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Am I the only one with a bad feeling about this?

Literally transformations are like the worst thing about this place

[ Wait, he didn't add any context to this, maybe that would help. ]

All these "treatments," I mean. Especially given the source ... I distrust anyone Portia trusts by default.

[ at the message, relief floods him. he's been wondering who to ask about all this. ]

Thank the gods.
I'm rather famous for my incaution, and yet I must wholly agree.
Not least because the transformation appears to go beyond the physical.

[ astarion isn't himself, he types and deletes, not wanting anyone else to interact with a vampire ascendant before he has a better handle on the situation. ]

Edited 2025-01-05 21:13 (UTC)

[ Matt continues to fret that maybe Gale doesn't approve of him (which is his fault), so the first line of that reply is a balm to his hamster-wheeling soul. ]

The transformations always go beyond the physical.

They always do!

I try to remind myself that a lot of people here either didn't know magic was real before they got here, or else came from truly shitty worlds, but at this point

I don't know, I'm not very good at explaining myself. I wouldn't know where to start.

I'm in no position to judge anyone for their follies, I'm afraid, so let us begin with the issue of the provenance of these enchantments. I doubt Portia's hack doctor is a genuine apothecary.

Swindlers and crooks, human and otherwise, oft take advantage of the vulnerable.

Okay, yes, that's a great point. And I can see why people wouldn't necessarily be on the alert, since the tourney seemed fine and the little winter village was like, mostly adorable

but none of that offered to change anybody.

[ Except, perhaps, for Krampus turning people's internal organs into external ones. ]

Have you taken a deeper look at any of it? The lotion and stuff?

What of the general coercive magic in play? The mistletoe, the favours, the drinks at the Otherworld, all try to change one from within and force actions without.

I would say the lotion is a straightforward escalation, from that perspective, displaying the alterations to one’s person on the skin.

[ FOCUS, GALE. ]

Yes, I’ve a sample. I suggest we use the potions table at Sol & Scroll to analyse it further.

[ a beat, still unsure how much he can trust matt — ]

And I watched it change Astarion, when I awoke this morning.

[ Hang on, Matt has to have a full five-minute spiral about the point Gale's made before his main point. The exact topography of it is probably boring to an outside observer, but it boils down to the fact that Matt's been thinking of a lot of that magic as more like regular drugs. Consent-impairing, for sure, but not capable of fundamental alteration. Though werewolves shapeshift all the time and they're fine, so is this a cultural bias of his?

Don't worry, he'll be chewing on the question like a tasty rawhide for weeks if not months. ]

Oh geez, okay. That does push up my personal timeline for investigating

I'll be there. whenever you need

[ He isn't sure if Alina's still mad at him, but the store doesn't have a NO MATTS ALLOWED sign on it or anything. Plus Erik gave him that nice gift card. ]

Alina's off on a romantic rendezvous with her beloved, so we can easily stay after hours for some experimentation.

[ what's an innuendo, never heard of it. ]

Come by this evening. I'll bring everything in to work.

[ Are we not doing phrasing ...?

Evidently not, because when the name of the game is magic and people he adores are at risk, the thought somehow doesn't cross Matt's mind. ]

Awesome. I'll be there.

[ And as the sun sinks below the horizon, Matt is en route to Sol & Scroll, trusty FEEDETH ME A TURKEY LEG AND TELLETH ME I'M PRETTY tote bag stuffed with freshly harvested herbs, a few essential oils, one of Matt's notebooks (now full of new anxious configurations!), and other bits and bobs. Finding the door unlocked, he slips inside. ]

Gale?

[ After hours at Sol and Scroll, the shop remains lit by candlelight. Gale has already cleared the potions counter of day’s remains. The ReSculpt ointment sits at the centre of the table, not yet uncapped. The source of the change in Astarion, in Alina — his chest pangs, both the orb and his heart unsettled. August and Nick will provide something to feed the ache soon. A relief, if not a cure. ]

Matt — over here. [ With a flick of his wrist, he conjures a ball of light, floating above them. Then, as Matt steps closer, Gale tosses him a pair of gardening gloves. ]

Suit up.

[ They’ll be no help to anyone if they dose themselves. ]

Ah-- [ Matt doesn't catch the gloves. At least, not with his hands: They arrest themselves in midair, floating into his waiting grasp. Matt quirks a smile down at them, then over to Gale. ] Smart.

[ Honestly, he could stand to wear gloves for more of the stuff he gets up to. He slips them on, then turns to dig into his bag. ]

So where are you so far? I brought some things I thought might be helpful for like, determining the nature of an object or a substance, [ his fingers close on something and withdraw--it appears to be a small gemstone. ] But like I said, I haven't done much with the stuff itself.

