makinglies | Respite

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faerun

Respite

The lake is dark and calm with a small breeze by the time they arrive at its shores. The stars above reflect perfectly in the still waters before them, and a small copse of trees lines one side, starting on their side of the river and jumping along the other side.

Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.

He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.

As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.

Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.

"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.

Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.

A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.

Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.

"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."

♥

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Amelia helps him up and Jon offers him food and Chris is practically friendly for one of their interactions and Topher is left looking around at them all with a freshly observational twist to his mouth.

“It’s a little about last night, yes. Your reaching out made her go looking into where you came from. She was mad when she came back, even had the face out for it. She said I was to ensure the new souls were gathered to her hall, as you implied you wanted.” Topher nods to Chris.

“But it’s not a forced thing, if you you all want to go to whatever afterlives might or might not be there back in your worlds, you’re welcome to turn the offer down. I’m just the messenger.”

So saying, he pulls three vials from his pocket filled with a gold, shimmering, viscous liquid and sets them on the edge of the springs as he passes it…to head for the food.

“Don’t mind if I do, I’m starving. Been reaping all night then this right after.”

She was mad? Had she not known where this other pull on her power was coming from? Had she not seen him proper until last night?

And what she’d said, that they weren’t splinters of the original…was she mad that there was a duplicate of her cleric when she so valued uniqueness?
Though, if she resented his presence, she would have sent something to clean them up, not an offer of help. Not a chance to ensure his loved one’s souls stayed tied to the Material Plane and Toril. She didn’t play games like Bane did.

Chris moves to the vials and picks one up to inspect it. The substance glowed golden light against his skin.

“It’s the same color as soul threads. Do they…drink it? Drink it and they can stay? Be bound to the laws of life and death here as any other soul?”

Chris looks up towards each of his family in turn: Amelia with her deadly cordiality, Jon weary and sounding like he’s aiming for neutrality despite it all, and Wolfe who’s aura of irritation is palpable even from here. He could keep them so easily? Without groveling or paying or sacrificing for it?

Well, maybe the process was easy, Topher hadn’t yet talked about price.
Not that it mattered, he’d pay whatever it was.

Nothing is that easy and gifts don’t come free. Even in this fantastical world where Jon feels strangely rested after a night of off and on wandering in his nightmare stable, he’s sure of that. Gods may be benevolent, but not that benevolent. Perhaps she feels the trade is getting all of their unique souls?

“What’s the catch?” The Archivist asks as he, too, picks up one of the vials and looks at Topher. As he didn’t like the ‘nasty trick’ and seems to be offering information freely now, it’s a simple question, not a compulsory one.

“I expect your mistress wants something from each of us for this. What is it?”

The questions of how and of price is voiced before Wolfe can get there so he just adds an expectant look towards Topher, watching him closely as he comes to the table. The dogs take their queue from him and while they no longer growl, they remain watchful.

The vial he's not going to examine before he knows what this whole process entails. He's going to go through with it, obviously, he just needs to know how things will happen so he can be prepared.

So it seems she does need to be tied here with magic. She wasn't certain how that would happen if it did need to happen, and with this confirmation of needing a soul thread she wonders what else is necessary.

"Catch or not, this is only the first step in binding ourselves to this plane, isn't it?" They'll have to talk to Mystra and do something for her as well, if she understands this enough.

Dreams. Apparently the complications start early today.

“Correct, correct, correct, yes you’re all so clever.” He snags some meat and bread and both vanish quickly into his mouth.

“As for the catch…” chew. Swallow. Go back for more. “She just needs you to…tend the edges of the chaos your Guardians -oh, sorry! Not your guardians, The Guardians- caused in the Shadowfell. Shouldn’t be too hard for you while you still have a fairly full magic well. Might cut into some of it, though. Be careful with that.”

He points to Wolfe and Jon with his bread. “You two know you’re slowly losing your powers, right? Like a tiny hole at the bottom of a large bucket.”

