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Jean was a mage like any other. His home had been Orlais, where he spent many years in the white tower training and learning. Rising up from apprentice to Senior Enchanter. The call had been made however that he was to be transfered to another circle in need of his talents. He wanted to refuse when he found out it was Kirkwall's Gallows, he'd heard the rumors of how draconian things there were under Knight-Commander Meredith.

Templars rarely give mages a choice, however. He was leaving for Kirkwall and that was the end of it. He packed his bags and traveled under templar escort, thinking perhaps the rumors were simply that. Things people spread without proof to slander others. How very wrong he was, when he entered the Gallows.

Mages often like to refer to their towers as prettied-up prisons, giving only an illusion of freedom to hide their shackles and cells. Here, it was more literal. The Gallows had once been a place to house slaves of the Tevinter Empirium. Naturally, no luxuries were to be found. Quarters were quite literally prison cells, bars and all. Beds were cots. Privacy was at a bare minimum, even for the Senior Enchanters.

Jean tried to adjust to this new life. He was assigned an apprentice as he would normally have, and tried to teach the boy. One can only do so much when given so little space to practice spells in. The common rooms and assembly halls were few and miniscule, barely larger than the cell blocks. How anyone dealt with this prison was beyond Jean. He'd gotten quite fed up with these treatments, and let slip to one of his fellows he would be telling the templars precisely how he felt.

His fellow mages cowered and whispered at the thought, begging him not to. Trying to warn him that the templars here were so harsh in their treatment they'd punish any who complained. Anyone who defied them in any way got the brand. That kept Jean quiet for a while longer, but soon enough he was pushed to his breaking point.

Jean had been walking out of the commons back to the dormitories as it was getting late, and the templars kept them on a strict curfew. As he was walking, apparently they weren't moving fast enough for one of the templar guards. He shoved Jean hard, barking at him to hurry up. When Jean returned to his feet he told the templar to piss off before returning to the line. When the ones in front of him immediately began running to their cells, and the ones behind him cowered, Jean knew he was in trouble.

He returned to his cell, laying awake on the cot for an hour in case someone summoned him. Weariness took him however and he fell asleep. In the night, however, his cell was opened. Before he could wake and react, his hands were bound behind him and three templars were marching him along. They ignored his requests for answers, leading him down a long and steadily darkening corridor. Finally reaching a door, one of them opened it and threw him inside.

It was a small room, lit only by a blue glow in the center of the room. It was a chunk of lyrium, carved into the familiar symbol of the Chantry. On the other side, a templar. One hand holding a metal stick to which the lyrium was attached, the other a piece of parchment. His face obscured by the parchment and the shadows, but the voice was familiar.

"Jean D'lemarc, Senior Enchanter of Orlais, you are found guilty of the crime of attacking a templar. Normally this warrents the punishment of death, but your target has chosen to be merciful. You are to be given the Rite of Tranquility. Your magic will be taken from you, your connection to the fade severed. In the Maker's name"

The templar threw down the parchment, hefting the prod and approaching Jean. His arms bound, and having been thrown like a piece of trash he could only squirm helplessly on the floor and attempt in vain to get up. He was easy prey for the man. He looked up just in time to see the brand approaching his face, he let out a screan of terror and then pain as the material touched his skin.

Pain pulsed through his body, he felt the mana draining out of him. His body feeling limp and weakened with every second. His head ached, feeling icy cold. He found himself having trouble thinking, his mind quieting. His struggling ceased and the brand was pulled away. Jean blinked, face twisting as he tried to recall why he was so panicked before. What he had been so afraid of. After all, he was safe now. Safe from demons, safe from ever harming himself or others with his magic.

The templar unlocked his shackles, and he calmly stood before bowing to the templar "My apologies, ser, for my most uncouth behavior. Emotions are such useless things, blinding one to the truth. What would you have me do to make amends?"

The templar merely handed Jean a piece of parchment, which he read and curtly strode out of the room. He returned to bed, having the most peaceful sleep of his life, before waking and striding calmly to the tranquil ward and began work on crafting runes. The only thoughts that entered his mind from then on, were to wonder why he ever needed those emotions before. His only words were to occasionally thank a passing templar for freeing his mind.

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