congrekate | dragon age au!

dragon age au!

The rumor mill is still going on as to why Jonathan Strange fled the circle to become an apostate mage. Some say that it's as simple as an argument with his former tutor. Others say that the man never really recovered from his actions in the Mage-Templar War. The most likely answer is that something snapped after the death of his beloved. The one thing everyone can agree on is that it's really a shame someone with such potential threw it all away. He could have easily made his way up the social ladder, working at a court somewhere!

To which Strange would respond that he was doing perfectly fine right now, thank you very much, even if he was currently living in a shack that leaked when it rained, he had not even half of the books he was used to, and he heard people whisper behind his back, calling him the 'mad mage of the Dales'. So be it. His plan was probably a bit mad to begin with: Jonathan Strange planned to summon a god.

Not just any god, of course. He had gone through the various pantheons, trying to find the perfect one to grant him what he wanted (power, mostly, a way to take the tools and trade of necromancy and make it more solid, to raise the dead instead of raising spirits.) And eventually, Strange settled on Fen'Harel. He could draw upon the power of the location of the Dales as well as his status as an outsider himself to appeal to the god. The ritual itself was the most complex part, but modified necromancy bindings and a few of his own additions should suffice.

And so, Strange performs the magic. And poor Solas is probably just damn confused as to what he sees when he's forcibly woken up from his nap. The shack is small, covered head to toe with knick-knacks and trinkets, some of magical significance, others not. Dried herbs cover a table and books cover almost any other flat surface. Good luck trying to find where Strange sleeps as the bed has also become storage space. The mage himself looks wild: a middle aged human with scruff and hair that looks like it hasn't seen a brush in years, clothes ragged and dirty. And he just regards Solas with sheer confusion.

"I thought the wolf part was literal."

This is an elf. This isn't a dog. Did he make a mistake in the summoning? And if he didn't summon a god, then who the hell did he summon?

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"I was hoping for anything," Strange admits. He's out of his depth. That's obvious to anyone who's paying attention right now. The more he talks, the more that becomes oh so apparent to Solas. He's desperate, yearning, and just plain unwilling to let this go.

"Elvhen techniques, ancient tomes, even something as simple as instruction or advice would help."

He waves Strange's words off.

"As I am sure you have heard if you have spent even a minute listening to the Dalish, much was lost in the fall of Elvhenan." Much, but not all. The clans were lost as they tried to reclaim and interpret it. He doubts a human mage would fair better if presented with anything.

Strange can't help but laugh, shaking his head slightly as he grins wryly at Solas. There's a tinge of mania in his laugh, though it's mostly tempered with annoyance and aggravation. He doesn't exactly have the best opinion of the Dalish.

"The Dalish tries to talk me out of this endeavor to begin with! Why on Earth would I listen to them?"

At least the Dalish have more sense than he does.

That earns Strange a laugh, sharp and deep. The Dalish had the sense to avoid such a ritual, but that was the only positive thing Solas could say of the group. The elf might be bitter from centuries of being scorned in dreams when he tried to speak with them, dispelled as a demon or a mockery of Fen'harel trying to sway them from the 'true' ways.

Solas had no intentions of visiting the Dalish clans in person anytime soon.

"I am surprised you tried. Where else did you search?"

"I couldn't make it up to Tevinter because of...well, everything, but I have researched Tevinter necromancy rituals as thoroughly as possible." It's a bit hard for an apostate mage to make it up to Tevinter when he's got a corpse to manage and again, is an apostate mage to begin with.

"Predictably, the Circle was no help." As much as Solas isn't a fan of the Dalish, Strange equally isn't a fan of the circle of mages.

"No, I would imagine not." From what he's gathered of the Circle, anyway. He needed time walking around Thedas awake to get a better feel for what was truly happening though his time in the Fade had given him plenty of impressions.

"So I am your final resort."

"You are." Strange responds, with a little nod. He hates to admit it. This is very much a saving through, Strange putting all his faith in Fen'Harel because what other choice did he have? It was either this or accepting the fact that Arabella was dead and he...he just couldn't do that.

"And if there's anything I can do to further persuade you to help me, just tell me."

"You have already denied my request to be freed." Not that Solas is annoyed by this or anything. With his current position in the summoning circle, he's very much aware of his lack of magical abilities, particularly where his focus is concerned.

"Where are we in Thedas?" Because if he's to decide on anything, he needs to know that first. Tricking Strange into leading him towards where he had rested would be simple if the man believed it was for his goals.

"The Dales," Strange explains. "About a half day's walk from the nearest town."

So they're in the middle of fucking nowhere. Still, Strange seems perfectly content with said hut in the middle of nowhere. He's certainly made it his own, at least.

Far, far from where he wanted to be then. He stretches his legs and stands, reexamining the binding circle as he does so.

"Are you able to travel or are you bound here? Figuratively," he adds with no small amount of dryness. The man was carting around a corpse after all.

