entrancelogs | Tavern Mingle (INSIDE)

Entry tags:

Tavern Mingle (INSIDE) | OPEN

Who: EVERYONE
Where: The Dark Lantern Tavern!
When: 1/15/16 -1/18/16 - The duration of the event!
Rating: Probably PG-13, will vary by thread.
Summary: Let's go to this creepy tavern and ask for some directions! A log for staying nice and dry inside.
The Story:

For the duration of the event, the mansion has become a dingy tavern. It has two floors, the bottom being the main tavern and the upper floor has six bedrooms with one bed and one magic closet in each room for everyone to fight over, unless they don't mind sleeping on the floor or in the tavern somewhere. With the amount of people in Wonderland, everyone is cramped together and it will be very crowded. The closets will work, however they will only provide clothing and items from time periods long gone (though they do not seem to be bound to any particular time period). There are no employees to be found in the Tavern, but there's a working kitchen with a wood fire stove and enough food and drink for everyone to last the entire event comfortably. There's even a stage with musical instruments to entertain yourselves with! There's no electricity, but plenty of candles and lanterns around.

For the entire length of the event, it will be dark outside. In addition to the never-ending night, it will pour for four days straight, and it will all seem rather ominous once it becomes apparent the sun isn't coming out. Pretty much all signs will suggest that everyone should stay in the tavern and eat, drink, and be merry with their stupid new names. But it really is tight quarters, and some might be curious to see what else is out there. Maybe there's another place to stay out there, or something. Maybe the Beast Alice spoke of is out there.

(Lost? Perhaps you're looking for the outside log or the event information.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

15/01/16

The Handler isn't impressed by the garb that he's been forced into by the closet. The ridiculous hat that the closet had provided with him was discarded straight away, and now he's just stuck with the weird neckerchief that holds on his itchy-as-all-get-out shirt. He's certainly slept in worse places than slumped up in the corner of a crowded tavern, but that doesn't mean he'd slept well. He'd gone upstairs to the closets just long enough to get a period-appropriate pistol that he's got rested on his knee, rubbing his thumb over the barrel of the gun.

Now and again he casts a glance out the window and scoffs to himself. He just knows there's going to be a whole host of idjits who want to throw themselves out into the woods despite knowing it's a damned terrible idea, and he's going to end up getting himself in the thick of it because one of them will probably be a Winchester. It's just the law of averages.

16/01/16 to 18/01/16

"This is because I threw away the hat, isn't it?"

He's grumbling as he comes down the stairs, tugging irritably at the white bowtie that had come with the incredibly formal suit he finds himself in. He parks himself at a nearby table and starts to spread out his papers despite how crowded he knows the place is, occasionally glancing up from his writing to look for familiar faces. He's actually tracking some people -- specifically those who might've been in the tavern earlier, and who are now not visible. If they've gone out into the woods, he wants to know about it.

Edited 2016-01-18 07:10 (UTC)

The Bastard has reached the point where he's resigned to both his title and to being stuck in this tavern, crammed together with everyone else. It's a lot like being back in a tavern in Ferelden except he can't use his name, leaving isn't exactly an option and he doesn't have to pay. So there's upsides and downsides. Mostly downsides though.

Carrying a plate and tankard he thumps down across from an older man sitting by the window, smiling brightly before stuffing a a hunk of bread in his mouth. His usual clothing choices haven't changed with the change in scenery, a rough-spun tunic and breeches of the type that he'd ordinarily wear under his plate armour and a long-sword hanging at his side. He's rather glad to still have the latter after getting a look outside too. Something about the woods set him on-edge and the thought of being unarmed anywhere near them is not a pleasant one.

Washing down the bread with a pull from his tankard, he gestures at his companion before speaking, "Should I ask what to call you or do you want to both make up new names? Because I've been trying to come up with one to use and it's a lot harder than you'd think. There's just nothing else I like quite so much as the one I can't say."

The first thing that the Handler notices about the Bastard is that he seems to be one of the few people not incredibly uncomfortable in the costumes that this event's closets seem hell-bent on putting people into. That's enough to cause a raised eyebrow, but he also seems less uncomfortable with the crowded tavern than he'd expect someone from the 'modern' age to be. It turned out, the advent of cell phones had also created the unforeseen side effect of teenagers and adults alike getting pretty comfortable in a large 'space bubble'.

At least the man has the sense to arm himself. He raises an eyebrow at the Bastard's comment, though, letting out a mild snort.

"Since I don't fancy waitin' around until the new moon, you can call me the Handler. Never did care much about names, myself - s'more about actions, if you ask me."

