thecapitol | You have neither reason nor rhyme

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You have neither reason nor rhyme

Who| Cassandra Pentaghast and anyone!
What| Cassandra arrives between Arenas. She is unimpressed.
Where| Training Area, District 3 suits, and anywhere in the Capitol
When| Post arena 12
Warnings/Notes| TBD

Training Hall

[The sword had not been still from the moment she took it in hand. Hunger Games. Another stab, another burst of light as...some form of magical practice dummy burst before her, shattering in squares onto the ground around her before vanishing into thin air. It did little to assuage her theory this was yet another trick of spirits, of the Fade. Impossible for a Seeker to be so impacted by demons. Yet possible and im- had so very little to do with reality as of late. It was impossible for the ancient villains of religious text to appear and terrorize the world. This? This was child's play in comparison.

So she had taken to the training hall to think. Block, parry, thrust, kill. A simple dance of death against these magical conjectures, one that hardly took an ounce of her attention. It brought a calm no other activity could, save perhaps prolonged meditation. Kept her rage occupied as her mind contemplated her current state.

But the sound of another entering echoed through the hall, breaking the dance. She pivoted from the illusions, attention locked on to the potential threat. Without thought her sword pointed in the direction of the noise, her gaze locking onto the newcomer.]

District 3 Floor

[The tragedy was that the chambers were, by all measures, an improvement from her quarters in the Inquisition. There were no holes in the walls, none of Leliana's birds sneaking in to nest in her rafters. The exact function of much of her quarters was beyond her, but she hardly had the patience to sit about and figure them out. If it were important, she would come to terms with it in time. For now she would see the other captives of her cell block, and hold no illusions they were otherwise. The kitchens, however...

Cassandra had to scowl at the sheer unfamiliarity of the room. There were no fires, no mouser cat, no...no turnips burning for no apparent reason. Even the simplest of needs, nutrition, was a confusing endeavor in this nightmare. She stood in the doorway for a long moment before turning to return to the (slightly more logical) common area. Chairs, at least, were an unchanged concept.]

Wildcard
[She will be exploring and disapproving of the Capital and common area, feel free to bump into her scowling at things anywhere!]

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"No," he agreed cheerfully enough, for someone who was actually - and had been for a while - quite upset. He didn't take her coldness to heart. He was used to it, and who knew what time she had come from?

"I just am rather afraid that they are intent on collecting the entire set."

"Such as we are."

Somehow, the scoff carried through the entirety of that sentence. Ancient Seeker secrets, perhaps. Why any outside force not bent on the destruction of Thedas should have an interest...

But she considered the man, head titled slightly to the side, for a long moment before returning to her practice dummies.

"I understand you are without magic, Dorian."

"Here? Yes. Utterly and completely." He raised his arms in a sort of 'See? Totally Helpless' motion. "I cannot even feel the Fade, let alone visit it in my sleep or draw from it now. In the arena - I had it. For what little good it did me. Though it was... different. As if I was tapping it from another source."

He sighed, shrugging, as if it didn't matter to him when it very clearly did.

"So, if you were hoping for a quick escape, I'm afraid I can't offer any."

"I cannot say the thought has not occurred to me. We will have to find alternatives."

Another slash, another figure slain. Still no satisfaction. Her demands would have to be directed towards the source of their captivity, in that case. Or towards their enemies once she had found them. No mage or templar held enough footing here to save them. The rigid set of her shoulders, the clipped tone of voice, these alone were a good indication of her rage at the current situation. Her extra vigorous strike at the newest target only a confirmation.

"The spear should suit you best. Most like a staff. The halberd is likely too top heavy and the pike too long to begin with."

The exact magical analysis of the situation he had formed so far would wait until she was too sore to move, the anger spent. Without magic, the man was in clear need of melee training, anyway. She could justify killing two birds with one stone.

"Are you going to give me sparring lessons?" He teased, smiling slightly. As stupid as it was, Cassandra's rage was almost comforting. He felt too hopeless to be angry, and rage suited her. Well. Vindictive passion, perhaps, was the better phrase.

You know, killing people.

It almost felt like home.

"Are you objecting?"

She had never sparred with Dorian. Blackwall, Cullen, Bull, the list went on so far as warriors were concerned. Even Sera has slunk in to test her arrows against steel. But, strangely, few mages had been overly eager to go toe-to-toe against a Templar trained Seeker.

Cassandra paused again, weight resting on her back heel as she turned to looked at the mage. The dummies were left to their own devices for the moment, yellow light rushing past her to whatever form of victory the projections enjoyed.

"It is in our interest for all of the Inquisition to survive this ridiculous affair."

