fadewalk | RP: Open to anyone

Cullen straightened, then slowly rose to his feet. He was in the main yard of Skyhold all right, but there were telling differences even beyond the troubling sky. The greenery hadn't all been stripped away, for one. The Herald's blood red banners were nowhere to be seen. The tavern still stood, and the high parapets were bare of their bristling defenses.

If he could ignore the tempest going on above his head, it almost seemed...peaceful. Like it was before things started going so wrong.

He turned in a slow circle, chains clanking, and silently noted the changes--then went perfectly still when he heard a footfall.

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"Sure, just figure out where you're at. Surprise it's Skyhold! Because that explains everything," Alistair muttered. Like it was ever that easy.

He watched Cullen walk away with a grimace at the chains, and then frowned at the way the elf's imperious gesture at him tugged his feet into motion.

Apparently his feet had decided, quite independent of the rest of him, that tagging along with these two nutters who swore they knew him was better than being alone.

He hesitated, then glanced at Neria, giving her a faint nod. What is your endgame? There was a large part of him--bigger than he cared to admit--that had hope this was all, somehow, real. Neria and Alistair were different enough from his own memories of them that it almost felt possible.

Cullen cleared his throat and pushed open the door to the smithy, holding it for the both of them.

"We should devise a plan."

"I agree."

Neria hovered around the smithy, looking for something to break the cuffs. She thought about offering to just melt the chains, but she wasn't in position to put her lucky to test around a jumpy templar. Anyway, the newly-found big, cutting pliers could do the trick too.

"As far as I know, I was heading west when I decided to camp. I woke up here, in some old, underground library. I haven't looked much around when I found you both."

Alistair leaned in the doorway, folding his arms across his chest. He marked the racks of weapons that were waiting for attention or recently repaired.

"Spooky underground library. I saw that. On my way out here. So... Skyhold. A bit empty isn't it. You live here?" He peered at Cullen. "Wherever here is." He flexed his bruised hand, frowning down at the knuckles. Teach him to punch of man with the neck the size of a Qunari without wrapping them first.

He shifted, moving a bit further through the doorway, angling toward a rack of swords, letting his mouth run as he did so. He had no intention of attacking these people, but this was all very strange, and he'd feel better if he was armed. "Because you look like someone who has seen the wrong side of a cell door for a bit, but I don't see any guards, or jailors, or... whatever."

He visibly tensed as Neria approached him with the pliers--and tensed more as Alistair moved toward the swords, his gaze moving watchfully between the two. He had three attack and escape plans in play, just in case, and was constantly revising more. He didn't like his odds, though. It was like playing high stakes chess, except he couldn't be sure whether his opponents really were friend or foe.

He hated how paranoid he'd become.

"Thank you," Cullen murmured, forcing himself to offer Neria his hands. His next move was to trust, at least for now. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. "I live here. I am--was--the commander of the Inquisition's forces. I imagine that distinction was stripped away shortly before my execution. Though it would have been like her to let me keep it." As a taunt. "The Inquisitor has the ability to open rifts into the Fade. She also has...other talents. There's a good chance this literally is all in our heads."

Neria struggled with the pliers, cursing her small frame mentally.

"Leliana always told me the nicest things about the Inquisitor, I really don't see why or how she would execute you. Besides, if this is in our heads, then how do you explain him?" she tipped her head towards Alistair, finally done with one cuff "This place is off, this is not like a walk in the Fade during a dream. Do you think, hm, your Inquisitor has the power to send this whole place into the Fade...? This just doesn't explain how we got here, but... maybe is a start?"

Alistair swallowed, trying to work up moisture in his mouth. This was strange. And bad. Strange in his experience was often bad. This was well beyond the level of strange he'd grown accustomed to, where waking up in a flower bed with a splitting headache and no memory of how got there wasn't necessarily the nicest, but it wasn't... unforeseen.

But all this talk about the Inquisitor, Skyhold, the Inquisition as a whole as if these were things that people, actual, not-crazy people, knew about?

"Inquisition. Rifts in the fade. Ri-ight." He shook his head in a slow wag. "Commander of the Grey Wardens, at least I've heard of them." His eyebrow was arched, lips a little pursed as he peered at Cullen. "But how does one go from 'kill all the mages they're bad demon wrong yeargh I'm not even going to thank you for pulling me out of that horrible magic bubble' to Commander of an army for something I've never even heard of in less than two years?" He paused, counting on his fingers slowly, then nodded. It had been about fourteen months since Anora had so graciously elected not to chop off his head.

"Gracelessly," he told Alistair. "And in a lot more than two years. You're right," Cullen added to Neria, rotating his free wrist in relief. The cuffs had been rough and too-tight, the skin beneath a burnished red. "It makes sense for the two of you to be here for me, but if that's all you remember of me, then I'm clearly not here to tempt you, Alistair. So we can provisionally rule out demons, and while I can't completely rule out the Inquisitor using you to mess with my head, I'm willing to accept this at face value for now.

