lovingvambrace | For pavus

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

The taste of ash lies thick in the air. For once something manages to overpower the foundry stench and blacken the perpetual orange of Kirkwall's night sky. Rubble lies massed in the streets, flung from the highest point to almost the lowest. Insanity and sudden chaos in the wink of an eye, a fateful explosion that has Cullen still blinking back blue lines, negative light impressions burned onto retinas.

Knight-Commander Meredith has left the Champion with an ultimatum that she not surprisingly doesn't take, murder her companion and choose their side, or the mages will all face the consequences. Hawke has vowed to fight to the bitter end to protect the mages of the Circle from the Right. Cullen privately hopes that she'll keep that word whether he agrees with her sparing of the abomination or not. This is all moving too fast with blame falling in the wrong quarter. The right answer isn't more blood. Meredith is implacable with all of them drawn along in her wake of righteous fury.

Cullen doesn't stay silent, arguing about the Champion. Surely arrest will be enough. Kirkwall's nobility won't stand for one of their grudging own being murdered by the arm of the Chantry. It isn't their place, Viscount or no Viscount in office. To his surprise, he earns concession on that front.

Then there is no more room for talking. They come upon their first wave of demons and abominations slaughtering unfortunates. The night turns red and black, a mist of blood and ichor. Cullen bashes his way through wave after wave of evil torn straight through the Veil, called by violence and horror. His sword arm burns. His shield feels as though it gains twenty pounds of its own volition, all of that before they reach the Docks District.

He hears a sound up toward the boarded up Qunari compound, more fighting. He peels away from the main force following Meredith, promising to catch up shortly, and runs up the steep steps. Breathless at the top, he sees flashes of fire past the barrier. He throws his weight behind his shield and bashes it in enough to gain entrance. A lone figure stands in the long abandoned plaza battling demons with magic and not an abomination himself. Without further thought, Cullen charges into the fray. "Aid behind you!" he shouts. He doesn't want to be mistaken for another enemy in the fight.

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"Ser Ruvena," he calls to one of the still helmeted templars, the one who had drawn closest to the statue just after the fighting died. "Coordinate with this mage. The two of you have my permission to settle the survivors in the archives for now. It should be quiet there and the least bloodied. And Ruvena, keep in mind he's not one of ours. He's here as a courtesy." By the Maker, he hopes that's the truth.

It's two birds with one stone. He doesn't fully trust the Tevinter or the templar in question. They'll keep one another in check nicely while he's gone. "Keep the courtyard clear. No one is to approach or touch the...statue." Whatever she has become, she is no longer the knight-commander. That falls to him for now, until a suitable replacement can be found or sent to them.

"We'll return when we've established a measure of order out there. I want everyone here to understand our primary goal is to save as many lives as we can and bring order back to this city. If any of you are at odds with this goal, speak now and spare me the trouble of having to strip your rank later down the line."

Not a one wavers, not that he imagines they would when everything is so charged and circumstances clearly paint this as a logical goal. No, the Meredith loyalists are smarter than that, those still remaining. He marches off with them with a final glance back to the stranger and his new partner, a slight nod that shows more faith in them than he feels personally. There are too many things to juggle and not enough of him for them all. Compromises will abound.

Dorian makes a face at being stuck with a Templar babysitter. He's not used to having one following him around at every step. Still, he's in the South and he can't expect anyone to give him free reign tonight. There is a statue of a woman made of red glowing stone in the center of the court yard.

"Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous," he says and bows to the Templar. He makes sure his house crest amulet is showing. He's from Tevinter and beyond Templar jurisdiction. He wants to make sure this man he's saddled with knows this. "Why don't we see what supplies remain in your tower and gather them in the archives. I'm sure there are some spirit healers looking to ply their craft."

He spares a look at the Templar who has guided him through the city and this last fight. He hopes whatever chaos there still is, this man gets out of it alive.

The Gallows fortress is thoroughly sacked and despoiled. The diminished templar force seeks to put out fires and sort bodies, dead mages and templars alike prepared for the pyre. Demon remains are destroyed where they lie. The archives are a good choice, removed from the bulk of the recent fighting and only smelling faintly of smoke. Ruvena grunts assent, seemingly no more pleased with being saddled with a foreign mage. In time she removes her helmet, revealing herself as a woman rather than a man, difficult to tell in plate, with chin cropped blonde hair and flinty blue eyes. She performs her duties perfunctorily but isn't cruel.

