faderift | OPEN ↠ FALSE GODS, GREAT DEMONS (OPEN LOG 1)

OPEN ↠ FALSE GODS, GREAT DEMONS (OPEN LOG 1)

WHO: Living Residents of the Horrible Future
WHAT: Ah ha ha ha stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
WHEN: ALTERNATE FUTURE, 1-15 Cloudreach 9:48
WHERE: Anywhere, but especially Orzammar
NOTES: This is the first open log for False Gods, Great Demons. Anything that happened prior to Cloudreach 9:48 should go on the flashback meme. Most members of the TTT and their friends in Kirkwall will be arriving in Orzammar on approximately Cloudreach 7. In the meantime, feel free to make your own adventures. If you want to blow up an bridge, assassinate an NPC of your own invention, steal supplies, or anything else--it's all yours, go for it!

SOUTHERN THEDAS is a wasteland. The Blight crawling across the Orleian countryside and into Ferelden leaves nothing alive in its wake, scarring the land like an insatiable fire until no birds sing and the only things that grows is the Red Lyrium that speckles cliff sides and crawls up dying trees until they look like rows of jagged bloody teeth. And where it's still green, where people can still survive, the atmosphere is nearly as stifling. Every city and settlement is watched over by a Venatori or trustworthy collaborator. Those who don't keep their heads down and their dissent a whisper may vanish without warning. They may take their whole families with them. There are flashes of hope--an assassinated lordling here, a village rousing itself to brief and doomed rebellion there--but for every man the Imperium loses, they seem to find two to take his place.

NORTHERN THEDAS is at war. The worst of it doesn't reach west into Tevinter or the Anderfels; the line between the Qunari and the Imperium is drawn straight through Antiva, with Nevarra and Rivain on either side quiet and calm as only lands under martial law can be. The Free Marches vary between complacency and rebellion, but the rebellious ones risk ruin--there are murmurs it won't be long before a whole city is made an example. A steady stream of desperate refugees is fleeing north to the Qun, but plenty are picked off and punished as traitors before they can cross into Qunari-controlled territory. Your best best for a clean escape are the pirates who still hold Llomerynn free from both sides of the conflict.

ORZAMMAR is the only kingdom in Thedas that looks much the same--and Kal-Sharok, but they're not accepting outsiders. The heavy doors at Orzammar's entrance are sealed and guarded, as much against the steady flow of refugees asking for help as against the Venatori. The refugees are turned away. There's no way to know who can be trusted, and even if there were, there's not food enough for people who can't fight. Orzammar Thaig is still the dwarves' home--though with stealing shrinking numbers and poor prospects, King Bhelen has been amenable to allowing casteless surfacers some leeway--but the once-abandoned Ortan Thaig is the Inquisition's. Quietly. The only things stopping a full assault on Orzammar is the Venatori's need for dwarf-mined lyrium and the plausible deniability that the Inquisition's remaining rebel bands are using the Deep Roads with Bhelen's consent.

An hour's walk through caves and deepstalker swarms, Ortan is a city in its own right. A crammed city, one where cots and bunk beds crammed into shared housing are the norm no matter how important someone is and you occasionally have to protect your dinner from a restless, swooping griffon, but one where you can still find a pint of ale or a game of cards if you've time to waste on them. It's just that not many people do. There's the watch to keep; the tunnels that creep further into the deep teem with darkspawn who are held back at barricades, while the hidden, narrow tunnels that lead to the surface are watched at all hours so anyone coming or going can be identified. There are weapons to forge and sharpen. Plans to make. Bands to lead. Maybe you weren't a leader five years ago, but these days, there aren't that many people with more than five years' experience still alive to give orders. Fewer every week.

And so we burned. We raised nations, we waged wars,
We dreamed up false gods, great demons
Who could cross the Veil into the waking world,
Turned our devotion upon them, and forgot you.
Threnodies 1:8

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i

Rey's day often starts much earlier than she wants it to. Not that it's possible to tell day from night in the Thaig, but she keeps track of the days much the same way she did on Jakku, scratching little marks into the rock wall above her bed in the home she shares with Obi-Wan.

