#alessiathepath

Talking to Alessia after she returned from the whole Kossith debacle proved to be harder than she thought. The witch was slippery, and for a time, Valdís gave her some degree of peace. Ruthless to her enemies, she might be, but she wasn’t cruel to those who could be her allies. And so far, the witch had proved to be useful at the very least. So Valdís gave her time, and waited to ambush her until she had seemed to come out from her shell enough to go to the training rooms at a normal hour. 

"You were incredibly impressive. It shouldn't be long before your ring as its stone laid within," Calla praises gently as she approaches Alessia's solitary place on the ship. Though the natural progression of a witch was hardly news. Calla kept up with other happenings within the Tower, such as what people researched in the library. Scholars had to stay informed after all, which is how Calla knew that three more of the same rings that had sparked numerous inquiries had found new fingers. Whatever could be happening in the queendom? "Even with your … condition, you still managed to fight as ruthlessly as any Warrior. You should be proud."

Every few years there'd be an Accepted who got more of Fharzai's attention than the others. He always guided witches along the Olympian path in his downtime, but he had a penchant for choosing a noticeable favorite. With this year boasting nobles, prodigies, and even an heir to one of the Sinarian Seven, Fharzai's choice was the topic of scrutiny and judgment. He heard the whispers as he heard all things within the Tower, but he'd been around for too long to let rumors deter him. Alessia was his chosen, and one day they'd all come to understand why.   "Sight is not simply about what you see. Being observant to a degree you're not yet accustomed to will carry you far over the next few months," he informs Alessia as they stroll through the first floor of the Tower. She was young, even younger if just counting how long she'd been a practicing witch, but every Olympian started off being ignorant of their true potential. She was no worse off than any Accepted that had walked these halls before her, but she had more promise than any of them. It had been over a century since Fharzai had met a witch with as vast a future as her. In time, he'd turn her into one of the greatest his Tower has ever produced. "Insight, foresight, future sight, all ways of perceiving the world around you without needing your eyes. Perfecting this skill is crucial, especially with how easily a weave can slip something past an unobservant individual. This Tower is not only a monument to knowledge and power, it's also where the Game planted its roots. You'll face many traps and deceptions along your path, and sheer force of will can only carry you so far. You were taught in the shadows, but in the light are you still as effective? People who never had to hide their magic are more prone to using it purely as an extension of themselves even if you can't detect how. Case in point—" Fharzai stops and turns to face her directly, a hint of mischief glimmering in his smile. "I cannot lie, but I have deceived you from the moment I approached you. Can you tell how? Can you tell why?"

Every witch in the Tower had an agenda and Istar was no exception. His were always incredibly straightforward though. He wanted Alessia for the Warriors and he wouldn't let it go no matter what the others said. She belonged in a red robe so the notion she'd be more fit for a blue was unacceptable. She wasn't ready they said, she wasn't the right fit they said, don't waste your time they said, but when had Istar ever acted on the advice of another? On the field of battle, he took orders, but when it came to his goals regarding witches and magic, he was more of an unmovable wall than the Accepted in question the Sitters still didn't see the true value of.

Istar insisted on having his turn as instructor, unwilling to see the Warriors close the door on her. And an unmovable wall was exactly what he'd be because Alessia had yet to move Istar a single step since he began training with her. Every assault, spell, slash, and hit was either countered or tactically taken without exertion on Istar's part. He hadn't even needed to wrap Andvari around himself, only wielding the bludgeon of its air form a few times. "I cannot tell if you honestly think you're above this Tower or above me, but you forget yourself little girl. While you were marveling at sparks between your fingers, I was well along my path to grand arcana. Every Olympian was. They are your seniors for a reason. Iskaran grit alone is not enough to challenge any of us least of all me. Iskaldrik runs through my veins the same as yours. Take your training seriously, or the Tower will cast you out," he lectures as he wards off Alessia's attack and tosses her back again. "They say you don't have what it takes to roar, that you are more akin to a snake in the grass than a Warrior. Is that true? Can you only have an advantage in a fight when you sneak around in the shadows? A fine Agent that would make you, proving every aspersion the Sitters of Mars are saying about you to be true."