There are less than a dozen mages left to them when all is said and done, only two full fledged spirit healers with their work cut out for them for the rest of the night. Several Tranquil remain, willing to lend aid as they see themselves most capable and useful. Their flat inflections and brands give them away.

Conditions in the city are horrific. At some point in the night, Aveline returns and meets up with Cullen. Between demon slaying, rooting out a few stubborn pockets of blood mages, and trying to dig through rubble to screaming and crying survivors, there's no chance for anyone to catch their breaths or rest.

It's not until close to sundown of the next day that Cullen and a smaller group than they one he set out with return to the Gallows, streaked so thoroughly with red, black, and gray they're barely recognizable. He orders them to take a four hour sleep and shuffles to the archives to see how those left behind have fared and what can be done to start a more permanent duty rotation.

He's pleased to see them organized and that Ruvena and the mage haven't killed one another. One good judgment call, at least. He looks for the man, finally in a position where he can thank him and take a moment to speak.

They salvage what they can from the ruins of the fortress. There's enough to see them through the night and possibly a few days. Dorian's not sure as he's never had to keep track of those things before.

Slowly, mages come back to the archives and they seem grateful to have another mage offering them water and giving them an idea of what to do now that everything as gone to the Void.

The Templar with him, Ruvena is not talkative so Dorian ends up mostly working around her with only the occasional conversation to pass on information. Honestly, it's exhausting. He hates this kind of grim work, dealing with the dead and the lost. He's much happier with spirits.

It's a relief to see Cullen return. There are enough people to take over that are local. Dorian goes over to the Templar with a stein of water. "Here, you'll need this I imagine."

Cullen downs the contents in a long guzzle and offers it back. Wiping his mouth is futile with a filthy gauntlet. A few drops of water still cling to his ashen lips. "Thank you. Not just for the water. I'm Knight-Ca--acting Knight-Commander Cullen. You've done us and Kirkwall a service here. You have my gratitude, for what it's worth." If they can't get some sort of structure in the city, and soon, that won't be much.

Exhaustion is in every line of his face and body, more than just on a physical level. He glances over the others gathered there, resting or quietly working and feels himself relax a fraction. They've managed stability here. It's a start.

"The docks are still unstable. It's doubtful ships will come to port again for a week or so. I'm sure they're waiting to see if we hold it together or fall to Coterie or Carta control. You can stay here for now if you choose. You've earned safe harbor. If you'd prefer to leave, I'll try to help you make the arrangements."

Even though he looks dead on his feet the acting Knight-Commander is still trying to help him. Dorian gives a little snort. "I appreciate the thought but I would rather wait for things to calm down. There are still some out there blaming any mage they see."

He did not fancy meeting armed thugs in a fight right now. Angry mobs were more worrisome than demons in some way. A few of the mages he had tended to had horror stories of what lurked out there in the streets. Dorian would be practical instead of bold for once.

"As long as I'm free to go at any time, I will stay and help. However, when the calm does return no Templar better try to keep me in their Circle," he says calmly. He doubts anyone would try it but he's going to make sure the point is made. "I would rather have your word on that then a ship."

He'd be a fool to turn down help from any source by this point. Already birds are in flight to Starkhaven, Ansburg, Ostwick, Wycome, and Tantervale, urgent requests for humanitarian aid. No one trapped under the stone rubble will last for very long if they're not already too injured to survive. "Easy enough. You have my word. I've no desire to spur a quarrel with Minrathous." That's the last thing they need.

"We're going to need them, too." He nods toward the other mages. "As many as are willing and able to help move rubble. There are so many collapses." He picks clumsily at the buckles of his gauntlets until he can tug them free and set them on a side table near where they're standing. His hands look strangely white in comparison to the rest of him.

"Do you think you can help keep them organized? The loss of the First Enchanter is going to impact them keenly if it hasn't sunk in already."

