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makinglies2025-11-29 09:05 pm
lysoke) wrote in makinglies2025-11-29 09:05 pm
Entry tags:
The Shadowfell
Shadowfell
During the early, blue dawn of the morning, a hole opens in the Material Plane. The energy hums no differently than it had in the facility in Duplicity that had brought them here in the first place. This time, however, just before breaching the glowing white surface of light, a chill greets those who pass through. One, two, three, four shadows step through the light before it closes with barely a pop of energy beside the austere white marble of the recently recast temple.
Waiting on the other side of the gate is a land of barren monochrome. Plants like ash, rivers with the consistency of blood, and pools of thick, dripping ichor decorate a land of black and grey stone that connects to an equally grey sky. The life, like the color, seems gone from the land, and where there should have been unearthly silence, there were low murmurs and ominous creaks and noises that didn't quite make sense at the periphery of everything.
The landscape, at least, could not be called flat. Great, black mountains broke the dim, grey sky like blotches of ink on canvas. Even the group of armed visitors stood now upon a tall, but sloping hill marked with a single, gnarled tree. At the foot of the hill, ahead of the group, sat the hazy, black scar of what was once a city.
Spires of buildings stood as broken bones in the place Melvaunt had as its mirror, with the shattered docks even dipping into a charcoal ocean beyond it. Maléfell, once a town inhabited and infested in equal measure with ghosts, gasts, dopplegangers, and malice, now festers with a malevolent haze that visibly shrouds the city. At its edges, just outside the haze, is a pulsating mass. It's upon closer inspection that the mass gains definition: bodies. Undead. Skeletons. Ghosts haunting black ooze and rotted corpses that press at the Darkland's edges, daring to neither venture in nor go too far from their home.
Hundreds of the displaced mill about, gorging on more of the black ichor that fills the waterways into the city. Here they wait, trapped, the sounds of them muffled and nearly silent in the blanketing nothing of the Plane around them.
Waiting on the other side of the gate is a land of barren monochrome. Plants like ash, rivers with the consistency of blood, and pools of thick, dripping ichor decorate a land of black and grey stone that connects to an equally grey sky. The life, like the color, seems gone from the land, and where there should have been unearthly silence, there were low murmurs and ominous creaks and noises that didn't quite make sense at the periphery of everything.
The landscape, at least, could not be called flat. Great, black mountains broke the dim, grey sky like blotches of ink on canvas. Even the group of armed visitors stood now upon a tall, but sloping hill marked with a single, gnarled tree. At the foot of the hill, ahead of the group, sat the hazy, black scar of what was once a city.
Spires of buildings stood as broken bones in the place Melvaunt had as its mirror, with the shattered docks even dipping into a charcoal ocean beyond it. Maléfell, once a town inhabited and infested in equal measure with ghosts, gasts, dopplegangers, and malice, now festers with a malevolent haze that visibly shrouds the city. At its edges, just outside the haze, is a pulsating mass. It's upon closer inspection that the mass gains definition: bodies. Undead. Skeletons. Ghosts haunting black ooze and rotted corpses that press at the Darkland's edges, daring to neither venture in nor go too far from their home.
Hundreds of the displaced mill about, gorging on more of the black ichor that fills the waterways into the city. Here they wait, trapped, the sounds of them muffled and nearly silent in the blanketing nothing of the Plane around them.
no subject
"I wouldn't look for anything. I've never believed in gods or desired to have faith in anything that could possibly be greater than myself or my people." What good would 'faith' do when it gets you nothing in return? Not even a god of pragmatism could convince her there was a reason to have 'faith' when they could simply teach her to do something or give her the ability to do it in their name before setting her loose to do it. Unlike many who find comfort in knowing someone else is watching over them or can believe without proof, Amelia can't. There's no 'faith' to be given when she, a pragmatic woman, needs to see something with her own eyes to believe in it.
"I know the Raven Queen is real and I choose to believe that all those gods mentioned in this book are too because Chris has assured me that they are. But I don't think I'd ever choose to have faith in them. I don't work that way." It sounds rude when she explains it, and she sighs at the realization. "I can promise my soul and service to one of them, but I'm never going to be on my knees praying or begging for their aid unless I already know that they'll listen and care. I don't need empty promises. I want to know exactly what I'm getting into with someone and why I should care."
Such ways of thinking made 'Amelia Royer of Ragneux' a ruthless businesswoman who created and executed some of the best contracts in the city. Everyone knew exactly what they were getting out of it, and if they didn't? They were a fool who deserved to lose whatever the Family robbed them of in exchange for their services.
no subject
It was a point of contention between himself and his father too, one of the few that was never resolved before Malcolm's death. Malcolm had been a devout Andrastian, went to services and the like. He was like Anders in not agreeing with the letter of Chantry law though, instead upholding its generous spirit of serving others, which is why they'd never fought about that at least. Many years later, Wolfe still wonders if his father's faith really was in the Maker, or was instead in the idea of magic as a tool for a better future.
