Fantasy Questioning Beliefs [1 x 1] [M / M] [Dragon Age]

[stillalive]

Mercer Rozier

" Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. "



Age: 26
Background: Circle Mage
Hometown: Redcliffe, Ferelden
Class: Mage (Spirit Healer)
Current Status: Reluctant Mage Rebel​

 

[stillalive]

If somebody had told him a year ago that one day he would be camping in the wilderness, underneath a torn apart sky that glew a blinding green, sharing a tent with three other people he'd barely spoken to during his days in the Circle, Mercer would have tried hard not to laugh--he yet had trouble believing it to be more than just a weird dream.

Indeed, tensions had been ever-present in the Circle, and for a good reason--he was one of the lucky survivors of the incident ten years ago, a living witness of the horrors inflicted when a single mage spiralled out of control--however, Mercer had strongly believed things would calm down, fall into place like puzzle pieces, all in due time. He'd been content to imagine spending the rest of his life in the Circle, deeply immersed in his studies, engrossed in self-improvement, self-actualization, advocating peace and mutual understanding; perhaps even one day deservedly reaching the rank of a First Enchanter and passing his wisdom onto younger generations.

But life, apparently, rarely worked out the way one would want it to.

The Circle was no more, because that's what the higher-ups decided, and what most mages apparently wholeheartedly embraced. Mercer wasn't one of those mages, but he kept these opinions to himself; the last time he spoke up and expressed his doubts, all he got was a lecture.

"None of us asked for any of this, Mercy," Donna--one of his traveling companions--had snapped at him, fiery passion in her squinted eyes. "Staying still and waiting for things to unfold is no longer an option. This is our reality now. You're either with us, or you're with them. Hopefully, even you have enough self-respect to pick the right side."

She ended up apologising, nudged by the others, and Mercer assured her it was fine. But, her words yet remained in the back of his mind, kept him wide awake well into the night, despite his aching eyes. Was he wrong to feel the way he did? Was he a burden to his colleagues? He was no fighter, no rebel. If it were for him, he'd have surrendered, asked for mercy to all those who faltered, and to be taken back to the Circle. Despite everything, it has been a peaceful, safe life for those willing to follow the rules. Alas, circumstances didn't allow it. He was not a mere apostate; none of them were. Donna was right, wasn't she? None of them had a choice. They were all dangerous, rogue mages to be killed on sight, despite their individual stances. Why did it have to be this way? Was there any way at all to set things right? Would any of them survive to see it through the end? Would anyone at all, for that matter?

Exhausted by his endless supply of dreadful thoughts, he eventually drifted into a dreamless slumber. After what felt like a moment later, he was shaken awake by Kellan, who they'd agreed would be keeping watch from dawn to waking hour.

"Someone's coming our way," the elf whispered, a blank look in his eyes. "Help me wake the others, quickly!"

All seven of them emerged out of their tents in record time, staves and daggers and bows in their trembling hands.

Five figures approached slowly--definitely not templars, that much was certain. None of his companions said a word, but Mercer could tell they were all thinking similar thoughts. Were they brigands? Fellow mages? Hired thugs? Demons in disguise? The so-called Inquisition?

When the newcomers came close enough for Mercer to see them clearly, there was no mistaking it.

The strange fashion choices, the way they held their shoulders back and chins up high, strutting as if all within their sight belonged to them, not even flinching at the sight of the armed mages--they perfectly fit the descriptions in the books.

"Tevinters!" he exclaimed, his voice shaky, earning puzzled looks from his companions. "What in the world are they doing outside of... Tevinter?"

He might have said it loud enough for the approaching men to hear him--which he immediately realised might have been a grave mistake.

 

[Sole Survivor]

Ferelden didn't resemble his homeland in the very slightest. He'd hoped that this would be a welcomed change; however, Cassius found it to be far from the truth. The first night they arrived in the South, they'd been soaked to the bone in the freezing cold rain. A miserable first impression. Unsurprisingly, that said impression continued to only sour the mood of the camp. The weather hadn't warmed enough to fully dry out their armor and robes, causing a constant state of dampness and chill. He'd swear up and down that he had heard every curse in their native tongue being spat out on a daily basis - sometimes twice over. And once the sun started to properly shine, they made their move.

What was their goal? What drove them to this foreign land? Oh - it was simple.

Corypheus.

