Darkest Timeline AU Flashback Meme

[faderifting]

DARKEST TIMELINE AU FLASHBACK MEME
Did you work out something for your character's darkest timeline AU that you love so much it would be an absolute crime not to be able to write it out for real? WHAT LUCK! This meme is here for all your flashback-from-the-future needs. It's also the place to display sad single-character vignettes, letters that were never sent to dead friends, and anything else your dastardly little heart desires. Go forth and suffer.

The contents of this meme do not count for AC. For AC, you must participate in the real logs for the event, which will take place in Cloudreach 9:48, or else continue your normal non-event RP in the present (Guardian 9:43). However, you can count log threads in this meme toward your rewards points for the month.

Comments

[justice_is_blond]

It's starting to feel like every day brings word of someone else lost to corruption or the tomb. Worse, though, are the names he recognizes. Kain is the latest, and Anders isn't sure if he's glad a mission has brought him to the hills Kain is supposed to be in, or regretful. At least he can help make sure Kain doesn't suffer for much longer, whatever remnants of the man might be left deep inside.

Anders comes to a break in the trees and freezes at the sight of two women, staff already out... and stops. He knows them, though it takes a few moments for their names to come back to mind. Rydia. Inessa. And, of course, Garahel. Who they are also tells him what they're here for, and he gives them a sad nod.

"We're near, then?" His voice is mournful, and his staff is still out, held with the remaining fingers on his right hand. There's no asking if they're well. No one is. But at least Kain can find an end in the presence of friends rather than strangers or enemies.

[samahl]

"Sadly, she does. If I could, I'd blow up all of Val Royeaux to strip her of it, and yet they tend to frown upon ending civilian life..." He's grateful for the subject change. He'd rather not dwell on what he's lost.

[justice_is_blond]

That gets a hard swallow and a hasty look away. It's selfish to want Nate to stay as long as possible despite the Calling, but he's doing it anyway. Selfish, and even dangerous. But he can't let go. Not yet.

"It's not pathetic," he manages after a couple of moments. "Loss never gets easier. I was, I was a mess about Purrelden for weeks. Or maybe that was pathetic and I'm just trying to cover for myself." If he doesn't say that he's watching Nate slip away, it's a little less real. Anders has lived in denial before, about how Justice had become Vengeance. This is just as messy and just as personal and just as much a truth he's not sure how to face.

"War is loss and we have so very far to go still. I wish..." He still can't talk about it, even in a sideways way. The hunt for a cure for the Taint had gotten abandoned a couple of years back due to necessity and that hurts. Even if they'd been close to finding a cure and resumed today, it would do nothing for Nathaniel. It would be too late.

[samahl]

Cyril shifts a bit and lets Anders trail off. He puts a hand on the mage's leg and lets himself just sit there for a bit. There were a lot of things he could think of that he wished for. He wished Sam hadn't disappeared. He wished Pel was still alive. He wished that Taas had let him die rather than stepping in the way of that red lyrium attack.

"Do you regret your Joining?" he asks after a long moment of quiet because he realizes that he's never thought to ask that of any Warden before. "Do you regret being a Warden?"

[justice_is_blond]

"I didn't have a choice." Anders looks down, into the depths of his mug. "I'd escaped the Circle for the seventh time and been caught, two Templars died to Darkspawn right near where I was setting Darkspawn on fire, I was going to be killed."

Not executed. Yes, it was legal to kill him, but it wouldn't have been right in his eyes.

"Jonas conscripted me and spared my life. I don't want to have died, so therefore there's no room for regret." He wouldn't have lost Karl, but he wouldn't have met Nate. He wouldn't be in this war, but he wouldn't have had the chance to know and lose Varric and Isabela and so many others. "Do you regret joining the Inquisition rather than staying with your clan?"

[samahl]

Cyril shakes his head. "I've never regretted it," he admits after a moment. "Even before I left, I had started doing reckless and stupid things." A pause, as he sips some of the drink.

"I used to track down bandits in the woods and seduce them. I would find smugglers and offer myself and my body to them without a care. The first time I had sex was rough and terrible and I bled for a couple days." He rubbed at his face for a moment. "Eventually, one of them would have turned out to only like women and would have killed me, or I would have gotten sick and died, or I would have pissed off the Keeper enough for her to expel me. Or, worst of all, I would have eventually married and settled down and then died slowly until the Venatori showed up and finished me off."

[gatheringstorm]

"What I wouldn't give to be there if she's taken down. But let me guess, she's untouchable. The real Herald didn't die for this shit." That weariness fades a little, replaced by venom. She remembers the true Herald of Andraste and the sacrifice made. To see someone else corrupt that boils her blood like little else.

[samahl]

"No, she didn't and yet it's still happening." He felt as if there was a headache settling into his head. "We'll just have to figure out how to kill this one and have her join the real one."

