so an elf and a witch of the wilds walk into a bar....

[elfroot]

Characters: Zevran Arainai, Morrigan, Alistair I hope, and anyone else who might be interested...
Setting/Location: One very lucky inn!
Date & Time: Day 0, morningish
Warnings: Do not disturb a sleeping witch.
Summary: In order to leave town, you must first choose your party members.

Comments

[dissentive]

Morrigan was thoroughly unimpressed by his words, and further so by his smile. She's hardly the type to be so easily persuaded by a flash of teeth, now as much as ever. "Tell me something I do not know," she deadpanned in response to both comments, eyes half lidded as she gazed at the elf before she, too, took a gander at her surroundings - more importantly, the heavy oak door. Using her staff casually as a walking stick, though more importantly to have it unsheathed in case something was behind said door, she strode confidently enough towards it. She rested her hand on the warm wood and, sensing nothing of magical integrity, opened it easily enough with a sharp twist of the door knob--

Only for the door to knock directly into a servant girl carrying a large pile of sheets in her arms - surely whisking down the hallway to her next task, and surely in Morrigan's way. Harmless enough, however certainly an obstacle to step over whilst the girl was busy gathering her dropped linens and apologizing profusely. T'was of little concern to Morrigan, for the girl had already apologized - but she paused, after she had completed stepping over the servant, to turn on her heel and stare down at her. The manner that she wore her hair was certainly a far cry from the Ferelden fashion. "Girl," Morrigan began, one hand placed lightly on her hip as the other curled around her staff. "'Tis an unfamiliar place. We are still in Ferelden, are we not?"

The blank look the servant girl gave her was enough for Morrigan to simply write her off as, perhaps, mentally slow - in such as the likes of Alistair, even. Or the warden's dog. "No, ma'am," the girl stammered out just before Morrigan could lose her interest. "This is Sleepywoods."

Morrigan glanced at Zevran, then. He was more varied in his travels, perhaps he knew of such a place. She, on the other hand, preferred the woods that were not so sleepy.

[elfroot]

"Sleepywoods! At least even you must admit, Morrigan, that is a most informative name. Though it is not one with which I am familiar. It sounds Ferelden, does it not?"

It's his turn to stand, stretching out his legs, remaining relaxed, or at least maintaining the appearance of relaxation. In truth, he's far from it. Something does not feel right; so many things do not feel right. If he spent the night with Morrigan, he only wishes he might be able to remember it, especially if he is to die--and after all, most spiders do devour their mates, having no emotional attachment to them past the single moment. His prospects do not look promising. Especially without the Warden.

The Warden...

He shrugs, pulling aside a curtain and glancing down into the street below. "Yes; it most certainly looks like Ferelden. But as we both know, appearances can be most deceiving. I wonder what manner of sorcery this is. Some new threat with which we must contend? How pleasant for us all."

[dissentive]

The servant was quick to make herself useless through skittering away as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Morrigan was not one to go chasing after her, however, so let her do as she pleased, focusing once more on the elf. "'Tis not a sorcery I have ever felt," she drawled slowly, taking her time to feel the surroundings. Everything was quiet in the air, as if magic were muted in some manner. The simplest of hex spells had become complicated and jumbled on her tongue, difficult to concentrate on. That in itself was alarming, the separation of them from the rest of the group not withstanding. However, surely, were they with the others, they would have made themselves known - Oghren would have been heard for miles, and the Warden would have immediately gone looking (foolishly, of course, without immediate concern for his surroundings).

One thing, however, Morrigan was certain of. "It does not feel like the Fade," she said shortly. The air did not struggle against every fiber of her being nor pull at her mind. All she was left with was confusion. "'Tis no sloth demon. Or perhaps 'tis such a strong one that even I cannot tell, though that is unlikely." Clearly. No demon could best her.

"We'll find no answers staying here," she continued at last, canting her head to the right. "Choose to accompany me, or we will part ways here - it matters little."

[elfroot]

"The Fade? Funny; I barely thought of that as an option. Isn't one time enough?"

It would be hard, in any case, to have a nightmare about such a place--usually, Zevran's nightmares are restricted to what he has already experienced. He's not one to linger over the concept of the unknown, nor one to bite his nails in anticipation of a terrible battle with a great monster known as the Archdemon. He leaves that to the Wardens. They do it enough for everyone, if the sounds they make in their sleep are anything to judge by.

