[ it doesn't take much for Solona to become enraptured with text. Old parchments, tomes, relics of the arcane- it didn't matter. Despite everything, the Blight, the war, there is solace to be found holed up behind a desk, elbow-deep in knowledge waiting to be sifted through and used. A Circle mage, if nothing else, is a product of their surroundings. And growing up, Solona's surroundings had included a very, very large library.
One that had not held anything remotely like what she was seeing now.
Orsino's effects had been left to her scrutiny, and she doesn't fool herself on the credentials. Orsino's research and relics were hers to evaluate only because she is mage enough for the remnants of the Circle to trust her, and enough steps away for the Templars to think her tamed but not a threat. Mage Amell is gone, but Warden Amell remains.
And Warden Amell is supposed to be uninvolved.
But as she sits, for the fifth or sixth night in a row, pouring tirelessly over Orsino's work (and there is no mention of blood magic, but Solona sees it all over the pages regardless. It is not obvious, but the absence of its influence betrays his hidden desperation. Orsino discusses trivial matters such as restricting certain supplies for the apprentices, what herbology is approved for the newly Harrowed, how many elfroots are in the stocks- but what Solona reads is a man losing more and more authority as the details become more trivial. A man losing everything. And a man who's lost everything can only give himself ) it becomes impossible to hold the middle-ground. She can't help but see the tidy scrawl of Irving's notes in the tomes Orsino has collected, and think of the young apprentices as her hands ghost over another page of the former First Enchanter's personal books.
This war is going to be the end of the Circle, she feels it in her bones. And the end of the Circle means the end of the Templar's protection, no matter how such a thing could be interpreted.
Solona leans back in her chair, closing her eyes and her mind drifts to the Hold. Of her Harrowing. Of Jowan. Of Uldred and what he had done to the mages his Abominations had dragged through the halls, screaming-]
[And Cullen's sudden question from outside of the office makes her startle back, knocking over a well of ink that spills liberally over the priceless, priceless inscriptions ]
Maker's rotting breath-
[ She reacts quickly, dabbing at the pages frantically with the sleeves of her robes, shaking parchments out as dobs of ink only splatter.
Years of fighting Darkspawn, of honing her magic, of hardening herself- and Warden Amell knocks over a well of ink and almost feels reduced to hysterics over it ]
-I'm sorry, what was the question?
[ the pages can be redeemed, maybe. Solona takes a deep breath and feels a similar satisfaction in rescuing Orsino's poultice recipe to the pride she held when slaying an ogre ]
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timeasmymeasure
8D
Date: 2013-07-31 06:40 am (UTC)One that had not held anything remotely like what she was seeing now.
Orsino's effects had been left to her scrutiny, and she doesn't fool herself on the credentials. Orsino's research and relics were hers to evaluate only because she is mage enough for the remnants of the Circle to trust her, and enough steps away for the Templars to think her tamed but not a threat. Mage Amell is gone, but Warden Amell remains.
And Warden Amell is supposed to be uninvolved.
But as she sits, for the fifth or sixth night in a row, pouring tirelessly over Orsino's work (and there is no mention of blood magic, but Solona sees it all over the pages regardless. It is not obvious, but the absence of its influence betrays his hidden desperation. Orsino discusses trivial matters such as restricting certain supplies for the apprentices, what herbology is approved for the newly Harrowed, how many elfroots are in the stocks- but what Solona reads is a man losing more and more authority as the details become more trivial. A man losing everything. And a man who's lost everything can only give himself ) it becomes impossible to hold the middle-ground. She can't help but see the tidy scrawl of Irving's notes in the tomes Orsino has collected, and think of the young apprentices as her hands ghost over another page of the former First Enchanter's personal books.
This war is going to be the end of the Circle, she feels it in her bones. And the end of the Circle means the end of the Templar's protection, no matter how such a thing could be interpreted.
Solona leans back in her chair, closing her eyes and her mind drifts to the Hold. Of her Harrowing. Of Jowan. Of Uldred and what he had done to the mages his Abominations had dragged through the halls, screaming-]
[And Cullen's sudden question from outside of the office makes her startle back, knocking over a well of ink that spills liberally over the priceless, priceless inscriptions ]
Maker's rotting breath-
[ She reacts quickly, dabbing at the pages frantically with the sleeves of her robes, shaking parchments out as dobs of ink only splatter.
Years of fighting Darkspawn, of honing her magic, of hardening herself- and Warden Amell knocks over a well of ink and almost feels reduced to hysterics over it ]
-I'm sorry, what was the question?
[ the pages can be redeemed, maybe. Solona takes a deep breath and feels a similar satisfaction in rescuing Orsino's poultice recipe to the pride she held when slaying an ogre ]