Keep a gold chain on my neck

[clawings]

WHO: Character(s)
WHAT: A ghost falls out of a rift, only he's alive now, so that's... something?
WHEN: Justinian
WHERE: Around Kirkwall, mostly in the Gallows during Rifter quarantine
NOTES: If you knew Erik before? I'm sorry, he doesn't remember you.

1. Rock the boat like a one-eyed pirate :: once the rift has closed (arrival in the nearby mountains)

Erik had held his own fighting with the others against the demons and solitary wraith that followed him through the rift, once he demanded that one of Riftwatch's rescuers go ahead and toss him a sword. Pretty impressive, perhaps, considering what he's wearing, down to the leather sandals, wouldn't be considered all that great of a gear for fighting in.

Now, the monsters are gone and he's been given the spiel, his eyebrows working higher and higher as the state of Thedas, of Riftwatch, and his (hopeful) position therein are explained to him. When he's done asking some fairly general questions -- How long has all this been going on? Years? Fuck. And how long will it take to get to Riftwatch? -- he takes a deep breath and asks a fairly strange one:

"What do the people here think happens to your soul when you die?"

Judging by his expression, he is honestly curious. Or trying to start shit, right out the gate.

It can be hard to tell.

2. Rick James, I get glitter on my eyelids :: quarantine in the Gallows

Here's the thing: Erik can't even be too pissed at the insistence on a quarantine.

First? Because he was dead. For a hot minute. No body remained. His consciousness, or soul, or whatever you want to call it, existed solely in an afterlife that consisted of more or less one (large) room occasionally on fire. Aware of the world of those that were living in a way that could not be easily explained in many ways other than by pointing at him and going ghost.

Ancestor.

And that was no longer true. Erik was now alive, in possession of a body that required food, water, sleep. A body that itched to train. A body that looked and felt as familiar as the body he died in, and so, it was his body. Many scars and all.

Secondly, he was grateful for the time to go ahead and try to figure out just what in the whole fuck was going on here.

He's around at every meal, in the communal eating space. You do not come in possession of his musculature by skipping meals... plus it's been a while since he's had the opportunity to, yanno, eat. He sits alone at first but then picks up his plate and sits down next to someone else.

"So what is it you do here?"

He can also be stumbled upon in the kitchen, opening containers of spices and taking sniffs of the contents before peering at the labels. "Man, what kinda names are these?"

In the library he picks out ten books at random and then cracks them all open on a back table, spread out. He doesn't read them so much as he flips through them, taking note of illustrations and lists and any notes written in the margins.

Is it sunny out? Or at least not actively storming? He's in the training yard for a few hours at least, working up a shirtless sweat with a shortsword and putting his scars on easy display. If he catches anyone staring Erik shoots a grin. "Wanna spar? Won't bite."

Another encounter of note is in the griffon roost, which Erik wanders into, clearly unsure. A thousand percent a kid from the hood in over his head. Horses are one thing, but big fucking bird-cats?

His response is a murmured "Now what in the whole fuck, man?!"


[ Two notes:

1. If you would like to opt out of interacting with Erik, please click here.

2. I will match your format!]

Comments

1

[favoriteanalyst]

Mobius only briefly hesitates when the Rifter asks for a sword before giving his up (though, like, give that back after, okay, please). A lot of Rifters either tend toward makeshift weapons, like whatever happens to be around for them to grab, or come with their own. If someone's asking for a sword, chances are, let's say, not negligible that they might actually know how to use it.

And damn, this guy knows how to use it.

He knows a lot, actually. Not about the situation, obviously, given he's a Rifter, but he asks questions pertinent ones, not just 'how do I get back home' and the like.

It's the question of souls that really catches everyone off guard. "Depends on the person," Mobius starts plainly, getting the obvious answer out of the way first. "The predominant religion believes if you're worthy, your spirit gets to be welcomed at the side of the Maker. If not, well, your soul gets booted to the Fade to wander around for all eternity hoping the Maker will forgive you. That's the Chantry, and a good lot of humans follow it. The elves, dwarves, and qunari are generally bound by different beliefs."

