One | Fate Emptied of Hope

[nobroth]

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."

Comments

In Ignorance Stumbling

[plate_builder]

"If you're in pain, there is a hospital, such as it is, nearby."

Quiet, not quiet enough. Reeve, seated in the second chair by the fire, didn't even turn his attention from the fire, or the paper in his lap. He's got something like a clip-board on his lap, made of two pieces of cardboard, two small pins, and on it a single piece of paper that he was currently creating a very length list of supplies on.

"Granted the medical supplies are a bit... archaic. Not even a decent healing materia in sight. But we make due."

Cross the Veil

[ombranera]

It was a fair enough winter's day (as fair as Zevran found any winter anything, winter was dour and cold and unwelcoming at best) as Zevran made his way to the inn from his latest round of breaking into an unused home and entering to spend the night. Now and then he slept in the same place as others but it felt safest to do so alone. Hauling his collected items wasn't terribly difficult. Cumbersome, yes, but not difficult. Though the cold had him muttering as much as ever about the chill, about the lack of action or familiarity or anything resembling proper Antivan-

Wine. Company. Clothing. Food. The list was long and continuously updated step by step, and for this reason he didn't notice at first the voice that joined his. Up until the familiar refrain of 'cheater' He had heard that often enough when playing cards around the campfire, there was only one man that made petulance sound so delightfully charming. Zevran's head swung about, seeking the source and grinning at the familiar shade of copper just on the other side of the fountain.

"Alist-" Something went up, something came down, knocking Zevran in the eye with force enough to set him off balance- with all the baggage he was carrying? He tumbled backward to the ground with a great, hissed call of "Brasca!"

This, this was repayment for attempted kindness. He would swear never again but Alistair sounded truly distressed. Enough for him to wave to catch his attention. "Alistair. My friend. Perhaps stop hurling rocks about and help me stand?"

The Inn

[clouded_heart]

Foggy can often be found in the evenings by the fire. Sometimes he's just reading, sometimes he's working on the cane for Matt.

Tonight, he's sharpening a couple of the knives from the butcher's shop, slowly and methodically and avoiding going to bed because he wasn't getting any decent sleep at this stage anyway. He gives Alistair a small, genuine smile as he comes in. "If you haven't been told, there's food on the stove in the kitchen."

in ignorance stumbling

[assemble_the_lovbacken]

"Are you okay?" Thor's disembodied voice asks as he approaches the stranger by the fireplace. He'd been told once about not invading people's "personal bubbles," but he's had so much on his mind that he doesn't really take this into consideration as he gets very close to the stranger and puts a supportive hand on his shoulder. Face full of fret and concern, he ducks down to look at the stranger's face to see if he can figure out what's wrong. "Is it the fire? You shouldn't stare into it for too long. I did that once, and I saw weird spots and flashes of light for hours, even where there were none."

[ad_dicendum]

Gaius lives at the Inn and, as such, he is something of a regular in the evenings. He was usually to be found either making conversation with the other patrons or engrossed in one of the many books he borrows from the schoolhouse to practice his English skills. (With his tutors both gone a long time, reading was a good way to learn things beyond the conversational basics.) Tonight, he was doing just that, reading about carpentry to learn more about how to repair any further damage that might befall the storehouse with Clint Barton the builder gone.

But he also watched the people around him, because there may not be any such thing as politics here, but he was still political, in his own way. Knowing people, knowing who they were and what drove them, was just as important to understanding the community here as it had been to securing voting blocs of the populus Romanus. So he noticed the new man by the fire, and he noticed the pained look on the newcomer's face.

"Is your head troubling you?" he asked, his voice heavily accented. Not that he could offer much in assistance, but if it was, there were capable physicians here.