ᴀʟᴛᴜs, ᴇɴᴄʜᴀɴᴛᴇʀ, ᴍᴀɢɪsᴛᴇʀ (tevene) wrote in valloic, @ 2022-01-25 17:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, the last binding: edwin courcey, ₴ inactive: dorian pavus |
There were probably worse reasons to decide to like someone than their wardrobe, though Edwin couldn’t actually think of any right now. Which meant that he was trying very hard not to like Dorian based simply on the fact that his colourful wardrobe had reminded him instantly of Robin. He focused on the mustache instead. Robin might have worn that outfit, but he certainly wouldn’t have worn that mustache. At least, Edwin hoped he wouldn’t. He supposed it was entirely possible. If he was lucky enough to see Robin again, he’d have to make a point to dissuade him from that. “Thank you for taking the time to meet me, Headmaster,” Edwin said. “I can’t tell you how interested I am in this school of yours. Back home, there’s absolutely no magical research being published in English.” The suit was a delight, wasn’t it? Today it was a lovely shade of blue, reminiscent of the open sea - teetering on the edge of indigo, really, with a cherry-red handkerchief tucked neatly into the breast pocket; Dorian chose this suit for a few reasons. One, because he liked it, and two - because the vibe of the University itself was always a little much when it came to the gloom and doom aesthetic. Very dark, if you will, the way candle wax dripped like a bleeding wound and the stained glass on the lamps he always made sure to have switched on was both intimidating and beautiful in that ‘gothic architecture’ sort of way. So yes, whenever he could liven the place up with his clothing he would - that was just a given. He hadn’t changed much about his office either, which was technically the main office. Where he met with new prospective students and faculty alike - he hadn’t arranged for many audits so this would be a first, but it was something he was pleased to offer. Learning was vital - it was important. “Of course, no trouble,” he responded as he shifted in his chair, crossing his legs. “The University technically belongs to another Outlander, as it’s from her world - but she entrusted it to me and so I will not let her down. So far, it’s been going well.” The University was thriving, anyway - despite how difficult it was to retain staff, what with Vallo’s tendency to pop people in and out with no rhyme or reason. Regardless, Dorian was stubborn and he would persevere. “What’s the state of magic in your world? Is it something one is born with, can anyone learn, and so forth?” The idea that entire buildings could transfer worlds was something Edwin was still trying to wrap his head around. First there’d been the Great Library, which had burned down in his world centuries ago, with all of its hundreds of thousands of books, and now an entire University. Some part of Edwin wondered exactly how much magical energy was required to pull off a transfer like that, but that would have to be a mystery that was likely never answered. There were so many things here that Edwin had questions about, he had to admit to himself that there were some things he’d never even get a chance to look into. “It’s something someone is born with. As the legend goes, when the fae decided to leave the mortal realm, the signed the Last Contract with the three greatest magical clans of Britain so that some magic would remain with us. Those who are descended from those families have the potential to use magic. Not everyone who comes from a magical family has magic, and not all those who have magic have a lot of it.” Edwin was in the second group. His whole life he’d known himself to have barely a thimble of magic in him, the shame of his father and his siblings. It was better than having none at all, but only barely. Only recently had he learned there might be more than one way to use magic. “There are similar fables around the world. Fairy tales, really.” Fairy tales that might have had some truth to them, as it turned out. “And it’s the same all over: only those who come from a magical bloodline are capable of using magic.” “Bloodlines - yes,” and if Dorian sounded like he knew a lot about this subject it was probably because he did. “And I’m familiar with magical families and the expectations placed on those born into ones who have already achieved status and power - keeping it is very important to those in my homeland,” he said. As far as fairytales went, he knew of what was considered as such here in Vallo, which seemed to be a mish mosh of cultures and traditions and histories, given who was pulled through the waypoints - Thedas had its own lore as well, stories that were twisted and tales dark as a dank dungeon. From what he understood, ‘fairytales’ also originated with a fair bit of darkness to them. Human nature was simply like that. “But any amount of magic, or no magic at all - you’ll fit right in here,” he assured. “Can I offer you some tea, by the way?” Electric kettles. Such a fantastic invention, and he always kept one in his office for a (literal) rainy day. "Yes, well," Edwin said, half-waving his hand as if to dismiss the entire idea of expectations, a touch of something like bitterness or regret creeping into his voice. His father had never had any expectations for him at all, once it became clear how little magic he possessed. His mother had needed to beg him to give Edwin lessons; Clifford Courcey had thought it a waste of effort and money. "Tea would be appreciated, thank you," he said. "Back home, I'd very recently started to look into drawing power from leylines, or from the land. And in the power present in endings and beginnings." In birth and in death. Both contained pockets of power that a magician could draw from if he knew to look; imbuing a seed with a spell gave the spell more power as the plant grew. Casting a spell as a man died amplified the effects. "You said you specialized in necromancy?" “Ah, so that interest in drawing power from the land sort of ties into the interest regarding plants and herbs - and the varying magical properties of each?” Dorian presumed, reaching for the kettle and two teacups. This particular type of tea was one of his favorites - it was reminiscent of a kind that originated from the Rivain sect of Thedas, a delightful blend of cinnamon, ginger, and clove that also had healing properties. Knowing what he knew about the Silniara coven, where he’d gotten the tea from, it also had similar healing properties - definitely added a little pep to your step, anyway, and he tended to brew a cup of two for himself whenever he was in the office and had a moment. The fragrance of the tea drifted up, steam curling like a morning fog. “I am a necromancer, yes,” he nodded. “It’s one of the more, ah, taboo specialties back home. Here, not so much. Though Thedosian necromancy tends to be quite a bit different in comparison to other worlds - here too. I was able to at least teach the local necromantical coven a few