(Untitled)

[dissentive]

Characters: Morrigan (dissentive), Jowan (failmaleficar)
Setting/Location: Out by the Ramroc pen, Lere'unfru.
Date & Time: Day 23, afternoon / early evening.
Warnings: Bloodshed, npc death.
Summary: Jowan attempts a blood ritual to rip a tear into what he thinks is the Fade.

Comments

[dissentive]

"'Tis he," Morrigan quipped in her child-like voice, miles away from her usual sultry ways of speaking, though it still held the same manners of speech, her languid patterns. "Old man, this is my companion." The man turned from his lean against the fence, nodding at Jowan amicably.

"'ello, mister." He paused, frowning a bit, though more in thought than suspicion. "Ain't never seen many people yer age 'round these parts. Welcome to the village, though we ain't got much to show." Morrigan didn't have much mind for chatter, however, and her gaze remained on Jowan even as the old man spoke. "Lil' missy here said you had a game to play?"

She knew there was not much sense in imbuing panic into the situation, after all, so she had played it off as something equally appropriate to the sheer amount of children in this village that the elders were so accustomed to pleasing. Though her child-like form was in no ways natural, she knew it was more to her advantage to use it as such than to fight against it. She wound the golden chain around her neck amongst her small fingers, continuing to gaze at Jowan expectantly.

[failmaleficar]

If he hadn't been concentrating on the ritual, retracing the steps mentally, Jowan might have found that cute - it was strange at least, Morrigan with that voice, all commanding, even so small. But he paid closer attention to their sacrifice now, careful not to let it realise that they had plans. Perhaps he would have felt uneasy under normal circumstances, but he didn't. He felt... secure. Strangely secure. Here he was in his element, he knew what he was doing, and he was good at this. It gave him a little bit of a feeling of actual power, and yes - while blood magic was dangerous and evil, and had really only ever caused trouble for him, he did enjoy that power. He knew he could never be as talented a mage as Alim, but this was where he had an edge.

And the old man? Perhaps he should have felt some pity, especially seeing how weak their sacrifice was. But he didn't. That "man" wasn't even alive, he told himself, and it calmed his confused conscience a bit, stopped it from wondering if he should feel anything about this. And if he was somehow alive, if he wasn't just a dream, then he was a demon, and then, if anything, they had to be careful. He couldn't feel pity towards a creature whose kind preyed upon his kind in the Fade, and was one of the reasons mages were so feared and hated. But couldn't the man feel his magic, then? Couldn't he figure out this was a trap? Best to remain cautious.

Jowan nodded, forcing himself to smile, a mostly nervous twitch of his lips. "Ah, that's right." He glanced briefly at Morrigan, then looked back at the old man. "It's a trick, you could say. I promised to show her, but we needed a volunteer. You'll find this amusing, too, I promise. If you would close your eyes for a moment, ser..."

[dissentive]

The old man glanced once between Jowan and Morrigan, a smile crooking onto his lips before he closed his eyes. Morrigan was hardly sympathetic for the life they were going to take - after all, it was only one in the scope of many back in her world, and this man's life meant very little to her. He was simply a tool for the cause - Ferelden and its lands were what was important to her, not some old spirit in the Fade. Though the rift may bring some inconveniences later on, it was something they could address once they were on the other side. They could accomplish very little here, but there was still the archdemon and her mother to attend to. She wondered, briefly, if there would be a way to shove Alistair into this ritual so that he may be thrust back into the realm without him trying to interrupt the proceedings, too blinded by the teachings of those who considered themselves above all to see much logic. Not that she thought Alistair could actually process logic, only to an extent what he was told to do by those whom he considered justified.

She scowled deeply at the thought. Indeed, perhaps 'twould be best were Alistair to simply remain here. She could help herself to the trinket Cousland had found for him, bring it to a jeweler in a city to have it melted down and formed into something much more ornate for her usage. She wondered, briefly, whether or not Zevran's disappearance meant that he had returned to Ferelden, or perhaps lost himself somewhere in the Fade. Perhaps she would help herself to those gloves he held so dearly.

Either event 'twould be much better than the rags she had here.

Morrigan awaited Jowan's next move, eyebrows raising.

[failmaleficar]

Waiting just a split second to make sure the old man was keeping his eyes shut, Jowan turned his attention to Morrigan and quickly and quietly closed the space between them.

"I will need your help here," he whispered. He had to bend down a little to reach her, but he couldn't help but talk to her like to an adult either way. "Whatever you can do to either prolong his life, or make it more..." He searched for the right words to put this for a moment, then simply said, "Or to make him experience it more intensely. We can hope that amplifies the magic a bit. When it comes to tearing open the Fade, that might help just as well. Just don't make him die quicker."

He turned back quickly after that, not wanting the man to become suspicious. "One second, please," he asked calmly, while taking his place at the man's side and pushing him gently down. "You'll have to kneel down."

Then he took one step back and raised his hands, a frown of concentration appearing on his face. His right hand began to circle slowly, and his lips moved in silent words, more in support of his concentration than actually powerful themselves.

It seemed to work; faint white light began encircling the man, and Jowan looked at Morrigan briefly, giving her a nod.

[dissentive]

Morrigan had no healing spells at her disposal, and she was not certain whether or not pushing the liquid of the poultice down the man's throat would interrupt the intricacies of the ritual. She forced herself to recall several of the hex spells she still had far in her memory, one that lowered the defenses, and raised her hands as she cast it upon the old man, mumbling underneath her breath the complex incantation it required. A sigil appeared underneath him, a faint purple that gradually grew in prominence. She wondered if it was not slightly humorous, that the blood magic Jowan performed gave off a white light - disarming in its entirety.

The hex was not as strong as it would be under normal circumstances, but 'twould do well enough. She concentrated, bolstering the spell with several successive casts, willing it to couple and hold even though her magic was not as strong as it should have been.