[elegiaque]

"Not especially."

Now - that's an unmistakable voice, even if the woman it belongs to has changed, some, since he last saw her. Both more and less than it appears; much about her was always true. The world around them changed, though, and the context - different parts of her mean different things than they used to. The same crystal figure, refracting different lights. Soft, slim-fitting leather gloves cover her hands as she drags fingertips along the entranceway and passes through it, boots replacing slippers, trousers in place of layered skirts; her hair does not fall forward when she turns her head, braided severely but for the bangs that still frame her face, a face that smiles, eyebrow quirked.

"Not formally, anyway. I was curious. Hello, again."

Beleth

[arlathvhen]

Before capture (pre 9:45)

[arlathvhen]

They're all going to die.

It's a thought that occurs to Beleth more and more often. Stuck in Orlais, battling darkspawn, the Anders, and Tevinter, it seems more and more of a sure thing. Corypheus was supposed to die, killed by an incredible hero or another (though who that might have been, she isn't sure). Just another villain that will become a story about good triumphing over evil. But he continues to live, and he continues to win. How long do they have?

She doesn't say this to anyone, of course. Who needs that kind of negativity about the future, when the present is doing that just fine on its own. But the stress still shows. She's twitchier than before, tightly wound and ready for the worst--whatever that might be.

But even with the death of all she holds dear looming, she still has a job to do. She can be found scouting, reporting her findings, even hunting to help replenish the food stores. In camp, she busies herself with potions and poisons, hands always occupied by something. Even when she's sitting by the fire, chatting with those around her, she fidgets with her scarf, or a twig, or whatever happens to be nearby.

In the rare moments she's not preoccupied with one task or another, she silently stares off into the distance. It's this time that her growing stress is more apparent, the pensive anxiety nearly tangible as she mulls over current and future events.

The capture: A vignette

[arlathvhen]

They didn't have any luck. She doesn't know why she bothered.

After capture (9:45 and on)

[arlathvhen]

Beleth's workspace doesn't look too different from many of the other rooms in this research building, though visitors might be relieved to note there's no signs of some of the more malicious research others have been engaged in--not so much as a single live subject! Amazing. The space is full of organized clutter, books in stacks that ignore the bookshelves nearby, piles of papers covering the large table in the center of the room. Windows are opened, allowing a pleasant breeze in that threatens to push around the papers that haven't been weighed down. It's a jumbled but ultimately comfortable space, a far cry from a cold dungeon cell.

And Beleth herself is a far cry from a wretched prisoner. Dressed in loose-fitting Tevinter robes, she looks healthy and content as she pours over old texts, comparing them to notes, or the large map of Thedas on a wall. Sometimes she hums to herself as she works, other times she has a pastry in her mouth as she scribbles away--only to make a disgruntled noise as she gets crumbs on the paper. Truly a hard life.

But the thing that preoccupies her from her work the most is her companion. A familiar-looking Red Templar constantly attends to her, and while he seems to default to standing by the door, Beleth continually coaxes him to her side for some reason or another. While he's nearby, she often reaches out to gently touch him, resting a hand on his arm or elbow, like she's trying to catch his attention. Which is pointless, because his attention is almost never focused anywhere but her. Even when he remains at his position by the door, his charge often calls out to him. Sometimes it's just trivial chatter, sometimes it's sharing whatever she's working on at the moment. Whatever the case, the warm, affectionate smile that she shoots at him makes it clear that whatever his role, she seems to enjoy his company.

It's not exactly what you would picture for a prisoner of war.

[dalishious]

Very carefully Merrick unwraps Cyril's face, his touch unbelievably gentle. His eyes follow the harsh lines of the wound, the way it splits his brother's once-beautiful face. He goes about cleaning it, knowing that Cyril would be used to the sting by now.

He's quiet for the most part, not speaking until the wound has been cleaned and ointment has been applied. As he wraps it with fresh bandages he finally speaks, his voice low and flat as usual.

"I'm going to get her back," he states. "I'm going to kill that templar."

[samahl]

"The harellan doesn't want to come back, Merrick," Cyril replies, his jaw tight. He might be used to the sting but that doesn't make the pain go away. "She's not worth your effort."

He wanted to see Cade dead just as much as anyone else, but the thought that Merrick would waste any time trying to protect Beleth made him feel incredibly frustrated.

An attempted rescue

[arlathvhen]

It's not common for Cade to leave her side, but it does happen occasionally. As long as he isn't away for long, it's not too much of a problem--it may be against some technicality or another, but no one enforces it.

Alone in her room, Beleth continues on her work, a danish in hand. Occasionally, she pops it in her mouth so she can use both hands to sort through her papers. More often, she has to brush the crumbs off the papers. It is, generally, not considered professional.

