Fear of blood magic has stigmatized academic dissection

⋰⏆◝ﾉ     𝕐𝕊𝕆𝕃𝔻𝔼  𝔼𝕄𝕄𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕀ℕ     ⤐     bastion  hutter  .

𝙾𝙷,   𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙴.   '𝙼𝙴𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝚃  𝙱𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂.'   𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈  𝙸𝙵  𝚃𝙷𝙴  trade  in  question  is  souls.   as  he  points  over  her  shoulder,   her  eyes  remain  fixed  on  him,   in  a  way  that's  almost  paranoid.   she  just  studies  his  face,   trying  to  figure  out  how  to  read  him  in  a  more  accurate  way  than  she  ever  did  before.   "i  joined   —   before."   the  answer  comes  out  of  her  automatically.   defensively,   with  a  much  harsher  edge  than  most  have  ever  heard  her  use.   "i'm  an  apostate  with  the  chantry."   technically.   kind  of.   it's  the  way  she'd  like  to  describe  her  position  to  him,   at  least.   "i   —   went  to  haven.   when  i   —   "   when  she  left  him.   ysolde  takes  a  deep  breath,   trying  to  steel  herself  against  the  intrusive  flood  of  emotions  and  nostalgia.   

"i've  given  up  magic,"   she  tells  him  decisively.   almost  like  it's  a  dare.   he  is  a  book  written  in  a  language  she  is  no  longer  fluent  in,   but  she  can  still  recall  the  content  on  some  of  the  pages.   in  this  moment,   she  can  take  so  much  pleasure  in  the  knowledge  that  he  will  take  this  exactly  as  she  means  it   —     'i  hate  you  so  much  that  i  have  cut  away  pieces  of  myself  if  they  remind  me  too  much  of  you.'    "i  am  a  healer,   and  they   —   accept  me.   i  don't  even  room  with  the  mages.   they  make  me   —   quite  uncomfortable."   she  wants  to  tell  him  she  has  nothing  to  say  to  him.   but  the  truth  is  that  the  inquisition  doesn't  truly  accept  her,   not  in  the  way  she  needs,   and   —   it  would  be  so  nice  to  just  be  held,   even  for  a  moment.   this  is  how  she  fell  into  his  trap  before.

She's right to keep her eyes fixed on him, not that Bastion was stupid enough to do something out in the open and during such a... festive event. An apostate with the Chantry? Bastion almost laughed at the idea but he kept his cool. A waste of her talents more like it. He tilts his head, interested in what she's saying but he has no desire to indulge what she wants, approval for doing what she she thinks is the right thing.

"And I suppose that brings you... peace yes?" Her words don't sting him, Bastion isn't phased. He's had worse things said to him by much worse people that actually meant it. He knew deep down what Ysolde desired and he knew that the Chantry would never give her, unconditional love. The Chantry wouldn't give it to anyone who was magically gifted, even if they vowed never to use their talents again. She'd be shoved back in to a circle as soon as the Chantry were able to do it.

"It does pain me," he said softly. Tenderly like a parent would. "To see you so openly admit that you enjoy wasting your talents for people who'd lock you away the second they can." Bastion leans in, to play in to her desires, his voice is sweet, caring and fatherly.

⋰⏆◝ﾉ     𝕐𝕊𝕆𝕃𝔻𝔼  𝔼𝕄𝕄𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕀ℕ     ⤐     bastion  hutter  .

