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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"Read minds." Aleron echoes the words, trying to make sense of what precisely that entails. He's never heard of such a thing, but it sends his heckles up. "Like blood magic?"

Because firstly, he's not going to stand idly by, even in his wretched and half-mad condition and allow blood magic to be used. Secondly, he already knows mind control of that sort will not work on him. Not that he wishes to divulge that to someone he barely knows on a sane day.

Though, to be fair, the Seeker was stripped of weapons years ago when captured and more sensible heads than his deemed it too dangerous to re-arm him. His violent outbursts and attempts to restrain people on the trip back affirmed that was a sound decision.

But at present, he's not acting out or sounding aggressive. Just suspicious. Nothing personal at all, Doctor.

"I don't believe in magic. So, nothing like that."

The Doctor frowns and tilts his head, debating how to explain it better.

"It's like how animals can sense changes in weather."

Can the animals sense changes in the weather here? The Doctor doesn't even know. Do their animals have migration or anything like that? It's honestly the best example he can come up with. He's not good at explaining things well.

"I can do something similar with people. I can sense what causes their pain and sometimes I can fix it."

Doesn't believe in magic? Frankly Aleron doesn't know how to make sense of that or how it even works. Magic is just as real in Thedas as rain and trees and hunger. It just is, though many have tried over the centuries to contain it. For a moment, the pain becomes absolutely unbearable and he retreats to the Chant as a focus to drive that reality away from himself, to regain his mind. "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Malificar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world, or beyond."

A long sigh escapes him and it takes the better part of a minute for Aleron's eyes to refocus after the glazed over appearance that manifests when the pain is at its worst.

"Forgive me, what were we...?" He looks at the doctor, quizzically, attempting to put back together the conversation and coming up with several holes though he won't admit to them. "You're a healer then. A physician." Not a mage but a medic nonetheless.

Well, it's sort of like ghosts, every time anything resembling magic comes up, the Doctor can prove that it's only science that the people don't understand. When Aleron starts to chant, though, the Doctor realises he made a mistake by mentioning it. He relaxes when Aleron comes back fairly quickly.

"I do what I can to help those in need. And we were talking about how I might be able to help you."

Or not, since he hadn't used his abilities much in Thedas beyond the animals. But it worked the same way on them back home, why wouldn't it work the same for humans?

There's a very slow nod from Aleron as he considers that. He's all too aware of just how far he'd slid into the poisoning. It's too obvious to deny and too profound to ignore. However, in his lucid moments, he still has his pride and accepting help at this point could be futile. Or a trick. There's always something behind any kindness. Maybe. He's had three full years of sinister whispers hissing dark threats at him, so it's become impossible to sift out genuine concern from the rampant paranoia.

But. There is Bethany to consider. He's aware they've brought him to where she is. He's not at all pleased because he just knows they've lead the Venatori to her and compromised her safety. Still, there is that tiny selfish part of him that just wants to see her one last time before he goes to the Maker. And without a doubt, the way he is now would surely break her heart. She has suffered enough already.

If the Doctor can somehow help him enough to be whole and stable once more, perhaps he can lead his wife away from this place himself. That is the thought that convinces him to make more admission to his state than anything else.

"If you can, I would have you try. My wife... she cannot see me like this." It's not even pride speaking, just a worry that this might finish her off and that idea is something he cannot abide. On a more practical note, those violent outbursts he had seem pretty non-discriminate; for all he knows he could harm her in one and not know it. "Please."

The Doctor nodded. "I felt the same way about similar things with my wife. I will do what I can."

He swallowed and changed positions. He didn't know if Aleron would understand him or not, but he was going to explain everything - which was a rare thing for him to do. But since Aleron was lost enough already, he didn't want to make it worse.

"I'm going to rest my fingertips on your temples. One hand on each side. You don't have to do anything but just sit there."

The Doctor then did the action he mentioned. He closed his eyes and tried to enter Aleron's mind. He didn't get very far. But he tried to figure out what was happening. Since he wasn't properly in the other's mind, he spoke aloud.

"There is... Not a block. It's like... I don't know. Scar tissue maybe? What is that."

He didn't poke at it. He had too much respect for other people's minds, but he was very curious and wanted to explore it more.

Without moving, complaint, or questions, Aleron submits to whatever this is that this doctor is attempting by touching him. He hardly sees how it will do a thing without a poultice or potion at hand, but then such matters are beyond his ken.

"What is what?" he queries in reply. "I've suffered no injury that I'm aware of beyond what you see before you." That's actually not true. He suffered a severe concussion some five years ago but red lyrium poisoning and torture has driven that memory from his mind. But that's long since healed and forgotten.

The Doctor spent a few more minutes exploring it. And then he separated their connection. He looked at Aleron with such sorrow. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I can't help you. There's... I block. It's like a wall."

He could probably help Aleron, if he had weeks to do it. But... he doesn't.

"The question is: how can the red lyrium get in and affect you, when I can't?"

The Doctor is seriously troubled by this.

Keeping his lucidity is an ever growing challenge for Aleron. Still, with something to concentrate, even if just a puzzle, it helps prevent him slipping back into unaware madness. His brow furrows trying to think of any information that might prove useful to this physician.

"Lyrium is ingested, by the Templars. It provides and amplifies many of their abilities." Deep breath, focus. Force down the pain and think. "Red lyrium is no different, except that just proximity to it can cause changes in someone, drive them mad, transform them with sufficient exposure. Ingesting it expedites the process." Things he did not know five years ago that he has learned the hard way over time.

He sits silently for a long while, trying to force his mind clear and order his thoughts into coherent expression. "I am not surprised you could not reach my mind. A Seeker's abilities come not from lyrium, but from ritual. They are the result of the Vigil. We are also immune to blood magic and mind control." We. As if Aleron had been a Seeker at all these three years past and not a shell of a man.

The Doctor is silent for a long time as he tries to process what all of that could mean.

"Wait. You said immune to mind control. And something about ritual. It felt like a wall to me. What do they do to you during this Vigil?"

Because he suspects it's all connected. And if it is, he might be able to find away around it. Or at least a way to block the Red Lyrium's impact.

There is a slight shake of his head. Nothing is done to, it is done.

"The Vigil is undertaken alone, the culmination of our training. Many fail it. We enter solitude for a year, putting aside all worldly concerns. Including the company of others. We empty ourselves of all emotion, focusing solely on our devotion. And at the end, it is the culmination of our dedication, faith fulfilled."

The expression on Aleron's face belies his very real and present fatal poisoning, as it lights up as if enraptured. "It is difficult to explain without experiencing it," said in almost a breath. However, such intensity and discipline of the mind and body likely indicates how he's managed to force himself to live against the odds.

Oh how he longs to retreat to those days again when silence was his lone companion and his ears were only filled with the sound of his own voice raised to sing the Chant.

Not done during the Vigil, then. Okay, fair enough.

"So how do you become resistant to mind control? Because solitude tends to make mind control easier, not harder."

He knows that much from experiences he would rather forget.

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

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