He stepped back when the second cuff clanked free. "Thank you," he said, then rubbed at his face. "First step: we arm ourselves. Second step: we fortify. Third: we compare everything we know about each other and the world. That may be enough to eliminate more possibilities."

"I am as armed as I can ever be, but I guess some potions would really come in handy."

The mage backed to the nearest table, sitting while waiting for the men to arm themselves. They were unstabble and confused and this made her nervous, but it wasn't time to let anyone know it. Jäger is out there, somewhere, sticking his muzzle where he is not supposed to... few things are better than a mabari charge as back up, so let's just keep it to myself for now.

"Well, if we're fortifying as part of the plan, can that be some place where there's beer?" Alistair scowled at the rack of weapons, ignoring the heating in his cheeks under the stubble, the idea that a demon would use his visage to tempt anyone drawing out small snakes of shame he thought he'd successfully drowned.

He let his fingers find the hilt of a sword that caught his fancy and he lifted it off the rack, giving it an experimental swing. He winced as he found new bruises and aches from the fight the night before, but the sword would do, balance good, edge keen.

"The requisitions room is near. We can find potions we need there--elfroot, lyrium, stamina, antivan fire. Bees." Sera's contribution, before the Herald drove her away.

He moved to select his own sword, not bothering to check its weight. He'd trained with it before, knew its heft. Cullen had always made a point of switching his weapon day to day. In the confusion of a real battle, there was no guarantee he could keep his own sword. He snagged a shield as well--deliberately choosing one that had not yet had Templar or Inquisition insignia painted onto steel--and slid its straps on with quick and deft movements, grateful that the Herald had chosen to leave him in his uniform. At least he was armored.

"The tavern is no good as a defensive position--too many points of entry. But it will have food and drink enough." He paused near Alistair, eyes deliberately focused down as he adjusted his shield. "Will you be good to fight with more ale in you?"

His tone was straightforward, no judgments. Who was he to judge, anyway? But if he was going to take these companions at face value, he needed to know. The bruises and astringent smell of him weren't promising, but this was Alistair. Cullen had seen the way he could fight.

The Warden, he already knew, could probably take them both. She was the Hero of Ferelden for a reason.

(OOC: I'm sorry, but I kind of love the image of them hunkering down all post-apocalyptic survivor-like with stockpiles of food and weapons and traps...because unless you stop him, Cullen will find a defensible position and start making it siege-ready.)

"Multiple points of entry also means multiple points to escape, if necessary." Neria stood up, talking more for herself than the others "We should have travel provisions at hand, supposing we can get out of here. And I can also check out the perimeter."

She stared at Cullen, thankful for having someone to think survival and battle strategy with her.

(ooc: Oh, your Cullen is great, just like I suppose he would act! God, we should be playing a zombie apocalypse with him xD)

Edited Date: 2015-08-02 07:17 pm (UTC)

Bees. Of course. Trapped in some place that might be not unlike but not exactly the Fade with people who claimed to know him and a sky that had gone all wonky and... bees. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. His shoulders shook with silent laughter for a moment but he straightened at the question about his fitness.

"I'll be useful enough, drunk or dry, I suppose." The goading humor that had been edging Alistair's words since he'd stumbled into this conversation was gone. He cocked an eyebrow at Neria. "I don't know anything about this place, so I'll leave location scouting for our bivouac up to the people in charge. Of things. Important, definitely not made up things."

He lapsed into silence as he rummaged through belts and straps and scabbards for something that would hold the sword he'd selected. Armor. Armor might be nice. Perhaps they had something enchanted against bees.

(OOC: Oh it's wonderful. Cullen gone full survivalist. A+ :D)

"True," Cullen agreed with Neria. "The tavern may still be too many, with only three of us to guard, but the requisitions office should be a good balance.' Plus there were multiple levels and blind steps, which made traps easier to set.

"Travel provisions are a good idea. We'll want to be able to move quickly if needed." It shouldn't have felt this right to be working with the two of them, considering, but despite Alistair's low-level sarcasm, they seemed to be falling in stride easily. Or maybe because of the sarcasm--oddly, Cullen found that sharp bite just as useful as Neria's calm strategy. It kept him on his toes, kept him trying to see the situation from new angles.

"There's plate through that door if you need it," he added to Alistair. "The enchanted goods wouldn't be kept here, but we can add it to the list of procurements."

"Enchanted goods, my favorite words put together."

Her smmile didn't reach her eyes. Things were awfully quiet in Skyhold and Neria, if alone, would already be miles away from there, if needed, trying to find a solution by herself. Having companions really made things slower, but the time to consider things without being in a hurry was good, for a change. Alistair was definitely not the man she remembered, and despite Cullen felt familiar, the differences between her version of the Inquisitor and his was odd. But the time to discuss it would come soon.