Cassius was a man of faith for what it was worth. He believed in the Maker and his wife Andraste, and followed the rulings of the Black Divine without question. Yet all of that couldn't prepare him for the abomination that was Corypheus. He'd been one of the Magisters from long ago who stepped boldly into the fade. Some thought it to be legends. Some believed it was a way to put the blame for the dark-spawn on the Tevinter Imperium. But legends don't just show up only day with an arch-demon bowing to their every command. His form was ghastly. Twisted and turned by the madness that was said to have created the dark-spawn.

Corypheus promised that no longer who Tevinter be in the state that it was now, no, he would raise it back up to the glory of the past. And Tevinter rallied to that cause.

And what did this god-like figure require to do such a daunting task? Mages.

Despite having a fair amount of power Magisters rallying to his cause, including Cassius' own family, he craved more. And thus he dispatched his new followers - the Venatori.

Given his position as the son of a well known and well off Magister, it wasn't a surprise that he joined the cause. Though it wasn't his ideal situation. He was not one of those who could wield magic - bend reality and the elements to his needs. No, he was soporati, a sleeper. Despite his noble birth he found himself a second class citizen in his own family. The Venatori needed guards and his father made it clear his stance on the matter.

"Do you truly want to disappoint the family more than you already have, Cassius?"

Those words were ever present in his head.

Nonetheless, the Venatori became his new cause. And right now, they were to find as well as recruit as many of the rebel southern mages to the cause - to Magister Gereon Alexius' command. He headed towards Redcliffe; however, they hadn't heard back from him just yet.

Luckily - one of their scouts had spotted an apostates near the Crossroads. The scout stalked them from a far for a day to make sure that in fact there was more than one. And indeed there was more. A small camp. Perfect.

And that's where Cassius found himself now. Along with four others, two mages out of the five, approaching the camp. Unsurprisingly, the closer they got it became apparent. The mages were fearful. Shaken to their core. Wielding weapons of all sorts and on the defensive.

"Oh no need to be alarmed!" A rather over-the-top pleasant voice rang out. The leader of the group, a mage whose face was exposed unlike the armed guards behind him. "We're just out for a lovely stroll in the south. The quaintness of it all is refreshing!"

His name, Galan, and he was a rather ruthless one despite his charming appearance.

"Now, now. Is that any way to greet a fellow mage?" He waggled his finger in their direction, "daggers and bows? Come now - you're not common farmhand. What good will those silly things do?" Lips pursed up in a rather knowing smirk, "how rude of me! You may call me Galan. Your friend with the...rather unkempt hair is quite right. Though we offer no trouble. Merely, I wish to speak to whom ever is in charge of your little party."

Cassius rested his hand upon the end of his sword which hung at his waist, watching the scene unfold.

 

[stillalive]

They all exchanged glances amongst each other in utter silence. They'd been travelling together for about a week, maybe two, but none of them had ever spoken of leadership. Did they truly need a leader? They weren't mercenaries, or thugs, or anything of the sort--just people working together as equals, seeking refuge, safety, protection from things beyond their control.

Mercer felt an elbow poke him in the ribs, effectively startling him into letting out a muffled squeak.

"That's you, isn't it?" He heard Kellan, the culprit, whisper. "You're an Enchanter, right? You've got more experience with this stuff than any of us."

Indeed, after many stressful days and nights spent hovering over an insane amount of books, working his backside off, learning all there is to know about the history, proper use, and preventive measures of magic, Mercer had been named an Enchanter, which ranked him higher than any of his companions. All of them--except for Amari, who was only fifteen years of age--had passed their Harrowings, and left it at that. He was the only one to actively seek to climb the ladder.

Did that make him the leader? In Mercer's humble opinion--Andraste's bloody knickers, no! He could barely get his apprentices to listen to him during the less interesting lessons! How in the world would he manage to assert himself among adults?!

As he spared another glance towards his colleagues, he found they were all looking directly at him, with all but words begging him to do something. His eyes stopped on Donna. She had tightened the grip on her dagger and--even with her eyes hidden underneath her long, golden fringe--Mercer knew her well enough to deduce she was about to do something very foolish, if he didn't do something even more foolish first.

"I... suppose that would be me! The leader! " he chirped, stepping closer to the foppish mage.

In a matter of seconds, he was drenched in sweat. Luckily, he had his staff to support him on his legs, else he was certain he would've collapsed. Remembering Galan's comment, he stuck his shaking fingers in his hair in a frail attempt to make it look slightly better, a sheepish smile worn on his flushed face.

"I'm, uh... Tenser? Tenser. I meant no offense, of course, dear, kind, sir. We're all on the edge here, prone to making questionable choices... but let's not do that. Let us discuss this calmly, like civilized folk. We can do that, can't we? Yes, we can."

