Mountains are crumbling like statues of clay.

[dreadinquisitor]

Who| The Thedosians & Friends
What| Reuniting and Planning
Where| In the area of the Cornucopia
When| Late evening/night, the first night
Warnings/Notes| Open to all Thedosians and allies who are interested in reuniting post-Cornucopia and plotting out next moves together. This will function like the War Room posts in the Capitol: tag Maxwell, enter into the "planning" catch-all starter, or talk amongst yourselves! If you'd rather your character remain separate, feel free to say they missed this!



Maxwell convinced Shepard to wait until the sun began to sink before he made his move. It had been hours since they'd tucked themselves into the little, bowed house at the edge of the village. Longer still since the troll-child, Karkat, had passed.

The sounds of the blood-bath at the makeshift Cornucopia had faded and died, and an eery hush had fallen, broken only rarely by speech. Far more often it was the house, creaking and groaning around them, squeaking beneath them as they moved about, spending the last of their adrenaline and rage and worry in pacing and checking the ramshackle rooms for anything that might be of use.

There wasn't much. A dirty, chipped cup. A few rusted utensils. A straw-hewn bed, torn full of holes by rodents and an old blanket, still wet green with mold in the folds of the fabric. But without knowing how the Cornucopia went for the others, it was difficult to pass up anything.

Piling it together, they'd waited. Then, finally, Maxwell moved.

As the sky had began to shift from ashen grey, to steel, and then slowly to coal, he clambered onto the sill of one of the open windows and hauled himself as carefully as he could up onto the roof. The wood complained and sank threatening beneath his boots, but it held.

He'd wrapped the silly little cap Jolie had given him around the Anchor to try and disguise it, but he unwrapped it then. The others from the Inquisition would know it for what it was, he was certain, and hopefully the rest would have heard enough about it or were with someone who had.

Holding up his arm, he opened his hand and the ghostly green light spilled free.

Comments

Dorian

[tevintage]

[A- For Maxwell and whoever else is there]

That green light was so eerily familiar that for a moment Dorian forgot where he was. That light belonged to his Inquisitor. It didn't occur to him until he was sprinting toward it that if he had his magic back, the Inquisitors would have their marks.

That Lavellan wasn't the one holding his hand to the sky - an almost literal beacon - was a jarring realization. But not one he thought about for more than a second. After all, everything about this place had been jarring.

He wasn't being particularly careful. He was almost disappointed that he'd come out of the cornucopia unscathed - he hadn't even had a chance to show off his new found powers again. He also hadn't managed to grab anything of use - at least not for himself. The war hammer in his grip was much heavier than anything he was used to using. But he remembered Tabris telling him that she used them, so he brought it with him anyway.

When he got to the house he arched his neck up to see Maxwell. Not Adella, then. Though it could have been either of them.

At least the whole death game thing should make this a little less awkward than it might have been.

"Well this certainly feels like a homecoming," he drawled after he had slipped up next to the house, his voice carrying up to the roof but hopefully not much further. "I almost feel like we should go raid ourselves an empty castle, hm?"

[B - inside the house, for everyone]

Dorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, wearing very little clothing save a gossamer loincloth, a sash from one shoulder to the other hip, a pair of brilliantly iridescent wings, and long laced sandals that ran up to his calf. He was surely the King of the Faeries, and he really didn't give a rat's ass about it. He made it look good.

Now if only it wasn't so fucking cold.

"Please tell me someone managed to find a decent pair of trousers, in the Cornucopia?" He said wryly. "Or, Maker's mercy, a jacket? I'll even settle for a pair of stockings."

B!

[uncalled_for]

Fiona stood not terribly far from Dorian toward the center of the room. Her initial intention was to keep quiet, watch the others and just try to get through the day without bringing too much attention to herself. But with the man's sounded complaints she glanced his way, revising that decision to merely observe.

"We would have better luck finding firewood." Which was saying something, considering the state of drenched this entire region seemed to be in.

[tevintage]

Dorian sighed, heavy, with agreement. "I suppose I could go stand by the giant pyre in the square, if its still burning," he said wryly, "But somehow I think that it might not be particularly helpful."

He glanced over at her - she was still too young, but he was polite enough not to mention it. That people he knew came from different times was already well established - he just hadn't thought that it would be years different rather than a mere few months.

"However, I'll take nearly anything that has the potential to create warmth, at this particular moment."

[dreadinquisitor]

The flickering marker, hanging against the darkening sky, gave away that someone was approaching long before Maxwell could make out who it was. Lowering his hand, he waited, knowing it was possibility that a curious stranger could be drawn in, or someone hoping to be crowned a Victor - if he were particularly unlucky. But still, he held his position on the roof peak.

