OPEN | Messages from broken bottles fall on black sandy beaches

[voidtransport]

WHO: Allumin and YOU!
WHAT: A fresh new rifter arrival & Quarantine time (+ A little bit after)
WHEN: Backdated to early-to-mid August (so he can partake in tourney time) just the WHOLE MONTH, really
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains, Gallows
NOTES: info page here and permissions/opt-out here - some spiciness happening in the bene thread

i. Arrival / early in the month (this ended up so long, i thank anyone who reads this) - to skip dream segment, go to (@)

It would come as no surprise to Allumin that his dreams would lean the way they do considering the events leading up to sleep, and it's a welcome break from his usual nightmares. It's actually probably better it wasn't his usual nightmares that brought him here filled with black sand and being hunted, but that doesn't mean the dream doesn't give him a measure of anxiousness regardless. Instead he unfortunately gets to relive the greatest hits of his Embarrassing Moments with Diabhall Minett, famous arcane architect and long-time crush. Learning that his curiosity and attraction to the man predated his void vacation and resulting amnesia from his brother's weary sigh as they saw each other again for the first time in 13 years is part of this wonderful collection as well. Great!

There's the lovely moment where he was pranked into drinking blood from a wine glass at a masquerade party... Finding the sketch he'd done of Diabhall from a lecture at the Observatory and how it had been tucked until the rug of his room and then later hearing from Diabhall himself that he'd investigated the room after Allumin's disappearance and saw the sketch. Of course, offering the man a funnel cake after a spontaneous encounter during the attempt to liberate his falsely imprisoned friend and fumbling in such a way that Diabhall ended up wearing powdered sugar and funnel cake as a result of his clumsiness. And then… the family dinner.

His brother's offhand joke about spilling mashed potatoes all over Diabhall, who happened to be a guest at the reunion dinner with his family haunted him that whole day and he'd hoped against hope that there would be none at dinner (there were). He did not, in fact, accidentally spill anything all over the object of his attraction but the fear he'd felt was so strong that now he gets to live with his brain being like "hey, but what if you had?"

He could be having nightmares about almost being killed by a professional hitman or the newly learned implication that he's probably a living tether of the void plane to the material plane and that may end up destroying him from the inside, but no. No… It's funnel cake and mashed potatoes, and his unfortunate butterfingers dropping them as he tries to give them to Diabhall Minett…

(@) And then it's not - or it is, and isn't - as something unsettles him from outside of the dream, like waking up to a spider crawling on your arm or something akin to it. The deep roar and rumbling of heavy footsteps on the earth beneath him however is definitely not a spider, and he snaps awake on the sandy ground of somewhere completely foreign to him with a plate of mashed potatoes to one side and a funnel cake on the other.

His little drawing of Diabhall is also here, drifting on the wind in an almost lackadaisical fashion, until… it lands on the chest of the source of what pulled him out of his dream. If it were anything other than what it was, he would be grateful. Unfortunately, whatever it is is big, very intimidating, and like no demon of the seven hells he's ever seen in books. Overhead, a green glowing mass(?) of some kind shifts and crackles with energy, and if he were of a mind to simply not panic he might theorize that it was a portal responsible for bringing him wherever he is.

He is not, in fact, of another mind at the moment though, terror plain on his face as he scrambles to his feet and starts to run from the towering horned creature and the foods of his embarrassment. He tries to pat himself down as he runs (thankfully dressed but not in what he'd worn to bed…?), trying to find his wand on his person in his panic before his hand meets the bag hanging from the belts on his waist. Oh, right, in his bag! He fumbles with getting it open to reach inside and fetch it while running, made worse by the way the ground shakes under the footfalls of the demon(??) behind him, the pain in his left hand (which has some Concerns of their own he can't think about right now), and enough sand to make traction on the more solid ground underneath tricky to find. After managing to get his wand out from his bag, he tries to stop and turn to cast something to distract, maybe slow the creature chasing him down for enough time he can at least find somewhere to hide until it's safe. What ends up happening is not so graceful as he'd hoped, sliding along the sand and falling over somewhat on his knees.

Oh boy, that thing is so close and so big and could probably crush him in one hand -- there's no time to scramble to his feet he thinks, so instead he just tries to cast something from his awkward and undignified position. He focuses on Snowball Swarm - maybe it would also kick up some of the sand in its flurry of snow and be enough to keep the imminent danger occupied to escape - and follows through with the incantation in Sylvan, raising his wand to gesture out in practiced fluidity the movements to cast it.

...

Nothing happens.

Oh no.

ii. Courtyard, night

[The insomnia isn't new. He's not sure if that should be a relief or not, that it's consistent and familiar or that he should be bothered that he can't sleep. But, rather than dwell on it, he decides to borrow a couple of books from the library and go out to the courtyard to read under the night sky. The cool air helps him to feel calm at least, and reading is something productive he can do with his time if he's going to be awake anyway.

