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.
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It isn't the first time Zevran has opened his eyes in the morning not knowing where he is, nor in all likelihood will it be the last time, either. )
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.
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"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.
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"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."
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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.
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"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.
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"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."
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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.
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She continued to be the bystanding listener, however, sharp eyes trained on the object in Zevran's grip.
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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..."
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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.
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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.
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"'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."
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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."
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His words made Morrigan's brow furrow deeply. Alistair did not remember - to the point, indeed, that he seemed to have forgotten a large portion of their journey, and was so certain that he had not yet experienced them. 'Twas most curious. Perhaps whatever spell that had brought them here - or had them think they were brought here - had affected Alistair's mind more than Morrigan could imagine. Or maybe, indeed, he had his head hit far too much. This was much more likely.
Though, to be honest, she would have much preferred had they skipped Orzammar all together. She was certain she had lost the majority of her scarves to the dwarf to roll his fish in and wipe his nose with. Indeed, had she known Oghren had such a fancy for women's accessories, she would have even fetched him some so that he stop using hers.
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"A wise choice to make, Alistair. Never give an Antivan Crow an opening they can't resist. And there is no opening they can resist!" Zevran had to buy some time, didn't he? Try to work all this out. And what better way to do so than to make a little joke? Ha, ha!
"So you...have no memories of Oghren, then. Nor of Orzammar. Perhaps you were deep in thought on that day. Something to think about..."
He shook his head, wishing to the Maker--if the Maker was indeed even here--that he might have done all his agile, quick thinking without an audience. Especially Morrigan, privy already to enough deep, dark secrets without adding Zevran's particular methods of coping with difficulty to that list. "Well! In any case, I bear excellent news. We are trapped in a strange and foreign city, and Morrigan is here with us! Wonderful, yes? Yes, wonderful..."
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"Riiight, I'll try to keep that in mind." He was of course oblivious to Zevran's clever stalling, but then Alistair had never been one to pick up on these things; perception was a rarity he'd only enjoyed a handful of times.
Zevran was so adamant about what he was saying though, and Alistair tried to process it - to work out what it could all mean - but nothing.
"Nope. I had nothing on my mind. I'm Alistair, I don't think. At all." Well it was one way of getting the point across to Zevran, a joke would surely fare better than just arguing about some dwarf.
The mention of Morrigan suddenly put the thought of being swooped came back into his mind. He had tried so hard to push the thought out, really he did. He groans.
"I'd rather not be stuck, much less with Morrigan of all people." At least he finally had someone else to blame for all this, not that he was right in doing so though.
[ooc: shall we handwave the Morrigan & Alistair conversation? just mention it in passing so we can get on to them meeting quicker?]
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