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

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.

"You live with Waver?" He wasn't a bad fellow, from what time he had spent with the man, but he wasn't quite expecting him to be someone Kirk would move in with necessarily. Then again they both were from Earth and Rifters, so living with someone with common background wasn't too crazy, not to mention five years had passed.

When they stop at the door Sam stands back a bit, giving Kirk some space since he seemed like he needed it, what with fumbling for something on his person. During that time, Sam takes a moment to look over the house. He supposed it was good for a place down here. "Seems nice."

"Yeah, Waver and Iskandar," he nodded. He hadn't been sure how to feel about it at first, but Iskandar cared about him and he liked Waver well enough, so it hadn't been much of an issue. Plus, they were all three Rifters. It had felt comforting to have a safe place. And really, could he say no to Iskandar? If Samouel though it was hard five years ago, it's still hard now.

He got control of himself and fit in the key, opening the door to lead him in. The house is modest, but comfortable and lived in. There are clearly things sized for people like Waver and Kirk, and others for Iskandar. A shared living space, and bedrooms, obviously split between the lovers and Waver.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure we have something for you to eat, and maybe some tea," he said, going to the 'kitchen' area and fussing.

He doesn't assume. It could very well be one room for Iskandar and Waver shares a room with Kirk. He doesn't necessarily think that is the case considering Iskandar and Kirk are lovers... Alright his own argument is falling apart around him, because he does assume the two of them are lovers and it would make more sense to split up with that in mind.

Now he feels bad for Waver.

"You actually have tea down here?" So far he's seen alcohol... or what he assumes is alcohol. Maybe water?

And it is Iskandar. The man has as many lovers as he does fingers it seems, and Kirk wasn't exactly a slouch in that area. He would admit that he dabbled here and there with people he came across and found attractive, but Iskandar was where heart and home was at the end of the day.

"I bring it back when I can when I go out on missions," he chuckled, pulling out the little tin. "It has to be used sparingly because of that, but this is a special occasion." He waved the little packets and took out cups and a pot to bring water to a boil.

Sam wants to stress that Kirk doesn't need to do anything fancy for him, especially since it sounded like this was a scarce thing to have, but lets it go. Kirk said this was a special occasion, and he didn't want to take away the good mood he seemed to be in.

Course tea did sound amazing right now after the time he's had.

"What... kind of tea is it?" Sam sighs at himself. That isn't exactly what he wanted to talk about, but at the same time he isn't sure where the start after everything that's happened since seeing Kirk again.

"To be honest, I can't pronounce the name, but it tastes good," he shrugged, setting the bags in the cups and leaving the kettle to boil.

Turning away from it, he came to Sam, simply standing and watching him for a long moment. It still felt unreal, seeing him standing there, in front of him, just as he had looked five years ago. He couldn't even properly remember the day Samouel had disappeared honestly. He had probably said goodbye to him, gave him a kiss and wished him luck on his mission, and then... and then he simply had never come back.

"Damn, but I missed you," he whispered before stepping in and shoving Sam against the wall, kissing him fiercely.

He's used to Jim staring at him - moments when the man didn't think he was looking, when he was resting in bed either just from a long day of work or after a session of making the mattress creak - but the look he was getting now was not like the ones he's used to getting. It was the look that many had given him already, still processing that he was there, which made him shift slightly where he stood, wondering if the silence will break itself or if he should say something.

Sam sees that Kirk whispers something, frowning slightly since he hadn't quite made the words out except for 'you'. Before he knows it he's suddenly being shoved again, making the smallest of noises when his back hits the wall. At first there is some panic thinking this is a repeat of what happened in the streets, but when he finds himself being kissed instead of shaken, Sam relaxes just a bit.

It's a moment later that his hands come up to grab at the material on Kirk's arms, pulling him as he pushed back with his mouth, trying to give as much as he was taking.

Kirk wasted no time, seeing little sense in being coy, and not patience enough for romance. For all he knew, Sam could vanish in a moment, and these past five years had taught him not to waste opportunities when they were presented. He tugged at Sam's tunic, shoving his hands beneath to caress his stomach and back. Oh god, but it had been so long since he had felt the shape of him - it felt new again, despite his hands knowing just where to go, to squeeze, to scratch to make Sam moan.

His mouth remained against Sam's, hot and fierce as he ravaged him with his tongue. He pressed his hips to his long absent lover, already hard with need.

[OoC: Continued here]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject