Intro Log: Don't Wake Tonberry

[hadrielmods]

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for September
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: September 10th-13th
Warnings: Cute monsters, a way to pass the time, and plenty of newbies!

Waking up in Hadriel certainly has its down sides, but if this weird murdercave city is good at one thing, it's keeping people entertained. As you awaken on the hard ground of the colosseum, you might see a rectangular cardboard box lying near you. Ignore it for now, as you get your bearings, but if you get bored? Well, you'll find these exciting and unique board games will keep you entertained!

But how could you possibly get bored, when there are plenty of cute monsters around to keep you company? Sharing the colosseum with all the new arrivals are Tonberries. In addition to their natural cuteness defense, they also carry very large knives. They're slow-moving and look innocent and even friendly, but be careful - one strike from that knife and you'll be a bloody mess. They won't attack unless you get too close, but who doesn't want to hug a Tonberry? And of course, if you attack, they'll counter with extreme prejudice.

Managed to resist the urge to hug a Tonberry? Safely escaped from the clutches of the colosseum, new board game in tow? Awesome! Feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers September 10th-13th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

Comments

Dorian Pavus | OTA

[rebelarchivist]

Alright, so Dorian wasn't sure at all if this was an improvement or not. In the "Improvement" column, he was no longer lost wandering in the woods by himself in the middle of Maker only knew where. On the other hand, he had no idea where he was, again, and had the distressing feeling he had, once again, been pulled to some other Void-blasted world by some other force that really needed to find a new damned hobby.

At least he had his staff this time, though looking around he felt a momentary pang that his cat Princess wasn't there. She really was never going to forgive him now. He hoped someone would take care of her, it wasn't the poor thing's fault that this kept happening to him.

He sat up, taking stock of his situation. The same clothes he had been wearing since that blasted light had taken him and Cullen to Imladris, his shoes much the worse for wear after all that walking, and his staff. At least he still had the makeshift pack strapped to his back with water, food, the books, and the now exceedingly useless map of Arda. He took in both the Tonberries and, when he was tempted to approach them, the very large knives they carried, and decided to leave well enough alone. Time to figure out what was going on here, and figure out who was in charge.

Which is how a very un-Dorian-looking Dorian ended up wandering the streets of Hadriel. He hadn't been able to cut his hair or properly shave in at least two weeks, and he felt absolutely filthy. He stopped, looking up at the roof high overhead, his brow creased in thought. Time to find someone who had any idea what was going on. Whatever happened to ridiculously powerful kidnappers being around to explain their plans anymore? It seemed like common courtesy.

He leaned on his staff for a moment, regarding a toppled over tower, though he turned to someone (you!) standing, or perhaps just walking nearby. His sigh is annoyed "One of these days I'm going to properly lecture whoever keeps doing this. It's extremely rude."

[OOC: Feel free to come up with your own prompt, I'll roll with either format]

[solvethepuzzle]

Even with his odd little household intact, Near did still venture out occasionally. As always with the collar of his coat up to hide the bottom half of his face. And to even the most passing observation, it was clear that the coat was much too big for him, the cuffs of his sleeves reaching past his wrists and the hem halfway to his knees. Besides this, his most striking feature would be the mop of white hair that showed no sign of having been combed in at least a week.

He wasn't lounging about; when he left the house, it was always for a reason, and while he would normally note the presence of someone new and simply move on, the content of what the stranger said stopped him. 'Keeps doing this', is it? Near knows that this sort of thing can indeed happen multiple times; his own presence here is a result of that.

"An old hand at this, are you?"

[rebelarchivist]

Dorian had almost been speaking to himself, hoping for, but not really expecting a response, especially not from what looked like a mobile coat with a mop sticking out the top of it. But lo and behold, the mop spoke!

