The strange shielding is enough of a distraction that the Templar are almost unsure how to approach it even though Quentin is clearly pulling from the fade. The Captain will figure it out faster than the younger recruits that the shield should go down just as fast as any other as they dispel any fade from the area. For the time being though, they're approaching it as if it could explode in their faces at any moment and it gives the pair enough time to retreat.
It's simply instinct that has him laying a hand on Quentin's shoulder gently nudging him in the direction of their escape and eventually taking his elbow in a gentle yet firm grip as he pulls him along. Dorian is expecting the templar to follow them eventually so he lays out some traps for them in the form of ice runes which glow along the forest floor and then fade slightly. Just enough that they're hidden until someone comes along and triggers them. They don't have a long life, but it'll be long enough that it'll give Q and Dorian enough time to make distance.
Soon enough it won't matter. If they can just keep the pace they'll get to a small village nearby they can take refuge in. Once there they can catch their breath and get something heavy to drink at the local tavern. Dorian will be glad when he can buy them a room at the inn and call this day done.
That's some serious battle magic, and Quentin isn't momentarily stunned but it is something he files away for later. Runes that are obviously traps, he hasn't seen magic missle but lightning? Fuck.
Regardless, Quentin follows almost obediently. Strange men leading him around the woods? Weirder has happened. Plus, he can get a crash course after. Right now what's important is away.
By the time they do reach the clearing and the village, Quentin is both horribly out of breath and just as confused, hair mussed from the run, glad he's got his normal shoes instead of anything vaguely Fillorian. He looks over.
"Ah.." He glances to Quentin as he mentions credit, looking him over a moment to assess once again that clearly he isn't from anywhere near here and thus probably doesn't have the coin. Dorian doesn't have much, but it should be enough for the pair of them.
"Not unless you wish to do dishes or scrub floors for the evening. Don't worry, I can get us something to eat and drink, enough for a room tonight." He'll need to find work to make up for the coin he'll spend.
"We can ...discuss more over full bellies." Be it with wine or food. Once Quentin seems to have caught his breath he'll lead the other inside to a table and flag someone down for some ale, not his first choice but it is cheaper compared to the wine. He's going to skip his meal for now.
"If you're hungry I would suggest the meat pies. They're rather hearty and filling."
"Thanks. If I had known I was traveling to a different world I would have at least made myself a breakfast." He's borrowin from the Eliot school of thought: try to be flippant about things even if you're a giant mess of 'what the fuck?' inside. It's not the world thing that's jostling him, it's just that this place isn't exactly Fillory.
The inn is nice, though. And so's this guy who's helping him -- what's his name? Shit, he really did just wander in and trust the first person he saw, huh? In his defense, there were people in armor attacking him just for doing stuff with smoke rings. Quentin already feels in over his head, and it's sad how that's become par for the course. Once he takes the tankard of ale in his hands and takes a sip (shit, that's nearly Fillorian), he offers a thin, humourless smile.
"I am Dorian Pavus. And I wish the circumstances had been different for our meeting." He sips the ale, wrinkles his nose and sighs, taking another sip. It'll get...easier the more he drinks it, surely. It's all they can afford and he needs alcohol right about now. But oh what he wouldn't give for a nice Orlesian wine.
"I'm sure you have questions. I'll do my best to tell you everything I know. That is if you don't mind me asking questions of my own?"
Quentin nods, mouth full of ale. He hasn't made face at all--it's strangely comforting that all high fantasy ale is essentially the same--and he pushes his hair out of his face with one hand.
"Quid pro quo. What am I--the energy, it's different. What am I drawing from when I cast?"
Dorian's silver-green eyes shift around the Tavern a moment to make sure that no one is listening in on them or watching them. It's not as if he doesn't just scream Tevinter Mage on his own. Staves usually meant magic was sure to follow. He clears his throat and tries to think of a layman's way to describe things. If he ever doubted (and he didn't) that the other man was from another world, he certainly knew for certain now.
"Right, uhm, well, mages draw their power from what we call the Fade, which is a spiritual realm parallel to our own. It's where spirits and demons reside. Which is why it makes things a little more dangerous for those of us with magic. And you should be made aware that with the use of magic comes the potential for possession from a demon. So if you start having dreams of speaking to one, always say No. There's usually a catch and they will almost always end up turning you into an abomination."
Quentin nods absently. Drawing from something called the Fade--whatever it is--it seems like simple quantum mechanics. The physics are the same, at least. It's the last part that gives him pause.
Demon.
Possession, that's--well. Technically something Quentin has experience with, but his brow furrows as the other continues. It sounds more like a Adam and Eve situation, a classic faustian deal. The literary nerd in him is going nuts.
