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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Kirk almost missed him in the crowd, dismissing him out of hand because, well, Sam was gone. He had been gone for years, assumed dead or lost to the Fade, because what other reason would he have to disappear like he did? To leave them behind? He had spent the better part of that year recovering from the sudden loss, and accepted that Sam was beyond their reach.

Something made him take a second look, though. Made him stop and glance back, made his heart stop in his chest, vision warring between blacking out and seeing red. He spun on his heel, marching towards the figure, towards this man that should not be and could not be.

He reached out, grabbing him, spinning him and jerking him forward by his shirt, rage burning in his eyes, gritting his teeth so hard he thought for sure that he would break them, his hands trembling.

"You have a lot of fucking nerve parading around wearing his face," he hissed, not wanting to cause to much of a scene and incite a panic.

With the reactions he had gotten from people back in the Gallows, Sam probably should have expected a similar reaction in a place that now housed what was left of the Inquisition. Then again before no one could reach out and grab him, but that certainly was not the case here. Either way, when he's grabbed and practically tossed around, Sam makes a startled noise, arms coming up to push back against whomever was grabbing him, at least until he saw who it was.

"Kir-"

The name doesn't even get out of his mouth when he's yanked forward, and just seeing how angry Kirk is, is enough to make him quiet down. He's seen the man angry before but never like this, at least not at him, and he physically flinches at the way those words are practically spat at him.

"Kirk... it's me..." That is all he's able to get out, not exactly sure what else to say in this situation.

A choked sound left Kirk's throat, giving Sam a hard shake. His cheeks were flushed with rage, even though his body trembled, hearing his voice. God, how long had it been since he had heard him say his name?

"Don't you dare speak my name with his voice, from his lips," he said, voice thick as he fought tears and punching this imposter in the same ragged breath. His whole body shook as he tried to control himself, but his emotions were running to high, to hot. "Don't you dare. I don't know who you are or what you want, but this is a sick joke, and if you persist, I won't forgive you."

Normally when Kirk got upset he would just reach out and touch him, hold him even, but that seemed like a bad idea to do right now. Jim was already getting physical with him and simply upset with him being... well, himself; reaching out and touching him in a familiar fashion might provoke an attack.

"Jam-" He stops, rethinking in saying James's name at the moment since he looked ready to snap. "Seriously, it's me. It's me!" He was practically pleading for him to realize it was him, his mind racing to figure how to do that. "We didn't go missing five years ago, we ended up here; now."

It most certainly would. He had spent the past five years believing Samouel was dead, knowing it, somehow, in his heart. If not dead, then lost. It felt like an impossibility, luck to good to be true, to have him suddenly appear here in front of him, safe and whole. He couldn't accept it, because he had done his grieving. What cruel world would tear open those wounds again? Would taunt him like this?

"That's a lie," he hissed. "How could you possibly do that? There's no time-travel in Thedas!" he snarled. Even so, his grip loosened a fraction, his heart reaching out and grasping to that thin thread of hope despite himself. "So who are you, really? Who sent you? What do you think you'll accomplish using him?"

"And yet the rifts have brought people from different time periods from your world," he shoots back in attempts to hopefully getting Kirk to consider that possibly his story isn't crazy. Honest it was pretty crazy, and he was still having trouble believing it at times, but here he was so there was at least this one instance.

"I'm Samouel Gareth," he tries again. "I came here with the other people who went on that mission... and also disappeared. We got captured and then escaped with other people from the Inquisition in this time and they brought us here."

He couldn't deny that was a good point. He didn't know of any time travel spells, but what did they truly know of the Rifts? Could it be possible for Samouel to wander the Fade for five years on this side, and yet spend what? Minutes? Days on that side? It was a possibility, a possibility that shone painfully bright, his fingers trembling as he fought between rage and a hope that nearly stole his breath. Wounds he thought long soothed and buried tore, his heart wrenching open for the third time in his life.

"Show it to me," he said to him, gazing into his eyes, his own warring between wanting to believe him and the practicality of knowing that this was to good to be true. "Show me what I gave you, that night in the woods not far from the river." He meant the necklace he had given him, the one with his code on the back, the code to come and find him.

Another time ~~like 5 years prior~~ Kirk would be saying that to him completely different, a whole different context, blue eyes darkening while grinning like he did when he meant something dirty. He could practically hear the tone in his voice and see the way his lover would sidle up to him.

But this isn't then, this is now.

It takes Sam a moment to gather his thoughts to figure out what Kirk was talking about. What he gave him in the woods? "Ah." The noise is soft as he looks down at his shirt before looking back up at Kirk. Slowly he lifts his hands to grab the man's wrists, pushing slightly so that he wasn't pulling so tightly on his shirt. Once he feels it slacken a bit he fishes for the charm that he keeps under his shirt, the logo of Starfleet embedded in the metal.

