TDM #5

[calderaevents]

ARRIVAL

It happens in an instant. A heavy weight in your gut, a trembling of your limbs, the world spins and you barely have time to register that you're falling before you lose consciousness. And when you awaken, it's not where you were last. Dark, unadorned oak walls surround you in a tiny room, the only furniture the bed you are currently resting upon, and the bedside table with a folded piece of parchment resting atop it that simply reads:

“The Tavernkeeper is awaiting your arrival downstairs.”

As you exit you find others like yourself emerging from the surrounding rooms. You are indeed in a tavern, but there is no hustle and bustle one might think to hear in such a place. The only person down on the main floor is a humanoid figure wiping down the bar, who smiles when they see you. They're familiar, but not, and you can't quite place their face. For some reason, however, their presence is comforting and warm.

“Welcome, Visitor. I'm sure you have a lot of questions.”

And you most certainly do.

Due to popular demand, the starter tavern and the drinks provided are available to in game characters via a portal accessible only to those with a faction gem.

DRINK MENU

FLAMEFRUIT SANGRIA a deep red wine based punch with chunks of softly glowing fruit floating in it. A single serving makes you feel relaxed, social, and maybe even a little flirty.

MOLTEN MEAD Though the thick drink itself is room temperature, it bubbles sluggishly, and feels very warm going down. The bold flavor affects your mood. You feel very bold! Like you could do anything!

BESALT BRANDY a hopefully staple drink for the brewery, this liquor is smooth and rich with a peppery bite. Ironically after consuming it, you kinda want to bite someone! Not hard! Just a little nip and nibble!

THAT ASHY ESPRESSO a single potent shot of dark espresso swirled with a gold-tinged cream. Intense and bitter with a hint of caramelized sugar. You are now very awake, hyper, and excited.

PYROCLAST'S WHISKEYa glossy black whiskey that turns a vibrant glowing orange when swirled. You now breathe fire.

EMBERMARK WINE a rich, velvety, spiced wine that immediately makes one feel mellow and calm.

CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY

As the effects of your drink wear off, the Tavernkeeper speaks once more:

”It is time, my friends, for you to find your new homes.”

You are compelled to walk through the only door leading out of the tavern, finding yourself not outside, but in a deep black, seemingly endless room with five portals arranged in a circle. As the last of you leave and the door closes behind you, gone when you look back again and replaced with nothing but that black void, three of the portals illuminate:

The first portal is surrounded by an almost blinding light, prismatic rainbows shining brightly in the dewy air outside of the tavern. A soft breeze may gently caress you, pulling you toward it. The portal seems to lead to a city in the clouds, airships and winged beings of all sorts soaring through the skies. Of the little bits of visible land, much of it boasts giant waterfalls that look like clouds melting into the land below. The portal calls to those who crave independence and freedom; and especially to anyone that wishes to find the strong bond of a family not forged in blood.

The second portal is encircled by a fairy ring of spotted white capped mushrooms, the faint scent of damp stone and rich earth wafting from within the faint green glow. Peering inside, one can see a sprawling harbor city of gray hewn stone, a melting pot of humanoid beings going about their day, and beyond, rolling green farmland and cottages clustered in small villages. This portal is destined for those who crave stability and solid ground beneath their feet. A simple life, an adventurous one, and everything in between can be found within.

The last portal is adorned with shells and seaweed, the glow of blue around it catching on droplets cascading down the circular opening. Beyond it you see a city housed inside a massive bubble deep under the ocean, spiraling towers encrusted with coral, and a variety of different creatures mingling about the streets. Outside of that bubble, merfolk swim, a massive squid engulfs the view from the portal as it smoothly glides through the water, and schools of fish disperse as it passes. A sanctuary in the sea that calls to those with a hunger for knowledge and a desire to aid those in need. Or perhaps it is the mystery that beckons you - the lure of the unknown in the depths that bids you explore it.

---

Upon following the pull of the breeze through the first portal, you are thrust into the beauty of a lively city that goes by the name of Heaven's Bow. Much of this main city feels exactly as you would expect on a city below, but there are clouds surrounding every direction you look. The walls of buildings are made with light-colored limestone, and buildings are generally built up to heights made even more grandiose by their position in the sky.

The Skyfall Docks are the first thing you notice, boasting hundreds of airships sailing in and out across the clouds with shouts that accompany a typical port city. Just outside is a fantastic market with goods not only from the other regions of Caldera, but from what some shopkeepers claim are other worlds--items sold or left behind by Visitors. Almost anything can be found in the markets if one is willing to look hard enough. Transport to other locations throughout the sky and even to the land or sea can be found here.

If the docks are too lively for you, you may instead find yourself roaming the underbelly of Heaven's Bow and finding brothels and gambling parlors filled with the promise of pleasure and fortune. The guild house for the Sylphs can be found here as well, giving out quests and training to prospective adventurers and guards alike--though none of them seem concerned with the illicit activities that surround them. Perhaps the freedom the Sylphs boast of extends to what others may deem an undesirable activity.

But most curious of all, you find a shimmering opal gemstone in your hand. When placed anywhere on the body, it will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If it was the second portal that called to you, you will find yourself in the busy city of Grey Ward, with its cobblestone streets and sturdy grey stone buildings. You are in the heart of the city, the Glass Market, so named for the colorful stained glass windows of the surrounding buildings. The scent of cooking food and the sound of barkers fills the air; watchful guards keep an eye out for pickpockets and thieves, and citizens go about their day. From here, one can investigate the rest of the city: the Sundown Docks, where both sea and sky faring skips transport people and goods. The Soot Spire, home of inventors and engineers. The Hearthstill, the main residential area. The Downs, a smaller residential area for those with less means.

