dorian pavus (necromantical) wrote in witchinghour, @ 2016-02-14 11:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: dorian pavus, character: max rockatansky |
WHO: Dorian & Max
WHEN: Sunday sometime, happy Valentine's Day!
WHERE: The library
WHAT: Finding a missing page
WARNINGS: Nothing, really - talk of necromancy, and Max grunts a lot
STATUS: Complete
Necromancers, in Dorian’s world, learned their craft very specifically - it was why this craft could not be thrown about like a toddler flinging toys every which way. Would-be Necromancers were not taken under the wing of any old apprentice, studying side by side another within a dank lair filled with books, potions, and perfumed with the very earth itself. No, instead they created a relic which housed the soul of one already passed - this relic must pulse with power, speaking without words of the would-be necromancer’s true intentions. A Death Mage was drawn to them if they were deemed worthy, the art, the craft of Necromancy then spoken through the mouth of a polished skull in hushed whispers. He was familiar with the right incantations, the procedure, the propriety and the respect it had to be given - but deep in his bones, he could feel that something was off. The boy who had accidentally unleashed the dead, he didn’t really follow any procedure. Now there was a mess to clean up. But what’s done was done. He vowed to put together the pieces of this disaster and do some fixing - it would require the skills of a Necromancer, he was sure, being that what he tasted in the air and what he could sense by way of the prickles over his skin. He was also aware that Hawke hated him simply because of his Tevene heritage, and would just be a complete ass if they tried to get work done. Beyond him, Dorian didn’t know any other mages in the city yet - but he had a friend he wished to check on, since Max was very quiet through that communication box. Not that Dorian blamed him. There were a lot of words on that thing, not all of them useful. Meeting at the main library in the middle of Grimoire would be a good place to start to look for those missing pages from the book that caused all this. In Skyhold’s library, there were many Necromancy writings available so he wanted to see what he could find here, if any had transferred over in some way, and also look for those pages. Being out in the open was dangerous but he didn’t stop to consider that, or the undead circling like birds of prey and completely mad. Reaching for his staff, he spun it elegantly, arms outstretched and raised... Then they slammed down, fire raining from the sky, pulled from the Fade and blazing hot. “Sweet Maker, how annoying.” Now he waited, the smell of something scorched and singed around him, wisps of smoke curling into the air as he looked for Max - he’d have an open shot, nothing to obstruct his way. Just look for the fabulous mage, with a barbecue pit nearby. Falling into the order of business in which he quite literally fell into problems caused by other people was something of a lifetime occupation for Max. He had done well to stay quiet and hidden while scoping out this place. He kept in brief contact with Dorian, who was much more active (he would be too if he possessed the magic weapon) and trusting within the community. Max fell quiet, hid, and kept tabs along the network device he’d left inside the abandoned hotel room which was nicer than any other place he’d slept in years. A thing he could say that he’d never dealt with before was the returning dead. They had the same brand of insanity back at home in the Wasteland, but again, no magic. Thankfully. Armed with all he had save for the car which most certainly would not fit, a slightly less dirty Rockatansky slunked into the library--startled and somewhat tense at seeing the ashen surroundings near the mage. Instinct had him checking their surroundings, hand going to his gun, ready for a fight--but there was silence and peace. Save for Dorian’s obvious unease. Max made his presence known with the loud sound of his boots, meeting up at the table beside Dorian, glancing around curiously for the cause of the fire magic. “Back in the Wasteland the dead stay dead. This?” He growled with a sigh, “I don’t understand.” Along with many other things here but at least this was obviously much crazier than he. “But if there was a way to bring them here there must be a way to send them back. Yes?” The sweet, cooked aroma of fire magic tended to linger - so no doubt it stuck to Dorian’s clothes, his light armor, and while he knew that people could keep killing the undead (technically their...second death?) that was just putting a bandaid on a wound and they would keep coming. They wouldn’t really be gone until the proper incantations were spoken, until the proper rituals had commenced. So, indeed, his strong and silent friend here was correct. “Essentially, yes,” he nodded. With him, he had a pile of books, tomes he’d gathered from