Watchful Eye of the Atelier ★

much like the templars whose attention the dalish clans try to avoid, iloren would see their equivalent in the knights moralis. even after he'd joined with the mage rebellion, some templars decided to join him in haven. cullen, one of his most trusted advisors and friends, used to be one before laying down the mantle.

still, their mistreatment of mages leaves a sour impression that touches each of them. iloren remembers going out of his way to keep their watchful gaze away from keeper istimaethoriel lavellan. perhaps moreso, after he wielded the power of the inquisition.

she'd still called him da'len in her letters.

' it is. my clan was familiar with this plight. as all elves are. '

he holds the crystal in his hands like a precious treasure, and he's held many of them. it's fascinating to him. he sees the glyph, gently taps it with the tip of his finger. such a tiny thing, lending such power. he's not as familiar with magic that lasts so long, something that will stay magical unless damaged.

more with walls of fire, the type of magic that rips you away from unconsciousness, a blast of necromancy to strike fear. this is ...

Pushing the thought about how Qifrey would feel about this to the side for now. Olruggio was aware about his friend’s attitude towards visitors, but for him he’d surely make an exception. Iloren was Olruggio’s friend after all.

The witch leaned back into his own cushions when the elf inspected his rudimentary invention, the only thing he’s able to cast for now, thinking how the stars at least granted him the ability to cast useful magic. After all, what was a witch if they weren’t useful?

A soft pink tint touched his cheeks with the unexpected compliment, waving his words away immediately, the gruffiness of his voice juxtaposting the flusterness in his eyes.

“Ah! It’s whatever, very simple magic, nothing really impressive to write home about.”

Super simple, an invention that didn’t deserve much praise or note, really. “But, I guess, you’re welcome, if you like it so much.” Keeping a friend warm was the exact intention he had with the snugstones, to make sure whoever took one always had a warm bed at night.

“I’d offer you more, uh, camping tools. Back where I’m from, inventing useful trinkets was kinda my bread and butter. Maybe one day I can whip up a whole mistwood survival kit for ya.” And the prospect of it made him look quite proud of his profession suddenly.

He should have said no, laughed in his face, kept drinking, and kept letting that man flirt with him.

Qifrey feels like a fool for even asking, and he feels like an even worse fool for even assuming Olruggio would ever deny him this. The look on his face, eyes wide and moony and cheeks flushed, shocked and delighted, makes Qifrey feel a little dizzy. Maybe it's the alcohol. No. He didn't drink enough for more than just a pleasant buzz.

The hand that takes hold of his is warm. It's always warm. There are calluses and old burn scars, a harsh contrast to the soft skin of Qifrey's own hands. He's thought many times about those hands on him, all while miserably sitting alone in waist-deep, cold water.

He's pulled onto the dancefloor and the gesture—being pulled along by his best friend—is so familiar that he almost feels like a child again. If it weren't for the smell of spirits and smoke and the heat of bodies pressed impossibly close around them, he could almost believe they were.

Qifrey had been silently observing the clubgoers as he sat at the bar in favor of ignoring whatever drunken man had decided to come up and attempt to court him. Thus, he has a vague idea of what movements qualify as 'dancing' with this music, which looked a little less like dancing and more like a scene from a brothel.

The thought of doing that with Olruggio makes his knees a little weak. It's a testament to his self-control that he's able to keep his composure at all.

Being this close to his best friend, their hands joined, might normally make that wicked thing within him grow. Now, however, with the flashing lights and the loud music and the sea of bodies, he simply can't find it within him to relax at all.

"You'll have to lead," he says, leaning in closer so Olruggio can hear him over the sound of the music. The other's breath stinks of alcohol and the platter of bar nachos they had split. He smells a bit like sweat, too, and there is always that lingering scent of smoke clinging to his clothes. Qifrey wants to press his face into his neck and breathe it in, he wants to drag his tongue over the warm skin to pick up the taste of it and feel Olruggio's pulse jump under the heat of his hungry mouth.

He doesn't.

