dear_mun | (no subject)

Is there a problem with having a knight's countenance, friend?

[This knight isn't offended at all, no sir.]

There is an inaccuracy to it.

[ He's not amused. Doesn't even know what a joke is, you'd swear. ]

I am not a knight, sir. I merely teach and serve with them.

Is there.

[Mayhaps they may find common ground yet then. Exceedingly unlikely, but not impossible.]

Tell me, scholar, in what way do you 'teach and serve' with us? Do you accompany us from camp tp camp, growing fat from the spoils of our battles, and then hide in your tent when there is fighting to be had?

[ He lifts his head, eyebrows raised as if looking for the purpose behind the words. He's unwilling to be baited, if that's all there is to it. ]

I am a battlemage of the Imperial Legion. My duty in battle is to fight alongside my comrades and lend my magic to their aid. Should I desert my post, rest assured I would be punished accordingly.

[There's a grim sort of intensity behind his eyes, one that's only too happy to bore into the other man. When he hears the word 'mage', those eyes flash, his lip curling just the slightest bit.]

Ah, it's as I thought. It's almost as if you mages have a reek to you one can catch after hunting you long enough.

In a sense.

[ Curious. Some new variation of the 'magic is for milk-drinkers' song and dance? ]

Is there a particular reason you take issue with my profession?

Aye.

[So glad you asked.]

The practice of magic is not a 'profession'. 'Tis an abomination in the sight of Father and Son, and against God and his children.

You should know, sir, that one of the vows I took as a knight was to slay witches and their kin wherever I might find them.

Yes. Those with some talent often learn to sense it in others.

[ ...Yeah, fair credit where it's due. You've got him dumbfounded here.

There are always the few Nords and Redguards of course, but at worst they're just suspicious and scornful. And selective. Not. You know. Sapped-out-of-their-minds murderous. ]

What-? Which god is this meant to be?

[ Polite to warn him, though. He'll quietly ready an armour spell and keep a very intent eye on the mad knight's movements. ]

The only God there is, sir.

[Some of the grim resolve fades, or at least ebbs, and for a moment he almost feels a pity for this man. It is one thing to reject the truth and the way, but another to have fallen into the wrong path simply out of ignorance.

His hand goes to his sword the moment his senses begin to tingle.]

Please don't do that. I have not slain you yet; do not give me cause I cannot refuse by weaving your heathen spellwork before me.

[Yes, he can sense it when magic is used. No, he is not a mage himself. No, even he does not know entirely how he is able to do this.]

If I wished you dead, you would already be so. You understand this, yes?

Edited 2015-03-27 02:40 (UTC)

[ He has no interest in standing around to see if he gets slain, he thinks. But the strange tone of the request makes him pause. That and the need to re-evaluate his strategy, since he was rather relying on acting unnoticed.

For now his fingers uncurl slightly; the magic ebbs uncast. But the look he gives is deeply unimpressed. ]

I understand very little of what you say. [ Presumptuous to assume his own victory, too. That's a knight for you. ] And less still what it is you do want, since you seem ill-equipped for reasonable conversation.

[He could give this mage a sound cuffing for his attitude, and has half a mind to, but for now he stays his hand. It is enough that the man does as he says; he will attend to do the rest in due course.

His hand does not drift any further away from the sword at his belt; he remains at the ready. But his tone, if not concilatory, is at least not as hostile as before.]

Au contraire, I am equipped for any conversation I need have. [Perhaps he could do with a flagon or two, but only with trusted brothers, of which this man is neither.] But I trust that as a scholar you already see this and will keep our conversation reasonable.

I will speak plainly. I have been separated from my company, and require your aid to find and return to them. I will permit you to use your magic, but only to this end. Do this without betraying me, and I shall spare your life. You have my word of honor.

[ So it always goes. Despise the mages, yes, up until the ship gets lost, or the wound festers, or the wisps emerge. There are many things that could be said.

But. But. You don't grow up in Cyrodiil - in Bruma - these days without learning to guard your tongue. Stratos forces his expression to composure, reminds himself that the Empire wasn't built on inflexible pride. He's undergone entire dinners with Thalmor representatives. He can handle this. ]

And when you are reunited with your companions? What do you intend then?

[A fair question. And certainly the easy way out would be to lie, say that he will let the man go outright, tell him what he wants to hear. That would secure his cooperation.

But Bennet is no liar, not even to a heathen and a mage. His own expression is calm, though unyielding. He will tell this mage the truth and either he will cooperate or he will not.]

Then you will be given the choice to renounce your magic and swear your faith to the Lord. Should you do this, you shall either be sent to the bishops to have your skills assessed or you shall remain to accompany us until we have freed the holy lands.

[He does not say what would be done with him should he refuse. That, Bennet thinks, does not bear spelling out.]

[ How does he keep finding ways to make the proposition worse? Stratos sighs. Mara and Julianos... ]

Quite aside from the question of what use I'd be to you or yours if I were forbidden to use my skills- I must inform you that this is known in civilised lands as 'kidnapping'. The legal penalty for abducting an Imperial citizen - particularly a legionary officer - is rather steep.

[ And this is allowing the fantasy that he'll simply permit himself to be captured. ]

[ The claim to being an officer, legionary no less, is one he meets with undisguised disbelief, dark eyebrows lifting up. He would never in a thousand years trust a magic-practicing officer. He cannot imagine the army that would.]

Look around you. These can hardly be said to be 'civilized lands', now can they? You are no officer, sir, and I will not tolerate you claiming so again. You are a mage in uncharted territory, a mage I am sworn by oath to slay outright, and instead I am offering you a way to keep your life. Among civilized men such a gesture would call for gratitude.

