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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Strange looks at the items...then looks back at Solas...then only grabs about half or so of them, putting some in his pockets but precariously holding some of the vials and jars. Yeah, he's got a feeling he knows what Solas wants him to do and Strange has far too much pride to be a lackey and to fetch things for a bound god. And yes, this is far too petty but he doesn't caaaaaare. Solas can deal and grab the rest of the items himself.

"I assume you can get the rest?" said in a tone of voice that's far too fake and far too innocent to be genuine. Carefully, Strange starts to head back to the ladder to climb down to the cellar. Chop chop, Solas.

Solas rises to the challenge. While it may be a complete waste of magic, he uses his to levitate the items and have them follow behind him instead of trying to balance them. Far safer than the way he notices Strange holding the delicate pieces, but if something broke well... That was on the other man. This was being done for his cause, after all.

"I do, yes," he returns mildly and follows only a step behind Strange.

Rrrrrrgh fucking show off. Strange resists the urge to glare daggers at Solas as they head back down in the cellar. Once there, Strange starts carefully laying down the various jars he was carrying. Stupid elf with his showing off and his levitating magic, were all gods so obnoxious or was he just lucky enough to summon the most obnoxious of them all?

"Well go on," he snaps, obviously grumpy and trying not to sulk. "Do the magic."

It's with a light flourish that he magics the items on the table beside Strange's pile. It had exactly the effect he had wanted. At the demand, Solas merely raises a brow.

"I do not know how you do magic, but this cannot be rushed. Or do you want me to risk wiping out the guards currently in place?" he asks flatly. With how he was having to insert his magic into the hodgepodge version in place, it was going to take some time. Well. More time if Solas dragged his feet to annoy the man.

Every time the elf makes a logical point, Strange kind of wants to rip his hair out. This cannot be rushed, he says to the person who's style of magic is entirely rushed. I'll need to take this slowly, he says to the person who hasn't taken anything slowly since the dawn of time.

"I'll go get a book then." It's said in a haughty tone of voice, Strange trying to seem like he's still in control and still has the upper hand but he really, really doesn't. So, he swans back off to climb up out of the cellar, trying his hardest (and failing!) not to show how annoyed he truly is.

Ah. Small victories. Solas is smiling smugly to himself as he looks over the materials laid out before him. At least, until he feels the nagging pull of the bond as Strange gets farther away. It's when the man has reached a few steps into the upper floor that Solas feels himself being tugged toward the ladder.

He curses under his breath in elvhen as he moves towards the base of the ladder since apparently he's not allowed to work until the man is back down here. "You made the binding this short?" he calls up, more than a little annoyed.

He made the binding that short? Well. Good to know! Strange will have to keep that in account for the rest of this adventure. Thankfully, the fact that he's on the upper floor means that Solas doesn't get to see the expression of shock and confusion that flits across his face. As he grabs his book and heads back down to the cellar, Strange manages to wrangle his expression back into something more smug.

"You work on the preservation spell, I extend the length of the binding. Agreed?" Because Strange won't admit it, but this is a pretty inconvenient length for him as well.

"I am already working on it," he hisses through his teeth. Or he would be if Strange would move faster. He's waiting impatiently at the bottom of the ladder and as soon as Strange's feet touch the floor, Solas is moving back to the laid out materials.

"Can you manage it?" Because given what he's seen of Strange's magical abilities, he's not sure the man can even do that.

"Of course I can manage that," Strange grumbles, with a roll of his eyes. As Solas starts working on his magic, Strange does the same. It takes a bit longer than expected and the magic itself is...erratic, but eventually Strange manages to tease out a few more feet of the binding. It's enough to put comfortable distance between the two but close enough that they're stuck in each other's eyesight all the time.

"There," he smugly responds, with a little smirk as the spell slots into place. "Perfectly easy."

Solas manages to not roll his eyes. Barely. While the man is working on his spell, Solas is busy with his. By the time their bond is lengthened, he has his own runes etched and materials spread out in a way that can only be described as ancient and elfy.

"Yes, I am sure," he replies dismissively as he concentrates his energy on casting the spell. His movements are simple, barely noticeable as the energy shifts in the room and the air itself changes as the nature of the magic within is altered. That should be enough to keep the corpse preserved for the time being.

And Strange, to his credit, shuts up. He shuts up and remains quiet and almost out of the way, watching Solas as he casts the magic. He can feel the air around the room change, he can feel the power just grow. And honestly? It's a bit terrifying. It's at this moment that Strange realizes he's summoned a friggen GOD and bound him to his will and maaaaaybe that wasn't the best idea.

Oh well. No going back now.

"Are you finished?"

Solas turns his dry gaze to Strange.

"Yes. I am," he states as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was simply fact. Strange claimed to be a mage of great power, and Solas had to concede some truth to that if he were able to summon and wake him, which meant he should have sensed the change around them. It would be enough. For now.

"You have your belongings ready?" Because guess who wants to start traveling now.

"What, now?" Guess who wasn't ready to start traveling now? Strange can't help but look a little shocked before he forces his face back into a composed irritation, trying his hardest not to show how much this elf gets on his nerves.