They were not as free as he would’ve liked them to be, even so far away from the Great Hall, the pact, the burdens of witch society still looming dark and heavy over them at any given moment. There were rules to adhere to, secrets to be kept; not here, not tonight. What an oddly liberating feeling it was. And he wanted to share that feeling with none other than his best friend.

“Ya need to relaaaax a lil’”, Olruggio slurred and staggered a little on his feet, the grip he had on Qifrey’s hand tightening to regain balance. Despite the unfamiliarity and strangeness, he enjoyed being among unrestrained people simply living in the moment, and he wished to join them - with Qifrey. The sudden compliment made him blush even more, the first genuine blush of embarrassment this night. “‘tis because I go out to have fun more often than ya do. C’mon.”

It would be good for him to let loose a bit. Especially since Qifery told him that he hadn’t really been going out in the past months. Seriously, did he expect his friend not to quietly pity him for that?

Olruggio let go of Qifrey’s hand and - inspired by the other people dancing around them - slowly let his hands slide down the side of his body. Looking up at him with half lidded eyes and rosy skin, his hair a little messy by nature, he made sure his fingers felt every single inch of it with intent. Eyes wandered downwards in tandem, lips agape when he finally reached his dainty waist and grabbed him. Oh, how often had he daydreamed about moments like these, albeit during more private circumstances, to be so vulnerable and open with him. He had never told the other how he felt, even if this feeling had been lingering, lingering in the depths of his heart with every word, lingering underneath his skin with every touch, lingering in his very soul every time his eyes gazed into his.

His gaze must have been fixated on Qifrey’s waist and his hand on it for a moment too long, the witch averting his eyes with a new-found flusterness and something else. A feeling that he can’t quite place yet.

That feeling however, led him to pull the man closer to himself wordlessly, exhaling softly when he felt them touch. Body on body. It’s a feeling that makes him dizzy, makes the noise around them dampen and so, so insignificant. There is music, and there is light, and there is an ocean of people - and there is Qifrey.

So, this man also did not come from a world where Halovians existed. He didn't mind that they were so uncommon, but would be curious to learn whether they existed elsewhere. "As you can see, my wings are truly part of me, not a simple decoration. It is interesting, however, that the wings are a symbol of this kind of power in your culture." He once again made them flutter, folding them slightly before putting them back on the usual position.

That at least just further proved what he had already concluded; this man truly was not from Zozah, or any other place he was familiar with.

“Harmony and music, eh?”

Indeed, that sounded much more pleasant. Sunday didn’t really look the part, but Olruggio had learned that there’s more than meets the eye for most people. “So you’re a musician of sorts? A creative professional or something?”

the crystal is warm when it's handed to him and iloren holds it with an awe clearly visible on his expression. the heat is unlike the burn of his anchor, comfortable and soothing— he presses it into his left palm and relaxes further into the cushions behind him.

' no. ' he could leave it there. iloren has always been a proponent of the truth, and terribly prone to making light of the struggles he's faced, so he keeps talking instead.

' most mages are forced into circles once they develop their powers. the idea was to teach them how to best funnel it— because of its connection to the fade it becomes easier for demons to possess those that use it. of course, that idea was never realized. it's a tool of superstition and control. '

balancing the crystal in his hands, iloren presses it into his right palm.

' not everywhere in thedas, but certainly where i ended up. the inquisition stopped a civil war between mages and their keepers. a friend of mine is trying to work the circles into something better now, after much strife. i hope it's going well. ' he winces slightly. ' she's not the most tactful person. i'm sure she misses an opportunity to go hit things with me. '

He slouched more forward than he had noticed, lost in thought for a moment, “bein’ punished for something ya can’t change about yourself…” being punished for learning about the secrets of magic, being punished for revealing the secrets of magic, being punished for drawing forbidden magic, being punished for magic, “...sounds awfully horrible.”

"Not to worry, I still cook most of the meals in the atelier."

"Although, storing food long-term without the magic cookpot has been a lesson in its own right. I can no longer make as big of portions for fear of them spoiling..."