"𝙸𝚃'𝚂   —   𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈  𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚄𝙻  𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴,   𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈'𝚅𝙴  𝙳𝙾𝙽𝙴  𝙰  wonderful  job."   brow  slightly  knit,   mouth  never  quite  closed,   she  can  only  stand  and  stare  at  him.   she's  had  nightmares  exactly  like  this.   all  the  time,   actually.   she's  almost  in  a  stupor.   what's  worse  is  how  familiar  he  feels.   only  a  handful  of  years  ago  on  this  very  annum,   before  the  inquisition,   before  meeting  cullen  and  the  inquisitor,   the  first  arms  she  would  fall  into  under  distress  would  be  his.   she  had  been  so  young,   so  vulnerable  and  naive.   and  he  presented  himself  as  the  father  she  never  had,   one  who  would  accept  and  love  her  for  the  person  she  actually  is,   not  who  the  world  wanted  her  to  be  or   —   who  they  were  afraid  she  was.   who  she  was  afraid  she  was.   but  it  was  a  lie.   all  anyone  ever  wanted  was  control.     "i'm   —   "   she  swallows  hard,   her  throat  sandpaper.   "i'm  here  with  the  inquisition.   for  the  holiday."   she  doesn't  have  to  ask  why  he's  here.   preying  on  the  weak  when  they're  the  most  susceptible  to  corruption,   no  doubt.    "are  you  following  me?"   the  words  themselves  might  imply  a  tone  of  scandal,   but  all  she  can  manage  is  genuine  curiosity.   it  wouldn't  be  the  first  time,   though  it  has  been  several  years  since  the  last,   at  least.

"Amazing what ten years can do to turn this place around, you know it was attacked by the undead nightly before they destroyed it. It used to be up over there." Bastion pointed to the windmill, on the other side of the wall keeping people out was old Redcliffe. It was easier to rebuild away from the devestation rather than on top of it. Bastion thought that was a shame. The Veil would have been extra thin over there. Not that he himself could feel it but bound to a demon it was hard not to notice it. Blood mages over time lose their connection to the veil. Bastion hadn't dreamed in years but he still held on to the ones he had, a protege worthy of taking over his work. A blood mage to surpass him. Ysolde could be that mage if she would give in to what she wanted.

He had many fine candidates in Kirkwall but he'd never seen them wield power as quickly or as easily as she did on her first try. He was interested in nurturing her potential, she just needed to let go of the Chantry teachings that she held so dear.

"With the inquisition are you? I heard many mages were conscripted in the aftermath of the rebellion. Are they treating you well then?" If he could get even a little bit of information out her about their welfare it would help him during his recruitment.

𝐖𝐇𝐎:              ysolde  emmelain,     closed  to  @bleedingcircle 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄:         the  hinterlands,   redcliffe  village,   outside  the  chantry 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍:           all  soul's  day,   9:41  dragon,   dusk

𝚂𝙷𝙴  𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃𝚂  𝙷𝙸𝙼  𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙲𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙳  and,   at  first,   she  thinks  it's  a  trick  of  the  light  or  her  tired,   heavy  mind.   breath  catches  in  her  throat  and  she  freezes.   the  companions  she'd  been  walking  with  keep  going  without  her.   and  then  he  notices  her  back,   and  she  wishes  that  it's  only  a  vision,   despite  how  much  the  implications  of  a  simple  hallucination  mean  terror,   being  a  mage  as  she  is.   that  would  still  be  preferable.   he  smiles,   and  starts  walking  towards  her,   and  still   —   she  cannot  will  her  feet  to  unstick  themselves  from  the  pavement  and  move  forward,   go  anywhere.   run  and  hide.   but  it's  too  late.   and  then  he's  in  front  of  her,   looming  over  her,   and  she  is  sure  this  is  real.   "you  said  that  i  would  never  have  to  see  you  again."

Bastion had always liked the feel of the veil in Redcliffe. It wasn't as thin as it was in Kirkwall but with a few more disasters and it wouldn't be long until it was the same. The dragon age hadn't been kind to Thedas and Bastion knew that it was just going to keep going until a new age rung in. Things in the south had gone awry again and Bastion wanted to see the rifts and the tear in the sky himself.

He'd recognoised Ysolde without her turning around and curiously followed her. He hadn't quite been expecting to see her here of all places. She noticed him but she didn't run. He didn't need the demons power to know that part of her was intrigued and craving something that she once knew.