Just to make an exhaustedly long story incredibly short and simple. "We generally try to keep people from dying so they don't get to experience the answer first-hand, though."

[clawings]

Alright. Firstly, he hands the man back his sword. Like it's payment, returning it to Mobius, for bothering to answer the weird question.

(It might be.)

"So those things we fought... they're souls the Maker is ignoring right now?" A beat. "According to... the Chantry?"

[favoriteanalyst]

"No, demons are twisted spirits, and spirits are a different--" Mobius pauses, face scrunching in thought as he idly wipes his blade down. He can answer these questions, yes, but he can be a little much about it, and maybe he shouldn't be a little much to someone fresh out a rift.

But then, the guy did just up and ask. "How serious are you about your question?"

[clawings]

"As serious as you're willing to entertain, I guess." Erik sucks his teeth with the tip of his tongue and gives Mobius a one-shouldered shrug. "Seems like you got answers. Not like we got a helluva lot else to chat about on the way back, unless there's one of those 'but wait, there's more!' sorta moments waiting in the wings, here."

2

[sprent]

More new people... more new rifters. Gela thinks she's getting better at spotting them over time; it certainly helps when they're rudely curious and come closer to sit, asking questions right as she's popped her spoon into her mouth.

She considers him while she chews, and swallows. Says, "Who's asking?"

[clawings]

"Some fresh off the boat asshole, you know how it is." He imagines if she's been there longer than, say, a week? She's probably familiar with at least the concept of fairly ignorant Rifters.

(If there's one thing Erik despises, it's being ignorant of the facts in any situation he finds himself. The man loves to plot.)

He raises an eyebrow. "Unless you want my name or something."

[sprent]

She chuckles, digging her spoon into her lunch and leaving it there for now, "That would be nice, messere."

Otherwise she'll call you that the entire time, and with full knowledge of how squirmy rifters can be about it. Here, allow her to go first: "I'm Gela. I'm part of the Diplomacy division."

[clawings]

Messere, huh? That's different. Gela has an accent that isn't the same as a lot of other folks around, but he's heard it here and there on the island.

"Erik." The corner of his mouth quirks upward just a bit. "One of those fresh off the boat assholes I mentioned earlier. What does an agent of Diplomacy do, in a war like this?"

2 but I flipped it ok

[altusimperius]

"Well look who came crawling back," comes the chipper drawl as a tall and disgustingly handsome Thedas native slips into the seat beside Erik, setting down his tray with every apparent intention of joining him.

"Nice to see you don't just vanish into the aether like we thought," Benedict continues, "unless you've just been wandering the countryside, which. I suppose that's all right too, just." He pauses, as if he just got walked into a mental puzzle he himself had set up, "...not... usually what happens? Not what we thought happened?"

Hello, perfect stranger.

[clawings]

A good half dozen replies flash through Erik's mind and are summarily dismissed, including but not limited to 'who the hell is WE' and 'you mean to tell me I've been here before?' or '...say my name, then.'

Mm. No.

Instead, several measured blinks and then Erik sets his fork down: "How long I been gone, anyway?"

Because one of two things is possible: this man knows him, or doesn't. Either way?

Erik will learn something.

[altusimperius]

Oblivious, because he's too busy stirring a bit of extra pepper into his stew, Benedict looks pleasantly back at him. And blinks, a bit confused, but humors him:

"Couple of years? I think?" Time flies when you're... having fun?

[clawings]

Erik's expression is smooth as silk. Nothing wrong here.

"Anybody else I know still around?"

[notathreat]

Ellie is found in the griffon roost. She's not short, but she gives off the impression of being small anyway, given how narrow she is. Sharp joints, sharp eyes, careful hands. Lots of scars, though not nearly as many as him.