He was supplied one of those "refrigerator" contraptions, which has been wonderful for storing drinks, eggs, and dairy, but a hearty stew doesn't quite taste the same reheated on the stovetop after it's been sitting cold and congealed... ah, he supposes he'll get that cookpot back eventually, it will just take some time. It's been quite the wake-up call, and he wonders if this is how the non-witches back home have had to operate their entire lives.

Their order comes out quickly. Two trays are slid onto the table before them, two separate teapots with matching teacups and saucers. Olruggio's has a star pattern, something that Qifrey's eye lingers on perhaps a little too long. A plate of finger sandwiches comes next, smoked salmon with cream cheese, cucumber, egg, and chives. And then a platter of biscuits; perfectly soft, sweet, and chewy.

Qifrey reaches over and picks up Olruggio's teapot, carefully balancing it in his hands and tipping it to pour the golden-brown tea into his friend's cup. It has a faintly sweet aroma. A good choice for those with a sweet tooth who are trying to cut back on unhealthy sugars.

"Eat as much as you like. I can always order more." He has plenty of Dust saved up, as he rarely spent it on anything besides necessities. This time, he can afford to splurge a little. "If you don't like it, we can ask for something else."

He pours his own tea. It's the closest he can get to willowgrape marktea, but it still isn't quite the same. Qifrey brings the cup to his lips, the steam causing his spectacles to fog up. Head turning, he looks out of the window that they sit in front of.

Still, the renewed realization did elicit a small, defeated sigh from the witch.

“So there won’t be any leftover stew I can just nip at night?” A shame, this surely would collide with his habit of late-night snacking.

And just as he thought about Qifrey’s delicious food, their order arrived and Olruggio immediately took one of the sandwiches to bite into it. As soon as the first bite was down he could feel how hungry he truly was, melting a little into the cushions with the bliss he was feeling. He nodded as a thank you, waving the sandwich he was holding at him, “no need, for something else I mean, this will do just fine.” The salmon melted on his tongue, and the bread was warm and soft, a perfect snack for a starving witch. When Olruggio finished the first one, he pointed at Qifrey’s plate, gesturing to him to eat as well.

Still, it doesn't take up as much time as he'd like. So many from his world arrived so close together, and his home is filled with more noise than it has been for months. He's cooking for multiple again. He's doing extra loads of laundry. The washroom fills up with muck and must be scrubbed more frequently now. It's something he didn't quite realize he missed until it happened.

But outside of that... there were no Wises here, there was no Knights Moralis, no Pact, no Brimmed Caps. They were free to do as they pleased. He's only ever known living under the thumb of the Pact and those that enforce it, even living so far out into the countryside.

Olruggio has plans tonight. He had invited Qifrey along, and Qifrey had pleasantly shot the offer down. He had little interest in drinking and dancing among strangers; Olruggio was always the partier of the two, much more people-driven than he lets on. If no one needs me and a tree falls in the path no one even takes, do I even exist? is something he once recalled his friend saying. Qifrey expected Olruggio to go out, to have fun.

What he did not expect was Olruggio to bodily haul him out of the atelier, insisting that it's about time he stop holing himself up here every day. That hidden strength in his shoulders was always surprising, and always reignited an uncomfortable churning in his guts.

It's a club situated just off of the boardwalk in the Golden ward. They're seated at the bar, Olruggio's already a few drinks in, and neither of them have had to spend a single bit of dust. For whatever reason, the men crowding around them are insisting on purchasing their drinks for them. It's loud in here, from the music and people talking. And cramped. He hates cramped. It smells like spirits and something else sickly-sweet. The lights are dim, save for flashing neon strobes that would be like a lance through his skull were he to remove his spectacles.

His face feels warm, but he's not quite as drunk yet. There is a man talking to him but he's not paying much attention to what he's saying, instead laser-focused on the man that's currently speaking to his friend. Who has his hand on Olruggio's arm, is sliding it up his elbow. A vicious, ugly feeling rises up in him. His gaze darts away and he downs the last of his current glass.

"Pardon me," he murmurs to the man speaking to him, then turns to Olruggio. He dares to reach out and tap his shoulder to grab his attention. "Olly."