More than anything he wished he could be that trusting, be that willfully happy. He wished he could be like that, but knowing this world, knowing what he did of demons and magic, he couldn't. He simply couldn't - because it could be a horrible trap that would damn more than just himself, and it would be a betrayal of the man he had loved. Did love.

Quaking, he watched as Sam brought the necklace out - the necklace he had given to him in private, the necklace that held so much meaning because the words had never been able to escape him those years ago. He touched the metal, traced the edges of the etched symbol. He licked his lips, wanting so badly to believe, needing to believe.

God he needed to believe.

His vision grew fuzzy, moving his hand to cup Sam's cheek, feeling the press of a jaw he knew so very well.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked, voice thick as he choked back tears in the middle of the market.

There's a long silence as he watches Kirk take the charm in hand and trace it with his fingers, body still tense since he wasn't sure how Jim would react - he's very much waiting to be shaken some more honestly. It's obvious that it isn't just the war that's taken a toll on Kirk by the way his face contorts after, tears brimming the edges of his eyes while he chokes out his question.

Sam's lips thin at the way Kirk looks at him, leaning his cheek more firmly into the hand on his face in a small sign of comfort since he wasn't sure Kirk was ready for him to fully touch him just yet. One step at a time.

"I don't know, James. For me... I left you at Skyhold less then a couple weeks ago for the mission. When got to the temple... something magical happened and next thing we knew we were being attacked and dragged off to Kirkwall where we found out five years had passed."

It all sounded so reasonable. Well, no, actually, it didn't, but after living here all these years it was more reasonable than most other explanations. And hadn't he run across something similar in his world? Granted it had taken a special element to produce the power to rip through space time, but what about this world made that kind of sense? It was entirely possible, wasn't it? God, he wanted it to be possible.

He sucked on his lip, trembling as he turned it all over, absorbed it and tried to come to a decision.

"One last thing," he decided, taking a breath and looking firmly into Samouel's eyes - eyes he knew so well, eyes he dreamt about for five years and had feared he might be forgetting. "Kiss me."

Sam blinks at the command, hesitating momentarily since he was not expecting that to happen. At least not after being hissed at and threatened; perhaps after some time had passed. When he thinks about it though, there is a large amount of relief that washes over him, that Kirk believed him.

After a moment Sam realizes he's been quiet and just staring, blinking again to bring himself out of his slight daze. Slowly a grin pulls at his lips. "In the middle of the market?" he teases quietly, even though he leans in halfway to do just that. For him it is rather amusing since the Kirk he knew wasn't one for such public displays of affection.

Stupid, teasing him like that. He wanted to punch him and at the same grab him by the shirt and bring him in, kiss him so hard that he knocked the air out of his lungs. The teasing released a tension inside of him, because you couldn't fake that, could you? Maybe, but there was a raw sincerity to it, a gentle caress on his ears that even five years removed he knew instantly. It plucked at a thread deep in his soul and his eyes burned with fresh tears.

"I almost forgot how insufferable you could be," he laughed wetly, licking his lips and reaching up to grip Sam by the back of his neck and tug him down, crushing their mouth together.

"Insufferable?" he asks, chuckling softly, pleasantly surprised being called that - Kirk called him many things, but not that. Of course he doesn't expect it to be answered, feeling hands threading into his hair and letting himself be pulled forward.

The kiss is demanding as ever, which has Sam making a soft noise in his throat, but the slight desperation with it is different. It makes his chest tight thinking about what pain his lover has gone through to hold him like this. Slowly the mage lets his hands reach up to wrap around Kirk's waist, pulling him closer.

Not aloud anyways. But he's thought it now and then when Samouel batted those big eyes at him or made some joke. Completely insufferable but he had loved it. Still did, except those were far off memories.

Oh, that noise. He knew it so well and it tore at his heart, made his breath hitch and his whole body tremble. His knuckles turned white as they gripped Samouel, his kiss harder, trying to soak up as much sensation as he could, afraid that this was nothing but an illusion and Samouel would disappear when his eyes opened.

He pulled back, lips tingling and he knew they would bruise later. "How dare you leave me like that," he whispered. "Five years, Samouel. Five. Years."

There is a little bit of discomfort at the way Kirk grips him harder, but he cannot bring himself to say anything to it, knowing that Jim needed this, needed to feel that he was here and believe he wasn't just going to disappear. When they finally part, Sam gasps lightly, tongue darting out to wet his lips, noting how they tingled from the shear pressure of that kiss.

It is enough to daze him slightly that he can only stare back at Kirk when he starts talking again, looking rather guilty and sheepish even if he had not purposely done what he had. "Sorry," he whispers back, not sure how else to respond to that, but equally taking the blame that he had done so.