the shelves - hopefully they could find something to assist in this very delicate matter. “My own brand of magic calls upon spirits for healing, protection, or use in battle - but these are mindless, they’re hungry for human flesh. Decidedly not useful or in the mood to negotiate, so, we’ll have to take matters into our own hands. Do some research.” That was one of his favorite things to do, after all. He opened one of the books, smiling charmingly. “Sorry about the firestorm outside, by the way - that was me. There was a whole pocket of them and...well.” It all sounded like something out of a book. A fantasy book perhaps, but most of those were long gone with much of anything that had been of the previous world before the wasteland. Max was good at scavenging, he wasn’t sure how well he would do for research. But Dorian was a viable ally and the only person Max had made much of a real contact with. His limitation for making friends or trust was still very, very low. “I’m used to fire and blood.” He commented simply, trailing along the edge of the table and investigating the pile of books Dorian had collected. Tentatively, he reached out to touch one with the pads of his fingertips, stopping at the spine. They were a simple pleasure and gracious act of knowledge and time that his world had long since forgotten. It was something of a deja vu to see so many books again, much like the rest of the town. “I’m sorry I..don’t really know about fighting the dead. What sort of red flag are we looking for, exactly?” He did have a keen eye if he could contribute anything. Hopefully they were all in English or something close. King’s Tongue, English, what have you - Dorian spoke the language in Thedas, but he also spoke the older language of his country, Tevene, and throughout his brief bouts of researching (and living in what was once a smaller library or perhaps a shop for books - once they cleaned the mold away, that is) he’d actually seen texts scribed in something that was very close to his own language. Close enough that the nuances were quite delicate - he could still read and translate the modern version easily. “Anything related to the dead rising, and walking among us would be a red flag,” he responded, cracking open another book. The dust from the motion made him cough - he’d looked for any occult section he could find, though the building was rather quiet and empty. Others were apparently out fighting the nasty creatures - he thought of Lavellan and twitched anxiously for a second. Anyway. “Usque morari, it means the dead continually linger. If there are writings about that, then the thought is that instructions about how to return them will follow.” Spellcasting fingers swiped down a page, his brow furrowed, deep in concentration. But he at least took a moment to look up, expression turning grateful. “Thank you for helping. It’s nice to not have to do it alone.” Max’s sky blue eyes were wide in thought, blinking silently at Dorian’s thanks with a small nod. He wasn’t really much of a scholar as the man appeared to be. Though in what was left of the world you had to learn to be a bit of everything, and obviously, Max had adapted to survive. He wasn’t about to let this place put an end to that. He began to scan the books that lay before them. Their spines, the condition they were in. It seemed the books Dorian was looking over were old and untouched for some time. First, he sorted them based on age, would browse them--cough cough at a few puffs of dust. If there didn’t appear to be anything with the text Dorian gave, nothing similar, or the same dialect, Max put it to the side. There was a pile made for possibilities, things he’d ruled out, and ones that didn’t have the context but the pictures made Max believe they were related. “Could something as simple as words really make them go away?” “Most assuredly.” Words held great power, as Dorian knew - even something as simple as a name held power, more so than people thought. “There aren’t many spoken spells that I know, in Thedas, our magic is mostly a manifestation of our inherent will - but how we learn the Necromancy trade, for example, is by way of words. Spoken through a skull that has been enchanted, but that’s a whole other story.” He really could talk quite a bit - probably was a good balance for someone like Max, who didn’t talk much at all. However, he wouldn’t go on and on, prattling incessantly - not when there was work to do. Yet he made sure to add, as he carefully turned a page or two, so as not to crinkle or defile the ancient book, “I’ve settled into a home with my...someone from my world, who is also here.” There probably wasn’t a word to describe that situation. “A bit on the outskirts of the city, near the edge of the trees - but neither of us are really suited for inner city life. If you ever need anything, drop by.” As they had seen recently, it was helpful to have allies in a dank, dark place. Max supposed he didn’t think it