"Oh definitely." He nods sagely. "Actions tell you a lot more about a person than a name or a title or anything." Sarcasm aside he does agree with the assessment. But it's is a lot easier to say that sort of thing when you have a fairly innocuous title to go by. When you don't they become a bit more important. Or at least more annoying. And even if the Bastard has had a chance to get used to his he's also had his whole life being reminded of it. That gets a bit old after a while.

And given that they're discussing the importance of actions over names it seems only reasonable to immediately ask, "So, if we're judging by what you do - what exactly do you handle? Because there's a lot of ways to take that."

Most of which don't make a whole lot of sense but in this place sense seems to be entirely optional and not often opted for.

He snorts. Even if the Handler isn't exactly sure what it's supposed to mean in the context of this place, it's easy enough to figure out what it means when he looks at his life as a whole. He looks Alistair up and down, as if gauging whether he's going to call him crazy and run out into the forest if he tells his former trade to the young man.

"For the most part, I handle idjits who are stupid enough to want to join the profession." He'll leave 'the profession' vague, at least for now. "Folks call me up and ask me to do any number o'things for them -- usually lying to authority-types so that they can get access to the things they need to in order to do their job." He clears his throat.

"You know, saving people. Killing monsters." And yes, he's going to leave out 'the Family Business' from that little speech. He's no Winchester, and he didn't have any family ties to Hunting.

Alistair does the exact opposite of calling him crazy and running off. He perks up, looking over the Handler in surprise but with not a hint of disbelief. "Huh. So you're like me then?" Or near enough. Actually, in this context he'd be one of the 'idjits' that needed handling. Which isn't the most flattering descriptor but maybe not entirely inaccurate. Maybe.

"Except for the lying to authority-types. We don't - well, I don't tend to do that." The lying was generally left to people better at it if they needed to do so. Which thankfully wasn't too often. Honestly, they tended more towards intimidation or persuasion than outright lying but maybe people felt differently about the Handler's handlees.

"I'm a Grey Warden. We protect people too, from creatures called darkspawn." Hopefully the 'killing monsters' bit was implied. He was pretty sure no one was going to think they just gave the darkspawn a stern talking to and sent them on their way. As interesting a sight as that would be.

The reaction that he gets from Alistair does in fact imply to him that the man's more likely to be one of the handlees than one of his fellow Handlers. He's young enough for it, certainly (though Garth was young too, and seemed to have a better head on his shoulders for organizing hunters than some of the more senor members), and eager enough.

"Grey Wardens? Sounds a little medieval for my tastes," he pulls a face, "Makes me think of dragons, and don't nobody want to think about those things. What's a 'darkspawn', then? Some sort of demon? Vampire? Werewolf?"

"You're telling me!" The Handler has to be the first other person not from his home who isn't surprised by the idea of dragons. Most everyone else he's spoken to has acted like they were never real in the first place.

Stuffing another bite in his mouth he offers a muffled explanation, "Darkspawn are more like-" He stops, swallows and carries on in a much more intelligible manner. "Corrupted versions of people. Not specific people-people but in general people. Not pretty. Or good conversationalists."

Say what you like about demons and werewolves, at least they could talk. They might not often want to and it might not be a good idea to listen to them when they did but they could and that was more than you could say about the darkspawn.

"I've fought demons and werewolves too but that's not so much a Grey Warden thing. So you must be more-" He waves a hand about expansively. "Multi-purpose? In your handling."

Well, Bobby's dragons had a penchant for virgins and the ability to transform into a human form, so maybe not exactly like Alistair's dragons, but close enough.

He can't help the snort when Alistair stuffs his face full of food. Spoken like a true hunter -- stuffing his face. He wrinkles his brow together, as if filing that information away for later. If what that kid had said earlier was true, these Darkspawn could potentially come to Wonderland.

"So what's their weakness?" He thinks it's only fair to answer what exactly a hunter is, though, so he nods.

"Somethin' like that. If it's killin' other people, we kill it. Sometimes even if it's not killing other people. Always thought I'd run the whole gamut and then ended up bein' surprised."

Given Alistair's usual travelling companions, dragons with a preference for virgins would have been an advantage. As far as the rest of them were concerned that is. He'd have been less happy about it so it's fortunate that's not the case in Thedas.

The explanation is simple enough - the Handler and his type are some kind of professional monster hunters. A little unusual maybe but that's about it.

"Darkspawn? They can be killed just like anything else." He taps the hilt of his sword just in case his meaning isn't clear. "The real danger comes from the taint they spread. It poisons the land and turns people into what we call ghouls. That's why Wardens are important. We're immune."

And that's about all he can part with on the subject. Warden secrets are tightly held and he hardly expects darkspawn to show up here to make that a problem. There's no dwarven Deep Roads underground for them to come from and they only pose a serious threat when controlled by an archdemon. Which thankfully don't appear often. Unless the one currently flying about Ferelden shows up but he can't be that unlucky.