If only Cullen knew how much Minrathous was glad to have him gone he wouldn't think that way but Dorian's not going to make him aware of that. It's better for him if everyone thinks that he's a big, scary and important magister.

"I can try but you'd be better to have someone local and known lead them," he says with a glance back at the group of mages. "I'm an outsider and right now what they need is someone familiar. You know the mages, pick whomever you think is best."

Dorian will help but he doesn't going to take over. That's a bit much for him. "I can, however, perhaps coax some spirits in to helping in the rubble. Stone doesn't stop them. If you're willing to tolerate necromancy."

He nods. It will take some thinking on his part that in this moment he doesn't have the mental energy to assert. It's one thing that can wait a couple of hours for him to grab essential sleep. "I'll do that soon."

As to the thought of necromancy, a line forms between his brows. By this time, he is aware that this mage was responsible for the animated corpses that didn't attack. It's not a magic with which he's familiar and not one sanctioned.

Still...there are people out there who will die without aid. And he saw enough of it last night to know it's not blood magic. "I doubt I need to tell you the Veil in Kirkwall is thin. Take care what you summon, and try not to strain it further."

"I don't have to summon anything," Dorian says, about to launch into a lecture about the fine art of necromancy but after he considers the exhausted demeanor of the man he gives it up. "But don't worry, I'm very highly trained and won't upset the balance."

Probably every mage in this room is aware how thin the Veil is. Too many blood mages messing with an unstable magic and too many demons set loose. He won't be reckless and foolish with his craft.

"For tonight, however, I will keep my magic to myself." He gives a little nod to Cullen. "I've probably expended too much mana as it is."

"Have you been awake this whole time? We should probably find you some quarters. Then I need to get together with my senior staff and try to get some sleep, myself." It's almost as though he's saying it aloud just so he can keep track of it in his own head. That might be true.

"Afterward, we need to get as many people out into the city as can handle the strain. There's rubble everywhere, so many people still trapped, and a few pockets of demons that will probably take some time to rout entirely."

He starts to walk into the corridor, stops, and reclaims his gauntlets. He snorts under his breath, something about forgetting his head if it wasn't attached, and gets moving.

"Oh, I've spent many a sleepless night in Tevinter back when I was an apprentice." Dorian has reached that point where he could either force himself to stay awake until the sun came up or fall asleep standing up.

It's a relief that Cullen offers him a room. Sleeping standing up wasn't very comfortable. While he has explored a great deal of this place looking for supplies he keeps to Cullen's heels. No sense in risking getting lost.

"How do you plan to do that?" he asks, "Most of your city is refugees and the poor. They have no coin or they would've left already. Will you reach out to the Carta? Although, some dwarves may want to help if a Magister from Tevinter asks. They're the only people we still have any sort of treaty with."

Cullen takes them toward the mage wing, not terribly far from archives. There are so few of them left that there are several rooms now where the mage could have his own. "You haven't told me your name." Or if he has, the memory is completely lost to him.

"I think the Carta are practical enough they'll understand there's little value in a broken city. If you have those connections, use them. I have a Coterie contact of a similar practical bent. She has cooperated with templar investigations in the past. If she's still alive, she can be of use for this. I also ran into a few mercenary groups out there last night and today. They've pledged their help and are sending word to their companies in other city-states.

"There are templars in Starkhaven without a circle. I feel confident they'll come." He hasn't just been stomping out fires as they arise. He does have a plan. Kirkwall's guard captain has connections, too, as does the seneschal who he was shocked to find not only alive but very capably taking charge in what was left of Hightown.

He pushes open one of the doors to their right. The room holds four bunks, a top, bottom arrangement of two each. Cullen knows all four mages who occupied this room are dead. "Pick one. No one else will be coming here. I'll be allowing alternating two and four hour sleeping shifts for now. Which do you want to start with?"

"Dorian," he says with a little laugh. "How did we get through this day without that? Must be the chaos."

Had he said it? Dorian couldn't remember. He did introduce himself to the woman Templar he had been working with. Had he not to the Templar he'd been fighting side by side with? This is a crazy day.

"I'll see what I can do."

The room is considerably less than what he's used to but right now all he wants is a bed. A bed looks incredibly inviting. "Let's start with four hours and if you can't wake me just let me sleep more. It's safer that way."