While Topher prattles as he does, Chris moves to Amelia’s side and presses the goal into her palm. She’s right this was only the first step, but it was vital. If Mystra didn’t recognize them as belonging here, she wouldn’t work them into the Weave.

He traces fingers down her arm as his annoying reflection continues…and drops one of the things Chris feared into their laps.

He keeps his silence with a tense jaw, but all at once decides Wolfe and Jon were not coming to the Shadowfell with him. If there were creatures to kill, he could handle it. Maybe Amelia could come too if she wore his clasp for protection.

It’s a cheap shot, reminding Chris the Guardians he loves belong to a younger version of him, one that has the Archivist turning eyes sharply on Topher. Too many eyes for just a moment before they wink out. He holds that glare for a long moment before he speaks again.

“We’re aware.” They are now, certainly, and it just confirms their fears. Is feeding the Eye draining him? Or will it sustain him longer? “Define ‘tend.’ Are you asking us to talk or go and kill six rats in a basement?”

Jon asks the question, but even as he does, he knows there’s only one viable path forward here. He uncorks the bottle in his hand and proceeds to neck it before he can convince himself it’s actually poison.”

Unwise? Perhaps. Impulsive? At least this seems like the correct decision to just face first into.

Jon simply downs the potion and even Wolfe is surprised at the brazen move that is without knowing exactly what's going to happen. He could go through some kind of painful transformation process, or get knocked out for days or-

Does it matter? They're going to do it regardless, and when was Wolfe ever more cautious than Jon?

"One more jab like that and we're going to have words, you and I," Wolfe tells Topher mildly, the revelation about their magic not a surprise in the slightest. He knew it would drain off and they'd have to relearn under new disciplines. He's just glad its a slow drip instead of a gushing leak.

Following the Archivist's lead, Wolfe gets up and snags a vial as well, pressing a kiss to the side of Chris and Amelia's heads by way of 'good morning' and also 'don't worry'.

"We should be able to help with the Shadowfell before we're totally useless, at least," he tells Chris in his joking tone, complete with an irreverent waggle of an eyebrow before he uncorks the vial and knocks it back.

Amelia's thoughts mirror Chris' about the others and how they shouldn't go with them to complete this task. They may be losing their supernatural and magical abilities slowly, but any weakness or hesitation that grows because of such changes is dangerous. Whoever goes needs to be fully focused and in complete control of themselves. Wolfe and Jon may be fine now, but how slow is 'slow'? Would they be basically the same tomorrow? The day after? What if their work in the Shadowfell stretched on for a week after they took as long to get there?

"It's not safe for the two of you to go." She looks from Wolfe to Jon to Chris, frowning at cleric. "If anyone goes, it's going to be us. We know the risks and what's waiting for us here without having to fear losing our abilities."

That doesn't make it a good plan - they need to make certain the two men left behind would be safe - but it's a better one than ignoring the dangerous truth in favor of having them close. Chris is capable and completely freed of the shackles Duplicity put on him. Amelia's now free to rain rocks and knives on anyone in her path. They can do this, handily.

Still frowning, the rogue downs the contents of the vial Chris put in her hand. The sensations it fills her with are somehow both wrong and right at the same time. She feels everything and nothing, pain and numbness, a shock of metal on her tongue, strings caught in her throat, and yet...

Yet the discomfort is accompanied by feeling... complete, as if all of her pieces were suddenly where she needed them to be. It's strange, frightening, and comforting all at once. She has no idea how it's supposed to feel or if it's worked as it should, but her feet feel more firmly planted against the floor of the temple. It's almost as if she's finally where she's supposed to be, as cliche and odd as that sounds in her mind.

Maybe this is what she was waiting for. Maybe this is what makes it all right to not be who she thought she was.