Outside the city walls, one can explore acres of farmlands to the east and west, or follow Terra’s Pass to the less settled areas, but take care. Past the Skyward Range, out in the smaller burrows and villages, the influence of the city guard diminishes quickly, and you’ll have to keep your wits about you. Bandits along the road are always a risk, and the wildlife are less controlled by regimented hunting.

In your hand is a gemstone, a brilliantly green emerald that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If the last portal beckoned you through it, you find yourself within that bubble covered city beneath the sea, the city of Salt Spire. Your ears pop with the change in pressure, and the smell of the salty sea fills your nostrils. All around you buildings made of dark stone encrusted with coral and seagrass tower high above your head, the backdrop outside the dome a deep blue, seemingly endless sea filled with fish and merfolk and all other manner of creature swimming through the water. You stand in the heart of it all, surrounded by people with gils on their necks and scales upon their vibrantly colored skin, all of whom seem intrigued by your arrival. You have many options of where to visit in the city under the sea, but where oh where will you go first?

The Salt Spire Library is right before you, an impossibly large building housing thousands upon thousands of books of all genres. Fiction, non-fiction, romance and mystery and all between. You may even find books from your world and others! Oddly enough though, no Calderan history books are to be found, and if you ask for them, the librarians and locals all choose to ignore your questions.

If scholarly pursuits aren't to your interest currently, perhaps a trip to Bluetide Market would be more your style? The marketplace is host to every manner of shop one might ever need: artisans of all varieties, apothecaries and healers in the Shimmer Quarter, the most in fashion undersea clothing shops, food stalls, and all between can be found in Bluetide. There are also the Tideshore and Fogbottom docks on either end of the city. The former allows transport to the surface via large, magical bubbles for those that cannot hold their breath or make the swim themselves yet. The latter allows people to venture further into the sea. Those without their underwater abilities are offered rebreathers for travel that last for four hours before needing to be replaced.

In your hand is a gemstone, a shining sapphire that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

IGNACIA'S CRADLE/EMBER VEIL

Months ago, a piece of land from Heaven’s Bow fell from the sky and scarred the land below, damaging a part of the city. From that chaos and ruin rose new life, a new ruler, and a new city: Ignacia’s Cradle. Just a short walk from the edge of Grey Ward, the gates of the city are guarded by two massive obsidian golems, and any who did not rise from the lava itself are warned at the entrance that to travel about the city will be most difficult, unless they have obtained a way to mitigate the extreme heat: be that with a charm, an ability, or a potion. The very streets themselves are paved in slabs of volcanic rock, tall spires of buildings constructed and shaped by rapidly cooled lava. The main method of travel are the mine carts, with tracks that wind through the spires ready to take one to almost any location.

Currently, the main feature of Ignacia’s Cradle is the Lava Flats, home of skilled smiths that use the extreme heat of the lava to melt the strongest metals and create unbreakable weapons, glassmakers and jewelers who fashion elaborate headpieces, rings, and amulets. These items are sold at the Ember Market on the outskirts of the Flats.

At the edge of the city lies the Ashfall Terrace, where a small farm using the rich volcanic ash and soil is in its infancy, as well as the Basalt Brewery where clever alchemists are researching ways to use the extreme heat to craft new and unique beverages that they are eager to find folk to test them out on.

---

The hot spring of Ignacia’s Cradle is a breathtaking anomaly located just beyond the Ashfall Terrace, tucked into a secluded crater formed by the celestial impact that gave rise to the city. Here, molten veins from the Lava Flats weave beneath the earth, heating a natural reservoir that bubbled to life amidst the chaos. The spring’s waters shimmer with an ethereal brilliance, hues of deep turquoise blending with molten gold and fiery orange, as though Heaven’s Bow itself left behind a fragment of its essence. Steam rises in curling wisps, carrying the tang of minerals and faint traces of sulfur.

The spring, known to locals as The Ember Veil, is both a sanctuary and a marvel of natural wonder. Its soothing waters are reputed to heal wounds and fortify the spirit, with the temperature kept in perfect balance by an intricate system of naturally formed vents and channels. The edges are lined with intricately carved obsidian benches, where patrons can soak their feet or meditate in the rising steam. Plants resistant to the intense conditions—vivid fire lilies and ash ferns—dot the perimeter, their resilience a symbol of life’s ability to flourish even in the harshest environments.

Sometimes, when two or more individuals share the waters, the spring creates a subtle connection between their minds, allowing memories to surface like ripples on its surface. These shared memories appear as glowing, translucent scenes that hover above the water, visible to all within the spring. Participants can relive moments from their lives, experiencing them through each other’s eyes, fostering profound empathy and understanding.

Another of the spring’s mystical properties occurs when bathers who enter the waters feeling drained, injured, or burdened by grief often find their vitality restored. The waters seem to draw out negative energies and emotions, replacing them with a warm, invigorating sensation that spreads through the body. In rare instances, the spring has been known to accelerate physical healing, mending minor injuries and soothing chronic aches, as though the magic itself is stitching the body back together.

A lesser-known but equally fascinating effect happens on particularly clear nights, when the moonlight reflects on the spring’s surface, some bathers report fleeting glimpses of potential futures. These visions are often cryptic, appearing as brief, dream-like flashes, but they have guided many to life-changing decisions. The alchemists of the Basalt Brewery believe this effect stems from residual cosmic energy, and they have begun experimenting with enhancing it through the addition of rare minerals and lunar elixirs.