"Plenty of chaos to account for it, yes." He steps back when Dorian steps into the room and puts his hand on the edge of the door in preparation for closing it.

He nods understanding. He knows sleeping is a different sort of prospect for a mage than non-mages. With demonic attention so focused on Kirkwall and its inhabitants right now, there's no sense in taking chances. "Ruvena will likely be the one who comes for you, then. I'll be back out by that time. She knows the city well."

He inclines his head slightly and moves to swing shut the door. "Maker watch over you, Dorian. Rest as well as you can." The latch clicks, closed but not locked, and he shuffles down the corridor toward his own room, more asleep than awake on his feet.

"Maker be with you as well, Cullen." Dorian watches him leave with a bit of a frown. He really didn't know how he ended up here. This is not the place an Altus of Tevinter should be. These are not he people he should be with.

Yet, he crawls into bed, his staff within easy reach. He can worry about where he is and what's happening when he's had some sleep.

A shame he can't get any restful sleep thanks to the weakness of he Veil and the demons. At least he tries.

He doesn't see him again for the next several days. There's too much to do for anyone to keep track of just one person, and after his meetings with his senior staff, Cullen has his plan of stabilization in effect for his side of things. No one gets nearly enough sleep. There are enough horrors in the city with the death toll growing that it's impossible to be much else but numb to the tasks at hand.

The arrival of the templars from Starkhaven boosts spirits, as does a contingent of the Red Irons from Wildervale. It has been a constant race against the clock to dig out survivors. The remaining mages more than pull their weight, and not because they're forced. Cullen is aware of it and grateful. In time he hopes to be able better to show it.

Thankfully, Madame Lusine not only survived the explosion but has plenty of connections to pull together aid. While there are several who also take advantage of the chaos, the Coterie plays it smart. Favors owed aren't likely to be forgotten by Seneschal Bran, a strong contender for position of Viscount if things continue in the same line as they are.

Not seeing Dorian doesn't mean he forgets him. It's unusual that any mage, much less a Tevinter, would take time out to play a part in stabilizing a foreign city. How fortuitous that he ran into him that night. There comes a time he spots him in the mess hall and finally has enough breathing room for more of a social moment. He brings his bowl and flagon with him and gestures to the seat beside him at the long table. "Mind company?"

This is not work Dorian ever expected he would do. In fact, he never really expected to work at all. Yet, over several days he becomes something like the leader of the mages without really meaning to. It's his personality, though, that can't stand watching other people do things wrong.

So, he steps up, shouts orders and demands people listen. He does hate to be ignored. Thank the Maker help arrives. The mercenaries and more Templars help with the rising number of those hurt by the events. The mages, however, are still wary of the Templars.

The city is slowly coming back to itself and from what he understands its because of Cullen, a man he hasn't seen in days. He wonders about him, if he's alright and not worked to death like Dorian feels sometimes. He finds it ironic that as he is wondering the man in question shows up.

"No, feel free to join me," he says with a little nod. He's only poking at his stew in any. He's quite tried of southern cuisine.

Cullen sits heavily and immediately starts to dig into his food. He has taken few breaks since this all started and doesn't always remember to eat. It has him ravenous when he does. He has downed several bites and washed it down before he tries to speak again at all.

"I have to admit I'm a little surprised you're still with us. I'm not saying that because you're a Tevinter or a mage. It's...I wouldn't expect anyone not a Marcher or not invested in Marcher politics to be here now." The conditions are terrible and not getting much better. They're finding far fewer living now. The stench of the dead at times overpowers the stench of the chokedamp that wafts up from Darktown.

"How long do you think you'll stay?" He knows he can't expect him to be here forever. He is bound to have other business, a life outside of Kirkwall's ongoing crisis. He'll miss his competence. He knows this already.

Since his companion is clearly very hungry, Dorian pushes his bowl over to him. Any more of the stew and his stomach is going to revolt.

"It's not about Marcher politics," Dorian explains with a look of disgust on his face. "These mages need help and I'm the only person who thinks of them as humans right now. Have you see the way some people here look at them? They look at them like they're waiting for demons to spring forth from them."