She exhales slowly, free hand resting on her cleric's arm as she steadies her breathing after a few coughs to try and clear her throat of the feeling of thread slipping down it. Her gaze shifts to Topher, chin lifted and an air of authority about her. She's not a leader here. She doesn't have to take charge. She can be whoever and whatever she wants to be. And she wants to be the woman who will keep facing danger to protect those she loves most, no matter the circumstances, when she knows the fruits of that labor will make their lives better.

"Be plain about what we're to do when we arrive. The more we know, the sooner it'll be done. Your Mistress would prefer this be taken care of quickly, I'd wager, and if you so much as joke about any of this I'll not stop anyone in this room from putting you through that table you now sit at."

Topher toasts his next piece of meat as Jon throws the potion down the hatch.

"No rats, rats would be easy and gods forbid I breathe wrong here. I never thought I'd miss the other group."

He gestures to Amelia and then to Wolfe. "You: keep away from me, I don't like this nice to my face and then threatening in the same few minutes shite. You: can have whatever words you'd like with me, at least you're pretty."

He waves away all of it and gets himself some tea...which ends with him pulling a face for how bitter it is. He still drinks it.

"The short story is: thanks to the burning of Melvaunt and then two whole armies dying there, becoming blood and bone golemns, and then the Guardian's feeding more death and suffering to the fire to kill said golemns and the dragon, the Shadowfell version of the city has become a Darkland: an area of chaos for negative energies that will likely kill all of you if you linger in it too long...however it also means its rife with the undead of those who fell there in the Material Plane. She needs you to cull a chunk of them. You won't be able to kill all of them, but about as many as the Guardians helped feed should do it. You'll know it when you get there. Probably."

He watches each of his people take their potions in turn, and some part of him feels a little better. At least, if one of them went down, he'd know they'd come back to him under his spells.

"I don't think you or Jon should go." Chris chimes in after Wolfe's kiss to his cheek. "Amelia and I can handle it."

Chris moves back to Topher and stands in front of him, less threatening, but definitely annoyed. "And don't flirt with my partners. What, there's not attractive men in Letherna you can be a nuisance to?"

It's easier to think on this, to focus on something as stupid as flirting than think about how his choices, the guardian's choices, made things somehow worse for that dark mirror of Melvaunt. That hadn't been their intention...and if they knew...

"I'm sorry for your home. I know we- they didn't mean for that to happen." He can address that much, at least. Topher's relationship to his city was rife with pain and betrayal, enough to want to flee it...but it had been his home. If he was any part of Chris, he must feel something about it becoming all the more tainted and terrible.

Hawke's threat is couched as a warning, Amelia's is wildly vicious and disproportionate. So... about standard for both of them. Jon would give Amelia a warning look not to be quite so mercurial, but Topher beats him to it, and he's busy coughing on his own potion. It's unpleasant, like there's a hairball in his throat mixed with having tapped a live wire, but when it settles...

Jon doesn't respond for a long moment to Topher's explanation or Chris' insistence, he's too focused on the sense of completeness. The Archivist has known this sensation once in his life, a feeling that all the broken pieces of himself have drawn together in a single magnificent moment.

He turns away from the others abruptly and takes a few steps away, hoping it looks more like he might be sick than anything else. The hand going to his mouth likely helps for that appearance. This becoming feels good, right, not exactly like his transformation into the Archivist, but it's the closest equivalent Jon has. It had brought a sense of peace to him when he'd woken up from his coma--if only for a short while--like he was the man he was meant to be and his purpose and place were clear.

Jon swallows down the emotions, forces it away, knowing that this is different, that it isn't him becoming some eldritch horror extension of an unfathomable eyeball thing. It's good. It's finding his soul--nice to know he has enough of one as himself to count--connected to Faerun, to Chris. It makes everything so much more real.