RADIANT SUN

The day begins like no other, with the skies painted in hues of golden-pink as the Radiant Sun ascends. Its light spills over the world, warm and soft, caressing the land and filling every heart with a sense of peace. Beneath its glow, emotions of love and connection bloom like never before. Strangers exchange heartfelt smiles, old friends embrace as though no time has passed, and lovers find their feelings deepened, their bonds strengthened.

Even the air feels different—lighter, sweeter, as though the universe itself is celebrating. The songs of birds harmonize with the melodies of impromptu musicians who feel inspired by the sun’s radiance. Those with magical abilities sense their powers of healing and creation magnified, as if the sun itself lends its strength to their intentions. Long-held grudges seem to melt away under the sun’s tender gaze, replaced by tears of reconciliation and words of forgiveness.

The Radiant Sun touches every heart differently:

◾A widow finds peace as memories of her late spouse no longer bring sorrow but gratitude for the love they shared.
◾A timid youth finds the courage to confess their feelings to the person they’ve admired for so long.
◾A gruff warrior lets down their guard, laughing freely with their companions for the first time in years.

For a fleeting moment, the world feels as it should be—unified, harmonious, and drenched in love.

But as the day wanes and the Radiant Sun dips below the horizon, an unease begins to settle...

JEALOUS MOON

The golden light gives way to deep purples and silvers as the Jealous Moon rises, its glow pale and cold. Its light pierces the heart, not to warm it, but to expose the insecurities that lie buried within. Where love had flourished during the day, doubt begins to creep in.

Under the Jealous Moon’s influence, emotions twist and darken:

◾A once-reconciled pair of siblings argue over old grievances, as jealousy over perceived favoritism resurfaces.
◾A couple, who had spent the day lost in each other’s arms, now question each other’s loyalty and intentions.
◾A nobleman, inspired to be generous during the day, grows suspicious of those who received his gifts, fearing they may exploit his kindness.

The air grows heavy with tension, and the magic of the Radiant Sun fades, replaced by the sharp sting of distrust. The moon’s pale light seems to follow people like a judgmental gaze, amplifying every fear, insecurity, and lingering resentment.

Worse still, the night seems endless, as though time itself has bent beneath the weight of the Jealous Moon’s envious glow. For three long days and nights, the moon lingers high in the sky, its pale, piercing light casting a shadow over hearts and minds, amplifying discord and despair. Its power sows strife among even the closest bonds, driving some to dangerous extremes. Yet, when all seems lost, the scholars of the three factions unite their wisdom and uncover a glimmer of hope—a means to dispel the moon’s cruel influence. For those who have not yet succumbed to jealousy’s grip, there remains a chance to reclaim harmony, a chance for redemption before the damage becomes irreversible.

The solution lies not in complex rituals or rare relics but in the simplest and most instinctive actions: physical connection. To weaken the moon’s hold, people must embrace one another—offering a hug, a handshake, or even resting a hand on someone’s shoulder. These gestures of closeness disrupt the isolation and mistrust that the moon thrives upon. Sitting side by side or holding hands creates a barrier against its oppressive light, reminding the afflicted that they are not alone. Even small acts, like sharing warmth through proximity or clasping arms in solidarity, build a shield of connection that the moon cannot penetrate.

As these actions ripple through the night, the Jealous Moon’s light begins to dim, its sharp, cold glow softening until it fades from the sky entirely. The tension in the air lifts, replaced by a quiet calm that feels almost foreign after the chaos of the past three days. Slowly, the world seems to exhale, and the darkness that clung so tightly to the hearts of many begins to loosen its grip. People step back from the brink of despair, their minds clearing as if waking from a long, disorienting dream. Relationships strained by the moon’s influence begin to mend as apologies are exchanged, tears are shed, and bonds are reaffirmed.

ALL IS WELL(?)

With the Radiant Sun rising again, its golden-pink hues spilling across the horizon, life begins to return to normal. The birds resume their morning songs, markets reopen, and the hum of daily activity fills the air once more. Though traces of the moon’s influence linger in whispered memories, there is a collective sense of relief and gratitude among the people—gratitude for the light, for connection, and for a second chance to heal.

In the outskirts of Ignacia's Cradle, Aella and Terra, two of the three leaders of the factions, come together to address the gathered crowds. Together they assure the people that this celestial event was a rare anomaly, something never before recorded in the annals of history. They explain that while the Jealous Moon’s influence was unprecedented and deeply unsettling, it was a unique alignment of cosmic forces that is unlikely to occur again in their lifetimes—or ever.

The leaders thank the people for their resilience and compassion, emphasizing how their acts of unity—simple gestures of closeness and connection—proved stronger than the moon’s envy. They commend the scholars for their quick thinking and the Visitors for their role in guiding others through the chaos. Finally, they urge everyone to move forward, not in fear of what has passed, but with the knowledge that even in the darkest moments, their strength lies in the bonds they share.

QUESTBOARD

Settled in? Good. It's time to make your way to the Questboard located in every city in numerous, easy to access locations. That is, if you want to make any kind of impact on the world or just get some Bones for anything you might wish to purchase. Visitors are given a very small stipend in which to survive every month, but all it does is keep you fed and housed. These quests will assure you greater wealth, and they're the main reason you're here: each finished quest helps the Calderans fix their shattering world.

Quests can be accepted at the questboard via magically signed parchment upon the board. Just sign your name to accept and the paper will be whisked away... somewhere. You're not actually sure. Probably nothing to concern yourself with.

Once quests are completed, earned Bones will be dropped off at the character's residence by Bonita, the mysterious artisan who has supposedly handcrafted every Bone circulating in Caldera. Please do not speak to her, she startles easily.

*February will be the last month to complete quests for this rotation. New ones will go up on March 1st.