Istar typically wasn't this harsh when he played instructor, but Alessia was a true Iskaran. No other witch at the Tower would have the resolve or patience to get through to her. She could give up if she wanted, but Istar was by far more stubborn than her. He wouldn't stop until she earned her red robe come Hel or Highwater. No hugs for Alessia until she got serious about walking the Olympian path. "Don't insult me by thinking some parlor trick will be enough. I've fought more than you, I've killed more than you, and unless you stop holding back and come at me with full force, you'll never be anything but a little girl who couldn't even push a witch who's not even trying back an inch. Who'd fear a weakling like that? Again."

Bravery was always to be commended, but this battlefield was no place for a beginner. There was no doubt she had powerful magic coursing through her veins, but even Istar could tell that raw power was all she had going for her currently. That and determination to fight. Good, she'd need that if she was going to make it in the Tower. Lysaran's would always look down on her for being an Iskaran witch, but Istar would never. Thinking he was better than her had nothing to do with why he was flying across the battlefield to her aid. Years of experience gave Istar finely honed combat senses and he could see her becoming overwhelmed before she was actually boxed in. Her back wasn't clear and there was no way she'd be able to turn fast enough to attack the genlock bearing down on her. Faster and faster, the wings of Andvari's flight form worked overtime to get him to her before she could meet perilous harm. He barely made it, there wasn't even a second to spare to change his armor's form. Istar towered over her from behind, metal wings folding over them both to form a shield against the axe bearing down on her. "It's alright, I made it in time," he says, the strain clear in his voice as he concentrates intensely on maintaining the structure of his wings. Flight form was not built for defense, but he would not allow the strike to break through his wings. "You're doing fine. There's no need to "prove" you can do it all alone. You've only just been Accepted. Survival should be your priority." As he speaks, Istar's armor slowly alters shape, remolding from flight to earth as the metal pulls away from his torso to shift the wings into arms. Two throw the axe away while the other come together to smash the genlock's head with a thunderous clap. But they couldn't relax, two more hordes of darkspawn were heading right toward them. He wanted to get her out of her, but there didn't appear to be time for that. "Stick close to me and I'll keep you safe, but we're going to have to fight our way out. Can you handle more?"

He'd delivered to Alessia the same dream for nights now: a large oak tree growing from the ground with a split in its trunk halfway up, but the two portions continued to spiral and reach for the sky even after being made to grow on their own. The trunk may have split, but the roots and branches still reached out to one another, the tree tops bending to form a circle around the perch where Fharzai's visage in the scape resided. Two ravens, each posing the same question to the young witch. "What do you see?" Each night the dream unravels before he can hear her answer, yet he returns again and again, hoping she's ready to confront the message hidden within the dream he weaved. Tonight he decides to alter the scape, taking flight as a pair of ravens after asking the same question. They fly overhead, dance around each other, and soar to the sky beyond the sun before swooping back down to roost on her shoulders. Wood creaks as the mighty split oak stretches even further into the sky than the ravens did. "What do you see?" they ask in tandem, pointing their beaks up toward the high-reaching tree.

There is a constant movement, that of the cart pulling them forward and towards their grim fates. If any hope had remained in Nuvi after her escape from the mines, if it had been strengthened through their journey through the mines, it did not matter. That hope is done, replaced only by overwhelming fear and grim realization. There are echoes of something dark on the Weave, and the more she understands the darkspawn, the less she believes they will make it out of this ordeal. Not without a sacrifice many of them will fear to make. Perhaps a quick death would be quicker, trying to fight likely useless, but— 

A quick glance around makes her wince once more. The mortals are so young. Many of them barely look more than a decade beyond maturity, and even if she doesn’t quite believe there is a way out, she doesn’t want to doom them. Nuvi has long made peace with death, her own misadventures a balancing act that one day could push her towards the edge, but she is older than all around her and there is a tragedy in that. A tragedy she wants to stop, even if she doesn’t quite know how. Even if she were at her strongest, she would not be enough to allow for an escape, and she is far from her strongest now. Broken and shattered, eight years removed from her blessings, she doesn’t know if she will be able to call the earth or the plants with the deft hand needed for any sort of plan to take route.

“I almost preferred the mines,” she mutters to herself, not bothering to lower her tone even if there is a stranger sitting close enough to her. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she sighs and closes her eyes. “At least the monsters guarding us there wore a human guise.”