The effect is slow and feels like pins and needles to Wolfe, only on the inside of his soul. Its not painful, but it is unpleasant, and he thinks he can feel that "leak" Topher mentioned regarding his magic. It's not being shorn up but there's something about the effect of the potion that simply makes him more aware that something is leaving as it adds something else in elsewhere. The strongest sense, though, is a sort of tug, like he has a... - not a leash, dammit - a thread drawn out from a spool at his back, coiling from his ribs and around his spine then out. It's such a strange sensation he knows he's probably making a nigh comical expression but there's no help for it.

After what feels like both an instant and an eternity, the feeling fades and whats left is still him, but different. More solid. Grounded. It reminds him of home in a way that he'd never been cognitively aware of until he'd been removed from it in the Fleet and it hadn't left him since. That off-kilter, unmoored jitter that had run through him hard and then softened as he was "away" for years from the world that supposedly bore him. He hadn't known what it was or what was missing until this moment.

He's here. He's home.

Staring into the middle distance, his face a mask of nameless emotion, Adalwolfe Hawke takes his first breath as a denizen of Faerûn and tries not to let it catch on the lump in his throat.

"I, um," he says thickly, running a hand over his face and trying to focus on the conversation and not how he feels like he might cry again. "I think a horde of zombies is at least a three-person job, if not four."

He's not keen on having just got here and then losing them both immediately.

Topher attempts to flirt with their Wolfe and before Chris can jump in, Amelia growls at him. They may all belong to this world now, but the mage belongs to them and no one else, especially this dick. Her jaw tenses and sets, only shifting into something more relaxed as Chris comes into her vision again after telling the emissary off.

If he ever dares show up again without Chris there to get between them, she's likely to stab him for that comment about her Wolfe.

"I don't think we're meant to take on a whole horde," she assures her mage, putting a hand lightly on his arm. "Only to offset some of what's been done as a result of The Guardians' efforts yesterday. You have most of your strength now, love, but we don't know how quickly that will fade. Let Chris and I gather what we need and take care of it. We can't stay long as it is, so I doubt we'll be gone for more than a day or two." Her eyes move to where Chris is standing by the table in front of Topher. "Am I wrong? If we do need additional help, now's the time to know when we're beginning our planning."

Topher waves off the comment about attractive men and finishes off his drink. He's about to head back towards the door when Chris's other words stop him. Green eyes meet a blank metal band, and Topher is quiet for a long moment.

"Couldn't have happened to nicer people." He says, a quiet response for Chris only. "If her corpse makes it out of there, don't hesitate. I wouldn't."

He waves off the tension and heads past Chris. "Be aware, she may meet you when you visit. Anyway, I've done my good deed and been threatened for it, but I got food, so I think I'll cut my losses and leave now. I'm not going to be any help with planning. Fair well...whatever you lot or going to decide to call yourselves. 'Displaced Beasts? Mmm....maybe not. Good luck with the rest of your plans!"

If left to his own devices or not physically stopped, Topher heads out of the temple, returning to a bird's form as soon as he crosses the threshold.

Again, he bites his tongue, though he knows he likely wouldn't have before. Whatever Topher's relationship with his own dark twin, Chris doubted it would be so easy to kill her. He's not sure it would be so easy for him either, even knowing what she was capable of. Hopefully, it wouldn't matter. Besides, if he hesitated, Amelia wouldn't.

He doesn't stop his mirror from leaving, just takes up some bread for himself, even as his appetite wars with itself.

"No, you're not wrong. A day at max. Besides, it's a dark and horrid place; you aren't missing much. We don't need to kill them all, just enough. Besides, I don't want to leave either of you behind by yourselves, so better you watch out for each other. Practice your Common." And don't drain their magical well too quickly, lest the side effects come for them too soon.

Jon masters himself and turns back to the others as Topher is making his exit. He's seen transformation magic before, but the ability to just... be a bird on command is still fascinating. The fact he has no hands to close the bloody door is, however, annoying. The Archivist moves to shut it as he weighs in on the Shadowfell matter.