Then she heads out, walking the Thaig, checking in with anyone who looks like they need to talk, making note of new faces, or missing old ones. She's tried to keep the rifters together over the years, but there was only so much she could do, and she has always preferred to be on the front lines. Obi-Wan helps a little at least, if people don't trust her, they're likely to trust him.

She stops at different places depending on the day, some days she'll help repair a ballista used to keep the entrances to the Deep Roads clear, other days she'll help draw up plans for attacking a known Venatori stronghold. She tries to keep busy when she's below ground, because standing still too long makes her crazy.

ii

Meditation often takes a different form with her. Rather than sitting still in a quiet room, Rey prefers to be elbow deep in some project or another. There's a sense of calm to her, in fitting pieces of things together, and in one room of the home she shares with Obi-Wan, when she isn't out running around she can be found, building things. Often she's adding modifications to her lightsaber, although more recently her projects have been smaller light crossbows with a quick load and the same firing power as a standard sized bow.

Anyone looking for her will find her sitting at her work desk with as many lighted crystals as she can reasonably acquire and candles added to it, her fingers nimbly fitting together tiny mechanisms and jotting down notes on a piece of parchment spread out next to her, both in Common and a lettering that would be alien to most.

[ooc: prose or action spam aok i'll adjust as needed!]

Always, when Rey leaves, he looks at her retreating back and acknowledges, if only to himself, that she may not return. Even if she had remained in the Thaig, that might have been true. There was plenty to guard, but the Deep Roads were hardly free from hazard; cave-ins, magma-flow, darkspawn, and numerous other subterranean dangers had become commonplace. Perhaps that was paranoia speaking; there could be little more capable of avoiding the unseen dangers than a Jedi, and Rey was that. Forgive him his fretting then:

Despite all strictures to the contrary, Rey is precious to him.

And, whenever she returns, they have made a ritual of it; she bends down for him, and he takes her by the shoulders, to see that she is whole. And she usually is. But not today, when she is staying in, for once.

"You're very intent, tonight," Obi-Wan remarks, from his seat near the door. He is watching the common space outside their door, sensing the tenor and health of the community, as he always does, "What are you working on?"

She doesn't stop what she's doing as Obi-Wan speaks to her, focused on keeping a pin in place as she twists another delicate piece around the gears.

"Miniature crossbow," she replies to his question after a slight delay, turning in her chair to hold up the mostly-completed body of one. "I've been trying to make a model that can be fired similar to a blaster but is light enough for a scout to carry without being encumbered." She misses blasters. She may not have ever used them much, but if they had enough blasters, the Venatori wouldn't have them hiding underground like rats.

He follows her line of thought to it's inevitable end; blasters, mass-produced and deadly, for all their inelegance. And their lack.

"Mh. A few good Troopers might have made a certain difference in the odds, I'll give you that," Obi-Wan replies, quiet, but never too quiet to be heard. He knows their experience of what had begun as the Grande Army of the Republic was very different.

It is not the first time he's missed the solid, unwavering presence of Commander Cody. It is unlikely to be the last.

"You're always thinking of others, before yourself. When did you last sleep?"

She has a very different experience with "Troopers" than Obi-Wan she knows, though her mind drifts, as it often does, to one particular Stormtrooper. Her first real friend, and someone she knows she may never see again, despite a promise she'd made before leaving him in the care of the Rebellion.

His question gives her pause and she frowns a little, shaking her head.

"Last night." Maybe for a few hours, but that was usually all she managed. Sleeping had never been something that came easy to her, and it was even worse, now.

"Dreams woke me up a few times," she admits, after an indignant pause. After the third time she had just gotten up.

Edited 2017-02-11 16:12 (UTC)

Obi-Wan turned at that, facing Rey a little more fully, intrigued. Or, perhaps he was merely concerned. So often, Rey reminded him of Anakin-- more often in the ways they were dissimilar, than anything else. He knew it did a disservice to both of them to compare the two, but....