Waiting, and hoping. ...And breathing a long sigh of relief as Dorian came into view.

Thank the Maker.

Maxwell was prepared to remember his place - what he was - but not to lose him again, to the Capitol, to this game....

Crouching, he leaned toward the ledge, meeting Dorian as he jogged to up the house. Mouth twitching gently as he took in the man's getup.

"The castle's never empty," he replied, joking as lightly as he could. "There are always blood-thirsty raiders, or angry spirits, or something else just waiting kill us." And doubted the Capitol's castle, looming in the distance was any different.

He glanced at it, then back at Dorian.

"Nice wings."

[tevintage]

"That's hardly new. And who knows - knowing you, you could take a few angry spirits and turn them into something helpful."

He reached back when Maxwell mentioned his wings, and tugged on them gently.

"My only complaint is that they aren't at all functional," he said wistfully. "I suppose they thought that would be altogether too helpful." He turned back, glancing at Maxwell's hand. "... then again. I suppose you already know about the magic."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Their one mistake, never going for the mouth first," Maxwell chuckled quietly, the sound a little blasphemes in the gloomy atmosphere of the deserted village. Even knowing there had likely never been anyone in the houses at all, it still felt like death.

Turning his wrist, he looked down at the Anchor, burning brightly once against in his palm. His joints tingling, not entirely pleasantly, with power.

"At least I wasn't knocked unconscious this time."

Letting it hang again - green light glowing against his boots - he gestured down at Dorian with the other hand.

"Are you alright?"

[tevintage]

"Just dandy," Dorian said wryly, glancing up at the hanging beacon above his head. "Though I'm mildly curious what that is for."

He held up the warhammer. "I found a present for Tabris. She said she used these things, didn't she? I admit it is possibly the least useful piece of equipment I could have managed for myself, but at least someone else may find it of use."

He cocked his head, lowering the hammer.

"And while I'm glad you're not currently unconscious, are you sure you're alright?"

[dreadinquisitor]

There was a joke there - Tabris and gifts and feigned jealousy - but he couldn't bring himself to make it. It wasn't really all that funny anymore.

Twisting slightly at the shoulder, he looked back and up at the matching maker burning above his head, instead. "Shepard had one too, but her's faded after a time. Mine has remained..." he offered softly. Not all that helpful, he imagined, but it was what he had.

Trailing off, he turned back and offered a small smile.

"For the moment."

[tevintage]

Dorian looked up at his own, wondering at it, but even it was beginning to fade. He hadn't used any magic after all - just felt it rush through him in those first brilliant few moments it. He hadn't needed to actually pull on it yet. Not that he knew that was the source, of course. He looked back at Maxwell.

"Well, that's a small mercy." There was nothing to say about the lights until they knew what they were for. A trace of worry slipped into his expression. "Have you-- has anyone else come? I admit I grabbed what I could and ran before getting a good look at the aftermath of the cornucopia..."

[dreadinquisitor]

"I've been trying to call the others in with the Anchor," he replied, marked hand flexing lightly, opening and closing idly. "Those who have answered are waiting inside."

Knowing Dorian would want to see them, and guessing that he wouldn't want to linger with him longer than necessary, Maxwell stood then and began to move back from the ledge. The roof protested, groaning and bowing beneath his weight, but it continued to hold.

"I'll keep at it a while longer."

[tevintage]

"I would easily bet that you never expected to use your anchor as a Thedan Lighthouse," Dorian quipped ruefully, offering him a lopsided smile, which faltered when he hesitated. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what, and knew he wouldn't say it even if he knew what it was. So instead he tried to laugh it off. Maxwell was obviously dismissing him, and he wouldn't force his presence upon the Inquisitor.

"Very well. Don't get cold."

[dreadinquisitor]

"No," he replied, trying to match Dorian's humor. "But it seems I have knack for it. Perhaps I should I consider taking it professionally."

With his back turned, Maxwell could hide the way his face fell. The veneer he'd practiced cracking at the edges and the weariness showing through. Sadness the weight around his eyes; loneliness written in the lines.

It was going to be difficult, to pretend, but he refused to be a further burden. To Dorian, or any of them.

He looked down at the Anchor, glowing in his palm, and willed himself to remember that.

"...Stay warm, Dorian."

B!

[andrastian]

"I would offer, but..." Sebastian had not fared much better, the dark blue trousers they'd stuffed him in were rather tattered, providing tantalizing views for the audience but not much in the way of warmth himself.

Besides this, there was a white scarf of sorts tied around his middle, holding up both the ripped trousers and Andraste's face, in lieu of a traditional belt, but nothing left on top. In spite of himself, and the moment, it WAS a little funny.