"I'm not leaving you a hand short just because I'm useless in a fight. We're coming with you." It's said with finality. "He said our magic is 'leaking,' not gushing. I'll just... hide somewhere. And between Amelia"-a nod in the rogue's direction-"and Astarion I can defend myself with a dagger if push comes to shove. Or you can leave me with one of your Spirit Guardians, or whatever the thing you can do to make a totem is called."

He also doesn't want to miss the opportunity to see this place. Curiosity is a terrible thing, and he needs to satisfy it.

Edited 2025-10-18 14:46 (UTC)

"How long have you been having these lessons?" It's one thing if its been years but a few months isn't going to get him near a sneakthief's level, let alone a professional rogue like Amelia or Astarion. Still, his tone isn't dubious at Jon's skill. He's appraising, trying to work in this heretofor unknown skill of Jon's. At least he knows Jon likely won't get overwhelmingly frightened like some damsel; earth has zombies, and Jon's faced worse besides.

"Jon and I can stay together. I'll keep them also far range as possible with my magic and Jon can stab at anything that gets under our guard," he sounds confident in that plan, though he does look at Jon again. "Did you bring your cane?"

Hopefully he did, that protection magic will come in handy. "Either way, I've only just got you all back. I'm not leaving your sides so soon."

Amelia waits for the door to close behind Topher before embedding a dagger into it at the level his neck had been at only a moment before. "I'm going to stab him the next time he says anything like that again. No one threatens any of you and lives without some mark of penance taken."

If that means she has to find a way to bleed a god, so be it. These are the only people in any plane that she has left and she's not going to let anything happen to them while she still breathes. Hang anyone who tries; she's got plenty of strength and stamina to take on any threat, and wit and cleverness where those fail. If anyone wants any of the men in this temple, they'll have to go through her.

The sudden exit done and over, she heaves a sigh at the continued insistence of their magic users that they'll be fine to whittle down what they have. She understands the desire, but the risks are too great. A leak is one thing and a tip of the bucket an entire other.

"There's no guarantee that using your abilities won't tap you fast enough that our worst fears about what happens when they run out won't come true while we're there. I'm glad you want to help us and watch our backs, but what happens if you can't cast after a while," she looks to Wolfe, then Jon, "or you become catatonic? Do you think we're going to complete the task before we leave to care for you? Do you think we'd do anything but drop everything we're doing to keep you safe?"

She rests her elbows on the table and presses her face into her hands. "There isn't an 'us' without the two of you, and I'll be damned by any god listening if I let you do something this foolhardy."

There's no stopping them if they've set their minds to it completely, but she has to try. Dreams, if anything should happen because they come and they use their magic too much too soon or too long before they can contact Mystra...

Her hands shift over her eyes as she clenches them shut in a vain attempt to keep from crying.

No rest. No stopping. They're not safe and she has to protect them. She has to keep them in one piece until they can make things right with the god of magic.

Amelia's getting overwhelmed, and he doesn't rightly blame her. This was a bit of a rude wake-up call, and now their boys were pushing back in a way that felt reckless. He wouldn't want to be left behind either, if they were reversed...but still.

Chris moves to sit with her and breaks a piece of his bread off to set in front of her. She hadn't eaten in too long.

"You need to learn not to fight the gods where they aren't involved, love. This is between us, we've received our request, how we go about it is up to us." He looks to both Jon and Wolfe in turn, his concern finally coming onto his features now that Topher was gone.

"I agree with her, though...it's leaking, however slowly, pouring out from the top when there's no guarantee you can regain a single drop of your abilities seems beyond reckless. We don't know the first thing yet about getting you all written into the Weave; throwing your abilities away on an errand is stupidity." However... "If you two come, know that it will be to act as observers only in the interest of recognizing you don't want to be parted from us any more than we do."

If he had to throw an anti-life shell up to block their boys from coming too close, he'd do that, too.

"If they're undead, this really won't take long regardless."