"I can travel so long as I'm back here within a few days. The preservation spells can only last so long before they need to be refreshed--unless I have help, of course." Said as he directly looks at Solas. If he wanted the travel period to last longer, then Solas needed to help keep the corpse as undamaged as possible.

"Why do you ask?" Obviously the elf has a plan. Strange just isn't entirely sure what it is.

"Because you will learn nothing staying here." And he needs to obtain his focus if he's to do anything he wanted to upon waking. There's the matter of preserving the body however. The way the elves used to preserve bodies, preparing them for their long sleep, may not be applicable here. How would those techniques affect a human corpse? Or at least, he's assuming it's a human corpse.

"Our preservation methods differ. Where do you keep the body?"

"In a root cellar, below the house." If one could call it a house in the first place. There's a pause, as Strange looks over at Solas. Obviously he'd need to change the spell up a bit so Solas actually could examine Arabella's corpse but if he removed the spell entirely, Solas would cut and run.

After another moment's pause, Strange knelt down on one knee, placing a finger on the binding circle itself. He mutters something under his breath, barely audible, before smudging the binding circle, then using the finger that smudged the binding circle to wipe some of the chalk of the circle on his wrist a second later.

"There. The nexus of the binding circle have been transferred to my body. I wouldn't recommend going too far away from me as, god or not, the results are probably...a bit messy." Is this dangerous magic? Probably! Does Strange care that it's seemingly dangerous? Not in the slightest! Obviously a distance of six or so feet is safe enough as before Solas can say anything, Strange moves towards the back of the hut and pushes some books off of a trapdoor in the floor.

"Down here," he says, as he yanks open the trapdoor.

That the binding circle stops him from matching Strange's approach leaves him scowling. All he could do is watch as the man transfers the spell over. If only he hadn't been weakened from creating the Veil, if only he had his damn focus here with him--

But none of that was the case and he would have to handle what he was dealt.

"I will be sure you are informed of my every need," he returns as he's finally able to step outside of the initial circle. How far would he be allowed to travel? He'd find out shortly if he was forced to drag the human with him whenever he needed to take a leak. He's none-too-pleased as he follows Strange, remaining a pace behind. Would killing the man remove the spell or cause it to backfire?

"Should I be expecting a shrine?" Some sort of honoring for this dead woman. She had left enough of an impression on the other man.

"She's my wife, not a saint," Strange remarks, with a roll of his eyes, as he starts to climb down the ladder. So no, there's not a shrine.

What there is is cold. Lots of it. The root cellar is supernaturally cold compared to the main floor. There's a simple wooden coffin sitting on a long table. When Solas approaches, he can tell that there's all sorts of spells of preservation cast on the wood, a giant mish-mash of Circle spells, more elven spells, Tevinter magic, anything that could possibly help has been cast on the wood in the hope that it would help.

"She's in there," Strange simply says, as he gestures to the coffin. When Solas opens it, he'll find a remarkably preserved corpse of a woman in her early thirties, dressed in funeral attire. She's well preserved for being dead a few months, but a few signs of rot have started to creep in.

Simple, much like the rest of Strange's house. The man was consistent if nothing else. He notes the spells currently in use, letting his gaze trace over the each symbol and circle. A start, but not enough for Strange wanted.

When he opens the coffin, it's with care. Solas may be angry for being there, but disgracing the dead would do him no good here.

"Are you hoping revival will fix the damage that has already been done?" he asks, glancing over at the other man.

"Oh, I can fix any damage done myself," said with a bit of a nonchalant tone. At least, Strange definitely believes he can fix any damage that's already been done himself. Whether he can or not...well, it's not like he's had anybody to practice on.

"It's just the revival part that confounds me."

Just the revival part. Like they're comparing notes or talking shop, not discussing how best to raise the dead. For someone who takes this so seriously and desperately wants this to happen, to the point where he summoned Fen'Harel himself, there are moments when Strange is oddly flippant about the whole matter.

"If repairing a corpse is so simple then please, demonstrate," he says dryly and motions with a wave of his hand towards the body. "If I am to assist you, I need to see your magic in action."

And why not repair what harm has already been done. Waiting may be more beneficial, but it's far more fun to call Strange on his bluff than wait for however long this fool's errand lasted. Or until Solas could break the damn spell binding him to this man. Whichever came first.

Once again, shut up Solas. Strange just glares daggers at the elf, but his pride prevents him from doing the logical thing and admitting that he has no idea what he's doing. Because you know what? Fuck you, Fen'harel! He's got this!

Or at least, he's slightly got this. As Strange walks over to Arabella's corpse, he places his hands over the body and starts muttering. Nothing. He changes his hands around, making various gestures as he continues muttering. Nothing. He snarls, giving one of the signs of rot a glare, before he mutters something fervently in a language that's rarely spoken, and makes a gesture like he's grabbing something from the air above the rot. Oddly enough? He is. The rot slowly vanishes from the corpse's face, lingering around Strange's hand like a smokey black fog. And honestly? Strange looks damn surprised, as if he didn't know he could do something like that in the first place. What Strange had in power, he was lacking a bit in technique. It's obvious that his method of magic is patchwork, taking previously established spells and techniques and improvising and adding his own additions until he gets a result.

