Satisfied that his guest was not about to flee screaming from a box of mouse bones, Tiberius settled down in the upholstered chair behind the desk and waited. Her story, while new to him, was not surprising. Lyric had come from similar origins – though with one or two major differences. Though she was the Nicollier’s true born child, it seemed that they had loved her less than Ophelia’s family had her. So to the Circle she had gone, half a continent away.
“My house guests tell me that the South is not as cruel as it once was. Perhaps it will be different for the next generation.” He shrugged one shoulder, feigning indifference. Every rite of Annulment, every rite of Tranquility, was a monstrous injustice that frustrated him to dwell on. But that anger would serve no one here, and as far as Tiberius knew, the Chantry lacked the strength to oppress mages on that scale again.
Still, it was hard to say which auburn haired Orlesian lady had been dealt the better hand by fate. Was stunted magic a fair trade for a birth family that cared for you? Well, one could be worked on and the other could not.
“You’ll find that our Circles are a bit different; grand universities rather than prisons. The Minrathous Circle of Magi operates out of the ancient temple of Razikale. It’s where I met Mal, when we were boys thirty-odd years ago.” Tiberius reached out to the cat on the desk; it stretched and accepted chin scritches, orange eyes narrowing in obvious pleasure. Which was this one again? Lyric had insisted on naming all of the animals — mostly after food, if he recalled correctly.
“Shall I? Well, I would hate to disappoint.” A predisposition for prophecy – that was interesting, but outside of his particular talents entirely. He could find someone better suited. Same with the healing and, even better, he had a teacher for that ready at hand: Lyric herself. An affinity for spirits, though, that he could encourage.
“I’d say you have all the hallmarks of a Seer, Ophelia. Too bad you weren’t born in Rivain. Or perhaps not – the Circle of Diarsmuid were murdered by the Templars in 9:40. Nevertheless,” he gestured toward the wisp following her hand, “Rivaini Seers are sensitive to spirits – I understand they have an easier time with symbiotic possession than most of us.” And what sort of spirit did Ophelia herself house, now that the Veil was gone? Tiberius studied her slantwise, as if he might catch a glimpse.
“It’s … Not the most rigid or well documented field of study. Spirits and demons are all emotion, after all. Yet, it is a useful and versatile school to learn – a spirit may have command of magic that you yourself do not possess.”
“My house guests tell me that the South is not as cruel as it once was. Perhaps it will be different for the next generation.” He shrugged one shoulder, feigning indifference. Every rite of Annulment, every rite of Tranquility, was a monstrous injustice that frustrated him to dwell on. But that anger would serve no one here, and as far as Tiberius knew, the Chantry lacked the strength to oppress mages on that scale again.
Still, it was hard to say which auburn haired Orlesian lady had been dealt the better hand by fate. Was stunted magic a fair trade for a birth family that cared for you? Well, one could be worked on and the other could not.
“You’ll find that our Circles are a bit different; grand universities rather than prisons. The Minrathous Circle of Magi operates out of the ancient temple of Razikale. It’s where I met Mal, when we were boys thirty-odd years ago.” Tiberius reached out to the cat on the desk; it stretched and accepted chin scritches, orange eyes narrowing in obvious pleasure. Which was this one again? Lyric had insisted on naming all of the animals — mostly after food, if he recalled correctly.
“Shall I? Well, I would hate to disappoint.” A predisposition for prophecy – that was interesting, but outside of his particular talents entirely. He could find someone better suited. Same with the healing and, even better, he had a teacher for that ready at hand: Lyric herself. An affinity for spirits, though, that he could encourage.
“I’d say you have all the hallmarks of a Seer, Ophelia. Too bad you weren’t born in Rivain. Or perhaps not – the Circle of Diarsmuid were murdered by the Templars in 9:40. Nevertheless,” he gestured toward the wisp following her hand, “Rivaini Seers are sensitive to spirits – I understand they have an easier time with symbiotic possession than most of us.” And what sort of spirit did Ophelia herself house, now that the Veil was gone? Tiberius studied her slantwise, as if he might catch a glimpse.
“It’s … Not the most rigid or well documented field of study. Spirits and demons are all emotion, after all. Yet, it is a useful and versatile school to learn – a spirit may have command of magic that you yourself do not possess.”
12-08-2024, 03:59 PM