It's either the alcohol, the jealousy, stupidity, or all three that makes him say, or rather demand: "Dance with me."

So when the witch had suggested a fun night out together – see the sights and see the people, “let’s enjoy ourselves a little!” – and his friend had immediately, yet politely, declined, Olruggio knew that this would not do. Here they were not bound to any duties or secrecies, they could live open and carefree, which was a feeling that invigorated him and made him want to go and try out new things. Not that his magic worked anyway, so might as well make the best of their situation.

As per usual, Qifrey had to be forced along.

Once they reached Olruggio’s spontaneously chosen destination it didn’t take long for him to strike up a conversation, getting to talking to other people, happily introducing himself to the other party-goes and sharing drinks and jokes and insights. And when he was invited for liquor and cocktails it was impossible for him to decline, gladly agreeing for someone else to tab the bill. Not that he fully understood the wonderous cellphone contraption, anyway, let alone how to pay with it.

It was pleasant to talk and drink, getting fully involved in an ongoing conversation about things he would be too bashful to talk about sober. Oh, and sober he was absolutely not anymore, slurring his words and snorting as he needed a moment to separate jokes from innuendos. When he felt that familiar tap on his shoulder, Olruggio turned around with a wide smirk, cheeks flushed red as he looked over to his friend. “Qifrey!” he exclaimed, leaning a little too much into the touch. Mentally he was already preparing for sentences like, can we go home?, have you not had enough?, I think it’s time to go. But when none of the sort came out of his mouth, the witch looked borderline shocked, the shock slowly shifting into pure, genuine bliss.

Qifrey was taking the initiative? And quite demandingly so? Ah, that must’ve been a drunk hallucination, but he wanted to indulge in it so badly. “Thanks for the drinks, pal, I’ve important bus’ness to attend to.” Olruggio slurred, patting his sponsor on the chest before turning to Qifrey, grabbing his hand.

“Thought you’d ne’er ask,” slowly he turned to jump off the bar stool, tripping during the motion and almost falling over but catching himself right on time before continuing to drag his friend onto the dancefloor. He’d definitely had one too many already, but it didn’t matter, he felt good, he felt great actually, and he was asked for a dance by no one other than Qifrey. How could he not feel anything but absolutely over the moon?

"Indeed. You'll be able to tell me if there is anything I should pick up from the market while I'm there."

Qifrey hops over an overgrown root that's crawling its way across the road. The closer they get to the town center, the more... different things become. The plantlife is still overgrown, but it looks a little more like the other parts of the city. It makes him a little restless, and he guides Olruggio through it quickly. Where he's taking him is in a quieter area. One that looks a little more like the streets of Kalhn, although with far fewer people.

It's a tea shop. Small, cozy, the interior walls a shambolic mess of different types of clocks, hanging plants, worn paintings, old photographs, and strings of tiny lights. There are no chairs, just cushions on the floor beside the low tables covered in antique cloths. The air is heavy with the nearly-cloying scent of tea leaves. There is one other customer at one table.

The little, mousy woman working there recognizes Qifrey immediately.

"Oh, you've brought a date this time, have you? It's about time, with a face like yours."

Qifrey gracefully replies with, "Simply a dear friend who has only just arrived. He's quite famished."

She gives them both a look, head tilted. "Sure. Well, your usual table is open. The grape tea for you?"

"Yes. For my friend, honeybush will be fine. Might we get a platter of those little sandwiches with smoked salmon as well? And some biscuits? Thank you."

"Of course, of course. Now go, sit," she makes a shooing motion at them both before scampering off.

Qifrey laughs a little, leading Olruggio to the little table sat directly in front of the window. The tablecloth is a faded yellow with a pattern of little kittens. He settles down on his knees on one cushion, hands folded primly in his lap.

Without hesitation he follows the other witch around, curious eyes scanning the area around them, feeling both a sense of familiarity, but at the same time feeling entirely out of place. The plants looked familiar but different, the animals looked familiar but different, and once they had entered the establishment, everything looked familiar but different.

Everything. Except for Qifrey.