"I am not at all objecting. I may in fact even agree with you. I simply find it amusing that this should be that case at all. I am normally much more proficient defending myself."

He sighed, and assuming that Cassandra's tone had meant right now stepped over to pick up a spear. Cassandra was right, of course. The spear felt good - a good weight, and close to what he was used to.

"I didn't get my hands on a single weapon, in the last arena," he mused idly as he started twirling the spear in his familiar flashy manner. "Apollo had a bow, however. I should know. He shot me with it."

"Describe it to me, this arena."

He was correct she meant now. And she wasted no time, now he head a weapon in hand, to crouch back into a defensive position, prowling along the very edge of his new weapon's reach. She would give him a few moments to adjust to the weight of the spear and then instruction (however painful) would begin in earnest.

But giving a longer, more detailed report on his experience might earn him slightly more time before that first strike.

"What did you learn?"

Oh god, she was going to smash him to smithereens, he could see it.

"Utterly bizarre," he answered, trying to take a defensive stance, but he knew few. Why should he, when back home he could have thrown up a barrier around himself? "We were dressed in strange, full-body suits with massive, round helmets made of glass. You could hear the wind rushing into it, from inside. They sent me up a long tube and when I came out I was alone. The sky was full of stars, more stars than I've ever seen, and they did not twinkle. I began to float - I had absolutely no weight at all, and it was only by thanks of a tether that I did not float up to meet those stars."

A dream? It sounded no stranger, all in all, that the city they now found themselves in. But it was simply...illogical. The wants of demons were obvious, straight forward. The wants of men more complicated, but still clear. This, however? Flying among the stars until death, then returned to this place. She could not see the point. Which was doing nothing to sooth her temper.

But the frown was not for his answer alone. Of course Dorian would never have needed the little odds and ends most apostate picked up when it came to fighting. Never had true templar to contend with. She should have known.

"Remain as you are."

She turned from him to walk over and place the sword back on the rack and picked up a spear for herself. Not a weapon she had, in truth, much used beyond basic training, but the point was she had been trained. Easier to show by example than to try to talk him through the stances while brandishing a sword at him.

She continued speaking as she exchanged the weapons, not ready to move on just yet.

"And Cullen is correct? There was nothing that signified you could be in the Fade? Even some...I do not know. Some far corner I am unfamiliar with, which may only be recorded in some ancient text."

He didn't move, watching her as fetched a spear. What had he ever needed to fear from a Templar? Their primary purpose in Tevinter was to feed him grapes.

He shook his head to the question. "There was absolutely nothing. It was not the fade. I would bet every royal I've ever owned against it. Even when I could finally access my magic, it was-- different. Wrong. As if from somewhere else entirely. It was a bit like expecting brandy and getting Ferelden Beer, only the beer would cause an explosion where you expected a lantern light."

"You are, as ever, a source of reassurance, Dorian."

The tone is distracted. The truth, while appreciated, is painting a stranger picture than she had imagined. Dosing with magebane was one matter. Altering the very relationship with the Fade was yet another impossibility. One that made her tighten her grip on the speak to a white knuckle state as she returned to face him.

"Try your best to stop me. Note what I do, then we will move forward from there."

His initial assessment had been correct. She was going to smash him. At least in the initial blow, then refrain from further damage. Call it a life lesson. One less about fighting and more about the wisdom of letting Cassandra talk you into sparring while in a poor mood.

"I do my very utmost," Dorian said wryly. "I have to earn the right to be the eternal bearer of bad news."

He shifted, trying to plant his feet firmly enough to take her.

"Fine. I'm ready. Just refrain from the face, will you? A broken nose would be one too many heartbreaks for me this week."

To be fair, she doesn't go for the face. She goes for his ribs with the flat end of the spear. Large area, directly near where his hands are and thus potentially defensible, the place the majority of vital organs are housed. And where a sound bruise would linger for days, hurting every time he drew breath in a reminder.

"What is your assessment of our situation?"

He tried to block it. He really did. But habit and nature had him immediately attempting to throw up a protective barrier - which of course never happened and instead he recieved a crippling blow right to the ribs. He let out a loud grunt and collapsed to a knee, wincing. Well that hurt.

"I... A few things," he groaned as he struggled upright again, using the spear for support. "First, there is something incredibly strange going on, back home. The idea that there might be dozens, or even hundreds, of variations of Inquisitors... Someone is working very hard to change history."

"What?"

That things may be different had been hinted at. That this- hundreds of Inquisitors? She tapped Dorian's spear with her own roughly, indicating he should return to his defensive position. They were hardly done with the lesson, no matter the shocking information he may pass along. That she may very soon be in even greater need of hitting something was, perhaps, also a slight motivation for her demand.