Well, if he told no-one, then there could be little enough censure, outside the privacy of his mind. Just the same, Anakin had often told him of dreams. Terrible dreams.

"The Force sends its clearest messages to the calmest minds," He reminds her, and this lesson he's given a thousand times, he knows. Obi-Wan does love his rote and ritual, "What did you dream? It might be nothing. But then, it might be important, also."

She sighs, shaking her head and putting the prototype bow down on her desk.

"They were nothing, I'm sure. It wasn't entirely like my prophetic dreams," though there had been some similar feelings, and the intensity of what she'd dreamed had been similar to her first vision of Kylo Ren. Though once it was clear that there was no returning to where they had come from, that dream had all but ceased. "It was just... faces, mostly. People we've lost." She absently touches her forehead, her fingers ghosting over the edge of the scar above her eye, before she pushes up from the desk, walking the short but cluttered span of the room to the doorway.

"I saw that group of people we lost at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, five years ago. The one Hermione was with." She had known some of the others in passing, but Hermione had been the only one she'd considered a friend.

Obi-Wan's hand fisted where they lay across his thighs, the memory of loss tuging in the ghosts of what he too had lost. Even those who did not die were.... gone. Just, gone, as if they'd forgotten him.

Well, perhaps that was his own fault-- it wasn't as if he visited. Not that it would be easy, and yet...

"It's been a long time," He says, after a moment's respectful silence, all consideration, quietly bitter, "But then, you never forget a good friend."

That was much of what they had remaining to them, after all. Memories. Dreams. Regrets.

"Rey. Keep your heart open; in these dark times, it's too easy to despair. Remember what I've taught you."

Rey gives him a grim smile, pushing away from the stone doorway and moving to crouch down in front of Obi-Wan's wheelchair, reaching out to take his hands, squeezing gently.

"I know. I lived my life in despair, this is much easier." Her smile warms a little for him, because while she had been used to the loneliness, having him around made everything a little less lonely. If she'd lost Obi-Wan, despair may very well have taken over, but as long as he survives, it's held at bay. Squaring her shoulders up a little she attempts to shift the mood. "Have you eaten? I saw Yngvi today and he gave me half a nug's worth of meat."

His sigh is this time mostly affect, mouth quirked into something wry that he wants to be a stern line, but which is more smile than Obi-Wan would care to admit. It's a rebelliously fond expression; here she is again, trying to cheer up this sad old man.

Such a bright spark, is Rey; the Force is well-kept, in her hands.

"I haven't eaten today, no. Let's make stew, shall we?"

"Sounds like a plan," Rey replies, her smile widening as she stands again, turning to walk into the room that more or less serves as a kitchen in the hovel. Say what you will about the dwarves, they make efficient use of space.

"You know we aren't so bad off that you need to be skipping meals, don't you?" Sure, rations could be a little scarce at times, but Rey was a master at making food stretch out for weeks longer than it likely should. She had lived and breathed at the edge of starvation for most of her life. Making sure everyone had enough to eat now was almost too easy for her.

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obi_wanmanshow - 2017-02-20 06:45 (UTC) - Expand

"Rey," Kirk said to get her attention after a meeting, coming up beside his fellow Rifter with a quiet smile (his were never nearly so bright anymore). "Could I get you for a second? I have a mission coming up soon and I could use your expertise on some things."

Over the course of the war, Kirk had come to rely on Rey for helping create gadgets for him to use on his missions. Some were benign, and others less so - but no matter what he had asked, Rey had proved ingenious and invaluable. He valued her work and her ideas, and also the friendship that had formed between them from that.

"Buy you a drink?" he offered in way of trade.

She answered Kirk's smile with one of her own, equally quiet in measure, though even before the world had started going to pot she'd been more reserved with her own enthusiasm. She appreciated every friend that she still had, and even if she had things that needed to get done, they could wait.

"A drink sounds good," she replied, inclining her head.