OOC NOTES

Welcome to Caldera's fifth TDM! All characters awaken in a strange tavern with nothing save the clothes on their backs, all of their powers stripped, and a piece of parchment directing them downstairs to the Tavernkeeper. There is a thread of all questions answered by the Tavernkeeper here, and if you have more, feel free to ask there for what would be offered ICly.

For OOC questions, please direct themhere.

All locations are available to be explored! Ignacia's Cradle and Ember Veil have been added, along with details about the Violet Drop regarding the Cult of Triton.

The TDM is game canon and all completed quests can be carried over once accepted into the game.

Participation in the Radiant Sun/Jealous Moon effects is not mandatory.

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Comments

[goethbeforethefall]

If you did not know Felassan, you might take it simply for a listening pose, the expression of a man turning over the idea in his head. Solas, who has watched him scheme and joke and lie his way through six millennia can practically hear the gears grinding inside his skull. Is he lying? Is there a way to tell? Does it make a difference? What to do about it?

He waits, to see where the arrow will fall. Then it inevitably does, the barb strikes true, and his instantaneous, sour expression is unfeigned. He fights against it for a moment, and then— ugh.

"She did not have an army when we began," He sneers— or rather, he wants it to be a sneer. It comes out a bit whinier than that, and he has to actively resist the urge to stand up and go do... something. Throttle him, perhaps, "Make that comparison in her presence and you will earn the fate you receive. What is that Dalish proverb? Dirthara ma."

You spend ten years wallowing in grief and regret, missing your friend, and when by some miracle you finally get him back? You immediately want to shove him into the fountain. Felassan hasn't changed one bit.

[loosed]

Felassan knows this song. He knows how his part in it goes. He's supposed to grin wider and decline to apologize, aware Solas may make good on the threat but equally aware he doesn't have to be afraid of any real harm — and he's supposed to keep teasing him until Solas throws something at his head, only not about this. No more comparisons between Beleth Lavellan and anyone they know. Something that won't wound. There's never been any shortage of harmless things to make fun of him for, when the moment required, and that was before the Dread Wolf had apparently been domesticated by the mortal Dalish leader of a Chantry force —

Solas has had ten years to soften and reconsider, but Felassan didn't see them. Felassan's clothes still smell like the fire he lit to roast his last meal in a snowy forest clearing he knew he would never leave.

The smile doesn't drop from his mouth, but the amusement does retreat from his eyes, like an outnumbered force back into its fortress.

"I have learned," he answers, a touch too sharp to be deferent.

[arlathvhen]

It's at that moment that the jingle of pottery can be heard, as Beleth enters the room with a tray that boasts a kettle with steam curling lazily out of it, along with three cups, a bowl of little sugar cubes, and a larger one with hearth cakes that had been made yesterday, and quickly heated up along with the kettle.

"The hearth cakes aren't quite right without halla butter, but cow butter does a fine enough job. I've been planning on buying goat milk to see if it tastes--" She only stops talking when she steps in and notices the tension in the air. A moment is spent resisting the urge to roll her eyes--of course an old friend of Solas' means that they're arguing, undoubtedly about something stupid that they both feel very strongly about. "--But I'm guessing you didn't grow up on halla butter, did you, Felassan?"

The tray is set down on the end table that rests in front of the two chairs--oh, hmm. She leaves for a moment, and emerges back into the room shortly, dragging one of the chairs from the kitchen in. It gets set up, and she gracefully lowers herself onto it, trying to look the part of a hostess, even if it's to her idiot bondmate and whatever weirdo he's dragged in from his past.

"So," She says, leaning forward to pour the still steaming tea into the three cups. "Tell me all about your life in the Virnehn clan, and how you came to know this humble apostate from a small village." Her tone is too light and mild for her to be anything but irritated. Has she not suffered enough lying liars who lie? Or is she just uniquely cursed? This never happened to Rook. All her companions were sweet and kind and didn't hide crazy secrets from her.

[goethbeforethefall]

Beleth's timely arrival saves Felassan from another round of reflexive apologies, though not from a good view of the way Solas' expression shutters. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to find— he isn't sure what. Peace, or stability, or the grace to go on politely. He should have known, or remembered, that what stood between them was too wounded to bear old weight.

Ten years had passed, and that mere decade felt more filled with life than tenfold years had done, when Arlathan was new. But not for Felassan. Ir abelas, he says quietly, into the silence when Beleth leaves for the chair, expecting no reply; a courtesy, as much as anything. An acknowledgement.

Her anger is... deceptive, he knows. She is at her most dangerous when she is calm, and despite the warmth in her voice, Solas recognizes the towering anger in each word. She's giving them a chance to come out from under the executioner's axe. And yet... it would be wrong, would it not, to simply break Felassan's cover, and reveal all?

He opts to say nothing, and when she meets his gaze, he looks away, offering a helpless chance at honesty to the man leaning there by the window. Well? Tell us about the clan. The one you're definitely part of.

[loosed]

The apology softens the edges of Felassan's expression into something pensive, conflict turned inward, and it stays that way until Beleth reenters the room with her chair. He doesn't do her the disservice of pretending he's been smiling this entire time. One unfurls on his face more slowly as she speaks.

Annoyed. Clever. Calm. He was not lying to Solas when he said he liked her already. That doesn't mean he wouldn't lie to her, of course; a look from Solas, and he would conjure a half-plausible tale that required them both to be only as old as they look, whatever understanding her tone had previously implied. But such a look doesn't come.

So he says, "I did not 'grow up,' fen'vaslanelan," first of all, "but we had halla butter when the halla thought we deserved it."