At that point, he had no idea whether he was speaking to Galan, his companions, or his own self--alas, he couldn't turn back time and put together a less embarrassing sentence.

 

[Sole Survivor]

A dark brow lifted curiously as the nervous mage stated that he was the leader of the free mages here. Cassius wouldn’t have come to that assumption if Tenser hadn’t said those very words out loud. From under the helmet he wore to protect his face, he pressed his lips together in a fine, thin line.

“Oh? How marvelous!” Galan said giddily, scratching at the small patch of neatly groomed hair. “Tenser, you say? Odd name but nonetheless I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Galan of House Revran, at your service.”

Galan stepped forward, arms folded behind his back as he took in all of the mage before him. “Indeed - like the civil folk we are.” He nodded his head, the corner of his lips twitched upward. “So -let me be frank with what I have to say.”

“My dear friends and I have come to offer what may be a fantastic partnership for all of us. You see - Magister Alexius, a good friend of mine, is in the search for some very skill assistance and who better than our Southern brothers and sisters, no?”

The same speech that Galan rehearsed the whole trip down to Ferelden. It dripped with politeness and overt kindness. Cassius wondered if these mages will be the fools that Galan believed then to be.

 

[stillalive]

Before Mercer could even begin to form an articulate answer, Kellan was standing right next to him.

"We are no brethren of yours, Tevinter," the elf snarled, pointing at them for emphasis. "You need not waste your breath. There's nothing we can do for you."

"Speak for yourself," Donna retorted somewhere from behind, her robes rustling as she crossed her arms. Both men turned slightly to the side to look at her. "I'm open to hearing what more they have to offer."

If Kellan's jaw could've dropped to the floor, it would have.

"Are you out of your mind? Those are Tevinters! They keep slaves. They do blood magic for breakfast. What use do you think they have for us?"

Donna didn't move a muscle. "Do we have a better plan? We don't know where we are, or where the others are. The fact we've survived this long is a miracle. We can't afford to be picky about our allies, old man."

Kellan started at her for what felt like an eternity, with one of his ice-cold looks of utter disapproval; she stared right back, completely unhinged. Eventually, he scoffed and held his hands up.

"Mercer, for the love of Maker, talk some sense into that stubborn shem, or so help me."

Mercer cringed at the mention of his real name--what a wonderful first impression he'd have made with his lie discovered so soon--and took a moment to observe the newcomers more closely--mostly, their reactions to this entire display. Save for Galan, whose expressions and way of speech were like poisoned cherries on top of a poisoned cake, none of them showed their faces, or spoke anything at all. He couldn't get a read on them. None of his companions could.

Perhaps, if they all saw each others as equals, this encounter could end peacefully, no matter the outcome.

"How about, um... before we proceed with anything at all," Mercer cut through the silence, scratching his nose, scanning the Tevinters one by one, "you agree to do a little... something. Just so we're the tiniest bit even."

He could feel all his companion's eyes on him--especially Kellan's. The man was brimming with animosity.

"Could you... remove your helmets? Drop your weapons? Tell us your names? You will be much less uncomfortable to look at that way, and comfort of all ensues a more positive atmosphere. Right?"

Kellan's nostrils flared up, but he didn't say anything.

 

[Sole Survivor]

If looks could kill - Galan would've struck the rather bold elf down in that second. His nose twitched at the outburst with not too well hidden disgust. Galan scoffed at the elf's words as he looked back towards those behind him. He tossed his arms up, "and this is the greeting we get? How rude, I must say."

Anyone who knew Galan knew his stance on the South and their elves. He believed the best elf was one that brought wine in on a silver platter in a rather skimpy outfit. And once they were no longer suitable to be gazed up or were too rebellious, the Magister found a different use for them. Fuel to the fire of his blood magic. The gruesome tales of his rituals landed upon the ears of the other Magisters only to be "ignored" due to his status.

And this elf, if Galan could have his way, would likely be the sealing contract between the two parties.

"Damn elf," the gruff voice of Nicolai cursed under his breath. "Better in chains."

The encounter was going sour quickly. Only to get worse when the elf, Kellan, spoke. Tenser's lie about his name slipping from Kellan's lips without a second thought.

Galan took note of this. "Kellan isn't the brains of your little party - I see. I suppose it makes sense to why he wouldn't be in charge; however, I would so recommend if you're going to have him blurt out your secrets to do so in private and not in mixed company. It leaves a very, very poor taste in my mouth," he pointed out. "I'm sure you can imagine my hesitancy of having my men disarm if we start on lies."

Several glances were exchanged between the helmeted faces of Venatori. This wasn't going to end on a remotely positive term if something wasn't done. Galan likely wouldn't have any qualms about cutting them down where they stood.