It's clearly been a point of frustration for him. He's tired right now and it lets his more personal feelings out. He takes a deep breath and focuses on control as Tevinter has taught him. "I'm not sure. I don't have the gold to leave so here I am."

It says something about his hunger that he doesn't think to question the gesture or whether Dorian is sure, merely nodding his thanks instead. The transfer of one bowl for another is nearly seamless when the first is emptied. He wipes his mouth and sets the spoon down once he no longer feels there's a chance he could start on his own arm.

There was a time he'd have argued that people have good reason to fear, that mages are doorways to demons and that it's naive not to see it. He has seen too much prejudice in the other direction now to fire off that sort of retort. His expression goes a little grim. "You're not the only person," he says quietly. "But you aren't wrong. It's a volatile time, and it's going to take much effort to reach anything resembling normalcy again." If such a thing is possible at all. He decides to amend that, since normalcy for Kirkwall is hardly a worthy goal. "What I mean by that is deescalation on both sides. We didn't get to this point overnight. We won't get away from it quickly."

He swallows down the remaining contents of his tankard. "You're hardly idle here. You're doing good work. I can see about setting you up with pay. It won't be much. Contrary to popular belief, Circles aren't swimming in coin, and we're not beneficiaries of the Chantry's deeper pockets." With their Chantry gone entirely, the situation is even thinner.

Normalcy. Dorian snorts at the very idea. Kirkwall will never be the same as it was. There are already rumors floating between the mages that other Circles are thinking of rebelling against Chantry rule. He's privately rather pleased by this but knows better than to speak of it.

"No, but you know who's shoulders the blame will be placed." Cullen could argue if he wanted but Dorian knew better. In the South it is always magic or a mage's fault when something goes wrong. The people were so ignorant of the good magic could do it only seemed like a curse.

He waves a hand, "No, there are others who need the money more than I." Which was a terrible thing to say. He had goals, things he should be doing, but here he was, still, tending to a broken city. "Keep your money. I can get my own coin if I decide I've had enough."

He nods faintly. He knows very well where blame is being placed, and he has heard the rumors of the trouble spreading. It's frustrating. They can barely contain Kirkwall. If the madness spreads, there is no telling how many innocents will die in the wake of it all.

A small line forms at the center of his brow. He doesn't like the thought of this man trapped here without the coin to go and performing duties for no recompense. "If you find yourself in need when the time comes, you can approach me. I'll do something for you. I'll not leave you hanging in the wind when it's blowing so ill."

He still doesn't fully understand why he's here. Can it truly just be empathy for the plight of the mages? "I know the others are grateful for you. You've helped their confidence. They feel safer." It's something he can't provide. Many of them still associate him closely with Meredith. That mistrust will take time to erode, if he ever can.

"Oh, stop scowling," Dorian says with a roll of his eyes. "I'm not some helpless Circle refugee. I'm aware I can leave whenever I choose and can get the means to do so. I simply have not."

He does appreciate Cullen's concern but honestly it isn't needed. He doesn't need to be treated like the Circle mages here who are struggling to figure out life without everyone caring for them and oppressing them. "I'm here because it's the right thing to do. Yes, a Tevinter mage does know what that is and how to do it. Shocking but do try to pick your jaw up off the floor."

Dorian is a man used to prejudices and he enjoys proving them wrong. Everyone expects him to act one day and in many cases he does. He's an arrogant bastard, it's true, but these people need help. He's not heartless. "You know what the secret is? I treat them like people and, gasp! They've proven they are. Someone merely had to let them see it."

The exasperation amuses him. One side of his mouth tugs higher. He toys with his empty tankard between both hands, a slow roll back and forth with thumbs stopping the handle and reversing the direction each time. "Do I seem shocked? Truly?" The half smile inches higher yet.

The smile fades shortly afterward, though, and the steady gaze shifts to the side, something in him shuttering off again. "It's not always that simple." No one in Kinloch Hold was mistreated. If anything they were lenient, for all the good it did.

"We are grateful for what you've done here and are continuing to do." Brisk now, business-like. "Soon enough I'll be looking into getting a new First Enchanter appointed. I'd appreciate your input into the matter."

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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