Some might even call it...crummy. She gigglesnorts to herself, and makes a note to tell that to Cade when he gets back.

[dalishious]

"It doesn't matter," Merrick replies, dark conviction in his voice. "I'm getting her away from there."

[samahl]

"She deserves death, not your affection," Cyril replies, his own voice had a tinge of darkness as well, but his was with hatred.

[aceso]

Inessa's words have been swimming around in Christine's head as well, and a wave of anger rises in her that she forces down by biting the inside of her cheek. She knows these mood swings are from the red lyrium too, and she refuses to give in to them. She refuses to lose her mind to this without a fight.

"I cannot abide the word failure, and yet it is written all over me." She closes her eyes, feeling tears form under her lashes. "If only this situation I am in had provided answers, then I would have taken all the Red Templars down with me."

[serannas]

The same thought occurs to Ellana. She really does want to scratch Beleth's eyes out.

"No going back there. Leave her to her fate, and when the Inquisition finally dismantles the Imperium, you and I can each take an arm and take her on a little journey to the past, where we remind her of what she said to us once. And then we get our revenge."

Merrick is obviously not invited.

[dalishious]

Once again, Merrick is utterly disaffected by his words. He finishes bandaging Cyril, then moves off the cot to go fiddle around with something. The acrid smell of burning elfroot fills the air as he lights his pipe and takes a long drag from it.

He remembers that hatred. It used to burn in his bones, threatening to tear through his skin at any given moment. It used to rule him, and now he can't seem to access it all. It's as if every flame within him has been doused out. He just smokes quietly, an unmovable force against Cyril's anger.

[samahl]

Cyril is left to seethe then and he finds himself unable to sit still. "Are we done? I should probably go make sure Sina is all right." He had left the baby with people he trusted but now he was back and it was his responsibility to care for her. Hopefully she wouldn't be too frightened by the wrappings.

[in_death_sacrifice]

The whole area is filled with the eerie presence of the lyrium’s corruption. There are growths of it in some spots, the unnatural glowing red crystals jutting out from the earth. The only scout who’d returned from tracking Kain had named this as the area where they’d last sighted him, though. As if in answer to Anders’ question, as the group continues to approach, they’ll find pieces of bodies, the scattered remains of the rest of that scouting party. It’s definitely a familiar sight to anyone who’s tried tracking Kain before… and no wonder he’s managed to go so long without being taken down.

A little further and… there he is. He’s not facing them at first, as he’s focused on finishing off another of his foes. This thing that used to be Kain shows no sign of humanity anymore. Covered in red lyrium growths, he’s a hideous sight, with only vague little hints of who he used to be: his armor, strands of hair, his sword. He’s only still got that sword because it’s become literally fused to one of his hands- though covered in red crystal, it’s still recognizable from up close. His other hand has been twisted by the lyrium into a massive claw. Over nearly the year that he’s been on the rampage, he’s gradually become more of a monster… growths on his back have only gotten larger and less symmetrical, the nasty-looking crystal that had burst through his skull has grown sharper and nastier.

All this creature understands is killing… and agony. The song that had claimed and even charmed it is also its own worst nightmare. He’s living in his own personal hell without any awareness as to why that is.

Now he looks up at the next approaching party, no sign of recognition whatsoever in his eyes.

[circleprodigy]

Stepping forward, Inessa ignores her usual reserve to rest a hand on Christine's arm, all sympathy. "I know. I would do the same, in a heartbeat. They took everything from me." Ciri, Kain, Garahel, most of the other Wardens. "Answers may still exist, but it seems it is not for us to find them. We know more than anyone else in the South and yet, it was not enough."

That will haunt her to the rest of her days, however few those might be. Even if she doesn't succumb in the same fashion, it's obvious the Inquistion's chances are fading. The south will fall, sooner or later.

[circleprodigy]

Inessa tenses as someone approaches, but that doesn't last upon seeing it's Anders. Recognition prompts a tug of her lips that isn't quite a smile; there's nothing happy about this, but she's grateful for his presence. At least the Grey Wardens can team up to take care of one of their own. Realizing that they were all present during the rifter Kain's demise adds some deja vu, but she tries to ignore that. The Kain she knew was meeting a different, though entirely horrible, demise.

"I assume so. Be ready." She goes her best to stay away from the red crystals jutting out of the earth, but there are so many. Spotting the pieces of bodies has her lips forming a thin line. They'll be put to rest properly...after the cause of their death is dealt with first.

And then there's Kain, or what's left of him. She goes rigid, taking in the hideous sight of all those red lyrium growths. But what twists her stomach the most is that there's nothing left of the man she knew in his gaze. It's probably for the best, as self-awareness in this state would be torture...but it just drives home how he's lost to her and has been for some time. As Garahel continues his low growl, she casts Barrier over herself and her companions before layering hexes on him, starting with a Misdirection Hex.