Dorian looked down at the... well he supposed they were a boy, the voice was right for it at least, and nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. I'm getting quite tired of it, truth be told." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, looking around at the surrounding ruined buildings and then back down at Near. "I suppose introductions are in order. Dorian Pavus, of far too many places to list at the moment. And you are?" It was the little things, the small pleasantries and nods to civilization that reminded him that, even if he was stuck in any number of awful places, he could still be better than that. That he was better than that.

[solvethepuzzle]

His voice is quiet and monotonous, but youthful; one might ascribe it to someone in his middle or possibly even early teens. The fact that he's only five feet tall does nothing to discourage such an impression, either.

"Being flung from world to world would be tiring, I'm sure." He knows. It was a matter of course with the last situation he'd been in; a new world every month or two. If nothing else, he appreciates the stability that Hadriel offers in comparison. "Perhaps you should call these beings and complain."

Which is actually a viable option, if an ultimately fruitless one.

Near has little care for pleasantries, by and large, but introductions are such a basic and useful thing. "I am called Near, of no particular place myself."

He mimics the phrasing more out of a sense of symmetry than anything else. Most people don't talk that way. Usually just those from more old-fashioned eras or nobility. Or both.

[rebelarchivist]

Well, the monotone was slightly creepy, but not too much. More strange than anything else.

"A pleasure to meet you, Near. How long have you lived in this... well fair city is too generous, and dank hole seems a bit harsh. I suppose dank city will serve." Because no, Hadriel, even from what he could see, was not fair or pleasant, and it wasn't very dank. Perhaps a bit damp. Very dwarven, though with very different architecture. Was he back home, and somehow in the Deep Roads? Probably not, as he had yet to see anything resembling Darkspawn, thank the Maker for small kindnesses.

[hotspurred]

The Guard worked on a system of shifts, and having finished his stint helping newcomers at the colosseum, Henry was seeing through a patrol round to complete his. He almost didn't recognise Dorian as he passed him -- mostly because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Dorian had left Hadriel for good many months ago.

And yet.

Double-taking, he stopped and turned on his heel.

"Dorian...?" Henry's surprise was evident in both his tone and expression, through which a clear undercurrent of familiarity also ran.

Henry closed the distance between them and looked Dorian over keenly, assessing his condition. Even in the worst situations, Dorian was never anything but impeccable -- so while by ordinary standards there was nothing particularly bad about Dorian's current unkempt state, by Dorian's own standards he appeared rough. Still, he at least seemed hale.

Faintly concerned, Henry's eyebrows drew in. "Good God. Evidently you have been through much."

[rebelarchivist]

Dorian was always pleased to find he had a knack for making friends with attractive men with a penchant for armor, even when it wasn't strictly him making the friends. The tone of familiarity was one he'd heard fairly regularly, and while he didn't recognize the man in front of him, he saw no reason not to be friendly.

"I am, though not the Dorian you know, I'm afraid." He looked down at himself and shook his head sadly, he really was in a sorry state, especially for him. "Yes, wandering around in empty woods trying to find what passes for civilization will do that, unfortunately. Now, who do I have the pleasure of reacquainting myself with?" And, even more importantly, would he be able to direct Dorian to a place to bath and shave? The man was clean shaven himself, so clearly he was in possession of some kind of blade that would be up to the task of making Dorian presentable again.

[hotspurred]

That gave Henry pause, and no small amount of confusion besides. He parted his lips to speak, but a second later closed them, and instead pressed his armoured knuckles to his mouth as he considered the situation.

It was not that he disbelieved Dorian; certainly, he had no reason to doubt Dorian's word. But the notion took a moment to sink in. He supposed he should have expected that this place could still surprise him.

He dropped his hand back to his side and shifted his weight, feeling awkward for his mistake and unsure of whether he was disappointed or not. Not the Dorian he knew, but Dorian nonetheless -- what is he to do with that?

"Ah. Henry Percy. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Forgive my presumption."

He could only press onward from here. In Dorian's position, he would have wanted to be treated like his own man. It is a matter of respect.

"Know you aught of this city yet? If you require assistance, I am happy to be of help."

