RESEARCHING | Sadler Complex Parks | RATING | OPEN
Devil's on your shoulder- strangers in your head As if you don't remember- As if you can forget .
Anyone passing by would have seen a twenty-six year old woman studiously inspecting a stack of parchment scrolls, some looking relatively new and untouched, and others that looked like it had been through a war or two. They probably had. Even the sturdiest of storage chests got jostled around a fair bit, quills got lost, and ink jars broke and spilled. They'd given her access to that part of her belongings, at least. Her sword, Spellweaver, still lay safely in storage. It would keep vibrating until it found its way back into a mage's hands, where it would finally still in their grasp.
In this current day and age, parchment and ink had been replaced by a notebook with ruled paper, and a ballpoint pen. A blue one, for no other reason than that she loved the color blue.
But Solona Amell was supposed to have a mind like a steel trap; her reputation down in Ferelden’s Circle had partially depended on that, for a mage was no good without a spell. When not learning offensive and defensive spells, or spending time in the apocetary, Solona was sure to be found in the library, cracking open yet another book, always eager to learn - naturally, safely within the Templars' imposed limits. The rest seemed to have been built on the First Enchanter’s many boasts and Cullen’s plentiful gossiping ways. That had gotten her noticed. How she’d gotten conscripted into the ranks of an infamous order that Thedas cared little for, how she’d stopped the Blight, and more curiously, how she’d survived - that mattered not. And because they foolishly kept their secrets close to their chests, only some Grey Wardens would have known that she was an oddity among her peers.
Everyone knew that The Fade was the source of a mage's abilities, and it made sense their abilities would be harder to harness here - but that Solona hadn't noticed, not even lifted her finger once to cast a simple spell in all the time she'd been here [...] what exactly did that say about the Hero of Ferelden? Sighing, she reached for another promising piece of parchment, peered at the words, and found that the words were blurring together. "Maker [...]" The parchment crumpled in her tightening hands, and she let out an expletive that would've made Oghren proud.
Seconds later, she drew in the deepest breath her lungs would accept, and painstakingly counted took the time to count to ten before letting it go again. But while her notes certainly were mostly to do with knowledge of darkspawn corruption, it was possible something in them could still help.