He sounds fond. He is fond. Ghilan'nain did at least that one thing right. He steps closer to take one of the cakes, and he doesn't sit down in the chair she's been so kind as to leave empty for him, but he doesn't retreat back to the wall again, either.

"The first one I rode was called Tarasyldhe. One of many called Tarasyldhe," he amends. "She might as well have had wings. We lost her pushing back one of Falon'Din's incursions," comes quieter, "and the world has never seen another like her."

This is statistically improbable. There were likely a dozen like her at the same time she lived. But Felassan did have a childhood in at least one sense of the word: everything new, nothing calloused, first horses the best and first losses the hardest.

[arlathvhen]

As Solas broods and Felassan dodges her question, Beleth helps herself to her own cup of tea, staring into it thoughtfully. Then, she takes a long sip, eyes closed as if to savor the flavor of the brew--but it is not tea she is savoring. Rather, it is the mental image of taking her tea cup and hurling it right at both of their heads (somehow), then dragging the two of them by their stupid pointy ears into the woods and telling them to work out their issues there, lest they muck up her house with their rancid, angsty vibes.

It is a pleasant enough thought to soothe her, somewhat.

"I understand," And her voice can't help but reflect Felassan's fondness, even while pictures of bouncing crockery off his head dance in her own. "To know a halla is to know a friend. And to lose one is to lose a friend, as well. You have my condolences, for what they worth." The halla of clan Lavellan had adjusted to Wycome, when the clan settled into there. They were some of the few who didn't have any opinions to share with her when she visited, which was a welcome reprieve from those that did.

"So, would you like to answer my question? It is optional, of course, and I would hate to impose upon my guest." She takes another sip of tea, eyes turned toward window that led to the gardens. "Or if it would please you, I could fetch two sticks and let you hit each other until you solve whatever ancient grievances you've brought to my house." Her face and tone are still mild and calm, as she observes the wind rustling the vines that still have yet to be pulled down.

At least she kept the cup in her hand.

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas cocks his head slightly an acknowledgement of the blow rightly-aimed: if she would prefer not to impose on a guest, it seems pointed that she would indeed impose upon him. Implicit in Felassan's recital, too, is permission: if he is mentioning wolf-taming and old battles against the Evanuris, then that is blessing enough to speak of deeper secrets. He wonders if Felassan would have lied, even now, to cover for Solas' faults.

"Very well. Felassan was one of my closest and most trusted agents. In dreams of waking I made contact, and he worked my will upon the world before I had truly recovered. His particular task was the most vital of all; to secure the Eluvian Network," Which, he knew, she would connect to Orlais, to Briala, and indeed still further. As the crossroads connected each mirror, so too did it connect past to future, even as far as the Veilguard, "Which he did not."

And so Briala took nominal use of the Eluvians, and Felassan took a somewhat more direct weapon, in a more direct manner. But he knows that the end of the story will be obvious to her; with great effort, Solas keeps his voice steady.

"After millennia of plans in motion, we had come at the eleventh hour to disagree on the nature of the world, and the fate of the Veil. If there is tension between us, it is only to be expected, and there is only myself to blame."

As usual.

[loosed]

Felassan tips his head toward Beleth in gratitude for the condolences, which are worth plenty, and looks tempted, honestly, by the offer of sticks, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips in a playful pantomime of consideration. That's an idea. No way to know if it would help unless they try.

That expression, raised brows and thinned lips, serves him well enough through Solas' explanation, too, albeit with less amusement coloring its edges. Is it normal, to feel some impulse to take blame for his own death? Arguably, yes. He still has one foot in those millennia of dreaming that what was broken could be repaired. If someone had asked Felassan four thousand years before, as people he had loved for as long as he'd been alive turned grey and hollow and fell beyond anyone's reach, grasping his hand with their weakened ones, sending him away because the sight of his unchanging face was too unfair to endure, devoured by something worse than the Blight because it could not be contained — if someone had asked him then what should be done with anyone who knowingly stood in the way of unbreaking the world, he would not have paused to think about the answer.

And if it isn't normal, well. By no mortal measure has he ever been normal about Solas. It's fine.

"I was his friend," is a correction to agent, in part, but a gentle one. One that needs its own further correction: "I am his friend."

Not the way he had been. Not yet, maybe not ever again. Something was broken between them well before Solas struck him down; friends don't kneel and await their executions without resistance. He had not believed Solas might change his mind, and perhaps that was his failing. It's good to have been wrong. It's also an open wound: changeable, changed, just not — after so many thousands of years — for him.

Aside from a pinch of grief at the corner of his eyes, none of this shows on his face. He smiles at Beleth Lavellan, controlled and formidable in her chair.

"I assume the historians will never know enough to record that you may have saved all of Thedas by being charming and," with so much mischief it can only be a quote, "utterly indomitable. That is a shame."

[arlathvhen]

"He does that to me, too." She tells Felassan idly, because she ought to say something, even as she's taking in what they said. "Told someone that I was his associate. He stopped after I told him that associates get to sleep on the couch--And don't apologize, Solas. You've stopped it."

Even as she's preemptively scolding her heart, her mind is pouring over what is said, and not said. That he was close enough for Solas to bring him here unprompted, that his body language was so loose and relaxed around a man she had never heard of, called him an old friend, as she had noted, spoke volumes. Felassan had confirmed nebulous suspicions, and Solas pins them down.

That is what has been said. Solas speaks of differing viewpoints, and not the end of them. Tensions between them, that were his fault. You can't chase someone for ten years and not see what they are capable of, over and over. Following a breadcrumb trail of corpses. Solas had warned her, that she would not want to see the monster he'd become.

She would've gone to his side, anyway.

"Thank you for telling me." She will have to think more on what has been implied. What she has been told without saying the words, as Solas so often does.