He gets rather into it too, his attention fully on the book for about an hour until he hears the cracking of loose bits of rock underfoot on the stone ground of the courtyard break the silence that he had become acclimated to that everything outside himself and the book was briefly oblivion. His head snaps up in alarm at the sound, staring directly up at whoever is the source of the sound. And then he sighs, an "oh" of relief carried on it out of his lungs.]

You startled me - sorry, is it too late for me to be out here? I can go back to bed, I just couldn't sleep, so...

[ If you prefer brackets over prose or vice versa and a starter is written the opposite of your preference, please feel free to switch to that! I have no problem following suit. Also, if you'd like a custom starter please let me know! I can be reached through this journal, at assbanditkirk, or discord at subjectredacted#6534. I had intended to also have a Training starter but this ended up longer than I planned. If you'd still like to do that though, I'd be happy to write one up for you! ]

Comments

I:

[archademode]

It does not matter that Allumin has no magic to spare; where the air before him is filled with only the empty swirl of demon-breath in its wretched advance, a line of molten flame cuts clean through it— narrowly passing over Allumin's head to slam into the creature's cracked skin, halting its steps. The rest, of course, is a quickened blur: Gabranth does not need to observe more than the sight of a mortal fleeing a demon to dash into the fray with his own blades drawn— glinting dark under a stormy sky gone sickening vermillion in hue.

"Get behind me—"

Growled, not spoken, near to matching the snarls of the beast he sets himself upon.

[voidtransport]

Allumin has to remind himself to be present instead of trying to process what all has just happened before him, especially since the man(?) that has appeared is no less intimidating than the demon chasing him. It takes him a moment to find his voice, first instinct not to get back to his feet and run to the presumed safety behind the dark armored figure but to use his teleportation cantrip instead - and when the words for it do come out, thankfully, it works.

Not quite the same as it usually does, but it at least works, zipping him off to relative safety as he was so forcefully directed to do. Now he takes a hurried moment to get to his feet, turning round to keep his attention on the immediate danger present.

"What is that?!" It's the first thing that he can think to ask through his alarm - better, more useful questions unfortunately have to wait for his reason to regain control over his fear.

[archademode]

"A demon—" Gabranth snaps in turn, snapping his blades together until the pommels click as they lock in place, brought up to block the heavy swing of the beast's arm— his own weight buckling beneath it, though he does not yield.

He thinks, in the moments before fury subsumes his every tactical thought, that it would be better if Jone were here. That she would be heartened by such prey, and he—

He would not be left in want of her bloodied fervor.

As it stands, brittle earth buckling beneath his heels, he does all that he can to repel the demon's claws, keeping safe the elf at his back.

[voidtransport]

Of course, of course it's a demon - but it's different from the kind he knows, and that fills him with even more unease and confusion than he'd already been feeling. He's not a stranger to finding himself somewhere else, but to this extent? It's new. Things are not the kind of different that he's familiar with and that undermines his already tenuous confidence.

He doesn't full comprehend what's happening but what he can at least understand is that there is danger and now there's someone here fighting it. Allumin assumes he's probably already been perceived as unable to defend himself, and he wonders if it's better to simply stay at a distance or try to help in some sort of way.

As he watches the figure's efforts to keep the demons attacks at bay, there is something he feels there. Mostly helplessness - he's already had one spell fail to work, so what if he tries to assist in a way he's capable and fails again? And it makes things worse?

The pain in his hand doesn't help matters, when it comes to focus.

Maybe if he can at least do one thing, it would be enough to distract the demon and give the armored stranger an opening with which to have an advantage. He'd managed one of his more natural, less taxing spells so if he keeps it simple...

"If I distract it, can you kill it?" he calls out, knowing better enough from some encounters that did not go well than to act without communication.

[archademode]

Gabranth, wholly consumed by the task at hand— his strength versus that of an otherworldly wretch, his blade versus claws that could rend flesh as cleanly as parchment— is slow to respond: he does not hear Allumin at first, and once he does, his mind races to consider the strategy behind it. In the end, it seems ill advised.

And yet what choice is left?

With a rushing snap of his swords as they disconnect from one another, the contest of strength is decidedly ended as Gabranth withdraws leaving the demon's massive hand to slam into the earth with shattering force.

"Go, then— do it now!"

There is no time for folly. No margin for wasted seconds. The elf must act now, if he is to do so at all.

ii

[arkitect]

Well, if it is too late to be out, then I suppose you're not the only one due a brief scolding-- but I certainly am not here to deliver it.

[his tone is casual enough, words drawn lazily out here and there as he takes another step or two; when emet-selch pauses, it's a little closer to him, just enough to get a better look.]