things, so that was both fun and a challenge.” Edwin nodded. "It's generally well known that the magic of my world binds better to something living. So, for instance, if I wanted to charm the tea to let me sleep or as pain relief, I would bind the spell to the tea leaves before placing them in the water instead of attempting to place the spell on the tea. It's only recently that I've heard the concept of beginnings and endings, so I've been trying to study that a little. All the journals that have recently come into my possession are back home though." Like everything else. All his books, Sutton Cottage. Robin. He'd never allowed himself to want something before, so being sent here was probably inevitable once he'd decided to try. "I've not had a chance to look too deeply into the covens, though I am intrigued by them. It seems as though most of them are fairly specialized?" There the tea went, poured into those two cups - and Dorian handed one over, carefully, to his guest. He had cream and sugar as well, though he tended to think this brew didn’t need either - however, options were good. There were options. “Oh yes, quite specialized,” he chuckled. “Each with their own traditions and history. Some are also more open than others - they’ll allow anyone to attend their meetings each month, whereas a few won’t allow that at all. If you need a quick rundown I can always give you one. I’m familiar with each of them in passing but obviously know the one I recently joined the most intimately.” He’d been happy, ever since he joined up with Beketh too - they’d accepted him. Had shown him that he was worthy of inclusion, that he had talents and knowledge that was actually valuable - usually he didn’t have a problem with realizing his worth, not where he’d been at in terms of growth, past the Inquisition and onto his duties as a Magister of the Imperium; he’d accepted who he was, who he could become. But he re-learned some of it in Vallo. “And your journals may show up at some point too,” he added. “That happens on occasion. Things follow you here.” Sometimes even if you didn’t want them to. “I’d like that very much, thank you, Mister -” Edwin stumbled, and finished, clumsily, with, “Headmaster.” He did not know this Dorian well enough to be on a first-name basis with him, and he was trying very hard to not get on a first name basis with anyone. “Like this University and the Great Library?” Edwin said. He’d known about things crossing over, of course, though small personal effects were something of a surprise. “Honestly, I would rather the Waypoints sent me back than start bringing all my personal effects here, though I suppose I don’t have much say in the matter.” He wouldn’t hope for Flora’s journals, either. No doubt if he started to, they wouldn’t show up at all. “Have you had many of your own items show up?” Dorian chuckled smoothly, sipping on his tea. He didn’t mind if Edwin wanted to call him Mister or even Headmaster - certainly, it made him feel a bit old but he realized that it was a matter of propriety for some people; things were just ingrained within them, down to the marrow of their bones. He also understood not wanting to stay. Unfortunately, Vallo never took that into consideration. “I’m afraid you’re correct, none of us have a say,” he lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, before leaning back in his chair. “I’ve had a few things show up.” His family amulet, for one thing. Other trinkets. An entire castle? He'd get to that. “Mostly books from home and other necromancy artifacts,” he amended. “No buildings, however. Skyhold is a fortress from my home world and I lived there for a stretch during our Inquisition but it mostly belongs to Max Trevelyan.” And...Dorian’s husband now, apparently. Maker. Edwin was perfectly able, occasionally willing, to forgo formality when he needed to - Bel and her set were almost offensively informal and would only tease him for being stiff and unfriendly if he tried to keep it up when he was home, but here, in this unfamiliar place, he clung to it like a security blanket, as if everything would only manage to get worse if he loosened his grip on it. He was visibly interested when Dorian mentioned books and other necromancy artifacts, but he bit back the question - Can I see them sometime? - before it could escape. It was bad enough that he already felt some small amount of warmth toward the man for the sole reason that he was a splash of colour in an otherwise gray-and-black setting. “Your Inquisition?” Edwin gave the man a second glance and frowning, then double checking the trappings of the room at large. “You’re not Catholic?” he asked. He hadn’t thought he was - there were no signs of any such thing in the room, he’d given no sign that he was, or even that he’d been from Edwin’s own world, and the Catholics had hardly smiled upon magic, let alone necromancy, but there’d been some magicians who’d worked with the Church. “Oh, no no - nothing like that,” Dorian replied. As a general rule, he wasn’t even that familiar with Catholicism - but knew it was a religion on more Earth-based planets and such. “The first Inquisition was simply a group of people who rose up to defend Thedas against magic and heretics, shall we say. That was the ‘way of old’ - the new Inquisition was formed for similar reasons, to defend our world, but it was certainly less rigid in its recruitment and overall practices. Plus, we were fighting a corrupted Magister who believed himself to be a God.” He sipped his tea, his hands feeling warm around the cup - these sorts of conversations were thrilling to him; he enjoyed whenever people came to the University and had an interest in teaching or learning. Surrounding himself with scholars, those like-minded sorts who valued books and research fed his soul in good ways. “I could also go on about the religion of Thedas - the Maker, who Andraste is, but I’m unsure if you’re up for that at this juncture,” he chuckled warmly. “Perhaps at some point. I imagine we’ll have quite a bit to talk about regardless.” “Trying to defend Earth from whomever the church deemed a heretic was a major factor of our Inquisitions as well,” Edwin said dryly. He was a little interested in the religion of Thedas, but only because he knew nothing about it at all; religion on its own held very little interest to Edwin. “Yes, we will. I’d like to start with some questions about Necromancy, if you’ll allow them?” “Absolutely,” Dorian nodded, setting the cup down and stretching long to reach for a stack of paperwork - he did things with a combination of physical paper and on his laptop, but to get the audits settled he’d go for the good old-fashioned ink. There was something soothing about it, as much as he had come to appreciate the wonders of modern-day technology. “Anything you’d like to know. I’m open for all inquiries.” He might go off on a tangent or two, but he didn’t think Edwin would mind. Ah, intellectualism. Such a delight indeed. |