Felassan's little quip about being charming and indomitable--here she throws a fond glance at Solas--leaves a smile starting to flicker to her face, before it fades, and she stares into her tea cup, a mood settling over her.

"I did not save Thedas from him." She corrects, feeling suddenly quite distant. Had they not had enough arguments to prove that she cannot dissuade him, not by herself? "I saved him from Thedas." There's a brief pause, a decision being reached. "People had come to oppose him and his machinations, of course. They made plans--a trap fit for a Dread Wolf." She had seen it--the false dagger held aloft, a near perfect replica. "All I did was beg for a chance to convince him to see reason."

Her expression turns to Felassan. The simmering anger is gone, at least, replaced by something harder to wave aside. "He doesn't remember it, of course," Because why would her life be made any easier? "and it took several women to all scold him simultaneously, but we did do it. They were all prepared to set the trap, if we hadn't."

They. She had refused to aid--but had not opposed. "And I told them to make sure there was room for two." Eternity in Solas' prison would have been an unpleasant ending, but she would have born it, even so.

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas' face is placid, a mask of smooth stone, grown only colder when Felassan says I was his friend. He looks away— not completely, of course, but so that he will not be able, quite, to see his expression as he says it, pretending to be watching for Beleth's reaction. But that only makes the surprise of the correction come more visibly when he looks up in shock. His friend, even now? Even here, after all that had— even now?

It makes only a child's sense. Wanting it to be so cannot make him worth forgiving; even now he is plotting against them, conspiring to bring the veil down around their ears, and...

Each time he thinks he has a grasp on the emotions of the moment, some new revelation comes; he is still contemplating the ramifications of forgiveness when Beleth tells them of the Veilguard's treachery. He is yet reeling from being mocked like a proper friend might be, when Beleth declares her intent to follow him into an eternal imprisonment.

"You are both impossible," He says, quietly, feeling shocked and superfluous. Allowing Lavellan and Felassan to meet had been a terrible error of judgement.

[loosed]

That's two members of the not normal about Solas club, then. And perhaps Felassan should stand aside and let Beleth be the president, because sticking with the man who destroyed the world for four thousand years and then letting him kill you is one thing, but agreeing to be trapped in prison with him for an indefinite and perhaps eternal period of time is entirely another. At least Felassan could always walk across the continent and ward away dreams whenever he needed a break.

He is opening his mouth to say something to Beleth. The thing he is about to say might be it was that good? with a friendly smile and not all that much lasciviousness — maybe he'd mean the conversation, maybe he'd mean the kissing — but they are both spared from this by Solas' interjection, which redirects Felassan into giving him a flat sort of glare.

Like attracts like.

[arlathvhen]

Ah, did you two miss the simmering anger under Beleth's skin, the tension in her shoulders, sharpness in her eyes? Well, even if you didn't, they're all back, as she sits there, stewing in her thoughts for a moment, while Solas and Felassan stew in theirs. It was quite nearly thick enough that she could've dunked her hearth cake in it, if she had the mind to.

It's easy to tell herself that she shouldn't be upset. It's a lot of information for Solas to work through, and she had been the one to drop it in the middle of idle conversation. Was she really going to have another emotional upset when they're trying to talk to someone else and bring the entire mood down? Again?

She can, in this way, bully and shame herself into not actually throwing the tea cup. She decides to put it down, to remove the temptation.

"You know," This is directed to Felassan, voice calm. "I had expected that if things had gone poorly, and I were actually there, stuck in that trap with him, he would have been calling me a wide and interesting variety of names for agreeing to it. And I certainly didn't expect his gratitude in that case, or this one. Though, I must admit, that a single sign of appreciation would have not gone amiss."

She's being unworthy, and she knows it. Unkind, even, and it hurts to treat Solas in such a manner. But she would like to think that she has, perhaps, earned a little bit of sullenness at her situation.

"I'm glad that the two of you are reunited, and that you decided I was worthy of being told the truth--" Here, Felassan is leveled with a look, because she hasn't forgotten your clever little omission of truth, buddy. "--But I have things to do, and I'm sure the two of you have a great deal to catch up on." With all the grace that she can manage, she rises from her chair, and nods politely to both of them.

"Make yourself at home, and be sure to alert me if I need to grab the sticks, after all." She might need to get a third. And with that small attempt at levity, because she does feel bad that she's being a bit of a mood killer, she leaves the library, as collected and calm as she can make herself.

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas, who is still not quite sure what to say, already knew he was in trouble, and so despite the sting of it is unsurprised. She has every right to be annoyed, and he... is certainly going to be angry with her in turn. In a minute or two, when he's done being shocked at the depth of... of everything.

"I did warn you," he says finally, in Felassan's direction, by way of self-defense. It isn't a particularly good one, but... in his opinion, it's relatively futile to attempt to defend oneself against Beleth Lavellan. The better stratagem is to run, and hide, and hope she does not catch up with you, which has worked well for him, "...You still wish to name yourself my friend?"

He betrayed you, Felassan. He stood by you and fought alongside you, and showed you his brightest and worst parts, and saw your own in turn. And after six millennia, at the end or nearly the end, he had buried it all in your back, and felt himself the betrayed as much as the betrayer.

Some things you can never take back.

Some things are unforgivable.

And yet...

"Even, now?"

[loosed]

If Felassan had understood before that Lavellan's revelation was new to Solas — not only forgotten, lost somehow in the shuffle of time, but also not previously told to him during whatever length of time they've been renovating a home together here — maybe he wouldn't have been grinning and preparing to quip about it. Maybe he would have walked backwards through the vine-curtained gap in the wall, across the clearing, and into the forest to give them a moment.