He knew it wasn't right to blame Samouel for what happened. Falling into a rift or a magical gap, who the hell even knew? Obviously not something Samouel had planned on. Even so, it felt easier to try and stay mad at him so that when he went back, if he went back, it would be easier to bear the loss again.

"You have a lot to make up for," he mumbled, pressing his face into his neck, breathing deeply, hoping he still had the same scent he remembered from those years ago, buried beneath blankets and furs with the heat of the forge working up through the floor boards.

Sam shivers slightly when Kirk nuzzles into his neck. He doesn't pull away though, leaning his head slightly to give his... lover - could he say that they were now? - more access.

"I'm sure I do. Just... let me know where I need to start."

Where to start? Where did they start? How did you pick up again after five years? Damn it, this was the trouble with loving someone wasn't it? He had always been prepared for the eventual loss, for the echoing ache it would cause. But suddenly having him back? The possibility had never even crossed his mind, and now his heart and mind tumbled about in a storm whose center he couldn't find, much less fathom.

"I think we need to start by getting out of the street," he mumbled, but didn't pull away from him, not just yet. Should he take him back to the house? That was the quietest place, assuming Iskandar was not home. He knew it was a selfish thought, but right now he wanted - needed - Sam all to himself.

"My home isn't far from here," he ultimately decided, because going to an inn or the stables simply didn't sit right with him.

So Kirk had a home here; that was a mild comfort to know considering everything he's been hearing and seeing in this future.

Sam nods lightly at that. "Alright," he says, bumping his forehead against the side of Kirk's, just taking a few more moments to stay like that. Eventually he pulls back, letting out a sigh, and looks at Kirk expectantly. "Lead the way."

A home, such as it were. A family, cobbled together in pieces, but a family nonetheless, truer than his blood family in his home world. It was like the Enterprise all over again, and in all honesty he never felt happier than in that hut with Iskandar and Waver - warm food in his belly, laughter in the air, the weight of Iskandar's arms around him. The world was harsh and unforgiving, but in that small space he found peace - a peace now shaken by Samouel's reappearance. For good or will he could not yet say.

He held tight to Samouel's hand, which earned some looks as they walked through the streets, but Kirk paid it no mind. "It's not much," he warned him as they walked further into the depths. "And it's not all that big. But it's home. There might be some stew left over, if you're hungry."

"You have a door?" he asks, half jokingly; if it had that then it already had one up on their place in the armory. Well he supposed that right now they no longer had a place together; now that he thought about it, he was probably going to have to think about living arrangements here. Space seemed tight from what he had seen so far.

At the mention of food he was planning on declining politely, he didn't want to intervene, but his stomach immediately makes a noise. Sam flushes slightly in embarrassment, chuckling softly. "If you're offering..."

Was it rude to laugh hysterically? He thought it was, but he couldn't stop it, clapping a hand to his mouth to try and muffle the sound. Such a silly joke, such a silly call back to their life five years ago, and the laughter came because against everything that had happened it was just that ridiculous.

He stopped when breathing became hard, face flushed and tears tracking down his cheeks. "Sorry, I just... I hadn't thought about the loft in years. And yes, we have a door. Several, even." They needed something for Waver's sanity when Kirk and Iskandar became amorous (which was quite a bit).

"And don't worry. We always have something cooking," he assured him, turning them down through alleyways, those little short cuts learned from years walking the dim paths.

Sam blinks at the sudden bout of laughter, watching curiously as Kirk became red in the face - were those tears? There's only been a few times he's seen Kirk laugh like this, and it came as a shock to see it now, considering how grim things were and being threatened not too long ago.

"Several doors," he says, sounding impressed. "Working on up it sounds." A pause as he looks up and frowns. "Or technically I suppose down." After all they were underground at this point. He makes sure to keep up, though stumbles from time to time since he isn't as familiar with these streets as Jim.

So many feelings rushing around inside of him, they had to come out. They just happened to want to do it all at the same time. Which made for an odd look, but he couldn't stop it. At least being with Iskandar for these many years had brought him around to be more open with his emotions.

"Well, you know, it was more for Waver's sake," he chuckled, pausing to reach back and grasp his hand, moving slower. It was not precisely dark down in the tunnels, but it was hardly bright as it might be on the surface. Years of living there had allowed him to adjust quickly, and he tended to forget others did not.

"It's not far, you can see in just a minute," he promised, turning a few more streets and finally leading Samouel up to an unassuming home that did, indeed, feature a door. Kirk fumbled at his belt for the key to open it up, the shock of Samouel being there suddenly catching up now that there was no audience and his anger was dissipating and with it the adrenaline.

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

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