#starter tag

Patricia walks out into the common area of the building and tries not to sigh. Tourists. Always needing something. She puts on her most welcoming smile and holds a hand out to the woman.

The air is full of tension as the two Warden-recruits move through the camp, on their way to find something to eat on a brisk afternoon. As they walk, side-by-side, Inara's eyes sweep their surroundings. She notes how a few Templar eyes follow them as they pass.

"Is it weird for you?" she asks Evaline, glancing over at her companion. "Everyone here like this?"

The mage's camp draws Inara's gaze.

It seems like good things always ever come with the bad.

Ten years. It's been nearly ten damn years that he's been locked in the belly of Weisshaupt. He came here to report on the status of the Southern Grey Wardens after Adamant. He came here to help.

And Jowin - the First Warden - had locked him up down here. Accused him of inciting some kind of coup, spouting off about ancient magisters, blood magic, and Wardens surviving the slaying of an Archdemon. All he'd tried to do was tell the truth. Get the Order to listen, to respond in some meaningful way! It seemed everyone he thought should act a certain way was determined to act another. Seemed very few of his fellow Grey Wardens ever behaved as he thought they should. As Duncan would have thought they should.

Alistair doesn't know what's happening, exactly, but he knows that it's bad. The whole world seems to be shuddering, and he can hear a voice in his mind. Taunting him.

Is it an Archdemon? He remembers the murmurs, the flashes from the Final Battle in Denerim. The haunting feeling that he'd die, the whispers in his brain telling him he was doomed. But this is...

Clearer.

Worse.

But it brings opportunity when the horrible, angry tendrils of Blight that wind through the cells make the guards panic. They start letting everyone out. Shouting to get a weapon and get to the walls. Everyone. No matter what they're locked up for. They need bodies.

And a body, Alistair certainly is. He follows the panicked masses to the armory, and straps on what armor will fit in a hurry. It's been some time since the weight of more than his tunic has graced his body, and he knows that this will bruise. He takes a sword and a shield.

The fight awaiting them outside is worse than anything he's ever seen. The Blight is huge - angry, grasping. The darkspawn are new and strange, throbbing. Bursting with sick Blight. There's a face in the sky, telling them they're all going to die. And it's not even a dragon.

But there is a dragon. No -- an Archdemon.

The rest is a blur. Everyone dies. Well, nearly everyone. Some of them make it to the library, following shouts that the last stand will be there. He stumbles half-dazed through the maze that is the compound, following scraps of trails from the other Wardens who know the place better as they run. He finds the Joining Chalice from Ostagar on a pedestal.

He laughs a bitter laugh. It's on a pedestal, of course it is. And he's meant to be in the gutter, in the cells. He takes it, stuffs it in a bag over his shoulder.

It seems impossible. Making it to the library. But he does it. The Archdemon lands, and is snared by a dragon trap as he climbs and weaves his way through broken stone and shattered walls.

He watches from one of the towers as the dragon falls, as the First Warden falls, and the dragon rises again. There is - something. Not someone. Raising it. Over and over again.

And then it's over -- no. Worse! The ground rumbles, the Blight swells. Alistair searches for escape, and sees only one. A cluster of bodies, diving into a mirror. A mirror, like the one Morrigan once appeared to him through.

He doesn't have time to think. Would it help if he did? Unlikely. He dives into the mirror, too.

assume dynamics if you want. Could be friends, ex.es, SO’s best friends, anything.

@prodgl​ liked for a starter.

          Even  if  the  hacker  hadn’t  been  standing  right  next  to  her  (  before  she  gave  him  the  shove  he  needed  off  the  building  ),  she  would  have  heard  his  scream  through  the  earpiece  loud  and  clear.  Now  that  the  con  was  over,  or  at  least,  now  that  she  had  STOLEN  what  they  needed  and  it  was  down  to  Sophie  and  Nate  to  finish  things  off,  Parker  punched  his  shoulder,  grinning.  ❛  C’mon,  that  wasn’t  SO  bad,  was  it?  ❜