Still acclimating, are you? I do find it more pleasant at this hour.

[voidtransport]

Let's hope there's no curfew then. [No one has mentioned one to him thus far, but then again it could just be some unspoken rule he won't know about until it's too late.

Allumin does visibly relax a bit as he draws closer, but there's still a measure of watchfulness and caution - first meeting and all that. He nods.]

It's similar but also different enough from my home that getting used to everything has been a bit of a trick. At least a moon is still a moon here - I enjoy reading at night. [The implication that he's been places where the skies are unnatural is heavy in how he sounds relieved.]

[arkitect]

A curious way of putting it. In your experience, under what circumstances does a moon tend not to be a moon?

[He finds a convenient spot to sit and settles in, chin resting in his palm as he keeps an idle eye on Allumin.]

[voidtransport]

Well - [He doesn't have a specific personal example for a moon, and he has to stop and consider whether to hypothesize one or share his personal experience with someone he's just met.]

when it exists but defies its own nature, I suppose? I haven't seen a moon that wasn't a moon but I have seen a sun that wasn't a sun before.

[arkitect]

Have you, now? [that comes with an arch of one brow.] One would think a sun to be the harder of the two to fake, although-- depending upon its true nature, I suppose it might be only natural. Given a source of sufficient energy, it would be far more difficult to dim it.

ii

[fairforce]

Don't worry. My days of enforcing curfews are long behind me.

[Tiffany steps further into the moonlight. She's no threat--yes, she might be considered a bit tall, and yes, she's decently built from her Seeker training--but she's wearing soft linen trousers and a loosely-woven shirt, and her hair is loose around her shoulders. And she's carrying a cup of tea through the courtyard, so that helps the impression.

She gives him a smile.]

Though in my long and illustrious career, I'll note that most people I've caught breaking curfew weren't doing it to read books. That makes you rather distinct in my books.

[voidtransport]

Now the days of breaking them are here?

[Note to self: find somewhere less out in the open if he wants to read at night without potentially getting in trouble. Maybe also find out what the consequences of breaking curfew even are - also important.

He does relax some, eyes going from her to the book perched next to him (a general history of Thedas), the one in his hands (a more specific history of magic in Thedas), and then up to the sky before drifting back downward.]

No need to waste candles if the moon is out.

[fairforce]

[Tiffany laughs.]

I don't think there is a curfew. There's the quarantine for Rifters, which expires--and then if you miss the last ferry back to the Gallows, you'll have to spend the night in Kirkwall--but otherwise I think you're allowed out as you see fit. We're arguably all full-grown here.

[She cranes her neck a little. The distance is somewhat too much to see the titles.]

What did you choose to read?

[voidtransport]

[He lets out a big sigh of relief.]

I was worried there might have been one and no one decided to tell me.

History and more history. [Picking up the book sitting next to him, he gives it a wave with the first 'history' before setting it on his lap, and a little gesture of the open one he's holding like cheering a glass. Then he scoots over some on the bench - an invitation in case she'd like to sit.]

Very titillating stuff for night-time reading. The Exalted Marches especially get my heart racing. [He hopes that it's obvious he's trying to joke.]

[fairforce]

All the exaltation does tend to do that. And the marching makes up for the rest.

[Yes, she gets that it's a joke, and yes, she will come and sit beside him, at least for a bit. Kirkwall's summer hasn't quite given up yet which makes carrying a mug of hot tea a bit of a sweaty affair, and Tiffany gladly takes the chance to set it down on the ground and wipes her hand on the leg of her trousers.]

I've always enjoyed history. When I was younger I thought it was a bit like a play that really happened. Now that we're living in history ourselves, that seems a very trite way to think of it.

I'm Tiffany, by the way. [Well. She pulls a little face, and cops to,] Lady Seeker Theophania Hart. I like to give the title straightaway so it's done with.

For Benedict;

[voidtransport]

When he heard the word "morning" his excitement dampened just a bit. Even with following Tiffany's recommendation of chamomile or valerian tea to help with his sleeplessness, he still had a habit of waiting too long in his insomnia before going to make a cup - he'd need to get better about his time management and schedule, he thinks.

He wants to be sure that he has plenty of time to prepare his clothes and be presentable, so trying to get up early is out. Instead, he devises a plan that would surely make any reasonable person shake their head (but that's not really new in his experience anyway, is it?). He'd have some tea and relax enough to take a very long nap in the late afternoon to evening, so that he could get ready throughout the night and be prepared first thing in the morning. Seems reasonable enough to him, works around his whole insomnia thing for the most part since it's easier to sleep in the daytime for him, and he's got plenty of time to get ready.

