☇ 001
Who: battlemaged & somarium
Where: Somewhere in Espoir Village
Style: First or third (preferred)
Status: Open like a red-light district whorehouse
...waking up with a hangover was never pleasant.
Waking up with a hangover and lying face down in a puddle of dirty, detritus laden water was even worse. Hawke groaned, not even bothering to open his eyes; no doubt his corneas would shriek protest and add to the galloping cacophony of barking mabari gleefully romping about between his throbbing temples. He did, however, manage to emit a somewhat strangled groan, followed by a sharp fit of gagging after an ill-advised inhale.
Rolling over proved unwise, as the mighty "Champion of Kirkwall" rolled further into the cold water and somehow managed to strike his cranium on a very sharp rock, damn near knocking him unconscious. Hawke breathed slowly and shallowly, finally managing to pry his eyes open with dirty fingers and blinked as the dimly lit world finally swam into focus.
...what?
This certainly wasn't the Rivani's ship, which last he'd checked was skimming the waves out of Kirkwall's harbor, bound for lands unknown. Well, he'd hoped Isabella knew them, because they were in some serious trouble otherwise. ...all right, worse trouble, let's be honest, at least.
Maker, would someone just please put him out of his misery? Aching all over, not to mention the lump slowly rising from the back of his poor abused head, Hawke groped for a solid something which to grip and, miraculously locating his staff just a few inches from his prone form, slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. The world still looked decidedly fuzzy, his mouth tasted as if an entire horde of dragons had been using it for a litter box and his stomach was protesting the abuse it'd endured the night before. Dwarven ale was nothing to trifle with, no sir.
But Maker knew they'd needed a bit of relaxation. And Izzy had assured them it was all right to broach that cask; there was no sign of pursuit and they were making good time. And yet...how the devil had he wound up here? Wherever here actually was, rather. He was mostly sure this wasn't the Waking Sea; there was a distinct lack of ship, rolling waves, leaping fish, that sort of thing. Was he dreaming? Was this the Fade, then? Hn, he'd have thought the demons could keep the place up a bit better, judging from the piles of debris scattered about.
Before he could ruminate further, or roll over and retch up his toenails, a loud familiar bark sounded behind him and the "Champion of Kirkwall" swiveled his head just in time for a large tan shape to barrel into him, Hawke ending up flat on his back. Again. Dark blue eyes, noticeably bloodshot alas, blinked up at the large canine perched somewhat haphazardly on his chest, and sighed.
Well, if Tobias was here, then it couldn't be all bad, right? ...although how they both managed to get transported from the ship...
"Get off, you oaf," Hawke slurred, shoving the dog aside and once more trying to regain his feet. Although he wobbled and staggered a bit, leaning on his staff for balance, the mage managed to stand up, nugs frolicking happily down in his gut. Still a bit out of focus and off kilter, he blinked at the scenery then whistled for the mabari, determined to find out just where they'd ended up.
Where: Somewhere in Espoir Village
Style: First or third (preferred)
Status: Open like a red-light district whorehouse
...waking up with a hangover was never pleasant.
Waking up with a hangover and lying face down in a puddle of dirty, detritus laden water was even worse. Hawke groaned, not even bothering to open his eyes; no doubt his corneas would shriek protest and add to the galloping cacophony of barking mabari gleefully romping about between his throbbing temples. He did, however, manage to emit a somewhat strangled groan, followed by a sharp fit of gagging after an ill-advised inhale.
Rolling over proved unwise, as the mighty "Champion of Kirkwall" rolled further into the cold water and somehow managed to strike his cranium on a very sharp rock, damn near knocking him unconscious. Hawke breathed slowly and shallowly, finally managing to pry his eyes open with dirty fingers and blinked as the dimly lit world finally swam into focus.
...what?
This certainly wasn't the Rivani's ship, which last he'd checked was skimming the waves out of Kirkwall's harbor, bound for lands unknown. Well, he'd hoped Isabella knew them, because they were in some serious trouble otherwise. ...all right, worse trouble, let's be honest, at least.
Maker, would someone just please put him out of his misery? Aching all over, not to mention the lump slowly rising from the back of his poor abused head, Hawke groped for a solid something which to grip and, miraculously locating his staff just a few inches from his prone form, slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. The world still looked decidedly fuzzy, his mouth tasted as if an entire horde of dragons had been using it for a litter box and his stomach was protesting the abuse it'd endured the night before. Dwarven ale was nothing to trifle with, no sir.
But Maker knew they'd needed a bit of relaxation. And Izzy had assured them it was all right to broach that cask; there was no sign of pursuit and they were making good time. And yet...how the devil had he wound up here? Wherever here actually was, rather. He was mostly sure this wasn't the Waking Sea; there was a distinct lack of ship, rolling waves, leaping fish, that sort of thing. Was he dreaming? Was this the Fade, then? Hn, he'd have thought the demons could keep the place up a bit better, judging from the piles of debris scattered about.
Before he could ruminate further, or roll over and retch up his toenails, a loud familiar bark sounded behind him and the "Champion of Kirkwall" swiveled his head just in time for a large tan shape to barrel into him, Hawke ending up flat on his back. Again. Dark blue eyes, noticeably bloodshot alas, blinked up at the large canine perched somewhat haphazardly on his chest, and sighed.
Well, if Tobias was here, then it couldn't be all bad, right? ...although how they both managed to get transported from the ship...
"Get off, you oaf," Hawke slurred, shoving the dog aside and once more trying to regain his feet. Although he wobbled and staggered a bit, leaning on his staff for balance, the mage managed to stand up, nugs frolicking happily down in his gut. Still a bit out of focus and off kilter, he blinked at the scenery then whistled for the mabari, determined to find out just where they'd ended up.