"Hmm, well, I say buy - but we could go to my place. I brought home some of the good stuff as part of the spoils from a victory," he grinned. He had brought several back, actually, but naturally reserved the better bottle for himself and Iskandar (and Waver, if he wanted some, but mostly Iskandar). Rey was worth sharing some of the spoil with though. It had been one of her little gadgets that helped him take the day.

"Not sure I'm up for the crowds anyways."

The thought of spoils from victory was oddly bittersweet sounding to Rey, if only because she knew acutely how few those victories were. Every day they're adding new names to the list of those missing or dead. She could recall each name, if asked. Rey was highly empathic and these days her dreams as a result were filled with the dead, when they weren't cryptic and potentially prophetic. Some days it's harder for her to sort out one from the other.

"I'm perfectly comfortable avoiding crowds if you are," she replied, not looking at all put out by the preposition. She was never one for crowds. She had enjoyed, at times, sitting in the Herald's Rest and watching people, but these days there were too many heavy emotions in the drinking holes that they'd pulled together out of a need to forget.

Kirk's job before this had, at the least, prepared him for the dreams. When he was home, beside his lover, they were eased, but they never quite dimmed. Not anymore. He was lucky his mind chose to discard most of them come the waking hours, but some of them stuck with him, clawing at the shadows and invading the relative safety of the daylight.

"I should warn you now, I do not know the state of my home," he warmed her, holding out his arm for her to take. They might live in tunnels, but no reason not to be a gentleman. "I haven't been back in a number of weeks, and I have no clue what Waver and Iskandar get up to when I'm gone."

Generally Yngvi is always Busy. (Sometimes a dwarf has regrets about getting so many of the family out of Kirkwall; one the one hand, plenty of people who can get the job done because they're Carta and they will adapt to not only survive but thrive, on the other hand they're his family so he's stuck with them and also they're Carta.)

He's an important dwarf. Baffling. Brilliant. Pain in the arse. Rich in nugs not including the ones that absolutely aren't for eating, mostly in the business of getting information out and about because dwarves all look like dwarves to basically anyone so it's pretty hand when your enemies are mostly human. Today though? Today he's taking a break.

(There are no breaks but let us pretend.)

"I miss this," he says to Rey from where he's leaning rather perilously into the ballista without any thought for his safety since he's survived with all his bits and pieces attached thus far so he doesn't really care. "Miss fixing things and making things and fiddling with things." Since both hands are occupied presently, he slides the toolbelt her way with his foot if it's needed.

Rey had liked Yngvi just about from the moment she'd met him. He reminded her of the scavengers that she did get along with back on Jakku, few and far between as they were. It was a shame they were both such busy people, because it'd be easier to just spend the days tinkering, rather than trying to think up new ways to keep people alive.

"Well, you could just hide down here and we could pretend like we've no idea where you are when the Carta comes looking," Rey replies to his musing with a slight smile, glancing down at the toolbelt he's sliding her way and holding out a hand to lift a wrench with the Force, grabbing the tool effortlessly from the air to tighten the bolt she's currently working with. "Though that might make them upset with us."

Think of what great things could be done if ingenious minds weren't forced to worry about keeping old weapons in some semblance of working order just in case the Darkspawn break through to add a new challenger to the field. (Is it really the end of the world without the Darkspawn, eight out of ten hurlocks would disagree.)

"They'd be eating their own beards or worse, they'd eat my nugs if I tried that," he replies with a jerk of the head to where a couple of them are flopped over in his coat, harmless and asleep. More used to people doing interesting things, he's stopped fumbling and missing these days. "Might try setting deepstalkers on us. We're trying something out with all that but you'd defend me, yeah? I'm a handy lad." He is forever a lad shut up.

She lets out a huff of breath that passes as a laugh at his question, shaking her head.

"Sure, why not? We've got darkspawn, red templars, and evil mages trying to kill us, may as well add deepstalker hoards to the list," she spares him a brief glance, though there's a sparkle there. She doesn't get to joke often with most of the other people she interacts with, it's nice to have Yngvi around for that.