When the staff called him Qifrey’s date, Olruggio couldn’t hold back a snort, turning his head away to hide his expression, but then clearing his throat and beaming brightly at her. His friend seemed to be a regular here, and from the sound of it, he usually came here alone. Indeed, that sounded like a thing he would do. And while he felt a somber, profound sadness at the fact that he couldn’t positively reply - and Qifrey quickly shot the notion down - he also felt a little sorry for the other man. Apparently even in another world he seemed to have trouble finding friends.

Oh, how awfully lonely you must have been, my friend.

But once sat, he offered him a gentle nod, immediately making himself comfortable on the cushions. “I trust your judgement. I’m pretty sure there’s no one who knows my tastes better than ya do.” An innocent compliment, and a fact. Qifrey after all was doing most of the cooking between the both of them. Not that Olruggio didn’t know how to, he could very much hold up in a kitchen, but he more often than not was too tired after working to prepare a whole meal.

Indeed, there was no one who knew him better.

"Richeh hasn't found Agott yet." She said after a minute. "I did find Coco." She reported.

“Good job, Richeh. It’s prolly less scary with Coco and Qifrey around.” And the fact that Qifrey had shown and most likely taken her into the atelier made him genuinely smile. No matter where, he knew that he could count on his best friend.The news about Agott, however, was a little concerning.

“Don’t worry about it,” Olruggio’s smile did not waver even with his own uncertainty, reaching out his hand to the small witch, “we can look for her together, I’m sure with our joint effort we can find her easily.”

That was something he would have to look into himself, though, this was nothing he should burden the girls with unnecessarily. They all were close and all very important to each other, he would even go as far as calling them a small family in a way. A small family that was missing two of their members still.

To his question, however, the inventor denied his inquiry with a slight shaking of the head, a tad confused. When he saw the wings actually moved, he realized that these must have been actual wings, giving off the impression of a Quadryphon. “Ah, no, no! Not really…It’s just that the guys I mistook you for wear pointed caps with wings adorned on them. Not unlike yours.”

a circular crystal much like the orb he'd picked up so long ago. only this one doesn't hold such immense power. it's a tool olruggio uses to draw a shape onto a piece of paper. keeping his hands pressed against his knees as to not disturb the process, iloren has about a dozen questions he doesn't want to ask all at once.

olruggio held his breath to draw it. iloren could hear it in the stillness of the air between them and then again when he exhaled. it speaks to the same focus he's seen in dorian or solas.

' so is the magic in the crystal or the writing? ' or both. ' it's a beautiful shape. '

as he's waiting for the paper to do something the inquisitor strokes his index over the line of his other thumb. it's a thoughtful gesture, trying to remember everything he can about the workings of magic without his friends there to remind him.

' i know they use the veil to their advantage. our magic comes from a place called the fade. the veil is its separation. ' strange, to be the one explaining this. his eyebrows furrow with concentrated thought.

With a few final, precise strokes of his pen, Olruggio handed him the ready product, proudly.

The crystal now emits a gentle, comfortable warmth, warm to the touch but not too much to burn. Perfect to snuggly curl up in bed on a cold night. “The object is ordinary, while the material is important to take into consideration, it’s the ink that does the trick. Well, together with what you draw on it.” That would be the simplest explanation. Even the most intricate glyphs would not work without the conjuring ink, “it’s part skills part tools.”

Leaning back, he listened intently and carefully to Iloren’s explanation of magic, this otherworldly, explosive, energetic kind of magic. It felt like a different magic altogether. Not that the magic he was used to couldn’t be, but it was not something he necessarily liked to do. Aggressiveness was simply not his style, magic was there to help and benefit the people, not harm and hurt them. “The Fade, huh?” Olruggio cocked his head upwards, eyes meeting the ceiling as he tried to wrap his head around the concept of it. “So your magic is something a lil’ more…abstract?” A moment of pause as he closed his eyes. “As if you take an external energy source for it?” Indeed, that would not work for him. Their magic - his and Qifrey’s and the girls’ - wasn’t abstract, it was tangible, and it needed substance. “For us it’s possible to turn things into other things, but conjurin’ something out of nothing is a different story.” The rudimentary spells worked on the basis of elements, while the more elaborate ones combined these elements together and added variables to them, it required knowledge and understanding of the world around you to work. Not being bound to this restriction almost sounded like forbidden magic.