"Right. Until I can find a way to get back, say no to drugs." Speaking of:
"This is a shot in the dark, but, uh--have you seen any...keys...around?" He's very aware he sounds stupid. Why he cares with someone he just met, he's not sure.
"Keys? I think you'll have to be more specific. I assume you mean of a magical variety or perhaps some kind of relic?" He sips his ale, grimaces a little and drinks again. It is getting easier. He swears it.
"Also, if you haven't noticed, people tend to not really like or trust mages much and many people want us either dead, tranquil or in cages. I'd prefer neither. So I, well, we would be considered Apostates." He says, voice lowered a bit.
"We pose a significant threat to those without magic, and many only see us for the idea we could become a potential conduit for demons. Even if many of us take it very, very seriously and train ourselves NOT to be possessed. Most simply see it as safer not to give us that chance to prove them wrong. So we have to be careful." Nevermind the fact that Dorian isn't exactly subtle.
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It's simply instinct that has him laying a hand on Quentin's shoulder gently nudging him in the direction of their escape and eventually taking his elbow in a gentle yet firm grip as he pulls him along. Dorian is expecting the templar to follow them eventually so he lays out some traps for them in the form of ice runes which glow along the forest floor and then fade slightly. Just enough that they're hidden until someone comes along and triggers them. They don't have a long life, but it'll be long enough that it'll give Q and Dorian enough time to make distance.
Soon enough it won't matter. If they can just keep the pace they'll get to a small village nearby they can take refuge in. Once there they can catch their breath and get something heavy to drink at the local tavern. Dorian will be glad when he can buy them a room at the inn and call this day done.
no subject
Regardless, Quentin follows almost obediently. Strange men leading him around the woods? Weirder has happened. Plus, he can get a crash course after. Right now what's important is away.
By the time they do reach the clearing and the village, Quentin is both horribly out of breath and just as confused, hair mussed from the run, glad he's got his normal shoes instead of anything vaguely Fillorian. He looks over.
"I don't suppose the tavern takes credit?"
no subject
"Not unless you wish to do dishes or scrub floors for the evening. Don't worry, I can get us something to eat and drink, enough for a room tonight." He'll need to find work to make up for the coin he'll spend.
"We can ...discuss more over full bellies." Be it with wine or food. Once Quentin seems to have caught his breath he'll lead the other inside to a table and flag someone down for some ale, not his first choice but it is cheaper compared to the wine. He's going to skip his meal for now.
"If you're hungry I would suggest the meat pies. They're rather hearty and filling."
no subject
The inn is nice, though. And so's this guy who's helping him -- what's his name? Shit, he really did just wander in and trust the first person he saw, huh? In his defense, there were people in armor attacking him just for doing stuff with smoke rings. Quentin already feels in over his head, and it's sad how that's become par for the course. Once he takes the tankard of ale in his hands and takes a sip (shit, that's nearly Fillorian), he offers a thin, humourless smile.
"I'm Quentin, by the way. You're...?"
no subject
"I'm sure you have questions. I'll do my best to tell you everything I know. That is if you don't mind me asking questions of my own?"
no subject
"Quid pro quo. What am I--the energy, it's different. What am I drawing from when I cast?"
no subject
"Right, uhm, well, mages draw their power from what we call the Fade, which is a spiritual realm parallel to our own. It's where spirits and demons reside. Which is why it makes things a little more dangerous for those of us with magic. And you should be made aware that with the use of magic comes the potential for possession from a demon. So if you start having dreams of speaking to one, always say No. There's usually a catch and they will almost always end up turning you into an abomination."
no subject
Demon.
Possession, that's--well. Technically something Quentin has experience with, but his brow furrows as the other continues. It sounds more like a Adam and Eve situation, a classic faustian deal. The literary nerd in him is going nuts.
"Right. Until I can find a way to get back, say no to drugs." Speaking of:
"This is a shot in the dark, but, uh--have you seen any...keys...around?" He's very aware he sounds stupid. Why he cares with someone he just met, he's not sure.
no subject
"Also, if you haven't noticed, people tend to not really like or trust mages much and many people want us either dead, tranquil or in cages. I'd prefer neither. So I, well, we would be considered Apostates." He says, voice lowered a bit.
"We pose a significant threat to those without magic, and many only see us for the idea we could become a potential conduit for demons. Even if many of us take it very, very seriously and train ourselves NOT to be possessed. Most simply see it as safer not to give us that chance to prove them wrong. So we have to be careful." Nevermind the fact that Dorian isn't exactly subtle.