was that farfetched, nothing was anymore, to get power from death. Without magic people used the act of killing for power anyways. He did believe in energy and he had to believe in some sort of spirits or whatever the hell it was that caused you to have visions of your daughter leading you in the right path or helping you avoid arrows to the head. It was just as well that typically he happened upon people who had no issue speaking at all. In his world, it was all observation. Or shoot first, speak after. Max was perfectly suited to listen and observe rather than speak. Not like he had anything helpful about magic to add to the conversation anyways. “That’s lucky,” he commented from a headtilt he’d given to one of the books he was currently browsing. The images were disturbing but he wondered if they were enough to stick into the correct pile. “At least you’ve got a bit of familiarity from home...and, thanks.” Max was staying in different places every night because he was never comfortable or trusting enough not to. A pause on a book that was previously discarded book that had him abandon the one in his hand. “Hmph,” he grunted, as if in a language of his own. “This has one of your words. And the picture, it describes what’s happening.” He held the book out for Dorian to inspect, face contorted because of the illustration. Eventually, Dorian would probably learn what Max’s grunts and growls meant - it was intriguing, really, kind of like a language on its own. And he did enjoy studying languages. But he at least picked up a sense of curiosity from that particular grunt and he looked away from his own book to see what the other man found. It was helpful, because haunted grey eyes were crossing anyway, letters swimming in front of him as he immersed himself in the readings. “Oh?” He leaned closer to look what was on the page. “Yes, this is...” The words were there, illud non moritur quod polleat usque morari, he was able to loosely translate it. “That does not die which may linger for aye,” he repeated. “Perfect, this is it! Well - “ Dorian frowned, because obviously that wasn’t all. One loose page wouldn’t solve all their problems. “Part of it. But a start! We’ll just have to find the other missing pages...” Presumably, the rest of the words would be in this very library. Dorian was prepared to search it from top to bottom. Max’s face visibly scrunched in confusion to the words. The positive change in his companion’s demeanor was enough to dissolve the confusion though. He didn’t have to understand, he just had to help make their awful situation a little less awful. “Do you remember the shelf you took it from?” He was already scanning the nearby shelves for books of a similar spine. On one hand, he didn’t think they’d be so lucky as to find the rest so close to the previous bit. Then again, in a library, wasn’t that how it was supposed to be sorted? He didn’t necessarily have anywhere else to be. Max would spend as much time as it took to help Dorian find the rest of the words that would help stop the terror to their fellow captures. “It was in the occult section, this way,” Dorian took the gem that had been discovered and carefully tucked it away in the other errant book, between the pages - he was going to guard this with his life. You’d have to pry the book from his cold, dead hands if you wanted these precious words. “I don’t suppose we’ll be lucky enough to stumble on the rest of the scattered pages, but they could be in the most obvious spot.” They would never know until they tried. It made him wonder if the dark forces of this city had just put the deadly tome somewhere to be stumbled upon, but that was neither here nor there. “We could start at opposite ends of this section - work our way down, and meet in the middle?” Gazing on the long train of sections before them, and this was one floor, Max was starting to wish for the very low selection that the Wasteland had to offer. Though that would mean they’d be at a loss. Nodding in agreement, Max pointed to the side he’d start on. At least with the bit they’d found, it would ignite confidence, not that he was ever doubtful. Hope was always more inspiring when progress actually obtained leads. “Hopefully we find something before we get to that point. If not, at least we’ll have checked every last corner.” “I’ll certainly feel better knowing we checked every corner,” Dorian concurred. “The ways of this place...they are strange ways.” So perhaps their search from here on out would yield nothing but perhaps it would yield more results - something helpful had been found, at least, so it was a matter of putting the puzzle pieces together. While simultaneously hurrying, so as to stop the onslaught of the evil dead who had risen to claim souls for their own. He started at his end, working off that bit of ignited hope and confidence that came from discovering a lead - with a dash of his own stubbornness too, of course. You couldn’t survive without it. |