It doesn't matter now, in any case.
"The Gods here, though. They're necessary, or some of Them anyway. They oversee the operations of the world or personify concepts and offer a concrete source of change or support. It feels fundamentally different. To me, at least. I can have faith that a God will do Their job or follow Their nature and I know that faith won't be misplaced." The same way he has faith in people.
no subject
"If I have to choose someone to officially follow for some reason, I'll choose the Raven Queen. She gave us our soul threads and granted us boons without asking more in return from us after our work in the Shadowfell. That grants her my respect and gratitude, and I'll gladly repay that for the rest of my life. And after, if necessary." That... raises another thought that's worth talking about. She frowns thoughtfully.
"Now that we have souls bound to this plane, what's to become of us when we die?" It actually matters now where it didn't just a few days ago.
no subject
Expression softening, Wolfe nuzzles her cheek a bit. "Once death takes us, Chris is bound to his Lady to act as a reaper and take souls on their journey beyond. Jon and I don't intend to be parted from him. Its a lot to ask, but if you don't have any solid plans after death..."
He sounds almost nonchalant, like he's planning a dinner out than their ultimate fates, but it hides a bright sort of hopeful nervousness. It's a big question. "I'd very much like it if you stayed with us."
Insight 25
She can't make it that easy for him, though.
"You want me to give you my afterlife without asking me to fully share this life with you?" She arches a brow at him, earnest but also teasing. "Adalwolfe Hawke, if you want me to follow you into death, a thing I would do gladly by the way, you'll need to marry me first. Not right this second, of course, as we do need to be written into the Weave, but I need to know you're dedicated to us as much as I am before I follow you in death as I will in life."
Don't you dare accuse her of blushing right now, Wolfe. She isn't flustered by breaking her own promise to herself and asking for this now. Not at all.
no subject
But the biggest thing is that she's again asking him to marry her. And this time, there's nothing stopping him from saying yes.
Well, other than the overwhelming need to kiss her right then, which he does with no preamble.
It's the sort of kiss that ends up in novels. Mountains shake, waves crash upon the shore, and the sun pales in comparison to the brilliance of their love. That's how he thinks of it, anyway, practically melting at the thought of finally, finally being officially tied to his partner. Perhaps it may seem fast, given the last few days, but he's been ready to tie himself to both of them for so long it seems instead like an eternity.
One that's come to an end.
"Yes," he tells her breathlessly when he can finally bring himself to tear his lips from hers. "Of course yes, absolutely."
no subject
"Then when we've completed our task for Mystra and are full citizens of this plane, the first thing I want to do is to marry you." Dreams, she can barely get the words out for how they all try to tumble out at once. She laughs brightly, happily, and tugs him in for another kiss. "With our family watching and involved, however we want and need them to be." Chris and Wolfe will have to decide what they want for their lives together, but if they decide to make that their wedding day too? There's nothing that would make her happier than to have him join them.
no subject
Its Tranquility that stays his tongue.
He remembers the vacant stares and relentless calm of the Tranquil that wandered the gallows, the ones that 'belonged' to certain Templars. He remembers Karl telling Anders he didn't feel anything anymore, then begging to be killed in a moment of lucidity. If that goes wrong, if Wolfe's made Tranquil permanently... He can't tether them to him like a weight. She's right. They should wait until they're in the Weave.
"The first thing," he agrees, joy barely dampened in the face of his racing thoughts. "We'll need coin for proper clothes, too, but thats it. Just us four, Chris can do the ceremonies. I think he can? Can he do that for himself?"
no subject
"I have no idea, love, but we can talk with him about it when he gets back. As for our clothes, we'll get all the money we can in Bastila and buy ourselves something magnificent for the day. With luck, I'll have our new crest figured out and can embroider it into everything." If not, she'll figure out something else for each of them.
Her smile warms as she leans in for another kiss. "It'll be perfect. Whatever we do, whatever we say to one another or wear, it'll be a perfect day, for all of us."
no subject
The kiss is sweet and needy, not in the way of needing more but simply in the need of her. Every step forward and back that they've made for the whole of their relationship, every time they drove each other crazy and every time one stood for the other when they couldn't stand alone. He needs all of it, wants all of it, for the rest of their lives.
For the rest of eternity.
And that desire, that fervent wish, is encompassed in that kiss.
no subject
"I love you," she whispers between one kiss and the next, smile shining as she leans over him. This time, the tears crowding her eyes are pure happiness and joy. They're going to be together for the rest of their lives, both mortal and beyond. What else could she possibly want? "I love you, and I will always love you. Now and forever."
Forever and however much longer the Raven Queen asks of them. The thought makes her smile brighten even more as she captures his lips again and drags her fingers through his hair to help him feel her love and devotion as deeply as he can.