"Do you know, the only sailor I knew very well actually wore shirts but no pants. I was not under the impression that one had to choose until just recently."

[tevintage]

Dorian chuckled, glancing over at Sebastian.

"Perhaps you're meant to work for it," he said wryly. "I rather think we got the short end of the stick, as it were. I saw some dressed in full formal robes! Perhaps they mean for us to pillage the corpses for fabric."

He may be sarcastic, but he also thought that would entirely be a thing the game makers would intend for them to do.

[andrastian]

"Well, I have been forced to loot before."

Sebastian shuddered at the thought, remembering how easily Hawke had carried lootings out. It had been better to go along with him when so many people turned out having just exactly what was needed on their persons. He wasn't pleased with it, but it had been what it was.

"Let's hope the corpses aren't diseased, if we have to go that route."

[tevintage]

"They gather them so quickly that I doubt they have time to go stiff, let alone give you much trouble," Dorian pointed out, the smile flickering at his lips.

"We might have to race the flying machines just for a decent pair of trousers, however."

[andrastian]

"They wouldn't wish to make it easy for us, would they?" Sebastian found at times like this that he wanted to just start laughing and never stop. He was able to hold it back, but there was a bit of nervous energy there all the same.

"Well, that tells me what I need to practice, anyway."

[allyorfoe]

"I'd offer some of my clothes, Dorian, but I don't think they'd fit." Tabris wryly plucked at her stockings and stupid poofy pants. She'd ditch them and run about in nothing but her small clothes if she could--Maybe that would get the sponsor's attention. Dorian's legs, however, had nothing in common with Tabris', aside from both being used to stand. And her stockings were pretty deeply singed, to boot.

"...I'd even trade them," She adds, casting her eyes on that beautiful weapon of his--No, not that one. That war hammer was perfect, but she wouldn't ask for it. That'd be rude. But. Maker. Could he even lift it.

"At least you look pretty, Dorian. I'd swoon if I didn't have my husband here to remind me of my vows." At least he didn't have these dumb poofy shorts.

[tevintage]

"As far as all my years have told me, married women are just as capable of swooning as maidens are - if not more so," He teased. He saw her look at the war hammer. He'd been intending to give it to her anyway, but let her give that longing look a little while more.

"I wasn't aware that swooning was covered in the marital vows. How lucky for me I'll never have to take them."

[allyorfoe]

"It's clear you haven't taken them, it's all covered right in the vows. No swooning at other men. Luckily for me, they never bothered to cover other women." At this, Tabris shot an appreciative glance over to Shepard and her improvised booty shorts. Maker bless.

Her look is almost as lustful as the one that she gives the hammer.

"...So, planning on using that?" She asked, eyes on the weapon. "Leaning away from all that magic and whatnot this time?"

[earthborn]

"Well, don't look at me," Shepard was dressed in what she could make of the tattered remains of polyester faux-satin and crinoline lace, "I'm just glad I'm not stuck in heels."

The results were somewhere between the ides of a wasteland vagabond, and the first attempts at dressing a barbie doll by a child who had no idea that sewing technology existed. There were bare midriffs, there were knots on hips, but at least her bra wasn't showing, and if the nights were cold-- well. Tomorrow was another day.

Shepard's shoes had points on them, curled upward in a witchy style, but were leather all the same, purple and green. Not exactly her colors.

"Nice wings, princess."

She's jealous of the wires underlying their construction, make no mistake.

[tevintage]

"Princess?" He asked, arching an amused eyebrow. "Well, apparently I've gone up in the world. Won't my father be so proud." He turned his head to reach back and fondle the wings in a vaguely suggestive manner, because Dorian was incapable of fondling anything non-suggestively.

"Find me a pair of trousers and I'll trade you. Or, heaven forbid, a belt."

[earthborn]

That caught her by surprise, and the answering laugh was less of a chuckle than a bark.

"You're on," Is that a curtsey or a bow? Well it's sarcastic as hell, whatever it is, "...Your majesty."

[tevintage]

"I somehow think being royalty really wouldn't suit me," Dorian said wryly, watching her attempt... whatever that was. He offered her a sweeping, and perfect, bow in return.

"I never did like being told what to do, and the more royal your blood, the more regulations upon it."

[earthborn]

"Eh, how do you...weird your knees like that?" She can't dance, either. Congratulations, Dorian, you're the only one to pull her away from watching the lawn for movement, all night, "Not a lot of royalty, in my world, if you can't tell."

She can salute though. It's so crisp and perfectly angled, see?

"...Military's probably just as bad for regs. Not as frilly, though; to each their own."