The witch’s thoughts drifted further into that topic, pondering, thinking; how interesting it would be to meet these apostates Iloren talked of…

But his short daydreaming was cut short by his last comment, a cold chill running down his spine with his words. “Lock’d away?!” What a horrible thought, to be punished on account of drawing magic…not that it was something he was entirely unfamiliar with, unfortunately.

“I take it people in your world don’t take too kindly to magic?”

His shoulder aches.

"Well, you likely won't be waking up with a headache tomorrow," Qifrey replies, turning his eye back to his friend; his stare is pointed when he continues, "Like you usually do. Because you never listen when I tell you to make sure you drink water."

The platform trembles a bit. There is an approaching light coming down the tracks, then the sound of a horn. The train pulls up in a blur and Qifrey stands immediately. It must look extremely foreign to Olruggio, there were no contraptions like this in Zozah. Usually, one would just call a pegasus carriage if it was too far to fly with sylph shoes...

They have the train car to themselves. It's very cold inside, causing him to draw his cloak a little tighter around himself.

"This place..." Qifrey murmurs. "Ah... maybe it's best for you to see for yourself, rather than have me explain it."

The monotone announcement of their stop rings out through the car. Cotes Fantasci. Qifrey guides him out onto the platform, down the steps, and this ward may feel a bit more like home: lush greenery, cobblestone streets, horse-drawn carriages. He avoids looking at the massive tree that shields the ward beneath its boughs; the sight causes an uncomfortable twist in his guts.

"It may take some time to... find your way around." Qifrey, despite being rather atrocious with directions, still seems to be navigating just fine. He keeps to the side of the road to avoid any traffic, be it hooves or wheels. "The ones who brought you here should have given you a contraption. They call it a "cellphone". I found a map on it. You can also write messages to anyone on the island from it and they'll receive them in an instant. And even make calls!"

Not that that's something he does often. He's sorely lacking in friends.

"Here! I'll show you."

Qifrey fumbles to dig out his phone again, quickly searching up Olruggio's name and swiping across the on-screen keyboard with his thumb.

The witch shifted his gaze away, bashfully so when his friend pointed out his reckless drinking habits. It wasn’t that he had never been irresponsible (for the most part), Olruggio just tended to drink his fill and then some, happily falling asleep on the nearest surface. Often time without Qifrey, but when the other was there, he had always been grateful for his caring presence.

This emotion he was comfortable showing around him, not that Qifery wasn’t used to it; when you spent years of your lives together you see and experience the whole wheel of emotion and feelings a person can go through, after all. But now that his thoughts drift off toward this particular thought he suddenly feels a painful thumping in his head. It was probably the side-effect of his hunger making itself physically present, nothing to be concerned about.

Added on top of all the new experiences and impressions, it would only make sense for him to be more exhausted and drained than usual.

Sitting down in the train car, Olruggio lets out an elongated sigh, resting his head against the backrest. All this new information was a lot to take in. Good thing it was Qifrey delivering the news to him, otherwise it might’ve been too overwhelming for the witch.

“A cellphone, huh?” Now that he mentioned it, there was indeed something in his pocket when he had awoken, but he couldn’t quite figure out how the device worked and in frustration had left it unattended until now. It was still in his pouch, from where he took it out, letting his fingers slide over the smooth surface with the screen lighting up once Qifrey’s messages arrived.

“Ah! What a curious contraption!” Unlocking the device, Olruggio clumsily types a message of his own in reply to test it out, his fingers slowly tapping one key after the other.

[txt] Hello qifrey

The witch leaned forward as he curiously watched if his message arrived on Qifrey’s device, eyes shining brightly once it in fact did. As a result of this realization, the corners of his lips curled up into a bright smile. “Now we can stay in touch at any time! That will make dinner plannin’ so much easier.”