The world beyond the windows was one that no longer held images in her memory, especially as time wore on inside the confining walls of the Circle. For a time, when she stood merely a half a body tall, bare foot and wide eyed, the landscape outside of the window was merely one of the countless that painted her mind. She'd babbled about much in her first years in the Circle. Much of it pertaining to her family of cherished colors, or the freedom she'd once held in her hands.
But, as time wore on, the spare glimpses outside seemed to become all that there was to the world of Thedas. Her recollection of her family faded as the years wore on, and eventually, all that occupied her tongue and mind were the studies at hand. Thimble was a rebellious woman, one who often strode along the line of open defiance and obedience. She was not a fool enough to openly defy the powerful Templars, but neither was her fierce nature to be taken into a lack of accreditation.
She met their eye when they passed her by, she strode with confidence that many mages of the Circle did not. Further more, she often spent her time away from her studies and meditation in the art of playing pranks and jokes on the Templars around.
In truth, the Templars still had no clue who had turned all of the furniture in the circle to float a foot and a half after one touched it. Though, of course, it did lead to many hilarious instances where Templars and the like of a rather important standing took to meeting with others, as they often did, and in the midst of the conversation the chair they sat upon slowly took to rising in a fluid fashion.
But rather, the day at hand was of a great importance, and pertained little to unsolved mysteries of ever increasing nature. Mages had the story of their lives written the moment they entered the Circle, the moment they were born. Mages were collected from families for their own protection, as one claimed, and herded into the gilded cage that was the Circle. Guarded by Templars against their own weakness, when a mage came of age a final test was placed upon them.
It was called The Harrowing. Where the mage was given Lyrium to incite the traveling into the Fade, a lure for demons. If the mage gave into temptation, they were killed on the spot. Thimble was fiercely exhausted when the effects of Lyrium passed from her mind, nearly collapsing from the effort. In truth, not only was her body drained, but her mind was in complete disarray.
Demons, they were simply an excuse that the Circle used to oppress the mages to satisfy the Chantry. Surely, if there were demon in the fade, those of evil intent, surely there were spirits that had little desire other then to pass upon the knowledge that their long lives had acquired?
That was the way it was in the world, after all, why should the Fade's imitation of it be any different? There were the good, and the evil. The Circle simply leapt at the chance of justified crimes, as their Chantry did.
Then again, she couldn't trust her mind, demons may be pressing upon it at all times, trying to convince her to imagine such when in truth every creature in the Fade held nothing but malice and contempt.
But, how could that be the case? When that bubbling little blue light had fluttered to her eye, singing softly and flicking to and fro with contentment of a child, her studies had told her to kill it, be rid of the demon, or risk possession and her own death.
Thimble didn't have it in her, something about that gleaming little light that hummed with pleasant adoration of the world around it reminded her of a long ago world. One long since lost to the age of her memory. Oh, how she'd felt such fear, feeling it run through her body, shaking her to the core with it's touch and grasp.
Surely it was a ruse that demon often used on weak minded mages, to play innocent and sweet, lying in silent wait. But, in that moment, she doubted herself, she doubted her teachings, she doubted the circle. And most importantly, she doubted the Chantry.
What world would be considered 'right' to murder such a little thing?
Her peace of mind hadn't returned upon her reenterance into the circle, rather, she felt the secret bearance of the ordeal upon her shoulders. If she displayed the slightest amount of weakness, muttered anything along the lines of the belief that perhaps all demons were spirits of a sort, but not all spirits were demons, she would have been killed on the spot.
Jowan, luckily was waiting for her, out of the prying eyes of the Templars, congratulating her as if it were some great feat. Jowan, well, he was someone she could trust, someone she could devote her thoughts to, though she didn't often. Rather, she kept many facts from him, as he did her. The thoughts that colored her mind, the studies that painted her days were of no concern to him, nor was the same due in reversal. Still, it was pleasing to have one who understood the pains of the prying eyes that drilled upon her back at all times.
Jowan was a mouse of a man, in a likable way. He wasn't strikingly handsome, nor was he extraordinarily ugly. He could be charming, she supposed, but the far more likely occasion was the awkward moment of a bumbling young man. Jowan had never been devoted to his studies as Thimble was, but as of late he was more and more often found within the depths of the library.
Thimble had suspected that he was onto something of a rather important nature, even before he approached her with his plan. Jowan knew a method to escape the eyes of the unworthy, those afraid of their charges as much as they detested them. A method to steal not only his phylactery, but hers as well before they made their way out of the building in a conniving fashion.
Strangely, he'd seemingly gotten.. Fidgety as they found the phylacteries, more paranoid, and for want of a better word, suspicious.
Templars closed before them in the supposedly hidden underground path out of the Circle, Thimble shot Jowan a look of annoyance over her shoulder, readying herself for a good fist fight. Mages found their powers at a stand still when at a Templar's side, and training oneself physically was banned profusely. The men in front of them were strong, armed and armored, with a sick sort of smile upon their features at the excuse to pummel a few mages.