Without thinking it through, Cassius removed his hands from his sides and lifted them up to his helmet. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the finely crafted helm and removed it to expose his face. He shook his head to get his hair out of his face and help with the helmet hair, though after wearing that accursed thing for a couple hours now needed more attention to look proper.

"Our hosts have heard distasteful stories about our people. Shouldn't we try to better their opinions?" Cassius stood his ground, knowing he'd likely get his ass chewed out for this later. "Besides - a good mage doesn't need a weapon, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course." Galan agreed, pleased by the answer outwardly. Yet Cassius knew he was positively burning up on the inside. "Our apologies," he said towards the apostates; however, he didn't look towards them directly. "Do remove your helmets. The weapons, stay. A compromise due to our bad start."

And as commanded slowly they all removed them.

Cassius let his gaze which was now visibly move towards Mercer. This was a mercy. Poor fool, he thought to himself.

 

[stillalive]

"And they yet refuse to disarm! " Kellan clasped his hands, the corners of his lips curled upwards in a derisive smirk. "You see this? Were their intentions pure, they would not hesitate. We stand no chance against them, armed or not. They know this. They seek to dominate us, have us bend our knees to their whims, to have us--"

After a sudden loud thud, Kellan collapsed onto the ground. Someone held back a scream. Instinctively, Mercer kneeled by Kellan's side. Many thoughts passed through his mind in that single moment. Was it the Tevinters? No, can't have been. They didn't move a muscle. Even blood magic required movement, right? Were they being flanked? By templars? Demons?

No. Kellan yet drew breaths, merely unconscious, struck from behind, from a close proximity.

Mercer looked up, his eyes as big as a pair of plates. Just as he feared, it was Donna's doing.

"He was going to get us all killed with his big mouth," she explained, a scowl twisting her youthful face into an almost monstrous visage. "That senile old bastard can't see beyond the stick up his arse. We don't have another choice, so I saved us the time. You're welcome."

Despite her being a few years Mercer's junior, as well as a head shorter than him, there was something about Donna that had always scared him. Perhaps it was because no matter how hard he'd tried, he could not understand or justify her actions sometimes, which made her next move hard to predict. Would she strike Mercer down, too? Maybe shank him? Would she hurt the others? Succumb to blood magic? He wouldn't dare lay his hands on her, or anyone. He couldn't even confront her. That wasn't his way of doing things. Oh, how he wanted to, at least for Kellan's sake, but he couldn't. Through his blurred vision, he regarded the elf's now peaceful face. The man had every right to be concerned. Even in the Circle, there were those who treated elves as lesser beings. The Tevinters, surely, had more extreme views. How could Donna not understand his point of view? Why did she have to resort to this?

"Unless anyone else has any complaints," she continued, staring ahead, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "we wish to cooperate."

Nobody spoke up--whether out of agreement, or fear. Mercer bit his lower lip, feeling his throat stretch. What a fine leader he was, having to hold back his tears at such a moment. He didn't know what to think. What if she was right? What if there was no other way out of this? He didn't want to die. He didn't want any of them to die.

He caught the gaze of one of the guards in Galan's company--the first one to take off his helmet and speak in genuine sympathy. His eyes were filled with pity--or maybe Mercer imagined it, out of desperation. That man was just doing his job and following the rules, wasn't he? Just as the templars once had. Just as Mercer himself had, back in the Circle. None of the Tevinters, not even that same guard, would hesitate to cut all the free mages down, if they didn't play by their rules. They had the upper hand, they had them all in a corner.

Perhaps it was time to gracefully submit.

"I... I suppose you're right," he managed in a soft, barely audible voice as he rubbed his nose. "There's not much else we can do but cooperate, is there?"

Mercer yet kept his gaze fixed onto the guard, as if expecting him to answer and reassure him that he was doing the right thing.

Too bad the man was unlikely to read his mind.

 

[Sole Survivor]

Cassius felt eyes on him, he glanced towards the 'leader' again. At his words, the guard gave the slightest nod of his head.

Hands clasped together and eyes locked on the new development, Galan grinned at the group of apostates like a wolf would an injured halla. It was all playing out to be very beneficial for the cause. However, this also led to another turn of events that Cassius hadn't expected.

"That would appear to be the only rational decision."

Galan's robe rustled against the ground as he made his way past Mercer towards the fiery female who did, in his opinion, the wisest decision so far. "I'm afraid that the group has made a mistaken naming you the leader, Mercer. I believe your friend here is more in line for that role." His haunting gaze drifted towards the face of the woman.

