sparring this week. [It's largely facetious; he had mentioned that he was leaving, but the trip was meant to be a short one. Now, he's not so sure.]

I don't suppose you heard that we've been, ah, stranded for a bit.

After furiously yanking his clothes on, Simon had considered strapping his armor on as well and going out for a good, hard, full-on training session out in the yard. It doesn't feel like enough. He needs to hit something.

He's got a procedure well established for that, even if it feels a little churlish to turn up on Myr's doorstep and demand some no-holds-barred sparring when they haven't even spoken yet since his return. Maybe he can temper that somewhat if he brings along the souvenir coconut he'd promised.

It's only ten minutes more before he's at his friend's door, unarmored, coconut in hand, practically vibrating with tense angry energy. Where else is he supposed to go?

Edited 2017-10-12 05:32 (UTC)

Once everything that can be said has been said and people are filing out, Ellana positions herself next to Myr as they leave.

"Excuse me," she begins politely, "You're the one who set up all the glyphs around the Gallows, aren't you? That's really smart. I never could have come up with something like that."

I am sorry.

[His voice is quiet.]

I have been an ass.

For someone who can't heat his own water, it seems like folly to visit the baths in the freezing cold during the late-night off-hours when the water is equally frozen. But Simon has always taken pride in being mostly impervious to winter chill, and sometimes a modest little washbasin in one's room just doesn't cut it.

He'll be all right, he's sure. Just a nice soak and scrub with actual immersion, so he can feel really genuinely clean. A symbolic start to the year, if nothing else. And he's likely enough to have the place to himself--all the better, he thinks, as he shucks off his layers of worn-out winter clothing and tosses them carelessly aside.

I... There wasn't any... I didn't...

[He breaks off and takes a breath, knowing he's a little bit of an emotional mess. After a couple of seconds he tries again with a calmer, quiet voice.]

I didn't give you context, and for that I had no reason to expect confidence. But I'd like to know who all you've mentioned Karl to. Having him suddenly come up is a surprise that... It's still not easy.

It's freezing.

It's a bit beyond freezing, really, but if you crack enough ice from the harbour you can get at the real frigid shit beneath. That's where the money is — forget snow, you can only dump so much of that on folks off the ramparts before you've got to go and branch out. Variety's the spice of life, and all that.

So when she spots Myr, it's not powder fluff that goes swinging his direction, but a bucket full of seawater.

"Look out!" She yells, like a dick.

Uhm hello Master Myrobalan Shivana. Madame Beleth Ashara told me, to ask you, if ... you needed help guarding mages. I'm a mage, by the by. Lightening and entropy based.

Edited 2018-01-31 19:01 (UTC)

I need to speak with you privately about the rifter illness.

Nari is there, as usual, with the baskets of the morning's fresh bread, the tureen of soup, bowls that knock woodenly against each other as the Dalish woman struggles with the load. Today her steps are different, the sound of the bowls exaggerated by the heavy uneven falls of her feet.

"Did you hear-- of course you did. I--" There's something deeply shaken in her voice that wasn't there the day before, the air fair vibrating with nerves when she comes close enough to place a bowl down within Myr's reach. "There's soup. It's--" Metallic noises as the tureen lid opens, "Some kind of vegetable. Myr is there--have you found anything new?" Nari asks this as if the mage's work had, in the intervening minutes since Solas's report had rung through the crystals, miraculously yielded some information less dire than a death sentence.

Myrobalan, do you have a moment to spare? I realise you must be terribly busy with the administering of cures and... all that preceded it.

Some ten minutes after Simon mentions the Dissonant Verses, there is the sound of someone walking as quickly as they can without changing gaits into a jog, and then Nari is knocking at Myr's door.

"Andraste had an elven champion?"

Myr, please respond when you have the time and energy to speak. It is urgent.

[ After whatever necessary business has been seen to and whatever necessary directions have been exchanged, Kostos is at Myr’s door. Easy. Like he promised.

He knocks, and says through the door, ] His friend said he brought a piece of the Fade into the world.

[ His friend, Karl. He, Anders. He’s too deep in his own head to provide any context, but hopefully Myr can keep up, if he can hear through the door. ]

We are doors they step through. [ We, mages. They, spirits. Again: keep up. ] Doors that stay open. That is the difference between a mage and a book, or a corpse. They can choose to go back.

[ This will be about sex in just a minute, assuming Myr opens the non-metaphorical door. ]

Myr--

[It isn't so very odd to hear Van's voice on the other end of the crystal at odd random hours, but very rarely does he sound this hushed or cautious about it. Or, indeed, about anything.]

I have a moral quandary for you. Completely hypothetical. But if you could keep your voice down while we talk about it, that would be great.

Do you have a moment?

Permission Granted

A note is attached that says, 'When do we get started, Serah? - MD'

Edited (now with proper coding ...) 2018-05-22 20:35 (UTC)

[After the-- well after, when she's not as drunk as she might want to be because she isn't a teenager and she certainly isn't a fool, Araceli has rifled through her desk to find something there wasn't time to give before.

Hands sliding along and there might be a note but for Myrobalan's blindness, and she might deliver it in person until she considers the state of herself, the state of everything.

Instead, little thing that it is, it slips neatly beneath the door, and on goes the sending crystal.]

Mage Shivana? I wished to say thank you, and to give you something to show that-- I thought, well, hoped, the pattern is raised enough to pick out? I don't stitch much myself but I know the feel of embroidery and patterning beneath my own hand and people talk fondly of what you're fond of. I thought often of our what we spoke of when I was in Skyhold. It...it helped. None of it was easy but-- but I know. And I know there is someone else I might trust, and I hope that you might be able to trust me.

[Less sure of the last, after how the Circle part of the announcement was worded, how she'd waded in and she sounds more tired than she has in a long time.]

When you have the opportunity, we should speak.

Myrobalan. Ser. [ It already feels awkward: her voice is tense. ] Might I have a moment?

Messer Myrobalan? This is Lakshmibai, might I have a word with you, when you are free?

Myrobalan. Are you busy?

Timeframe: the night after Myr's visit to the dungeon.

crystal message.

crystal, post-kraken

crystal, while beach-stranded

after confrontation with Wren

{ after the meeting }

Crystal

sometime in early Wintermarch