Private Character Introduction: Alistair Theirin, King of Fereldan

[fereldans_king]

"Wait until morning, my lord. We can't just swoop in on them in the middle of the night, my lord. Pfft." Alistair shook his head, an exaggerated grimace on his face. "As if I didn't already know that swooping was bad."

Nights like this, he found himself missing the old days. An open field, a dark and starry sky, a trio of tiny, ramshackle tents, and the excited mumbling of Sandal in the distance. Not this silly, overblown affair - a small of army of tents set out in neat, orderly rows, two dozen dignitaries rushing about, and the endless stream of paperwork that found its way to the tiny desk some servant had set up inside his palatial tent.

Alistair chuckled briefly, remembering how much he and Cousland had wished for a larger tent. Always bumping elbows, knocking over armor stands, banging their heads on the crossbeam...who ever had decided to stick the two plate-wielding warriors in the same tent must have been mad...or must have had a very sick sense of humor.

Nowadays...well, it wasn't like he wanted to be fighting darkspawn or Archdemons again. They were quite welcome to stay down in the Deep Roads, doing whatever it is that darkspawn do between Blights. Bad enough the there were Tevinter spies in his palace, and giant green glowing tears in the sky hovering over his mountains...

Alistair sighed, and dropped onto the bed - too big, too soft, too empty (it had always been empty - Cousland had been off making eyes at Morrigan, Leliana was crazy, Zevran had been making eyes at Cousland...). He lay back, not bothering to change out of the day's clothes, and closed his eyes. Sleep where you can, Cousland had once said. Good advice, all around. "I'll take care of the paperwork in the morning. It won't spontaneously combust overnight."

"...I think."

RP: Open

[fereldans_king]

Something was wrong with the air.

Alistair had never finished his Templar training but the ever-present awareness of magic energies wasn't something you could simply douse or put away. Cousland had insisted he continue to practice his skills, had even asked to learn some of the simpler tricks, and as always, Alistair found himself thanking the man for his foresight.

The air here had a metallic taste, a pungent tang and a heavy weight to it, as if a thunderstorm was about to break. It had been that way for almost an hour, ever since Alistair had awoken in a bed not his own, in a small room over looking a garden courtyard. The tall stone walls of the castle were not familiar....and neither was the roiling, ugly sky or the seemingly floating chunks of mountain he could see in the distance.

It reminded him of nothing but the Fade - the awful experience in the Kinloch Hold with the Sloth demon. But Alistair was very much awake...as a stubbed toe and loud swearing had proven. Whatever had apparently happened while he had been asleep, it was nothing good.

"...I'm not going to get that paperwork done any time soon, am I?" Alistair sighed, and leaned against the railing wall, staring mournfully down into the garden.

"Maker's balls."

Private Character Introduction: Leliana

[nightingale_fadewalk]

"Well... what do we have here...?"

Sister Nightingale observed the place around her carefully.
She was in the Skyhold's War Room, but something was off; the metallic scent lingering in the stale air, a storm brewing outside. The woman had memories of her time in the Fade, many years before, battling the Sloth Demon in Kinloch Hold and there was a similar feeling to that situation. But why was she in the Fade?

A trap from the Venatori?
Or maybe by Corypheus himself? (unlikely, he only did his dirty work once so far...)

Motioning to leave the War Room, she steped in something: a journal with a leather cover. Without really paying attention to it she just grabbet it and stuffed in a pocket. The priority was to discover if any other members of the Inquisition were there or if she was alone.

And if there were enemies too.

Public Entry

[serafadewalk]

[Most of the page involves a sketch of a stick-figure demon bristling with arrows and knives, a cloud of bees surrounding it. Also it is on fire.]

So tha's done, right? Anyone else seen any creepy bumps in the night? I mean aside from who the sneaky tit is that's been on my roof.

My roof, you git, get your own.

( Inquisypants )

Private Character Introduction: Garrus

[garrusfadewalk]

Let it never be said that Garrus Vakarian went down without a fight. Even in his bleeding out state, he made his way directly for the gun room. He registered Kaidan taking the elevator, so Garrus found the stairs instead. His vision was already blurred by the time he reached the console, but he didn't need to see straight to register the glaring red flashes of emergency warnings. He grabbed some medigel from one last unopened pack on his now unused weapons workbench. Slapping it on, he shook his head and set to work.

Just as he was starting to get things back up and running after many tense moments of furious finger-scrambling across consoles, the Normandy veered hard. In good health, Garrus would have stayed standing with little problem and some curses yelled in the vague direction of the cockpit. But his injuries were significant, no matter how much he'd been trying to deny them, and he went sprawling across the room as he lost his footing.

There was a flash, he could have sworn. Did a console short? He had to get up. He reached out for the nearest surface, smearing a blue hand print across the wall. There was another lurch and he slipped, colliding with the floor. Something's not right... he thought as he tried to push himself up again. His energy had been sapped from him in the crash, and he slumped back down again. The air felt heavy and dark. It felt dark. His last move was to reach for the comm activation on his armor.

"Everyone alright?" he asked, his voice gravely and lethargic. There was no time to wait for a response before unconsciousness swept over him and his head lulled.

Locked to Cullen

[serafadewalk]

( Private )