"Explain yourself."

"First, do me the favour of answering a question. Your Inquisitor. Who were they? Describe them."

He moves back into a defensive position after having his arms jolted by the blow against his spear, and his side complains profusely when he moves. Maker, but if she hits him like that again there isn't going to be much left of him for the arenas.

Growth is pain. Such were words to live by, so far as Cassandra was concerned. If Dorian were seeking quarter he would have to ask for it. His question does give her some pause though, enough that she takes a defensive pose herself, glaring at his footing for the time being instead of resuming lashing out at him.

"Look at me. Do as I do. Nothing is broken, the ribs will hold without your coddling. And I do not...descriptive imagery is not my strongest suit, Dorian. Elven. Mage. A woman. What more do you want?"

Because if she were called upon to wax about the mage's kindness or humor or other fine traits, they may both be in trouble. Varric should have been brought in her stead if fine words were the coin of the land.

"That's enough already, to distinguish her," he said, carefully adjusting his pose to try to match Cassandra's. He wasn't going to whine yet. Later. Later he would whine so profusely that she would put her hands over her ears. But now, they had much more important things to speak of.

"Mine was a man. An archer. Cullen's a woman, a mage. A human. The one that arrived before you did? Elven. A woman. An archer. I have no idea how much the Anchor affects them, but it is safe to say that we all remember very different people."

"And so you believe there are many Inquisitors...or our minds have been altered on this point. To create division in the ranks, perhaps."

She held up a hand to indicate he hold still- the hand still steady, despite the verbal blow Dorian had dealt. Genders, races, talents...could so many different individuals truly fill one role? Or was some greater magic at word here? How much of her memory could be relied upon?

One problem at a time. Focus on the drills, then the rest. She stepped out of her own stance, moving- more prowling, really, given her current state of mind- to Dorian. Then a step and she was behind him, of of his view, to more effectively correct his stance if he allowed it. Footing first, then how shoulders aligned with hips after.

"No, I don't believe our minds have been altered," He said, a little too sharply, the first indication that he was actually incredibly bothered by the idea. "I am inclined to believe that someone has replicated Alexius' time magic, and found a way to return to before the conclave, and... remove... the person they expect to become the Inquisitor."

He let her rearrange him, feeling a bit like a playhouse doll, but not complaining.

"However, given the... nature of the Inquisitor's particular talent, all it meant was that fate, or the Maker, or Andraste herself, simply made sure someone else was there to interrupt. I think someone back home is trying to change time, and doing it as many times as they can until something goes right. Our presence here? Either they are actively taking advantage of it, or, it's pure circumstance that every time they bring one of us here, the timeline has already changed."

"And your grip. You are attempting to smash into others, not launch spells from the tip."

This was not one of Varric's stories where the commanding instructor slipped their arms around the waist of their charge from behind to 'help,' thus she is required to move back round to stand before the man as she adjusted his hand position. Along with receiving actual weaponry advice, Dorian could see the concern building in her expression, near matching the rage now. A systematic destruction of Inquisitors across time? It was disturbing... and not as far fetched as she would have liked.

"I will confess, Dorian. It is an unsettling feeling to wish for something as abhorrent as a trick of the mind or demonic possesses to be the cause of my troubles. But if you believe they are merely taking advantage, then the cause for that particular trouble remains in Thedas."

"I could not possibly tell you, save my own inclinations of belief," He said, watching her face as she adjusted his grip.

"I've no reason to believe they have any contact with anyone in Thedas, but I'm not sure what evidence I could have, unless I saw how they brought us here for myself."

He paused, and then sighed a little wistfully. "How much simpler demonic possession would be... They usually try a little harder than this, however."

With grapes.

"Indeed. So far the sole attempt at catering to my desires has been the appearance of Cullen and yourself."

Meaning the results were, to say the least, mixed. She stepped back again and gave a small nod of approval before resuming her own, far more aggressive stance. No information. She could not blame him, could not justly blame any taken in the same way she had been. But it made her teeth grind to run into wall after wall for even the simplest of explanations regarding this place.

"Defend your left side. I am going to attack your upper arm."

"I think that I am likely the last on your potential list of desires," Dorian quipped, a flicker of a smile across his lips, unable to help himself. It was actually somewhat of a relief, having her listen to him instead of just deny it utterly like Cullen. Cullen had been almost exhausting to talk to about it.

He shifted his stance - the new grip utterly unnatural, but he held it. At least she was warning him, this time.

Re: poor mage baby

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and here we start pretending I know about melee

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