"If we could use them though--" Stopping himself short, he disappears into his work, coaxing an old rusted (oh he really hopes that's rust because he's not squeamish but blood here is blood of unknown origin, his hands are generally a cracked open mess and Christine Delacroix was once worried about as to the state of them) fitting to come loose. "There we are. Anyway, as I was saying, you've been ambushed by them at least once haven't you? Everyone has. It's probably the most pleasant ambush you're ever going to have these days."

What a world. A pack of rabid weird things that look kind of like certain parts of the anatomy made sentient nipping at you in the dark and that's just 'oh, deepstalkers again, how quaint'.

"We could add other things if you have suggestions, reckon you go up top more than I do so you know what sorts of weird shit is going on around there. Things with two heads, three arses, farting rainbows or gold. So Big Jim says."

"Deepstalkers are the most pleasant of our assailants, yes," Rey admits, frowning a little at the splintering happening around the edges of the metal fitting the bolt she's just tightened is attached to. She reaches for something to temporarily bind it with to keep it from getting worse, though she knows the entire piece will need to be replaced soon.

She shakes her head as Yngvi talks, shifting things around in her own supply bag. "I don't get up top as much as I used to. Too much to do down here, plus there's that bounty on my head. I have yet to see anything with three arses when I do go up, though."

"Come round for dinner any night of the week. Or what I think is night? How does anyone tell here, this is why any dwarf that liked living down here with the blessed stone and the spangled paragons is off their tits, completely lost it." Yngvi you talk a good game when you had ten years of nothing but Darktown but there were moments of light not this. This dark that almost seems to swallow him whole sometimes because lava does not have that same warm friendly glow that a good old sunset does. "Them with the trees better bring us some more," he mutters when he watches her, chewing his lip.

Everything's running low. Why would anyone need the quantities of lumber they might need to stockpile in Orzammar when the Venatori or Red Templars could come sniffing about, might spot it being brought in. Can't hide that up your shirt since there aren't any Avvar here and Qunari folks don't wear shirts most days. And Korrin, well, he hasn't seen her in months, maybe even years.

"Have you considered a beard? I really think you could pull it off and they won't be looking for anyone that looks like you with a beard." He's joking, it's easier to joke about that than consider just how bad it is when people are being sold out so simply to folk with nothing good in mind for them.

"I keep checking off days, I'm reasonably certain I know what time of day it is," she replies a little off-hand, smiling slightly as he rants. It's not only him that hates the dark. Rey grew up eating dinner under an open sky, only needing to seek shelter during the hottest parts of the day and the coldest parts of the night. Jakku may have been restrictive in it's own way, but it had been so much freer than this. She had never realized how trapped she could feel, until now.

Letting out half a laugh at his suggestion of a beard, she shakes her head. "You don't think that would make me stand out even more?"

"If you piss on barley and it sprouts it's Saturday or Sunday. Might need to sweet talk an elf for barley, they always have barley. You can take that wisdom to the bank with you when such things open again. D'you know that dwarves really did think they'd fall into the sky? Tits." Sometimes he wonders though if that's maybe so mad because the longer he gets stuck down here, the longer he spends outside, rushing off on some errand or just taking some fresh air because he's not them, he's not like them, he's surface born and bred but it's rattling him. The fact that it's rattling him is rattling him.

Leaning back on his hands doesn't really work so he shimmies out from under the ballista to properly appraise her like he would anything else. "Reckon you could pull it off, you're a striking lass. And you can-- do that thing that you do that isn't the glowing hand thing. Just with something big. To the face. Then you kick them and say you've never been so insulted in your life, don't they know you're a paragon of Kal-Sharok, the glowing one, that you b ring light from the darkness with your deft and talented hands." Yngvi puts on his very best old man voice as if reciting from the Shaperate or some dusty old tome, fighting to keep himself from grinning until he can't help it. Then he shrugs. "If that goes to shit then you go for the old-fashioned method with your whole lifting things without touching them thing."

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OPEN ↠ FALSE GODS, GREAT DEMONS (OPEN LOG 1)

Rey Kenobi - Orzammar - ota

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