[rebelarchivist]

"I'm afraid I don't know a single blessed thing about it. And I'll be happy to forgive you, the whole "multiple existences" thing can get very confusing." He'd had notes upon notes written down in Eros, notes that of course had been left behind when he'd been taken to Arda, where he had started more notes, which had, of course, been left behind yet again.

"But yes, I will forgive you the confusion, and you can be my guide, specifically to hot water, a razor, and some wine, preferably in that order." He rubbed at the scruff that had long since ceased being scruff and was now more of a proper beard. He hated it, beards really weren't his thing at all. Blackwall was welcome to the blighted things.

ASKDKFKSHS WAIT WHAT WHERE DID YOU COME FROM

[fadeling]

It's rare that Cole is surprised anymore--here he'd learned not to be too shocked when something happened. The strangeness is bad enough when he knew there place, but he was still learning this one, and it was too loud to listen too closely. That didn't help, either.

But finding Dorian, though, that's surprising. Enough that he didn't approach there man right away, almost afraid that it wasn't really him. So he watched, on the edges, like he always did, just out of sight. He had to make sure.

Entirely, though, he couldn't keep just watching. It's all too close and to clouded, but he couldn't let him wander without help--even if it wasn't a friend. Still, who else could it be? No one else could be him because he wasn't anyone else. Maybe that was supposed to be what they meant. He could never understand the games that they played, here.

So he finally appeared right behind the made, at least courteous enough to speak softly. Maybe that would startle him less.

"Who keeps doing it?"

From the aether I have come and to it I will return

[rebelarchivist]

There was certainly such a thing as too quiet, and when the voice came behind him so suddenly, Dorian did start, his hand gripping the staff tighter, ready to swing it up into a defensive position... But a moment later he realized who the voice must belong to, a few scant moments before the face came into view as he spun around.

"Cole! Fancy seeing you here." He sounded happy to see the man, and he really was, it had been some time since he'd been taken from Thedas, and a familiar face was always welcome, even those belonging to creepy spirit humans. The light in the cave winked off his earrings and the ring set in his septum when he smiled, which probably made him look as different from his usual self as the unkempt hair and untrimmed beard.

"And the "who" is what I'm trying to figure out. Do you know who's responsible for bringing the two of us here?" He paused for a moment. "And do you know if anyone else from our world is here?" He wondered if it was anyone he knew, anyone he had previously met. Perhaps there was an Inquisitor here, though he doubted it was any of the ones he knew. Those were all very different.

wait no come back I miss you D:

[fadeling]

One day, perhaps, he'd remember not to do that to people. But, at the least, he hadn't been killed for it yet, although here that might only be a matter of time. And yet it's a habit that he can't quite break.

"Hello, Dorian." It was strange seeing how different he was, but maybe things were different for him? It was different for the Inquisitor, too. He couldn't understand that, though, so he didn't try, only remembering the important parts and forgetting the rest quite happily. He'd only confuse himself even more and that wouldn't help anyone.

"I don't remember, exactly. It's...fuzzy, faded, forgotten. I let it fall to fly free. I think it was Hope and a door. You might have to ask him." The most direct thing he could say about it, and yet it still didn't make much sense.

"Yes. There's Cullen and Leliana and Cecily." Cecily may not be the Inquisitor he remembers, but here she is his Inquisitor. "Maybe there used to be Blackwall too. Cecily says so, but I forgot." He wasn't quite sure how the man had left, but evidently he had, and he'd let himself forget that too. He'd have been much happier if all of them had gone with him, but alas, here they were stuck.

fine but only because you're lovely

[rebelarchivist]

As per usual, Cole's answers were cryptic and not altogether helpful. Dorian wasn't really expecting anything different though, so it was alright. "I will, once I figure out who this 'him' might be." It was funny how much less frustrating it felt talking to Cole, now that he had missed him.