"Give me five minutes to get my things together and then I'll be ready." After all, it's not like he has any affairs to tend to or any people to notify. Being a crazy hermit in the woods has some perks. And, whether Solas complains about that or not, Strange walks right back up to the ladder and starts to climb up to the first floor to get his belongings sorted.

The only look Solas gives the man in return is one that plainly states Yes, now. As if there were any doubts. Solas never had been one for jokes and mischief, despite what the Dalish tales said. He stares at Strange expectantly until the man begins his ascent and the elf decides to test the new boundaries they have set.

While most of what Strange has is disposable, Solas sifts through the untouched parts of the basement to make sure he didn't miss any items that could be useful later. It's after a few moments of pointless searching that he finally climbs up after the other man. He would have to make due with whatever magic he could conjure himself without his focus.

Upstairs, Strange quickly throws together a traveling pack. A change of clothes, a book, a keepsake of Arabella's, and most importantly, a shit ton of herbs that he can only find in remote parts of Thedas. He has no idea how long they'll be or where they're even going in the first place. Might as well prepare for a bit of a journey.

It's two or so minutes later that Strange is done. And...he just straight up yells to Solas, down the open hatch to the cellar. "I'm ready!"

Solas immediately makes a face at that. Not only is the human yelling at him, he's hearing it in Common. Something about the tongue always sounded harsh and ugly and hearing it yelled only worsens the effect. It was a shame he couldn't count on Strange to know anything besides it though what would be lost if he forced the man to deal with him speaking in only Elvhen?

With a shake of his head, he emerges from the cellar and eyes Strange's bag with skepticism. The man had injured himself recently after all. "You can carry all of that?" Because Solas was not going to help one bit.

"Of course I can," Strange remarks, with a roll of his eyes. He most certainly cannot. This is going to end up with Strange just selling some of his stuff at the first town they come across because wow, the bag's heavy, he has poor constitution thanks to magic and poison, and god knows Mr. Hotshot Ex-Circle Mage isn't very good at things like 'lots of walking' and 'long journeys.'

"You're the one who wants us to leave, so let's go."

He shakes his head and steps towards the doorway. "So long as you do not question my direction." Or else this would be a very long journey of bickering. Not that Solas has high expectations given how their talking has gone so far.

Hands resting behind his back and head held high, the elf intends to start this journey with long strides and a steady pace. Please keep up, Strange.

Strange actually manages to keep up fairly well. The problem here is that Strange is the sort of person who if he wants to talk, will happily continue talking through the silence and through the other person's annoyance.

So Solas gets about ten minutes of peace and quiet before the aggravating questions start.

"What were you doing before I summoned you anyway?"

For a long moment, Solas thought he might have peace as he played pathfinder. That hope goes out the window the moment Strange opens his mouth. It had been nice while it lasted.

"Frolicking in the forest with the fey folk," he answers in the driest tone he can muster and keeps his gaze forward. "What would you expect Fen'harel to be doing?"

"That's the problem--I don't have any expectations." What do gods do? Strange just doesn't know. One would assume they would talk with each other and be godly and look down on mortals and do things like that, but this is Fen'harel. He's not exactly the most popular of gods, and for a good reason.

"I especially don't have any expectations considering that most of the stories I've heard involve gods interacting with mortals. Of course, there's an obvious problem in that, what with your betrayal and all." There's a pause, as Strange thinks to himself for a moment. "When was the last time you had an actual conversation with someone?"

That question does force Solas to pause as he tries to legitimately think of when that was. There had been his attempts at conversations with the Dalish in the Fade which wouldn't count and he'd been sleeping for well over a thousand years. Was Strange truly the first person he's had a conversation with in that long? He eyes the human with trepidation. He'd say there were worst ways to break such a dry spell, but he sees no reason to lie to himself.

"You chose to summon Fen'harel," he starts. "You must have heard something that would make you choose him over others."

Strange continues walking, but he pauses the conversation for a moment, mulling things over before he decides to speak.

"It was the older stories that got my attention--the arrow one and the king's daughter, for example. Fen'harel's methods were unconventional, often dangerous and occasionally thoughtless...but they worked." And having exhausted all other methods he could think of, unconventional and dangerous were the only options left for Strange. He was desperate. He wasn't going to accept the fact that she had died.

"Thoughtless?" His eyes narrow as he regards the other man and withholds a string of unflattering elvhen. He could save the grumbling to himself in another language for the next leg of their journey.

"Those are twisted still, altered from what remained and was passed along." Skewed in most parts and fitting whatever narrative the clan telling it needed to have filled. Fen'harel had become the evil used frequently in cautionary tales. "You heard these from the Dalish or...?" Somewhere else. The source was as important as the information.

"Mostly the Dalish, occasionally city elves. I'm certain they're twisted and changed around, but they're at least something."

Unsurprisingly, it's a bit hard to find information on a treacherous god that isn't old wives' tales, folklore, or other muddled bits of campfire storytelling. Strange knows his sources might not be a hundred percent accurate. But they were accurate enough for him to try.

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