The problem here is that he doesn't really know what to do with this small swirling cloud of rot, about the size of a strawberry, now hovering over his open palm. There's a pause as he looks it over before Strange takes one finger and traces it down a vein on his forearm. The cloud dissipates. However, at the same time, a trail of black something swarms through Strange's veins, going from his hand to his arm, as his face turns slightly paler. Who knows where it goes after that, as Strange's clothes prevent Solas from seeing the trace of the rot as it dissipates through Strange's body.

So maybe there was a little bit of truth to those rumors of Strange's madness. One thing's apparent: he doesn't care as much for his personal health and well-being as he honestly should. Still, Strange at least realizes his actions are a bit worrying. "Like I said. I would prefer her revived sooner rather than later."

Solas is watching as Strange approaches the corpse and fails more than once to do as he had promised. As Solas had suspected. He's about to make a sarcastic comment regarding Strange's magical abilities when the man manages something.

His brows furrow and he focuses on the black fog that's coming out of the dead woman. Whatever this man had done it wasn't planned and that made it far more dangerous of a magic to handle. How far would Strange go to finish this plan of his? No matter, all Solas had to do was get them far enough to retrieve his focus and the rest would fall into place. Solas doesn't want to be tied longer to Strange than needed if the man is willing to destroy himself for this.

With a shake of his head, Solas stands tall and seemingly unmoved. "You may have need to cover your whole body with rot before you see this through," he remarks idly and begins inspecting the enchantments more closely. "Your magic is patchwork. I will need time to decipher it and see if I have a way to strengthen its effects."

This wasn't Solas saying no. Deciphering the magic wasn't an out and out statement that he couldn't do anything. Strange moves to take a few steps forward...but quickly staggers back, grasping at his chest as he does so. He's still in one piece. He's still able to talk and grump and do all those things, but there's just a low, throbbing pain that wasn't there before.

"If you need to decipher my magic, then do so," he remarks, with an idle wave of his hand towards the corpse. Solas needs to decipher his magic? Well then, decipher away. "I give you full permission to explore the enchantments placed on the corpse. Likewise, feel free to ask me anything about my magic--I think, however, that I'll sit down while you do so," he admits, more to himself than to Solas. It's obvious where the rot's settled now: hanging low and heavy in Strange's heart.

So, backing up to the wall of the root cellar, Strange slumps down, sitting on the ground, but on a place where he can keep an eye on Solas while he inspects the enchantment.

Somehow, Solas manages to not roll his eyes as Strange grants him permission he did not seek and has to resort to flopping on the floor. Would he even survive traveling away from his home? The elf could attempt to heal the man, but given the circumstances, he's not inclined to expend unnecessary magic toward the other man.

Instead his attention is entirely focused on what has been done to the basement and the dead woman in it. There's no singular source or style, it comes across as a frantic attempt by a desperate man with no other options. Which one look at strange confirms that to be more than correct. He wonders if it would simpler to undo the man's work and start fresh because Solas is certain he could do a far better job than trying to build off this mess.

"Where did you learn this magic?" he asks, kneeling down to get a better look at a symbol etched into the floorboards.

Magic from the Circle of Mages mixed with a more Tevinter style of necromancy mixed with a little bit of blood magic here and there. Strange's spells and symbols are very much a kitchen sink approach to magic. Why not throw everything at the problem and see what sticks? It's good work but some spells are obviously not thought through, cobbled together without fear of any consequences.

"It depends on which aspect of the magic you're talking about," Strange adds in, with a wry little smirk. "My training is with the Circle, though I've added in various styles and tricks from other disciplines--mostly Teventer necromancy, for obvious reasons."

Obvious reasons being the corpse in the middle of the room. Strange still leans against the wall, clutching his chest slightly as he watches Solas examine his work and tries to catch his breath again.

So partially ancient elvhen in some styles, if the man was drawing from Tevinter strongly. He can see traces of it and nods slowly as a fingertip traces a rune. He could work with this if he must though the temptation to scrap it all and start again nags at the back of his mind.

"If I prolong the preservation of her body then you must be willing to journey where I tell you." And Solas would not tolerate any arguing over the matter or so help him he will turn this adventure around before it's even begun.

The elf had already asked about travel. It doesn't take a genius to realize that whatever spells Solas intends to use to revive Arabella, he can't do that from here--something a bit to be expected. Gods performed miracles in temples, not in ramshackle huts in the middle of nowhere.

"If you preserve her body and if the journey isn't you leading me on a chase out of sheer pettiness, then I don't mind travel. I can leave shortly after you cast the spell."

After all, it's not like he has family, friends, anybody who he would need to tell them he was traveling.

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hey who's ready for magical bullshit

me me!

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