And it may be training of some ilk but that doesn't stop Allumin from putting a lot of care into his appearance as is his inclination given the time. He makes sure that his clothes he arrived in are nice and clean since they're a touch better than the ones he'd been given, takes extra care of his hair in the bath (the benefit too of having extra time is making sure his hair is fully dry before their meeting), and opts to weave a few smaller braids into his hair instead of going for the usual quick and functional one-big-braid situation. He's even made sure to put a bit of lemongrass scented oil at his pulse points just to make sure on all fronts that he is decent.

As the sun begins to rise, he fidgets one last time with his boots and any wrinkles in his tunic. He hopes this has all been worth it, taking in a deep breath and letting out a sigh of nervous anticipation. He makes his way down to the training ground and scans the area for someone fitting Benedict's description he gave.

One such person catches his eye, and he tries to appear confident as he approaches.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to be Benedict would you?" Some people have been handshake people and some haven't but just to be sure, he holds out his own gloved one in case. "Allumin."

[altusimperius]

Having stepped to the side of the pitch to take a break, the one he addresses-- tall and devilishly handsome, naturally, wearing common training clothes and with his black hair pulled out of his face into a little tail-- turns to look at Allumin with a knowing little smirk.

He iscute. Good.

"I would," he answers primly, offering his hand over with the quality of a cat stretching out its paw.
"Not from around here?" He nods wryly to the glinting green on Allumin's palm-- of which he has a matching one, albeit temporarily disguised beneath a thick leather glove.

[voidtransport]

He relaxes a bit knowing for sure he has the right person. Allumin's hand wraps around his delicately, firm pressure solely in the press of his fingers but otherwise a gentle grip. He gives a small bow with the handshake.

"How could you tell?" It's a joke, as he catches the nod to the bit of anchor in his hand.

"I put a lot of work into blending in today." Meanwhile, the gold embroidery on the yoke of his undershirt catches the light of the morning sun. Yes, very casual, normal clothing for training in.

[altusimperius]

"I see that." It's a bit of a dig, but a gentle one-- getting this dressed up and smelling this nice to come out to the training pitch bespeaks either unshakeable confidence or a person having no intention of doing anything physical, which he himself learned the hard way.

And he has noticed the ears, but they mean a lot less to him than they might have, some years ago. Sometimes elves are tall, these days.

Returning his hand to the grip of his staff, he gives it a loose little spin.

"Have you come out here to train, or to bask in my glorious presence?

...either answer is acceptable."

[voidtransport]

If you only knew, Benedict. This isn't even his final form. If he had the same resources available here as he did before, he'd probably be even more dressed up. These are his casual clothes back home.

He does take a moment to admire the deftness with which Benedict moves his staff. Half of his gaze his awe and half of it is trying to calculate the movements and understand how to emulate them.

"And how acceptable would it be if I said both?"

ii;

[sparklequeen]

[ Glimmer has taken to wandering when she can't sleep. It doesn't happen all the time, but there are nights she wakes up from dreams of endless identical corridors and laughter that comes from nowhere. Those are the nights she doesn't sleep. She's wearing something simple and light, a linen shift since the summer weather is still hot even by the coast. Glimmer wanders out into the courtyard to clear her head with night air--and finds she isn't alone. There's a little startled jerk when she realizes it followed by a slow, simmering calm. ]

No, no. It's fine--I just couldn't sleep. Not like there's any rules against being out at night.

[ A hand is waved in dismissal. ]

[voidtransport]

Ah, I wasn't sure - that's good to know there isn't. Not for any particularly bad reasons! Just that I like reading by moonlight. [Qualifying that does not sound as assuring as he thinks it might. He has not yet learned that saying you're not sketchy can make you look even sketchier.

Ahem. Anyway...]

You as well? I have an extra book if it would take your mind off whatever is troubling you. [it's from the library, but, y'know.]

[sparklequeen]

Yeah...

[ Glimmer sinks downwards without waiting to be invited and sits next to Allumin, spreading her cloak out around her as she does. ]

Thanks, but I'm not really feeling much like reading.

[ There's a faint laugh. ]

The way you say that though, it makes me miss the moons from back home.

[voidtransport]

Understood. [There's an attempt at an assuring smile. It's not super confident in its attempt but it's there, trying.]

Would you like to talk about them? I'd be happy to listen. [As he says this, he gently folds shut the book in his hands with a thumb left to mark the page.]

[sparklequeen]

[ Glimmer wraps her cloak a little tighter. Even if it's late summer, night here on the sea can be cold. ]

There were a lot of them.

[ A little smile at the thought. ]

And they were always so beautiful. Day or night, they were always hanging up in there in the sky. Like jewels.

[ Glimmer closes her eyes. She can see Bright Moon underneath the night sky, dark except for the moons hanging overhead. ]

It's not quite the same with only two.