Alistair « I. »
Who: Alistair and...Morrigan...
Where: Morrigan's room at the inn
When: in the dead of night, when no one can hear you scream. Mwa ha ha!
Style: third
Status: closed
Warning(s): Look out! Much derp will be had!
It was well after dark by the time Alistair found the inn Morrigan had marked on his Dreamberry. "Funny word, that is. Dreamberry...Heh eh." he thought, trying to take his mind off of what he was about to do. He needed answers, though. Their conversation earlier had left him with hundreds of questions, none of which he really wanted to dwell on. According to her the Archdemon had been defeated, and they had participated in some sort of...ritual - he shuddered at the word - that had left Morrigan with child. He may have been naive, but he was fairly certain that there was only one way that could have happened, seeing that, as much as he liked to think otherwise, Morrigan was a mortal woman.
He made his way through the small crowd that had gathered this evening at the inn's makeshift tavern. He was familiar with such places, though he hadn't frequented them in Ferelden. It wasn't really his scene.
One creaking staircase and a dimly lit hallway later he was standing in front of Morrigan's door. He swallowed, forcing the lump that had formed in his throat down, and lifted a gloved hand. It trembled. He steeled his will, the leather holding his armor together groaning in protest as it stretched, and knocked. Why knock?
He would rather watch Oghren frolic through a field of Andraste's Grace in the nude than see anymore of Morrigan than he had already seen...And even that was too much of her flesh for his comfort.
Where: Morrigan's room at the inn
When: in the dead of night, when no one can hear you scream. Mwa ha ha!
Style: third
Status: closed
Warning(s): Look out! Much derp will be had!
It was well after dark by the time Alistair found the inn Morrigan had marked on his Dreamberry. "Funny word, that is. Dreamberry...Heh eh." he thought, trying to take his mind off of what he was about to do. He needed answers, though. Their conversation earlier had left him with hundreds of questions, none of which he really wanted to dwell on. According to her the Archdemon had been defeated, and they had participated in some sort of...ritual - he shuddered at the word - that had left Morrigan with child. He may have been naive, but he was fairly certain that there was only one way that could have happened, seeing that, as much as he liked to think otherwise, Morrigan was a mortal woman.
He made his way through the small crowd that had gathered this evening at the inn's makeshift tavern. He was familiar with such places, though he hadn't frequented them in Ferelden. It wasn't really his scene.
One creaking staircase and a dimly lit hallway later he was standing in front of Morrigan's door. He swallowed, forcing the lump that had formed in his throat down, and lifted a gloved hand. It trembled. He steeled his will, the leather holding his armor together groaning in protest as it stretched, and knocked. Why knock?
He would rather watch Oghren frolic through a field of Andraste's Grace in the nude than see anymore of Morrigan than he had already seen...And even that was too much of her flesh for his comfort.