He understands that now, but it's too late. He has also only just met her and has little choice but to trust Solas' instinct, which seems to be to let her leave, so Felassan doesn't say anything to her departing back that might ruin her dignified exit. He's still smiling, watching her go, but it's more thoughtful than entertained.

Solas did warn him, yes.

Felassan allows the questions to hang there a moment while he chews a bit of his hearth cake. If he apologized to Lavellan he would probably tell her he'd only lied to her at the very beginning, unsure who she was or how much he could trust her, but that'd be another lie, because in a less direct way he's been since she entered the room: smiling, skimming the surface of everything, trying to keep the rancid angsty vibes off her floor.

He stops that now. The look he gives Solas is serious, tired enough to show a glimpse of his age.

"If you'd chosen to stop before I thought that we should let it go, I might have slit your throat while you were sleeping," he says in their own tongue — still lying a little. He wouldn't have done that. He might have thought about it, though, before either friendship or the understanding that he couldn't fix shit without Solas anyway sank in. "Besides, what else could I be?"

There's some teasing in his tone again, but it's only a thin layer over an exhausted sense of inevitability. He has been Solas' friend as long as he has been Felassan. Longer, even.

"Doesn't mean I'm not pissed."

[goethbeforethefall]

It's in him to laugh at that. It's not hard to imagine Felassan killing someone in cold blood, but him? In Uthenara?. But then... that would have been more merciful. Better, in many ways.

"Would you?" He says, and really Solas had meant it to come out sarcastic, disbelieving, but the pang in his breast makes it sound plaintive. If in his long dream, death had come to this body, would his spirit have died with it, or would he again be free? "You are free to be whatever you wish, Lethallin. Few would blame you for turning against me. I am sure you could find allies, even here, who would agree. Rook and her Veilguard chiefest among them, to spite me if nothing else."

Rook was not a bad woman, but her incurious, straightforward demeanor would never be less than infuriating to him. Solas could imagine Felassan integrating with ease into their little group, and they would cherish his involvement as a righteous coup, and think nothing more of it than that. It would not be the same, but it would be... easier, perhaps. Safer. Less fraught.

"Your feelings are justified. I deserve your anger."

And yet, he sounds so calm about it, doesn't he? Resigned. He's had time to think about this, to try and find a way out from the hangman's noose, and has resolved that there is none. Solas is not running from his fate; if anything, he's hoping that when it catches up to him, that it will strike all the harder.

[loosed]

Would he. No, he wouldn't. Felassan admits this with a small shake of his head, uninterested in turning it into a joke in the face of that plaintive tone. The rest of it he listens to without response, picking crumbs from the hearth cake to eat a pinch at a time. These are the right things to say. That he's free. That he's justified. That he could go make other friends — though that's what got them into this trouble in the first place. Still the right things to say. Felassan watches Solas steadily while he says them.

"Why didn't you hear me out?"

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas is quiet, thinking, for nearly a full minute, in silence. Felassan's hearthcake loses more of itself, frittered away by idle nibbling. His own remains untouched.

"What can I say?" He says, eventually, and it is an honest question. What words can heal a fatal wound? "That I knew, or thought I knew what you would say? That I understood myself, and our purpose, to be betrayed? You knew what you had done. You chose carefully what to say. You lied, knowing I would hear it as a lie. I was angry."

He had been in a towering rage. So many years, so much effort, wasted and lost. The security of the crossroads, once lost, could not be fully recovered— hadn't been fully recovered. Venatori and Anataam now stalked those pathways, bandits, Darkspawn, and worse, with the secret now spread to too many ears, too many lips. What had once been safe passage was now a road no less fraught than any other, except that it was quicker. What Felassan had wrought was no less permanent than Solas' act of violence, though less personal in its damage.

"I know now why you did it. I still do not agree, but it is too late. What is done is done."

[loosed]

Felassan shows no sign of impatience through Solas's silence, no sign of defensiveness through his explanation, and in neither case is it a mask. A minute to think is nothing. The explanation is more or less what he expected both now and before, from the moment he put his hand to Briala's mouth to prevent her from giving him the key he had spent so many years searching for. Solas doesn't say anything new. He doesn't say anything Felassan would consider untrue.

"And what happens if I make you angry again, Dread Wolf?"

For the title, his tongue is in his cheek. There was a time he swore to mock Solas without mercy if he ever bought into their own propaganda and believed his own mythology. Maybe Felassan should have done more to follow through on that promise. Maybe it isn't too late.

The rest of the question is quite serious, though. He's been listening. Solas says he believes that they're real now and understands, and he says he still does not agree. Solas says the Veil still stands, but he doesn't say it will stay that way. Off the top of his head, then, Felassan could think of a handful of things he might do to incur a little wrath.

[goethbeforethefall]

"Perhaps I will kill you," Solas scoffs, a clear and obvious laugh ro mark the joke, even if he's trying to strangle it. And then he sobers, "Likely, nothing will happen. The damage you have done is permanent, and the Evanuris' agents now swarm the crossroads, and blight chokes its paths; your Briala was not as circumspect with the secret as one might hope."

Which was, to be sure, something of an understatement. She had treated the passphrase with startling casualness, and indeed Solas' own access to those roads had been bought for the cost of a bribe to just one such agent.

"And as the remaining Evanuris now walk free, that means that any who go into the Crossroads, spirit or otherwise, must be prepared to defend their lives and freedom against those agents. Thus, there is no longer any safe passage through that place" He pronounces, and then pauses, cocking his head slightly, before continuing with a dry, brittle humor, "If you can do anything worse than that, I think perhaps then I shall again be as angry as I was that day. So, you are safe."