"So, what's the weirdest thing you saw before coming here?" The Handler talks like a man who's seen a lot so he must have some good stories. And it's better than talking about darkspawn.

Edited 2016-01-27 10:49 (UTC)

Bobby's about to make a smart comment about how most things that are really evil can't just be killed with brute strength, but he instead opens his mouth and then shuts it. The way he figured, having creatures that were pretty evil but could be killed just by stabbing them a whole lot was ... a good thing, considering some of the things Sam had told him could potentially come here from other peoples' worlds. Instead, he focuses on the part of Alistair's story that's actually relevant.

"So are we talking an injected venom from a bite, skin exposure to the stuff, or some sort of in-between?" This is important information for people who aren't immune. "And your ghouls - do they feed on humans, dead or alive? Ours do."

But then Alistair is asking him a question that he actually has to think about.

"Gotta be the Jefferson Starships." Never let Dean Winchester name anything. "Vampire-wraith-werewolf-shapeshifter hybrids. Nasty business, created when the mother of all monsters got it in her head to make the 'perfect creature'." Gross all around, basically.

"Wow. That is just weird." And not just the name. "I don't think I've ever heard of anything like that before." The closest he'd ever come to something like that were the more powerful demons that could take on the forms and abilities of lesser demons but even that wasn't on the same level.

He's silent for several minutes, trying to picture what a creature like that would look like as he polishes off half the contents of his plate with all the gusto and table-manners of a man who hasn't eaten for days.

No wonder this guy wants to know all the gritty details about the darkspawn, if he spends his life hunting down creatures like that which can rip you to pieces and eat you. Or worse.

"Darkspawn taint is spread through contact. They corrupt the land just with their presence while people mostly tend to get the taint from their blood." Something that is difficult to avoid when fighting them. Even the longest pole-axe can only do so much to keep them away in the middle of a skirmish. Hence the ghoul problem that follows them. "As for the ghouls, they will eat people. I've never asked how... fresh they like their meat though." He shudders, pushing aside the bit of lamb on his plate in favour of another hunk of cheese.

"I don't think the darkspawn are going to show up in your home or anything though. They're sort of... restricted in where they go."

Bobby's fine enough with Alistair spending some time filling his stomach -- it gives him a good excuse to jot down what Alistair's told him so far on a new page that he's titled 'Darkspawn - unseen'. He continues to write once Alistair starts speaking again, in fact.

"Well, if you believe the Pilgrim over there --" he motions off toward one corner of the place, "-- then they could sure as hell show up here based on one of the 'events' that might come from your world. Better educated than dead." Even if death wasn't a permanent thing here, he certainly doesn't want to find out what happens if you die too many times.

"Just straight contact. That's -- irritatin'. And I suppose there's no easy cure, can't just wash it off with holy water or somethin'."

It's on the tip of his tongue to argue with the Handler that there's no way darkspawn could just show up in Wonderland. They're not like demons, they can't just break through into the real world anywhere the Veil is thin enough. But before today he would have said there was no way the entire mansion could suddenly be a different building in an entirely different place. Yet here they are.

"You may be right." Just what he needed to be worrying about. It's not enough he's been kidnapped and there's monsters sometimes but maybe the darkspawn could decide to follow him too now? Wonderful.

"And no, there's no cure for the taint. Not really." The closest thing they had to a cure couldn't be performed in Wonderland so if anyone did get corrupted they'd have no choice but to kill them. Something he didn't relish having to explain if it came to that. "But at least we have a few Wardens here so we should get some warning if they do show up. I hope."

It's a good thing that Alistair chose not to argue - generally Bobby could keep himself agreeable as long as the other person involved with the conversation didn't prove himself to be an idiot. They'd already seen that pretty much anything was possible here.

He isn't excited about the prospect of having literal angels or worse show up here either, Alistair, trust him. His world is also no cakewalk.

However, what Alistair says catches him by surprise. "How d'you figure we'd be gettin' any warning about it just because your lot are here? You got some sort of prophetic darkspawn-only sight?"

"Ha, something like that!" Glancing away Alistair toys with the mug in front of him as he tries to put what little he can share into words. "Grey Wardens know when there are darkspawn around. That's just how it works."

Which hopefully is enough for the other man. It guarantees they will know if darkspawn do show up - although if it comes with a change of scenery like this they might not need much warning. It's not hard to go 'the entire mansion and surrounds just changed again, maybe something bad is going to happen!' But still, a little extra warning can't hurt.

"But hey, enough about that. I never introduced myself. As much as we can right now. I'm the Bastard." And he's just hoping the Handler isn't really interested in the Wardens or the type to push on the subject and will accept that rather obvious change of subject.