With a soft sound, he shakes his head, pulling himself away from the window. "Well then, if it is not magic, then it must be real, mustn't it? And if that is so, we have a distinct advantage--or rather, I should say, you have a distinct advantage, my sweet, gentle Morrigan, loving and tender as you are, capable of knocking a man over with a single glance. Now we must simply... ah. What is this?"

On his way to the door--very unfortunate to find yourself trapped in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by unfamiliar people; he's almost of the mind to scramble out the window, but why do so when there are perfectly good stairs to use?--he notices, at last, the strange little device on the bedside table, like nothing he's ever seen before. "Most curious."

He doesn't touch it.

[dissentive]

"I hardly think a demon has much care for how many times he forces our souls into the Fade," Morrigan replied dryly, watching as Zevran moved about the room. She shifted the weight on her legs slightly, leaning against the thickness of her staff briefly before straightening and sheathing the wood altogether. She perked at Zevran's notice of the device, an eyebrow raising.

"Looks utmost useless," she prompted, tilting her chin upwards as she studied the small... thing from afar. "Is it of any importance? Perchance, you should open it." The elf, at least, was quick-footed enough to avoid any injury should it be a trap. Yet it was so... unimpressive that she doubted even that.

[elfroot]

But they defeated that demon. Didn't they? Now, perhaps, it's less certain whether or not they did--and indeed, so many things could be termed just an illusion--but Zevran thinks he'd remember an important detail like that one. And usually, their leader is quite apt when it comes to dealing with trouble...permanently.

"If it is a trap," he murmurs, spreading his fingers out, "then let us hope I am swift-fingered enough not to lose any fingers, yes? Though I already know your answer--Elf, that is of no consequence to me; what care I for your fingers, on or off? No need to speak; I already know you so well."

With a grin, he passes his hand above the device, around it, then gently picks it up, turning it over.

No traps, no snaps, no finger-biting--so far, so good. "It is surprisingly light," he explains. "I think it is some manner of box."

[righteous]

Alistair had been running around Sleepywoods during this time, trying to get as much information as he could on how to get back. He was, well, confused and very, very worried.

He was almost positive they left the Tower after defeating the Sloth Demon. That they managed to save Connor with no problems and were off to get the Sacred Ashes. Could it have really all been a trick? Was he still stuck in the Fade? This all felt too real, but then...so did the Fade. He gulped and sat down, staring at the little device he had found near the bed he woke up in; it wasn't easy to ignore it for all it's beeping. Alistair could only think of one thing more annoying than this...

It took him quite some time to figure the thing out; he'd read the manual a few times but still didn't quite understand (something about it being sensitive? It might as well be written in a foreign language!). But he managed, somehow, to get it working - much to his surprise - and started to speak into it, holding it close to his face just to make sure.

Yes, because this didn't look or feel strange at all.

[dissentive]

"A box?" Morrigan echoed, reentering the room to loom over Zevran's shoulder, looking curiously at the object. "Well," she said frankly. "'Tis a curious box." A box that was no trap, it seemed - though it hadn't hurt to be careful, there was no need to think of the unimpressive object as an enemy.

"Open it," she prompted then. "Fear not, I still have a few health poultices should the box decide to bite you." Zevran was only momentarily hesitant - his slim fingers soon pulled open the lid of the device, propping it open by its hinge.

"HELLOOOOOO! CAAAAN YOOOU HEEEEAR MEEE!?" screamed the device in Alistair's voice - Morrigan could not suppress her shout of surprise, jumping back.

[elfroot]

Such a very little box, he was going to say, but so often the very small can cause oh-so-much trouble. In this instance? Perhaps a little too much trouble.

"Ahhh, that voice. Those dulcet tones... What a pleasant surprise this is! Is there not some fable of old that reminds you of this moment, Morrigan? Opening something quite unfamiliar, unleashing hideous monstrosities upon the world..." Holding the device slightly farther away from him is a start--he manages not to toss it away, though barely, because it would not do to break it before they have had a chance to observe its secrets.

"Do you wish to reply to him, or shall I--why am I even asking?" He turns back to the device. Knowing how to use it? Fah; that is for lesser assassins. Here, this appears to be a useful button. It is colorful. "My dear Alistair, such a pleasure to hear you are in high spirits! And how reassuring it is to be greeted with the strong, calm voice of a Grey Warden."

[righteous]

Alistair had been talking to the box for quite sometime, at least it felt like he was talking to a box with an identity issue. It didn't quite hit him that he really was speaking to people until he heard a familiar voice singing through.

He knew they shouldn't have let that assassin join them. He frowned and, not thinking straight decided it would be good to play the blaming game. "You! You slipped one of your...poisons in my drink didn't you?"

