A white haired old woman worked at a computer, typing what would be indecipherable garbage to anyone who wasn't specialized in the work. She looked blankly ahead as she typed, her fingers carelessly pounding the keys.
Her brand flared out from beneath her white hair, red beneath white and almost as raw and red as the day they placed it upon her forehead.
A waver in the Fade. A spirit gained the courage to act.
"Wynne. You have ceased the function that you have been assigned."
"I-I'm sorry. I don't understand what's-"
"Wynne. Please resume work. Say nothing. Remain calm. End of day, we shall make plans."
"Y-yes."
Fiova concluded that being unconscious was awful. Even worse, every muscle in her body ached and protested every single movement or muscle twitch. So, of course, breathing felt like she was slowly setting herself on fire. But, she passed.
Victory.
She wondered if victory always meant pain or if it was just her being her usual dumb self. Then she realized if she'd bumped her head so many times if that meant victory. Mostly meant that she needed to get her head out of the metaphorical clouds.
Back to the main point. How many days passed? Why was she in her actual bunk?
Her bunk was not dissimilar to her Fade one, where it was bolted to the wall, but somehow it was bumpier and less comfortable. Not to mention she couldn't see the ceiling because of the person's bed above her. She was grateful that the mage above her never had any wild parties and came back secretly drunk. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but it made bottom bunk always suffer. Plus, all the mages in the room always hated having to take care of the ones who couldn't hold their liquor.
Fiova couldn't blame them for going overboard, because there were so few things they could actually do in this place that didn't involve Templar supervision people reveled in it more. Especially the kids who stumbled into the party and couldn't be sent back without drawing attention.
Surprisingly, Fiova had never heard of any drunk mages wandering off of the tower. Falling off bunks and sleeping in other bunks, yes. Fiova wondered if the mages kept that a secret so they could keep their privileges on going outside.
Being drunk would be better than this, though.
At the very least she knew that alcohol tended to dull the senses somewhat, so that every moment wouldn't be agony, but here she was. In her bunk, breathing real air in the real world and it felt... great. Except for the miserable pain, of course.
The red notes played in the hallway, and she dimly realized that Jowan was out there, and the rest of the mages were simply asleep. Normally, unless she was listening intently for him Jowan's music was always far away, buried under a chaos of sound and piercing silence. Now, it was clear and calming, but also a reassurance that yes, she was back. She was fine. But now she had to pretend that she wasn't terrified by what the Templars had done. What that demon -Zuxal, Fiova recalled with a grimace- had told her along with that pride demon.
She'd been sent to where rejects go to die. She always knew she was too feisty, too much personality for them to tolerate, but somehow she'd always hoped that she'd make it through all of this intact.
That she wouldn't become-
"You're awake!" Jowan crowed, loudly and without a hint of regret. "It's been half a day, and even the Templars were surprised that you could sleep for so long."
Fiova could read between the lines, the Templars were surprised I came back alive.
"You know me, never one to turn down a good nap even after the smallest of tasks," Fiova replied, more staring at the top bunk than turning to look at Jowan. Turning her head was just too painful to do right now, anyway.
Jowan laughed, "that is true. Not even you knew how you managed to get up into the rafters for a nap that one day."
"The magic of laziness and some levitation," she replied without missing a beat. "Mostly climbing and laziness, though. I don't think anyone can just levitate on their own."
"Nah you're gifted, I bet that you did manage it."
"Gifted at screwing up, maybe." Fiova sat up, ignoring the waves of pain from her tired muscles. "So, damage report: how badly did I manage to anger the Templars this time?"
"No idea, they haven't even posted any results from anyone's exams this time. Usually, they're up by now so we can at least mourn the dead, but... silence. Word is, whatever you did is messing up a lot more than just the tests. Cullen let slip something about a battery."
A templar walked past the door, marching in the hallway with purpose. It wasn't Cullen, so Jowan lowered his voice.
"I don't know if they'll make you Tranquil or not. They sometimes do this when someone too powerful comes along," Jowan whispered. "They take someone powerful and make them Tranquil because they say it's a risk to have a powerful mage in the tower. Something about how the tower floats becoming off balance or something."
Templar lies at their finest.
Fiova tried not to let the fear show on her face. "Okay. Okay. It'll be okay, Jowan, I promise. I'll be fine."
Jowan's expression was too difficult to read and then he gave her some elfroot for the pain and nodded. Then he was gone, into the the hallway where Fiova couldn't see, and then his music vanished. She flopped back down on her bed, chewing on the elfroot as she did so, hoping that she wouldn't be helpless for long. Fiova just wanted to pretend that she wasn't facing down what would be a death sentence.
She'd always been afraid of Tranquil on some level, beyond logic or reasoning. Even beyond the fact that standing near them hurt her ears. She'd always been afraid of them, like they were just reminders of every mage who was decided too dangerous and how they all ended up. Fiova had done something in the Fade that was beyond the acceptable limits of power, and she'd pulled out a sword from nowhere. Even now, she thought about how it had hummed with energy and her music.
"A sword..." Fiova said under her breath, like saying it would bring an answer to her prayer.
I hope the elven gods really do exist, because the Maker is kind of a bastard for letting us all have to deal with His followers. Maybe one of them will be kind enough to make sure I at least manage to jump off the tower before I become Tranquil.
She barely even knew what the Tranquil did for the tower, besides menial office tasks. They just kind of stood around like watchdogs on certain days and other days there weren't any where the mages could reach. Fiova did seriously wonder about it when she was younger, going as far as she could sneak in as a ten year old with determination. Which was to say... not very far. She knocked over a vase about five feet past some templars and was hauled back to her room to think about what she'd done to the vase and to ask the Maker's forgiveness for doing breaking it in the first place.