He nodded, even if one of the names wasn't familiar at all. "Cecily? Is she the Inquisitor that's here?" Once again not his Inquisitor, but he hadn't expected anything different. And a Blackwall that had evidently been pulled away, again not unexpected. He wasn't terribly sorry that the Warden was gone, they only barely tolerated each other's presence.

[closerift]

"Who keeps-- Dorian?"

She doesn't come to the Colosseum every month, though she means to. Sometimes, she walks the city or the area outside, assuming that, should any of the monthly monsters slip through, someone will need to off them before they can reach the non-combatant residents. Also, if there are any others from the Inquisition that find their way through the Door, they'll slip from the Colosseum, too, with time.

Today is another of those days. The Inquisitor is considering returning home for a quick meal when she spots a familiar build, face, mustache, and only after she begins to respond automatically to the stranger's exhausted-sounding question, too.

"Did you just get back?" comes the enthused question, a rare, energetic tone of voice from the oft-cynical Inquisitor. "Is Thom with you?"

Rainier, that is, who had vanished with Dorain the first time. She looks him over, assessing only few differences, offers a brief grin.

"Sorry, sorry, too much." Cecily holds up her hands, chuckling. "Let's start with, ah... Are you alright?"

[rebelarchivist]

Another unfamiliar voice, calling his name in that so familiar tone of friendliness and familiarity. It hurt just a bit, to hear someone who so clearly knew him, who was so hopeful that he had come back, when he had never been here in the first place.

He was just glad he'd been able to take a bath and shave, find himself some clean clothes, even if they weren't in the style he'd worn in Thedas. He would have hated to be seen otherwise when he could help it. With the excess facial hair gone, the piercing in his septum and in his ears were much easier to see, perhaps another hint that this was a different Dorian than the one Cecily had known before. So he smiled at the woman who so clearly knew him, glancing down at her hand... and yes, there was the telltale green glow of the Mark, though it seemed to have spread, which was alarming to say the least. And who was Thom?

But he smiled at her pleasantly all the same. "I'm afraid I haven't been here before, so I can't say I've come back. The me you knew was another version of myself, I'm sorry to say. And no, Thom isn't with me." His tone seemed to say that he wasn't sure who Thom was, or why it would be presumed that he would be with Dorian.

"Though I am quite alright, thank you for asking."

[closerift]

She does notice the piercings, in fact. Any comments she might have made about them, though, are lost in the knowledge that he doesn't remember her.

Another one. Cecily swallows, smile fading... until she can muster up a decent-enough expression, forever masking the pain brought on by Hadriel with levity.

"Well, I'm glad to see a Dorian, then, though it's a shame you don't remember me. We've shared quite a few bottles of wine."

Yes, the mark looks... bad. It hurts immensely and, she's long since realized, will kill her once she returns to the Winter Palace. For now, though, she doesn't mention it, smiling thinly at the mage.

"Let me guess: 'You can't be the Inquisitor, no matter what you've got glowing on your hand. The Inquisitor is an elf called Lavellan! Get out of my sight, impostor!' ... That's usually how it goes, anyway," she finishes, clearly tired of the whole routine, of trying to convince people that had once been her friends that she is who she is.

[rebelarchivist]

It's a look Dorian has seen too many times, felt on his own face far too many times, knowing that the person in front of you, who you know, who you care quite deeply about, didn't remember you.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Please, I do hope my previous self wasn't that much of an idiot toward you. I know of human Inquisitors, even if you are the first I've had the pleasure of meeting. The Mark is more than enough evidence, as I have yet to even hear of anyone who would want to try and counterfeit it. For all the good it might do here, so far away from home." Why would Cecily even want to pretend to be the Inquisitor? It carried none of the power or prestige (or, to be fair, frustrations and pain) that it did back home, there was no Army of the Inquisition here, no Skyhold, no spies. Just a few friends that didn't remember her.