[Bennet looks the other man up and down quickly, just for the show of it. He already assessed what weapons this man might carry when first he laid eyes upon him.]

You cannot fight your way out of this and if you try you will die. If you try to draw your dagger I will be upon you and will have snapped your neck before you could have it in hand. Your spells all require a few moments for concentration and I will not give you them. Surrendering is the only way you can hope to survive this.

[There's no particular bravado to the way he says any of that, despite his words. The summation is delivered bluntly, without any hint of emotion.]

[ Stratos' own stare is hardly less incredulous. His uniform ought to be testament enough: only officers wear the segmented plate of the Legion. Maybe this is what comes of forgoing the helm for a mage's hood, but he doubts any badge of office would be sufficient. ]

Believe me, I am only too conscious of what you're offering. Nevertheless, the law remains.

[ He doesn't specify who'll take exception to his disappearance; his own unit are just the first among them. And Stratos personally doubts the knight's estimation of his speed, yet there's a matter-of-factness to his voice that encourages caution. A counter-offer, then. ]

I have my own oath to uphold, sir - however strange that might seem to you. If I return you to your company, will you take them and leave these lands?

[Though Bennet must concede the man's manner of dress unusually disciplined, it still tells him nothing. A mage can loot from the battlefield as easily as any other scavenger. Or if not a looter, perhaps this man is one of Saladin's rumored corps of magicians. His colors are all wrong, as is his tongue, but stranger sights has he witnessed in his journeys.]

Do not presume to lecture me about law, mage. Many years of my life now have I spent upholding the law.

[His brow furrows as he considers the offer... and the mention of this man having an oath of his own to uphold. Curious, finding a mage who believes in upholding his oaths. More importantly, the terms are agreeable, so he gives the other a single curt nod.]

Aye, we have no interest in these barren fields, nor whatever may lie beyond them. Our aim is the Holy Land, territories currently occupied by the warlord Saladin. Do as you are bid and I will see to it that no harm comes to your people.

A pity to break such a worthy habit.

[ Well, it's not the fairest bargain he's struck. The stars seem to demand his people be on the weaker end every time, these days. Still, it's worth something to safeguard the land he's responsible for. His captor has a point - this surely isn't the most hospitable of the lands they guard, but what does that matter to the people who live here? Particularly the isolated priests and mages... ]

I'll accept your word on that. [ He inclines his head, as if he doesn't harbour doubts. ] Who is it I'm seeking?

For a man spared his life, you seem very intent upon making me change my mind.

[He doesn't say that with any particular menace, just as a reminder to his prisoner that it would behoove him well to mind his tongue. Particular when they do find his company -- as unlikely as the mage is to believe it, he is actually one of the more forgiving among his brothers. Considering the question, he lifts his free hand to his chin.]

Can you only seek a specific person? [He frowns, but then shakes his head.] Very well then. Seek out a knight by the name of Sir Eobar Garrington. If any have stayed true to the quest, it will be him.

[ The point is taken. Even if he is banking on never reaching said company. ]

The better I know what to look for, the easier it will be. [ As it is, lucky he has plenty of practice with clairvoyance. His eyes grow distant as he clears his mind and focuses on the need to find their goal. Half the strength of this spell is in guiding his own thoughts.

When he cups a hand in front of him, the pale blue light that gathers is almost an afterthought. He's using the power - and the name, echoed in a soft murmur - to attune himself, listening to the world around him rather than probing blindly. ]

[Even knowing the man is working his magic for a noble purpose, he cannot help but tense up at it. His sword hand tightens its grip around the hilt.]

He is a Briton man, tall and fair, usually helmed, carries a strange black sword as his weapon. The sword is likely a relic, you may be able to sense him from it alone.

[He has no way to know that this mage will find nothing, because Eobar Garrington nor his sword are any longer in this world or even in this time. The fate that has befallen his friend is one he could scarcely fathom, even were it explained to him. All that remains of his best friend is a skeleton, lost and forgotten in a dimension beyond mortal ken.]

[The very slightest nod is the only sign the mage has heard. His target is proving elusive, even as the details are added. He coaxes and tests silently, turning a slow circle to find the one direction which ought to tug at him in answer. For an instant he feels an echo, like fish brushing against a line, and strains closer to find-

Nothing. Empty. There's no path to be found. Stratos blinks as he breaks the spell. What this means he isn't sure, but he suspects it's not good for him.

The knight beside him draws a look of wary study. ]

Are you sure of this man's identity?

[The longer the mage goes on with his search, the more anxious he becomes. It is not a pleasant feeling, being in such close proximity to him. The magic his captive is using, drawing into and through him, raises Bennet's hackles like the draw of nails across stone. He can feel it in his nails, his teeth, the hairs on the back of his neck. He doesn't like the feeling.

And then it stops. The sensation of being so close to a current he can feel without seeing mercifully ends, but one look at the face of the mage is enough to make him wish it hadn't.

Something is wrong. He knows that even before the man speaks. Reining his first, initial reaction in, he takes a deep breath before he speaks.]

As sure as I am of my own. What is the trouble, mage? Did your sorcery fail you?

Your friend is... nowhere. [ He frowns as he says it, shaking his head; that's maddeningly vague from either end. ] There was no answer. Only a... memory of his presence, if you will. He was a part of this world, but now he is gone from it.

...Explaining it is difficult. I've felt nothing like this before.

[His reaction is both immediate and violent. Crossing the distance between them in the span of a second, he grabs the mage by his lapels and hefts him off the ground with both hands, armor and all. The lines of his tanned face are dark with anger.]

I care not for the difficulty, mage. Explain this. What do you mean, 'nowhere'? Are you saying Eobar is dead?