Erik is another stranger, and though she's heard whispers that he was here before and has since forgotten, and left after she arrived, her own memories of him are glimpses.

She watches him curiously as he climbs into the aerie, a look of wonder and possible overload on his face. The griffons austerely look down on him from their perches and nests, ruffling wings. (Austere before one of them belches, loudly.)

At the moment she's sitting atop a griffon on the ground floor, astride the creature's withers. Her hands are buried up to the elbows in its neck feathers, clearing out impacted fluff. The griffon is apparently enjoying the hell out of the attention, eyes closed luxuriously.

She's about to say something about most new people not having the balls to come up and visit the griffons on their own, but catching his mutter, she chokes on a laugh instead.

"-yeah, I thought the same thing."

[clawings]

Erik focuses his eyes briefly on Ellie, takes in a deep breath, and immediately regrets that. Birds stink, first and foremost, and these are, he's decided, mostly birds with some cat swagger.

Doesn't make them any less fantastical, but he knows how to make that work with what he already knows.

"Sometimes I'd see... I dunno, illuminated manuscripts or what the fuck ever, from the middle ages, and they got all these creatures in the margin and I'd figure people were just real damned bored or didn't know how to draw and then, now, I see, with my own damned two eyes..." He gestures broadly at the roosting creatures. "Fucking fairytales."

He nods his chin upwards in Ellie's direction in greeting. "I'mma guess they ain't got these wherever you're from either, yeah?"

[notathreat]

Ellie's smile grows as he talks, looking like she wants to laugh Yep, birds and cats both have a strong smell. It's helped somewhat by open air constantly blowing through the aerie, but it's still gross. Ellie prefer it strongly to the smell of rot.

Fucking fairytales. She doesn't know much about illuminated manuscripts, or anything from the middle ages, but he talks like a Rifter, and that answers a lot of questions.

Ellie shakes her head at his good catch.

"Nope, no fairytales where I'm from." She sits up on the back of the griffon to get a better look. She's dressed in local clothing, a tunic and breeches, hair tied back, her arms bare in the summery heat. She has lots of scars, and a half-sleeve tattoo runs down her right forearm.

"We've got our own shit, but nothing like these," she confirms, throwing a leg over the griffon's back and sliding off.

"Seeing them's nothing next to flying on them, though."

[clawings]

"Yeah? I ain't done much riding before." He thinks about it a little; it'll either be too terrifying to continue, or too exhilarating to put down. Erik doubts there will be any room for an in-between reaction to getting to ride anything as physically impressive as a griffon.

(Barring dragons, but he's pretty sure that his ass does not belong anywhere near to riding a dragon just yet. Baby steps.)

He's still got on the pants he arrived in. No shirt. Hot enough to go without and it's not like he's sparring right this second. "I'm Erik." A nod, as she slides off the griffon's back. "Somebody 'round here give lessons, or something?"

2

[youwonscience]

She's not moving quietly to sneak up him, but it is still a library, so it's not hugely obvious before she speaks. "If you're looking for anything particular, I'm happy to share what I've figured out about the organizational system. You know, not a librarian, but you spend long enough looking for shit in here and you get at least a broad idea."

She didn't know Erik especially well the first time, though his face is familiar enough. Still, the Gallows is small enough and news travels, so she's not expecting the recognition to be mutual. (There's an existential element to him returning without his memories of Thedas that she can deal with later and probably alone.)

She avoids the temptation to look closer at what he's pulled off the shelves so far, leaving the ball in his court to engage or shoo her off.

[clawings]

"I don't think I'm looking for anything specific right now," he says, looking up from the spread on the table and gesturing toward the chair across from him. Sit, sit!

"Mostly I just pulled shit at random, in part to see what I could read, like literacy-wise, and what I couldn't. What would be on your newbie reading list?"

[youwonscience]

She slides into the chair opposite him, ready enough to take a short break to talk.