He stepped closer and, after a moment's hesitation, more to see if she would accept the gesture, put a hand on her arm. "I may not remember being your friend, but I am more than willing to pick up where my counterpart left off. In fact," He smiled "I have any number of questions for you, you'll probably be quite sick of me before the week is out." He offered an arm for her to take. "If you have some time in your evening for a few bottles of wine, I'm sure we'll be gossiping like two old ladies in no time."

[silvercrusader]

How many times has this happened to you before?

[He glances over at the man in question. Compared to Dorian, Polnareff is very clean indeed; he's particularly fastidious about that. Whether or not his fashion and hairstyle are appealing is another matter entirely, but at least he's just as fussy.

Just as curious, too. Behind him, a creature floats. While Polnareff stares with restrained curiosity, Silver Chariot has no such reservations; his lantern eyes peer widely down at Dorian. To be fair, no one else beyond other Stand users has ever been able to see him; for all he and Polnareff know, he's still invisible.]

[rebelarchivist]

Three times now. Which is three times too many, if you asked me. Which no one has.

[Dorian had been facing away from the man, and he turned to face him now, only for his eyebrow to arch up. He had seen some ridiculous hair, and even more ridiculous clothing. But this was far beyond the pale. He didn't even know hair could do that.]

[And then he sees the floating... suit of armor? behind the man, and both eyebrows arched up towards his hairline.]

Hello. To both of you. Are you new here as well?

[He supposed he could roll with curious floating sword wielding suits of armor. Even if it was one of the stranger things he'd seen.]

[silvercrusader]

. . . yeah.

[Yes, he's new here, and yet suddenly that's not the priority. Polnareff's eyes dart about Dorian's frame, looking for something that isn't there.]

Very new, actually. You're a Stand user as well?

[Because if he can see the Stand, surely he must have one too. That's how it works.]

[rebelarchivist]

A what user? No, I'm afraid I don't even know what a Stand is, let alone how to use one. Is it anything like a mage?

[Maybe that was what they called magic in his world? It seemed like everyone had different words for different things.]

[There's really nothing else there other than Dorian, the pack on his back, and his staff, which really just looks like a fancy walking stick to someone that had never seen a mage's staff before.]

[mismanagement]

Maketh has been conducting her daily patrols, checking on the perimiter, and occasionally slaughtering the newest monsters. And there have been many of them, nastly little things with knives this time. The gods are clever and cruel.

This, at least, is not a surprise.

What she sees in front of her is.

Maketh starts, then shoulders her rifle, mouth open. "Dorian?"

[rebelarchivist]

And the pattern repeated itself. Dorian gives the woman a tired sort of smile, shaking his head, the rings in his ears and his septum swaying ever so slightly from the movement. At least he'd been able to get a shower and a shave, it was unlikely she would have recognized him with the full beard and unkempt hair he'd be (involuntarily) sporting earlier.

"Yes, and no. Yes, I am Dorian Pavus. But no, I am not your Dorian Pavus. I'm afraid we've never met." It was tiring to explain over and over again, to see the hope and happiness in their eyes fade when they realized that no, he wasn't the friend they thought he was. He could be a friend, of course, but he would never be the exact same person they remembered.

[mismanagement]

He doesn't look like the Dorian that Maketh knew, however briefly. The face is the same, but the jewelry--

Maketh clears her throat. "Oh. My apologies. My name is Maketh Tua. A--version of you was known to me."

It's not the same man. Immediately she thinks of Henry, who had been so close to Dorian and who had mourned his passing like a death.

[rebelarchivist]

"Quite alright, I've had it happen several times now." It seemed like everywhere he went, another version had either already been there or, in one memorable instance, was currently there.

"It's a pleasure to re-make your acquaintance, Maketh. Given the fact that you have yet to spit on me or curse my name, I feel it's safe to assume that we at least got along?" It was funny how, when no one knew or cared that he was from Tevinter, they seemed to get along so much better. None of the making the sign against evil or spitting on him or any of that silly nonsense. That was one thing that he didn't miss about being in Thedas. There was some kind of freedom in no one knowing or caring what Tevinter was.