"Any chances for plate suited for mages, Cullen? I don't see myself fighting around in my sleeping clothes."

(ooc: sleeping clothes - just a simple dress, nothing revealing or appealing about it; Neria is rather prude.)

The armor selection was broad. This was a well-equipped outfit, or hallucination, or whatever it was, that was certain. Alistair hadn't worn full plate in a long time, and didn't really fancy all the clanking, but he could do with.. ah. Perfect.

His efficiency with getting himself buckled into the brigandine with an obsidian chased chest plate had not been compromised with drink at least. He was settled into it quick enough to satisfy most commanders during morning drills, sword buckled on and someone who knew what they were doing to follow.

He wasn't sure he liked how much more he felt like himself all of a sudden.

However, pulling his coat off had revealed the journal he'd awoken with and he rejoined the others thumbing through the pages with a frown.

They all seemed to be naturally moving toward their usual roles: Neria itching to be off, unencumbered and fleet; Cullen in full Commander mode, plotting defensive strategies; Alistair the warrior who would keep them all on their toes. "The Herald was not one for allowing mages to remain uncontested," Cullen said, "but if you look in the trunk there, you'll find Vivienne's old armor. It won't be an exact fit, but for now, it should be better than nothing."

He waited for her to get situated before tilting his head toward the door leading to the requisition office. "We should keep moving. It-- What is that?" Cullen added, catching sight of Alistair.

"Okay, that should probably do."

She went to said trunk, hands looking for a armor. That Vivienne surely had once fancy, dangerous looking and fantastic taste. The elven woman left to a close by room, far from the men's sight, and changed herself. Some adjustments here and there to keep the mage armor in place and it was good to go. Not something she was used to wear, but certainly efficient and gourgeous.

It didn't take long for her to rejoin the men, looking for a journal.

"What are we looking at?"

(ooc: see, now you're making me draw my poor warden dressed like Vivienne xD)

Alistair's first impulse when Cullen asked what he was holding was to slap it closed and hide it behind his back, like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Which was foolish. The man's ragged demeanor and suspicious eyes had just stopped making Alistair's neck prickle and now he had to go and try to hide was plainly some sort of clue to their predicament.

"Ah, well, it's a book, yes?" He pulled it back out, turned it over, looking at the spine and cover, and then handed it out to Cullen. "I found it in the garden with me when I came to. It looks like people have been writing notes to each other, but... I don't know how, or why, or where it came from." He looked to Neria as she paced closer.

(OOC: I'm not sure where Neria is at relative to herself in the two threads she's been participating in, or what she wrote in the journal, so Alistair doesn't mention that her name is in there. Maybe he missed those pages.)

"An enchanted book?" He frowned, flipping through it. "There were books similar to this in the Circles, but nothing quite so elabor--"

Cullen looked up. "There are others here. Do you know anything of this?" he asked Neria.

(OOC: Timelines in rps get so tangled during the first few days, so I'm willing to kind of handwave any way Neria needs or wants.)

"Well, this is certainly curious."

She grabbed the book, flipping some pages with interest.

"There is a whole chapter of me, but it can't be me, right? I'm, not there."

(ooc: I was wondering maybe we could consider the other rp lines as things that could've happened to our characters but didn't, due their choices. Like a book registering alternate timelines. Then we shouldn't have big problems trying to go through the other rps until they're settled and we can also rely on it to explain hypothetical timeline tangling if we need. Everyone up for it?)

"Enchanted books, of course." He tipped his head, looking down into the pages over Neria's shoulder. At the top of the page she had turned to, past her own section, there were drawings. Silly drawings. That was a scribbly doodle of an peacock with a mustache. "Maybe everyone who writes in the book has been driven mad by being trapped here. What if you just don't remember you wrote those things?"

Alistair drew his hand back, fisted it into his hair and then let it drop with a disgusted sigh. He turned away, muttering to himself. "Maybe this all could have been avoided if Anora had just chopped my head off. Oh! I could have died at my Joining! If I'd been really lucky I would've been trampled by Lady Isolde's favorite Orlesian palfrey. What fun!"

(OOC: However you want to handle it is fine. Maybe there's two of you here even. Who knows! :D)

"Are there...echoes of ourselves?" No, that didn't seem right. Did it? This place, this strange, strange place... "There was a book by my knees when I first arrived here. I left it. But if we can assume there are others--whether or not they are echoes of ourselves," or whether Neria was lying or had gone mad, "and that each of them has been given a book like this, then it seems possible we might have been deliberately brought here. Collected."

He looked between them. "Where were you before you were here? What are the biggest turning points of your life, or recent history, that you remember?"

RP: Open to anyone

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