Regardless, she would go down fighting, they most certainly would not excuse such a transgression as an escape attempt. How WOULD the good people of Fereldon sleep at night, knowing a wild MAGE was on the loose and out of their cage?
"Feh, that one?" A man strode out of the start of the tunnel, efficiently blocking the way in, as well as the only source of light. Streams of light from the Circle Tower's interior fled past him, elongating his shadow over the form of Thimble, Jowan, and Jowan's girlfriend. Thimble KNEW she had a name, but seeing as Thimble knew Jowan, and knew her FOR Jowan, it seemed a fitting title.
Thimble met the man's eye fearlessly, as few mages did under his unwaivering gaze. Her skin was unnaturally pale from a lack of sunlight, her hair a dark shade, hues of bluish shade hidden in the twists and curls that fell in silken strands down her back. Thimble was a shorter woman, a head shorter then any given human. Her features were drawn in elegant beauty, her long pointed ears proudly striking out of her hair. Thimble had long since tampered with her robes to a considerable degree, changing them to her specific tastes, and as she was often told to change her robes to another of untampered origins, the designs she wore often changed on her mood while she was 'improving' such.
Eventually the Templars simply gave up on the subject entirely, the cloth was simply being wasted, and it was too expensive to dote upon a mage in such a manner.
"Ha! I remember this one! Thimble, was it?" The man gave a malicious sort of sneer, drawing his blade unnecessarily and gesturing to the woman with the misty blue eyes of the sea. "You, you're the one I saw leaving my room with that smug little look of yours MOMENTS before the furniture took to FLYING. Did you know," He gave a chuckle, a dry sort of sound, "That I WAS trying to entertain a lady friend of mine at that time? Ruined the moment when the BED took to FLYING." He finished with a growl.
Thimble gave a flourish as she bowed deeply, a smile decorating her features as she curled her hands to the movement. "Always willing to help keep women from your bed, beast."
The man glared deeply, fire in his eyes and a temper so strong his knuckles turned white at the base of the sword. "Trouble makers, the lot of them. You know what to do, men, Tranquil. All of them. Starting with that one." The sword's tip turned to the pretty little thing standing beside Jowan, at the word that all mages feared, she stepped behind Jowan softly. "Save the knife ear for last" His smile spread on his features sickly, the templars around the group stepped forwards in anticipation.
Jowan held his arm out, backing up a pace with his lady, screaming defiantly to the face behind the helms. "No! I won't let you touch her!" He proclaimed, drawing a knife from a sheath upon his side. Taking a breath to steady himself, the blade slashed through flesh and skin, sinking deep into the muscle of his palm before he took it aside. Raising his hand, he found the power in his blood, and with a flick of the wrist, the red smeared around him as if it were drips in water.
Smearing in a sphere around the pair in a half a moment, by the time it's droplets collected and dripped to the ground in a perfect sphere, there was no one standing at it's center.
"Ooh, Jowan, you're either a manipulative genius. Or a damn impulsive fool.." Thimble mumbled beneath her breath, turning back forwards, eyes flickering behind the man in front of the entrance to the Circle Tower. Strangely, she felt as if someone was to appear.
No one did.
"As for saving me for last, why, lovely, I just couldn't thank you enough! But, ooh, let's shed a little light on the situation, shall we?" Thimble spread her pale finger tips, shaking with fear and trembling with anticipation. "You boys aren't afraid of a little fire, are you?" She gave a wide sort of smile, spreading her arms with the movement of weaving on her finger tips. Wisps of fire lashing out in tongues, wrapping around her form in a wide sort of shield for a brief moment, her features and body hidden behind the ecstatic nature of the flames.
The spirit had taught her, there was energy in blood, power, really. A power the Templars feared, and it could, and was hers, if she just knew what to do with it. Thimble had long since taken to carrying stolen knives on her person at all times, another quiet defiance, as she wasn't going to kill every Templar that crossed her path with a dinner knife, but one that came in handy.
Tearing the knife from it's makeshift sheath on her upper leg, Thimble slit down her left arm considerably, clenching her teeth together a moment in the pain. Dropping the knife, she threw her open palmed hand over the slash, throwing a look to the side.
Her features briefly peeked from the moving flames, her eyes met the Templar leader's, hers painted with coy hatred and coming vengeance, and his colored with mild confusion. Catching onto her ploy, he thrust his hand forwards, screeching as a banshee did, "Block her!" The templars around him lifted their hands to do so, stilling the world around them to their eyes, concentrating to a degree that a mage did.
The hypocrites.
Take me somewhere else. Anywhere else. Thimble chanted mentally, fingernails digging into her own flesh. With a flash of her world, and the general disappearance of the Circle's templar's, it seemed just that had occurred.
Somewhere else..
The unlit lamps of oil caught the wisps of flame she sent and burst into theatrical fire of blues and purples before settling on the famed red. The Templars standing in perfect shock around droplets of blood on the ground, nothing more.