[ Gale slides a finely decorated bowl out and uncaps the ReSculpt. Impossible not to think of Astarion, changed before his very eyes. ]

Not far at all, I’m afraid. [ wryly, ] I fear I napped through one too many potions classes.

[ he eyes Matt’s curled fist. ]

What are you thinking?

[ Matt frowns suspiciously at the ReSculpt, thinking his own uneasy thoughts about the friends and lovers he's seen altered. The question jars him out of his musing, into a startled smile. ]

Oh, uh. This is kyanite. [ He sets it on the table with a careful clack. ] It's a stone that's supposed to help see through illusions or distortions. I also have ...

[ Matt reaches back into his tote, and swiftly realizes he may have put these gloves on prematurely. Peering into the bag's contents, he inhales quickly, causing a few items to lift into the air: a sprig of honeysuckle, a small jar, his notebook. ]

Honeysuckle for persuasion and psychic insight. Anise essential oil, which is good for a number of things where I come from, but also psychic insight. Plus it smells good. [ His gaze slides back to Gale, and he offers another small smile as the notebook pages flip, flip, flip themselves to the right spot. The page shows a filigree of symbols placed within a circle. ] My method so far with these things is honestly pretty simple ... I just sort of ask it what it is?

[ Gale plucks the stone to observe it himself. It’s a druidic approach, effortlessly entwining the natural with magic in ways a wizard wouldn’t think to do. Complementary to Gale’s academic approach. It assures him, despite the unsteady end note of their last conversation. ]

[ returning the kyanite to the table, ] A bag of tricks and a straightforward inquiry. I knew you were the right person for the job, Matt. [ His enthusiasm’s more forced than it was when they stood by the fire, but that’s to be expected. ]

I’ve a spell in my roster of a similar make — the aptly named detect magic — which might reveal the school of trouble we’re dealing with. [ He claps his gloved hands and pulls a face, dismayed by the muted sound. ] Shall we?

[ Matt can't really tell the difference between Gale's forced enthusiasm and the regular kind, but even if he could, there'd be nothing to stop him from projecting. In either case, the solution is the same: Impress him with magic!

And Matt can, at least, tell that Gale expected more oomph out of that clap. He smiles ruefully at him and says, ] Let's.

[ Matt's magic doesn't require words, as such. Not out-loud ones. What it requires is his focus, an intention to north-star the casting, and the architecture to produce the right notes. Matt inhales, one eye on his notebook and the other on the tabletop, as ribbons of golden light weave themselves into a copy of the design on the page. He compares--a few ribbons wriggle into a slightly different shape--sets the kyanite and honeysuckle in north and south positions. Dabs the anise laboriously onto various spots in the pattern, then onto the inside of the gloves' puffy wrists. The spell circle closes; everything gleams. The words in Matt's mind are part memorization, meant to get him out of his own way. Then such a knower has every pleasure he wills upon the earth, and holds great powers in the grasp of his lotus-like hands. And in part, as he intimated to Gale, they're a simple question:

Who are you?

The answer is somewhere between a vision, a leaf-green whisper, and a smell: hawthorn trees on Saltburnt's snowy grounds, a strange mossy plant climbing their trunks in broad, irregular rings. For a moment, Matt's eyes flicker with verdant tendrils.

Then he blinks, breathless, and seems to come back to himself. ]

[ It's a fascinating thing, to witness another cast, particularly when they've learned so differently from yourself. For Gale, magic is as simple as breathing, as thinking, as talking. With a hushed word and flick of his wrist, his question is answered, an enchantment born of a brew, so potent the mere thought of it tempts the orb.

In contrast, the ceremony of Matt's endeavour intrigues, seemingly complex for being different from his own approach. Indeed, Gale watches Matt venture elsewhere, eyes vacant, then brilliant green — perhaps this is the way of it, for one whose body is vital to the casting, an invariable physical component, a ceding of one's person to the spell. Fascinating, to be sure. Gale finds he does not envy him, having already given so much of himself over to magic, to Mystra. ]

Are you quite all right?

[ It's outside, Matt's about to blurt--which would be pretty cryptic, so it's probably for the best that Gale's question breaks across his thoughts like a pebble to the surface of a pond. ]

I'm great, [ he says, sincerely. It seems to be true: Matt's got a bit of a bounce in his bearing, a light in his eyes that comes not from any mystical plant communion, but the exhilaration of spellcasting. It falls somewhere between the neat pleasure of solving a puzzle--things fitting into other things--and the awe of prayer.

Just as his own ritual strikes Gale as complex, there's only a handful of spells Matt knows how to cast as quickly as Gale can. So he's slightly uncertain as he adds, ] Did you do your thing? I wasn't supposed to wait for you, was I ...? [ A sheepish smile. ] What'd you learn?

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text; un: persephone; substance times

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cw: refs to sexual coercion (1/2)

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