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

[faderifting]

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

Comments

[universal_charm]

"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.

[el_tybs]

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?

[universal_charm]

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.

[el_tybs]

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.

[universal_charm]

"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.

[el_tybs]

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.

[universal_charm]

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.

[el_tybs]

[OoC: Continued here]