Post by Margaid on Mar 11, 2015 23:35:21 GMT -6
Well, this was new.
Margaid the Maleficar couldn't say that her life was uneventful. Losing an eye was only among the first of her adventures. In the intervening years since her bloody escape from the Circle, the mage had dined on the finest roots, lived in the most comfortable trees, made friends with bears, and shared campfires with Chasind. She had spent as much time on four legs as on two, walked as far in her dreams as she had in the forests, set her blood on fire with magic, and counted kindly poetic trees among her friends. Though often solitary and silent, Margaid's life certainly hadn't been dull, even on her lazier days. Any yet, even in the face of all this, Margaid couldn't say that she had ever met a hero before. Much less an entire Order of them.
Even mad Margaid knew who the Wardens were. Granted, the memory was from long ago, in a time of warm beds and kitchen-cooked meals. The version of Margaid who had lived in the Circle had dreamed of the Wardens when she wasn't dreaming of demons. Then, they had seemed like distant noble heroes, gliding on griffons, slaying shadows, and most importantly, admitting mages where no one else would. With the Wardens, mages could be heroes, too. They weren't watched by Templars or scowled at by strangers like they had set Andraste on fire themselves. An Order of powerful heroes would never have accepted a weak and trembling mage like the girl Margaid had been then, but she could dream. She could fall asleep at night thinking bitterly that maybe she would not tremble so if walking through the Circle halls did not feel like walking to the gallows.
That Margaid could never have dreamed of actually meeting a Warden. And now Margaid had met, like, six of them! How about that? And at least one of them was a mage! And they had said hello to her and had asked her name! They were on 'what's your name' basis; who could have guessed it? Not the mage, certainly. What was more, it seemed that now she was going to work with one of these blue-clad heroes to repair the rent Veil, and there were few things that Margaid loved more than adventures with the Veil. To work with the Wardens to a purpose....it almost made Margaid feel human again.
"So, Miss Elf," Margaid asked as she trailed along after Lithawen, the Warden who had taken it upon herself to see to the Veil. She was an impressive lady. Margaid could feel the magic radiating off of her in controlled, powerful waves. And her bearing was strong, too. If she had grown up in a Circle, it hadn't beaten her down like it had Margaid. Or if it had, she had found herself again somewhere between it's doors and the Wardens. It was inspiring to see. The apostate was as terrified as she was thrilled to work with her. It had been so long since she had gotten the chance to work with another mage, or to work her magic in front of another person at all. To be able to direct her magic to do something good, something important....it meant more than she had the wits to say. "I hope you have a darning needle large enough. It's not a small tear in the Veil. Though I haven't seen TOO many demons about...what brings Wardens to this little tear, anyway? I don't know if you noticed, but there was a Blight recently. I'm sure the buggers poked little holes in all sorts of places." Small talk was something of a novelty for Margaid, but she was curious enough to manage. Paradoxically, serenity was Margaid's coping mechanism when she became overwhelmed, and as this was the most momentous thing to happen to Margaid in years, she was certainly overwhelmed.
Margaid the Maleficar couldn't say that her life was uneventful. Losing an eye was only among the first of her adventures. In the intervening years since her bloody escape from the Circle, the mage had dined on the finest roots, lived in the most comfortable trees, made friends with bears, and shared campfires with Chasind. She had spent as much time on four legs as on two, walked as far in her dreams as she had in the forests, set her blood on fire with magic, and counted kindly poetic trees among her friends. Though often solitary and silent, Margaid's life certainly hadn't been dull, even on her lazier days. Any yet, even in the face of all this, Margaid couldn't say that she had ever met a hero before. Much less an entire Order of them.
Even mad Margaid knew who the Wardens were. Granted, the memory was from long ago, in a time of warm beds and kitchen-cooked meals. The version of Margaid who had lived in the Circle had dreamed of the Wardens when she wasn't dreaming of demons. Then, they had seemed like distant noble heroes, gliding on griffons, slaying shadows, and most importantly, admitting mages where no one else would. With the Wardens, mages could be heroes, too. They weren't watched by Templars or scowled at by strangers like they had set Andraste on fire themselves. An Order of powerful heroes would never have accepted a weak and trembling mage like the girl Margaid had been then, but she could dream. She could fall asleep at night thinking bitterly that maybe she would not tremble so if walking through the Circle halls did not feel like walking to the gallows.
That Margaid could never have dreamed of actually meeting a Warden. And now Margaid had met, like, six of them! How about that? And at least one of them was a mage! And they had said hello to her and had asked her name! They were on 'what's your name' basis; who could have guessed it? Not the mage, certainly. What was more, it seemed that now she was going to work with one of these blue-clad heroes to repair the rent Veil, and there were few things that Margaid loved more than adventures with the Veil. To work with the Wardens to a purpose....it almost made Margaid feel human again.
"So, Miss Elf," Margaid asked as she trailed along after Lithawen, the Warden who had taken it upon herself to see to the Veil. She was an impressive lady. Margaid could feel the magic radiating off of her in controlled, powerful waves. And her bearing was strong, too. If she had grown up in a Circle, it hadn't beaten her down like it had Margaid. Or if it had, she had found herself again somewhere between it's doors and the Wardens. It was inspiring to see. The apostate was as terrified as she was thrilled to work with her. It had been so long since she had gotten the chance to work with another mage, or to work her magic in front of another person at all. To be able to direct her magic to do something good, something important....it meant more than she had the wits to say. "I hope you have a darning needle large enough. It's not a small tear in the Veil. Though I haven't seen TOO many demons about...what brings Wardens to this little tear, anyway? I don't know if you noticed, but there was a Blight recently. I'm sure the buggers poked little holes in all sorts of places." Small talk was something of a novelty for Margaid, but she was curious enough to manage. Paradoxically, serenity was Margaid's coping mechanism when she became overwhelmed, and as this was the most momentous thing to happen to Margaid in years, she was certainly overwhelmed.
