sixthiterationlogs | One | Fate Emptied of Hope

WHO: Alistair Theirin
WHERE: Fountain Square/Inn
WHEN: Dec 27, Evening
OPEN TO: One at the fountain (Claimed by Zev), OTA at the Inn, per usual.
WARNINGS: None - will edit if any occur.

'Cross Veil and into the valley of dreams:

"Very funny," came the voice from near the fountain. Dripping wet and cold, Alistair looked challengingly up at the sky, arms held out to either side. "But I don't know how you thought I'd fall for this! This isn't Redcliffe," he called. "And it's definitely not Denerim or Kirkwall or Wycome. It's not any of those tiny towns in Orlais. I've never seen this place before, so it's not my memory, cheater!"

Bending down, he picked up the first thing he saw - oh, a rock, that'll help - and threw it upward, not really noticing where it went. He heard it fall on the ground somewhere, but that was neither here nor there. It was proof he'd thrown it the wrong way, if anything.

"I don't trust you, Nightmare!" More agitated, he started to look for another rock. Another anything. "Or is this some Despair Demon's work? Encroaching on your territory now that you lost the Inquisitor? Well tough luck to you both - I'm not afraid anymore, and there's nothing left for me to Despair over. I might be the Maker's own idiot, but I'm not going to trust this illusion!"

Where had his sword gone. His shield, his armour. Which direction was the damned Nightmare?! He couldn't fight the damned thing if he couldn't see it, and he couldn't see it. Anywhere. Whatever Demon it was fueling this illusion, it was better than any he'd fought through yet, and he didn't want to think about what that meant.

In ignorance stumbling:

There was a good fire burning, and that was nice. Really, the place was nicer than roughly every other inn he'd ever seen, including the Hanged Man -- Well, honestly, it far surpassed the Hanged Man, the Pearl, definitely the Spoiled Princess. Places with names he couldn't remember because all he'd been concerned about was finding the bottom of his mug and then having another.

No such luck here, not that he minded. He'd had years to leave that particular vice behind, not that it had been a kind one while he'd had it. But at least now he was warm, dry, and, though confused, knew a few things for certain: There was food, there was shelter, and there was a chance - at least something of a chance - that this wasn't the Fade.

As he stood by the fire, pleasantly toasting himself, he realised he had a lot to think about. And that thought made his head hurt. Nose wrinkled, Alistair rubbed at his temples, muttering a quiet, "Ow."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Foggy isn't a strong guy. He's arguably carrying a little more softness than is ideal to some people. But he gives sincere, big, warm hugs.

"You're welcome. Thanks for indulging me."

"You know." He took a breath and exhaled it easily. "First thing I thought when I saw you is that you've got the face of a good person. And I'm glad I was right."

Foggy gives a sheepish smile. "I- try? I'm not always, so I do my best." He's aware that he's probably a bit selfish to be really good.

But Alistair prodded his shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short. You were just kind to a total stranger. That's a pretty great thing to do."

Foggy sways with the poke and bumps his shoulder back into Alistair's finger. "Well, we're all stuck here together, aren't we? And you just told me your tragic origin story, that counts at least a little for knowing someone, right?"

Tragic origin story? He had to stifle a laugh at that. "Well, yeah. To me, I guess I'm just... used to everybody knowing. Or making up their own stories - that happens, too."

"Sometimes, a made up history is much more palatable to other people. And yourself."

"Mm." He shrugged. "Unfortunately, I lived it, so I know the truth a little too well. I also know how much of a grand idiot I am, so I can't quite delude myself into a happy story. So I'll... just take what I have and be happy with it, you know? It could be worse. You're not a giant Fade spider, the sky's not green, and everything's not vaguely damp and dripping."

"..." that seems weirdly specific. Worryingly so. "You're right," Foggy agrees carefully. "Those three things are not happening, so yay for that."

Alistair watched him while he tried to process that and ended up chuckling. "Be glad you're from a world where you don't understand any of that."

"I am very glad I don't understand any of that," he agrees. "It doesn't sound great."

"It really isn't." But then, shaking his head, he said, "I've really brought the mood down. Sorry."

"Don't be," Foggy says softly. "It's something that's clearly weighing on you."

True enough. Alistair lifted a shoulder. "After you've been fighting to stay alive for a few years, yeah, everything tends to go a little dark even when you don't mean it to."

"I... would imagine so?" It's not something that has ever been or is ever likely to be an issue for Foggy. Except, maybe, here.

He patted Foggy's arm. "Sorry, like I said. Things get dark sometimes. But here, well. It'll be interesting. ...Better, I'm pretty sure. But definitely interesting."

"It's okay. A lot of weight casts a lot of shadow." He gets that.

"So, uh. To perk things up," he tried, "how about you tell me about what you've seen around here? I mean, I am new. I know a few people, and so far, I'm a little... surprised at a few things here, but I'm not sure what to think overall."

"I've only been here like, two weeks?" He gives a little gesture that expresses apology or maybe just awkwardness. "I've heard that things get pretty rough sometimes? There was apparently a plague or something recently and there was these mice that were spreading snap freeze ice?"

"...Mice. Magical mice. And a plague." He stopped for a long moment before asking, "This plague didn't have people turning all grey-white with black veins and white eyes and all, did it? Please say no."

He didn't want to deal with another Blight and be the only damned Grey Warden around. He'd already had his suicidal spate for the year and he didn't want another.

"Um... I wasn't here for it, but as I understand, it was flu like with very high fever? So, no."

No Blight, Alistair. Just fever snakes.

"Thank the Maker, at least I don't have to deal with that."

Alistair heaved a sigh, sending a glance toward the ceiling. "I've had enough with the 'risking my life' business. Probably already dead. It's not an experience I want to go through again-- So hear that, Maker Above Almighty Etcetera?"

He wagged a finger in the sky's general direction, following it with a glare.

"No more of that."

Alistair is clearly religious, right. And possibly a little crazy, but who isn't?

"I don't know if you'll get a choice about the life risking, from what I hear, but it sounds like it will be a different kind of danger?"

Different kind of danger. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Alistair sighed and muttered the one word that summed everything up:

"...Balls."

"Yup."

Foggy is yet to see or experience these dangers, but he has little doubt they exist.

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