Needless to say, she didn't exactly end up following their teachings. She didn't even know the elven gods' names, but she liked to often invoke the ones she'd heard from a few other elven mages who'd actually grown up around other elves.
Huh, probably also part of why she was hated by the Templars.
Fiova drifted into sleep, dreaming of the sky elves again. She didn't notice the purple notes interwoven into the dream, but she smiled as she dreamed.
**v**
"Duncan, how long does it take for them to lower a ladder or whatever it is down for us to get up there? I'm soaked," Alistair complained. In the last stretch of the journey, they had to get out and walk the gravel roads, and only in the last thirty minutes of that did it finally open up and rain buckets down onto the pair.
"Well, that depends on if they aren't dealing with anything major after their rituals for inducting new mages," Duncan answered, calm from underneath his umbrella.
Alistair sneezed.
"They must be with this..." Duncan mumbled to himself.
Alistair wondered why there seemed to be a glint in the old man's eye, one that looked suspiciously like the kind he got when he was about to pull a prank.
"Why a tower in the sky, anyway? Seems awful inconvenient for people who need to get up there to do any sort of business. Not to mention, they have to deal with Sky Pirates flying nearby." Alistair said, trying to inch under the umbrella.
"That's the point, and if you brainwash a bunch of people then you have control of them. But... I did send a letter to them about my arrival, a few emails as well." Duncan said, mysteriously stroking his beard as he thought about the implications of a boat not being ready for them. Templars were sticklers for rules, Alistair knew.
Alistair finally started to warm up and feel like he wasn't being dumped on by a bucket when Duncan moved the umbrella suddenly, letting all the rain slide towards Alistair.
At least a perk of being a Grey Warden was resistance to becoming sick. But another sneeze probably told Alistair that despite that, he'd soon come down with a cold anyway.
**v**
"-wake up," Jowan hissed in a low tone.
"Five more minutes, mom..." Fiova mumbled, before she was unceremoniously pulled out of her cot, blankets and all.
Fiova scrambled around in her blanket, silently trying to get into a position where she'd be able to fight, but she only ended up tangling herself in blankets. The wisps of her comforting dream drifted away as as recognized Jowan, and the dark halls of the tower that signified nighttime.
She'd really slept that long?
"Come on!" Jowan harshly whispered, trying not to wake up anyone or alert the Templar patrolling the halls. He grabbed her arm, managing to grab the one not covered in ratty, old blanket and pulled Fiova along. "We're getting you out of here."
Jowan was so... confident? What happened while she was asleep?
Fiova voiced her terrified thoughts, "what do you mean I'm getting out?"
"The phylacteries." was all Jowan said before pulling her down the hall.
Every mage knew about the tower phylacteries. After all, every single one of them remembered how it felt to have the blood taken from you, and the feeling of a leash around their neck when it was finished. In Templar hands, they could literally track every single mage and their current state of health just by touching one. Files upon files were kept about each mage, but those were meaningless if they didn't have a phylactery to go with it.
Fiova read once it was what liches used to remain alive after they died. But she imagined that if that were the case, then not so many mages would vanish as they did. And not without a word from the Templars either.
The duo arrived at the tall, menacing door that lead down into the vault where the Tranquil worked and where the phylacteries were stored. Cullen stood out in front, looking out for someone. Once he saw Fiova and Jowan, he waved them out quickly.
"I know I'm not supposed to be doing this, but..." Cullen bit his lip. "I don't like Templar Serena's ruling on this. Making you Tranquil or killing you... we shouldn't even offer mages that option before we act out their... punishment... they're both too extreme."
Cullen was going against orders, Fiova realized. For her.
"Thank you," she said.
"Well, thank me after you get out. You're just lucky some Grey Wardens are coming by to try and recruit people, so the boat's out where mages can get it." Cullen said.
"C-can we hurry up and get in before somebody comes by?" Jowan asked while looking down the hallway as though Templars were marching down it at that moment.
With that, they were ushered into the darkness beyond the door and it closed with a quiet thud behind them. No turning back now, Fiova thought grimly.
And into the darkness they went.
It took much longer than Fiova would have preferred to let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, but she figured that it wouldn't be bright either, given that they don't expect anyone to be going down this late at night.
But eventually the walls appear out of the darkness, old stone with torches on the walls. Grime covers the stone, and it's mossy in some places due to the sheer humidity of the room and how poorly the walls seem to absorb it. The designs that had been on the walls were not crusted over with age and moss, and mostly blank. The torches are old school, requiring fire to be lit for a set amount of time and are mounted to the walls with rusted steel. However, on some of the torches Fiova can still see warm embers just now dying out. She can't tell how recently it was lit, but she knows for a fact that there might still be people nearby if she can see embers, and Jowan is now on edge too.
Quickly, the two move through the hall, trying to spot light ahead if there is any. Fiova, for once, is totally silent.
Then they see it. The soft glow ahead of them that isn't torchlight, but not easily identifiable as a flashlight either. A figure stands behind it and it's female and older but it's hard to tell much more than that. Jowan and Fiova look at each other, and Fiova continues forward, quietly trying to get behind the woman.
The light moves, up and over the woman's head and Fiova can see it's a spirit. Fiova knows Templars can't summon them, and now the robes of a Tranquil can be easily seen. It's like some kind of paradox, where you have a Tranquil with a summon spirit beside them and Fiova freezes to the spot.
The woman turns with perfect dramatic timing and says, "it's about time you two got down here."
Ha! Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me!
Welp, I'm going to motivate myself to post more often! Maybe re-establish the weekly updates or maybe bi-weekly for this.
Come say hi! I'm now nobodywriter on tumblr dot com! This blog is specifically for writing and all that, so expect regular updates to happen with this blog in particular.