"Wildly enough, I'm actually working on a formal newbie reading list, you just beat it here. But I can jot down some titles for you. Do you have any like, particular interests? Do you want to know about stuff with Riftwatch's history, or world politics, or what we know about the Rifts?"

Or all of them, presumably, but some people want big people and some people want actionable intel. She's not sure which way he'll lean. Also, to his earlier point, she adds: "It's wild, languages. You should talk to Madame de Ceydoux if you're interested, she's the cryptographer but I know she's also got a language focus. She's a rifter, though she passes for native better than a lot of us."

2

[laruetheday]

Clarisse is also in the dining hall for pretty much every meal, and for similar reasons. She's clocked Erik since he's arrived, because newbies in the Gallows aren't so common that they're unremarkable, but she hasn't approached him or tried to introduce herself yet.

And she doesn't seem to be a particularly approachable person herself, so when he sits across from her with his plate, she can't help but be a little bit wary. Her eyebrows knit together, and she wipes biscuit crumbs off her lip with the back of one hand.

"Forces," she says, in answer to his question. He probably could've guessed—she's tall, muscled, with a scar on her chin. The typical soldier type. "You're new, right? You pick a division yet?"

[clawings]

"Pretty damn new, yeah. I'm sticking with the familiar in a place that ain't, really, so. Forces also." He raises his chin in a nod. "Was a marine, before. Erik. Where you from?"

He doesn't think she's from here, but. He could be wrong.

(He's also curious about her weapon of choice, but they'll get to that.)

[laruetheday]

A marine, huh. That's some automatic points in his favor, and Clarisse stops looking so damn suspicious.

"Semper fi," she says with a little nod. She's not a marine, former or otherwise, but when your dad is the god of war, you're pretty much the world's most privileged army brat.

"I'm from Earth too. Rifted in almost a year ago. My name's Clarisse."

2

[evervescent]

Eli doesn't actually need to eat (probably? things are weird in Thedas) but he does generally do it anyway to keep up appearances. So he's here with some book on the Chantry half-forgetting his food in lieu of trying to figure out what the hell the lore here even is. He still struggles with it, the faith of this land. He struggles with his own faith, which is a different problem and sometimes a dangerous one.

Erik's presence is almost a welcome distraction, though a surprising one.

Eli laughs a little at the question. No introduction, no pleasantries, just an outright question. Well, he can handle that. It's not as if he enjoys small talk anyway.

"Still trying to answer that myself, actually," he says. "Mostly research. Good excuse to learn what I can about a place that is…nothing like where I came from. You new? Come out of a rift too, I imagine?"

[clawings]

The questions of small talk: how are you, how is life treating you, how's the weather, do you mind company? These are all, in Erik's mind, the kind of questions you ask someone you already know.

The way most people do it, however, is by turning those hooks into inane chit-chat that doesn't teach anyone anything at the end of it. You've said words that don't mean anything.

Not his style.

"Yep, and stuck on this island fortress for a minute." Shrug. "It's fine. Been in smaller confines, just a little bit boring though. What's the most interesting thing you've learned here?"

training yard

[portalling]

Riftwatch’s new arrival fits right into the training yards, swinging that sword.

The man who eventually joins him does not particularly look like he belongs here. He’s of an equal height to Erik, fit enough, but lean and narrow and built for the library where the other man is a brick shithouse. Strange sizes him up: the muscles, the shoulders, the scars, and one can’t help but be devastatingly aware of one’s own physical inadequacies in comparison.

He rolls his shoulders, considering the offer. (There’s also something vaguely familiar about the newcomer’s face, but it isn’t ringing any bells— yet.) Won’t bite, he says, but that doesn’t say anything about not knocking him down on his ass. Then again: get knocked down seven times, get up eight.

“How are you with quarterstaffs?” Strange asks, by way of answer. It’s quicker, more agile as a weapon; doesn’t quite require the same brute strength as a sword. There’s a reason this man isn’t in Forces.