It didn't make any sense but clearly Alistair wasn't thinking things through, he was just wanting an easy answer to all this.

[dissentive]

Morrigan gave an excessive roll of her eyes. Though the device itself was strange, it seemed to somehow promote communication. However, it at least meant Alistair was nearby - at least, in the same predicament as they were, if not so close. Whether or not this was a good thing was yet to be determined, but if this Grey Warden was present, then perhaps the other was as well. She shifted to sit on the edge of her bed, resting her staff across her knees. Thus far, they knew only of themselves and Alistair. 'Twas in most ways rather unfortunate.

She continued to be the bystanding listener, however, sharp eyes trained on the object in Zevran's grip.

[elfroot]

If they could use this thing to speak to Alistair, then perhaps...

Zevran shook his head. There were more pressing matters, at the current time, ones to which they must attend. For better or ill, they had found Alistair. And, true to form, he was blaming Zevran. Why did one always assume hallucinations were the work of an assassin's poisons?

"Please, Alistair, please," he replied. He seemed to have something resembling a basic understanding of how this thing worked now--magically, obviously; a communication spell of some sort, and no doubt Morrigan would be able to explain it, were she so inclined. "If I had slipped one of my poisons into your drink, then you would wake up in a far stranger place than this. By which I mean, you would not wake up at all, but most certainly not with me."

Zevran glanced at Morrigan then, brow lifted. Ah, sweet Alistair. "Well! Now that that little matter is settled... Are you sure you aren't merely still inebriated from standing too close to Oghren? I know you haven't much experience with anything stronger than water, and such things take time adjusting to..."

[righteous]

"Wait, who said anything was settled? I didn't..." But he gave in, Zevran is an assassin, if he wanted Alistair dead he wouldn't be in some strange fairytale with him. He pouted, he'd figure out some other theory soon enough.

His eyebrow raised at the mention of the dwarf. "Who in Maker's name is Oghren? And are you seriously saying I've never drank before?" Maybe Zevran was partial to just taking little sips of his potions. He wouldn't put it past him, he does weirder things, like sniffing leather gloves. Ah, maybe that would explain it.

[dissentive]

This piqued Morrigan's interest sharply enough. Perhaps Alistair was simply dumber than he looked ('twas possible) but it was impossible for one to not notice the smelly dwarf who kept days old fish in his pack. And stole scarves, the bastard. Indeed, Morrigan could do without the dwarf in their ragtag team of sorts - but for Alistair to suddenly forget seemed strange. Perhaps, indeed, a demon had managed to writhe its way into Alistair's mind, skewing his own thoughts in this world.

Then again, Alistair had never been the most resilient of sorts. Beyond the incident of the Fade, there had been that one time with the camp in the middle of that elven forest. Morrigan was beginning to think that they surely had bad luck when it came to such things.

[elfroot]

Zevran glanced at Morrigan, perhaps sensing her curiosity. This was a strange thing for anyone to say--a strange thing for even Alistair to say. Most curious, indeed.

"'Who is Oghren?'" Zevran repeated. "Even I will be the first to admit this is no time for a joke, no matter how much poor taste it is in! And you know how I feel about jokes, especially dirty ones."

He returned his focus to the curious device, turning it over in his hands very gently--best not to break it before one bought it, and certainly best not to break it before one found out how expensive it was!

"Alistair, I know that this will be very difficult for you, but try--just for a moment--to think. Try very, very hard. Your name is Alistair, as I hope you know; you are a Grey Warden, so they say; and Oghren is a loud, compact, and entirely unforgettable dwarf. The stench alone is enough to remember him by! Have you been knocked one too many times about the ears by darkspawn? I am...beginning to be worried about you."

[righteous]

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Yeeees, we all know about that, I'm pretty sure you won't let us forget."

And forget Alistair could not, he remembered all the uncomfortable moments when Zevran would make said dirty jokes. The guy couldn't go five minutes without it seemed.

"Andraste's flaming sword Zevran!" He scowled. "I know who I am, why do you think I want to get back?" Alistair was furious at the very idea that he had forgotten his duty, his main responsibility. He would never forget he was a Grey Warden! Besides, he wasn't the one making people up.

"A dwarf? We haven't even been to Orzammar yet. Are you sure you haven't been knocked about a bit?" He tried to stop himself from saying it, he really did, but it just rolled out. He closed his eyes in anticipation and sighed.

"Actually, don't answer that, it'll only lead to another joke, I'm sure."