"May we speak alone to the side?" His hand motioning towards their left. "This way."

As the Galan pulled the attention of the woman, Cassius placed his helmet on the ground. It wasn't surprising he had to do clean up duty. "Forgive him." He spoke directly to Mercer, "Galan has little interest outside of his own benefits."

He noted the elf on the ground. "Is your friend alright?"

 

[stillalive]

On her way to parley with the Magister, Donna ruffled Mercer's greasy hair, dishevelling it even further. He flinched as he looked up to her. She offered him a brief weak smile; he looked away and bit his lower lip, unable to return the gesture. He couldn't pretend her way of handling the situation was inherently right. Not now.

"No need to apologise, we all do what we need to do, don't we?" He blabbered at the man's words, and attempted a chuckle. It ended up sounding more like he was holding back a sob, which wasn't too far from reality. "Yes, yes he is. Well, will be. Physically, at least. Nothing a little bit of magic and rest can't ease. He'd been through worse, judging by what he'd told me. Emotionally, on the other hand..." Mercer sucked in his breath and held it in, his cheeks puffed, as he shook his head. He did not look forward to the moment Kellan would come to consciousness, as bad as that might have sounded.

Not a moment after, Amari and Iris appeared with a handful of elfroot. They didn't say a word, their shoulders stiff, looking at the guard in cautious distrust. Mercer nodded at them, stood up, slouched, facing the Tevinter man.

"Forgive me, I must ask, if... if it would be appropriate for you to answer, that is. If not, never mind. I have to try, however. For the sake of all of us." He cleared his throat. He was babbling again, wasn't he?

Tugging at his sleeves, his brows furrowed, he muttered, "Can you promise you won't hurt him when he wakes? Or... any of us?"

 

[Sole Survivor]

Cassius' brow scrunched together at the sound he could only compare to a crack in the mage's mental shell. How stressful this must be for them all. In a way he felt sorry for them. Like himself he was not in control of his own destiny - and they soon would see that their destiny was in the hands of a cruel, cruel being. That being said, if you could call him a man. He tilted his head upward and cleared his throat, unsure of what he should say in return.

"That we do." He settled with those three words.

Several of the guards behind he started to look around the camp. He could see them out of the corner of his eye as they inspected the tents. They didn't go through the bags yet. No, they'd wait until Galen gave them the all clear. Then it would be a free for all. A raid to take what would help their cause without care for the actual survival of these mages.

After all men are more willing to do the very things they'd never normally dare to do when hunger and desperation clings to them.

At the question; however, Cassius let his eyes drift back towards the mage. He couldn't promise the safety of the elf on the ground. Since he already showed a rebellious attitude it, he wouldn't put it past Galen to find a way to...dispose of him and use the blood in his veins to grow in strength. But perhaps there could be another way.

A way to have the mages trust them.

Cassius stepped admittedly a touch closer than he wanted to be to the strange man, but it was close enough to the other guards wouldn't be able to directly hear him. His bowed his head still keeping his eyes on the other guards.

"I cannot say for sure on good conscious." Cassius turned his attention back to Mercer, "there are several in the group who would be sympathetic but others would not think twice. I ask that when he awakes to keep his temper under control. His opinions to himself. The rest of the group as well. As for the injured perhaps I can offer assistance. Not now, but later."

He straightened himself up, "I rather not see any bloodshed as I am sure you feel the same."

 

[stillalive]

"Yes. Of course. Thank you," Mercer muttered, bowing slightly at the warning, a wave of dizziness clouding his vision for a moment. He, himself, was good at following rules. In fact, a lack of rules and orders to consult made him jittery--just as he was now. If this was to be a new leadership and set of rules to follow, he would quickly digest it after this initial shock.

His elven companion, on the other hand... he would be a tough nut to crack. Perhaps the other man could understand, sympathize with the reason behind Kellan's outburst, if only Mercer could explain it eloquently.

"He has been through a lot, you see. He has only told me his story in fragments, but I completely understand why he--"

Mercer cut himself off. While the man he was conversing with seemed to stand out from his countrymen in terms of approachability, he was still one of them. Sharing what Kellan had mentioned in confidence would be a gross violation of trust.

"I'll try to make him see reason," he instead blurted out, hands clasped in front, staring at his interlocutor.

"You can assist him? Heal him? Are you... a mage yourself?"

The man was outfitted more like a soldier, and the way he held himself suggested the sword on his belt was more than just an intimidating decoration. Still... Tevinters were a strange people. Who knew? Perhaps they trained their mages to use weapons.