[loosed]

Felassan does not crack a smile at the joke. He only cares so much about his life, long enough to be satisfying if satisfaction is measured in years, and frequently exhausting besides; he cares a great deal about whether his friend still feels entitled to take it from him. And he does not duck his chin or bow his shoulders in shame at the consequences Solas presents to him, either, the slim chance he ever might have been very sorry obliterated by the distraction of Evanuris now walk free.

His eyes narrow immediately. He stays quiet until Solas finishes, but Solas is spared having his reasoning picked at or from having Felassan ask if he's trying to drive him off — and has he considered it might work — by having dropped a beehive into the center of the conversation.

"For how long?" Felassan asks instead. How seems of less immediate importance; it's nearly happened before, when those fool Tevinters drenched themselves in blood and tore into the Black City, and it never seemed impossible. Only preventable, if they were watching for the next attempt.

[goethbeforethefall]

"Truthfully, I do not know. Months, certainly, potentially more than a year. Part of their escape involved Elgar'nan exchanging his place for my own, and so I have been..." Solas hesitates, his mind briefly caught on grey horrors, on the mad rigors of solitary isolation, on Rook's brief visits, "...Rook has the dagger. I do not believe she ever intended to—"

To do any of it, really. To imprison him, to have any connection at all, to free the Evanuris, or indeed to ever again allow him to see the light of day. Realizing he has again fallen silent, Solas breathes deeply, his eyes closed. Focus. You are free now. There is nothing else that can be done, from here.

"...Ghilan'nain and Elgarnan. They are the only two who survive, after so many Blights, and the Grey Warden's work. Ghilan'nain may be dead, I could not confirm it, but Elgar'nan certainly is not. Still, it is bad enough; much of the South is Blight, and I have been held captive and powerless for all the time between their release and my time here."

[loosed]

One the one hand: the absurdity, bordering on obscenity, of comforting someone who mere hours ago was his executioner. On the other: six thousand years. Like. Six thousand years. Six thousand years.

And that's at least five thousand nine hundred more years than Felassan would need to catch a glimpse of the deeper shadows of terror and despair behind those stumbling lapses and unplanned silences. That doesn't mean he knows what to say. The usual options — we've seen worse, we'll figure it out — won't work. There's no we for this. Not unless Felassan can get a return ticket to Thedas at some point beyond his own death.

He steps closer to stand before his chair instead, for the first time close enough to touch, and puts his hand on Solas' shoulder. Any solemn poignancy is dampened, at least partway, by the fact that he also crams the remainder of his hearthcake into his mouth all at once.

As he chews, he crooks sideways: slow cocked head, lowered shoulder, bent knee, in pursuit of getting into Solas' field of vision well enough to make him look Felassan in the eye.

[goethbeforethefall]

There are no words to bridge this gap. It is a horror built from his own inescapable grief and regret, an emotional depression sunk so deeply into the foundation of the fade that it had come out the other side, a castle in the sky, cage and monument to the Evanuris' downfall. There was no escaping it, not from within, not with all the power and cunning in the world— not without some connection, counterpart, or help, from the outside. That was how it had been built, and without knowledge of its construction it would take a lake of blood to breach by brute force.

The weight of his hand on Solas' shoulder is unexpected enough a comfort to startle him, but the long, slow slide down into his vision is pure Felassan, even (or perhaps particularly) with his cheeks bulging like an overfed rodent. Somehow, with nothing said at all, it is strangely comforting. Six millenia, his own death, and the end of the world had not shifted this strange spirit even one degree away from his nature. Solas doubted anything ever could.

"I missed you. And I do not deserve it, but— thank you."

[loosed]

Felassan smiles his you're welcome, cheeky in both the metaphorical and literal sense, and lifts his hand from Solas' shoulder to give him a light, harmless flick on the jaw instead, while his mouth is full. He's kind and court-mannered enough — despite all his efforts to dress like a recalcitrant woodsman these days — to swallow most of what is in his mouth before opening it to speak.

The time it takes saves him from feeling the need to answer that I missed you directly, which is for the best. He does not want Solas to say he's sorry again. He doesn't want to have to tell him that it all is forgiven, either. He doesn't want to tell him that it isn't. He would like to take a walk and feel however he likes about it for a while, without concern for how Solas might feel about how he feels.

But he's seen shades of this before: at the end of the rebellion, when Solas was rocked by Mythal's murder, secretive, desperate, unbalanced. Certain he was in it alone even while Felassan tried to catch him long enough to talk about it.

"Maybe a power that can pluck us out of any time and place is not bound to put us back where it first found us," he says, which is different from saying this world's gods might indulge the request. The only 'gods' he has known drew their power from a source beyond them — one that did not belong to them. Until he sees proof this world's gods can not be circumvented and whatever they draw from tapped into directly, without having to bow, scrape, and beg, he'd like to keep believing it. "And if it is, you have an indomitable woman who seems insistent you will not be left alone."

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas listens to the proposal, and hears too what he is not saying. It is an audacious supposition, though not without merit. It should not surprising that Felassan is making the suggestion, nor that he came to it independently; they are old hands at opposing the gods, together. Perhaps, with time, they shall be so again.

"We shall see," He agrees. If all else fails, then this is inarguably a second chance, to speak once again to a friend he had thought gone forever, and to see what may come, "...I should go and speak with her. And you will want time to wander."

He knows you. He knows your ways, you ridiculous, feckless thing. Go and eat bugs, or whatever it is you do for fun.

"The bedroom off the courtyard, with the ivy over the door. Officially, it is only the guest room, but it is yours while you wish it. Anything you store there will not be disturbed. You are welcome here, come what may."