Amelia starts tearing up, Chris pushes back, and Jon... balks. He knows he shouldn't. He knows this is sense, but they're finally free to go where they want, do what they want, and he's being told he can't go to this other plane within Faerun, somewhere Chris has talked to him about. Beyond the burning curiosity to see it for himself, there's a sense of obligation.

"I'm not even planning to tap anything," Jon points out. "And Wolfe can fight without magic when he needs to." Maybe he shouldn't speak for the mage, but Jon assumes he'll be on side for pushing this. Although, his girlfriend working herself up over it might sway him. Or Chris' reasonable argument. Unfortunately for everyone, Jonathan Sims is a stubborn man. "I've been practicing with a dagger for several months now. I'm not going to claim to be an expert, but again, I can put myself somewhere out of the fray to watch and call out if there are any oddity. The Shadowfell's been damaged somehow, yes? If there's an issue with the fabric of reality there, I might be able to see it where the rest of you can't."

He doesn't know that for sure, but trying to find a way to make himself desirable as an observer might help persuade Chris, is not Amelia. "There also isn't an 'us' without the two of you, either, and if something happens, I think both of us would rather be present to at least attempt to do something."

It could be worse than simply not being able to cast after awhile as Amelia puts it, and it hits Wolfe then that he doesn't think he's ever told Amelia about Tranquility at all. That... That can wait until after the Shadowfel, surely. He will tell her, but that would be even more reason for them to shut him out and leave him behind. They have reason to, and their arguments make sense, but these gods as his witness he absolutely refuses to be the last man standing again.

There's a compromise to be made here.

"I won't cast a thing, not unless it's to save our lives, though I expect as a cleric who has a divine directive against the undead that you're more than equipped to handle whatever is being asked of us. And Jon is correct, I can hold my own even without magic."

He crosses to Amelia and puts his arms around her, knowing that what he's keeping back will just make her cry more, but the realization that he'd rather be made Tranquil then spend one more second worrying that he's going to lose them for good is a staggering one. He just regrets that he's the reason for her tears yet again.

"Let us all stay together and support you, even if we're not in the thick of it ourselves. And the first thing we'll do when we return is work on contacting Mystra." That seems reasonable, doesn't it?

Edited (skill check :x) 2025-10-18 23:42 (UTC)

It's unfair how they make good arguments in return. The truth that they're right about being able to contribute only makes the desire to protect them that much stronger and herself more brittle. When Wolfe's arms close around her, all she can do is sob and shake her head in disbelief.

How did they do this to her? Why is she going to say yes? This is a terrible idea even if her heart aches at the thought of them being so far away.
No no no no no no what happens when shit goes wrong?

She doesn't try to say anything, instead burying her face into her mages arms to keep everyone from seeing the absolute mess she's become after getting through one hell just to find another. All without a single bite of food to her name.

They both push back as he should have expected, and Chris sighs, bone-deep and defeated. It was a losing argument from the start for different reasons. Denying Jon a chance to see something new, see something that was in his statements, was nearly a cruelty where his Archivist was involved...and denying Wolfe his closeness, especially after being apart for so long was a cruelty to him.

Chris places the rest of his bread in front of Amelia and scrapes his hand over his face. "Fine. Fine, you can both come too. We'll go tomorrow at the earliest; I still insist on a rest day." It was clearly needed.

He stands again and strides over to the door to retrieve Amelia's dagger from the door and bring it back to her. He had that whole conversation with Topher while in his smallclothes...wonderful. That will come back to him at some point, he's sure.

He deposits the knife on the table with the bread. "We're also not going anywhere until everyone's had some food, since none of you have eaten for almost twenty-four hours. Even you, Jon, we don't know how much your body here will still need regular food."

He fixes his Archivist with a look that starts as 'don't challenge me on this' and then turns into one of narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "Also...you told me you were only having lessons from Amelia...why didn't you tell me about Astarion?"

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cw: mild PTSD

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deception: dirty 20

well she didn't roll a 1 but lolol nope

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