'Something like that' sounds suspiciously not like the whole story, but he supposes that if the Wardens are some sort of weird, medieval secret society that he's bound to secrecy under threat of death or something to that effect. He purses his lips once Alistair gives his name, though, letting his lips twitch into a wry smile.

"The Bastard. I'm guessing that's a literal title, as opposed t'you being an asshat to the people that you meet." Just based on their interactions so far, at least. "Trust me, sometimes y'don't miss much havin' a father around."

Especially an abusive, violent one.

"Got it in one."

Alistair tilts his head, looking over the Handler curiously. There's some history there and it's not good. He's not that naive, he knows there's worse things a father can do than utterly refuse to acknowledge your existence. "I'll take your word on it."

He's pretty sure neither one of them actually wants to talk about that kind of thing though, so that means it's time to change the subject again. "You mentioned a 'mother of all monsters' before. What's that even mean?"

Bobby pauses to fill up a drink.

"It means ... she made the Alphas. The first monsters that went on to make all the others -- Werewolves, Vampires, Shapeshifters, Skinwalkers, Djinn...hell, probably more'n that." He takes a slow sip of his drink. He's glad that Alistair is at least smart enough to know when someone doesn't want to talk about their past. He's more than capable of and happy to ramble about monsters.

"She's older than angels, which is sayin' something."

"So like a really old, powerful demon?"

If these things work for the Handler the same way they work in Thedas. Most things come down to demons in the end. Werewolves? Demon. Or a spirit. Similar enough. Vampires? Hunger demons. Shapeshifters.... mages. And darkspawn, also not demons. But. A lot of other things come down to demons. It tended to be the safest bet when something bad and magic happened. As opposed to the usual human bad.

"And angels?" That's not a term he's familiar with so all he can tell is that it's something that's also old, just not as old as this demon. Not especially helpful.

Bobby grimaces. Okay, so this is where it gets complicated.

He shakes his head. "No, no. See -- demons, they're just angels that decided to Fall. Followed Lucifer when he took his little vacation to hell after being cast out by the Father, that is, God." He isn't sure what the theistic differences between their world are, okay. "Angels 're ... they were created by God to watch over man. But Eve..." how does he explain this.

"Eve was trapped with all the other goodies in Purgatory, a sort of in-between place for the seriously evil stuff, older than anythin' else. Dragons had to sacrifice plenty of virgins to get her outta there."

When the Handler finishes his explanation there's a long moment of silence.

"I think I get it." Slowly, piecing things together as he goes, Alistair goes on, "We call Him the Maker. The Father. And He made spirits as His first children. Before making humans." And presumably elves and dwarves and Qunari, even if they all believed in their own things. "Some of the spirits resented the living and became demons." So these angels must be spirits. That all seems simple enough.

"Virgin sacrifices are new though. I mean, why? How does that even work?" He was certain that magic of any kind wasn't affected by whether or not a person had done 'it'. And how did a dragon know if someone was a virgin? It's not like they'd be able to smell it or something.

Right, so Alistair's world wasn't all that different as far as things went religiously. He wasn't a philosophical man, but all the religions did boil down to a lot of the same things in his world, so why not cross-dimensionally?

He has a theory as far as the virgin sacrifice thing goes, though, based on all the things he's had to deal with.

"Well, a lotta reasons. Much as I might be what they call a 'late convert', the soul's a real thing with a hell of a lot of power. Souls get marked by their experiences, good or bad, or mystical -- or whatever. Th'virginal soul is rarer and more valuable as a result, I guess. Purer substance." Don't even get him started on the sacrificing babies theory.

"Spill their blood, spend the power, and...bang."

Souls being real hardly sounds like anything surprising to him - they've got to be real. As real as the Maker Himself who, for whatever reason, presumably created these other realms too. Hence why the Handler knows of Him. As for the whole sacrifice bit-

"Sounds kind of like blood magic." Using souls or blood or life or however you wanted to put it to power a spell. As far as he knows blood magic isn't at all affected by the 'purity' of the person being sacrificed, which made it that bit worse - a blood mage could just grab anyone and use them to power their spells. These dragons had to try and get specific people it seems.

"In fact it sounds exactly like blood magic. Spill blood, do magic." No surprise that it exists in other places if demons do too. The two went hand-in-hand unfortunately.

"Well, yes -- blood's a powerful spell agent, no matter the sort. The darker the magic, the more specific they are -- at least, that's what it seems like." Yeah, Bobby's done his share of simple spells and that sort of thing to summon demons and track people when he can, but that's about the extent of his power.

"Anything that has 'vital' power, so to speak, can be used. Hair, skin, nails...that sort of thing's a bit easier and more inconspicuous to gather, if you're the baddie planning to hex your spurned lover or somethin'."

Tavern Mingle (INSIDE) | OPEN

OTA;

15/1

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