Morrigan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
courtintrigue) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-03-29 04:59 pm
courtintrigue) wrote in entrancelogs2016-03-29 04:59 pm
Entry tags:
[closed] arrival
Who: Morrigan + Anders
Where: on the beach
When: around now
Rating: anything Dragon Age is at least PG, right?
Summary: "The hot apostate who yelled at Alistair" shows up in need of assistance. Anders to the rescue!
The Story:
It may be that she has rarely felt more powerful than in a dragon's form, but her power is not always enough. She has all the brute strength, the ability to scorch with a breath, the capable wings with which she swerves through the air, but the other dragon has something she does not: the angry corruption of red lyrium in its veins, granting it an edge she simply cannot match, and all the draconic instinct that comes with years lived in that massive body.
The full realization, when it hits her, is not a comfortable one, though thought can barely be spared for it. She can see her own fiery breath rippling over her foe's scaly hide, blood seeping from a claw wound over its eyes and another on its flank, but it shows few signs of pain.
Her left wing threatens to give. She struggles to keep herself in the air -- if she cannot win she can at least buy the Inquisitor more time -- but a direct blow from the dragon's tail sends her reeling, unable to catch her breath. The injured wing crumples uselessly at her side.
Falling happens so quickly. She never notices the change in the world around her, and impact is so unforgiving that the damp sand beneath her fails to earn her attention. She feels her body start reverting to its normal form just as blackness swallows her vision.
Where: on the beach
When: around now
Rating: anything Dragon Age is at least PG, right?
Summary: "The hot apostate who yelled at Alistair" shows up in need of assistance. Anders to the rescue!
The Story:
It may be that she has rarely felt more powerful than in a dragon's form, but her power is not always enough. She has all the brute strength, the ability to scorch with a breath, the capable wings with which she swerves through the air, but the other dragon has something she does not: the angry corruption of red lyrium in its veins, granting it an edge she simply cannot match, and all the draconic instinct that comes with years lived in that massive body.
The full realization, when it hits her, is not a comfortable one, though thought can barely be spared for it. She can see her own fiery breath rippling over her foe's scaly hide, blood seeping from a claw wound over its eyes and another on its flank, but it shows few signs of pain.
Her left wing threatens to give. She struggles to keep herself in the air -- if she cannot win she can at least buy the Inquisitor more time -- but a direct blow from the dragon's tail sends her reeling, unable to catch her breath. The injured wing crumples uselessly at her side.
Falling happens so quickly. She never notices the change in the world around her, and impact is so unforgiving that the damp sand beneath her fails to earn her attention. She feels her body start reverting to its normal form just as blackness swallows her vision.
no subject
Boy, he couldn't have been more wrong about that.
Anders' act of defiance against Wonderland had been to resume strolling around the grounds without fear of being assaulted by translucent memory apparitions or vindictive plants, which means he's just in time to look up and see a dark smudge of color plummeting to earth. Not a star this time. Too big for that. Too scaly for that.
"Is that a dragon?" he exclaims to himself, blinking twice to confirm.
Before his brain can catch up with his feet, he's changing course, jogging in the direction the beast had fallen. His curiosity isn't going to be satisfied until he sees what's going on, but when grass finally gives way to the soft-grained sand of the beach under his feet, what he finds in the middle of the impact crater isn't at all what he'd thought. No dragon. Not even a medium-sized lizard. Instead, lying prone on the shore is a very human, very feminine, and very unconscious person.
Okay, now he's seen it all.
Reflex has him plunging into the disturbed sand to reach her side. It doesn't occur to him until after he's checked the body for signs of life--Maker, she's still alive--and laid her carefully out that he recognizes the pale face underneath the mussed, sand-caked hair, but by that time he's too busy holding his hands over her and drawing out healing energies to pay it much mind.
"Today is not the day we test out the five lives rule, all right? I could do without seeing how that works, and I'm betting so could you."
no subject
Her eyes blink open.
(Is there a myth somewhere about dragons having five lives? She has never heard one.)
They blink again as she looks up through wayward hair at the face above her. He is a stranger to her, but there are far too many in the Inquisition for her to know everyone. Looking past him to the startlingly whole sky makes her try to push herself up, but then her hands meet sand and she looks down again, puzzled. Only then does she realize how much grit clings to her. She rubs sand off the side of her face a little more shakily than she would like to; the man's healing is good, whoever he is, but no muscle in her body has forgotten what happened and her mana feels quite low.
"Where are we?" There should be snow. There should be chunks of the ruined temple everywhere. She could not have been flung so far. "What of Corypheus?"
no subject
Someone's in need of healing, and he's a healer. It's a no-brainer. Only once he's deep into it and the woman begins to regain consciousness does the knot of concentration in his brow relax.
Thank the Maker it's a live person he's dealing with and not a dead dragon.
"Take it easy. If that was you I just saw falling from the sky, you're lucky to be here and not the afterlife." He's relieved to hear her speaking, if groggily. Questions are piling up on his tongue--he has so many things he wants to ask. Had she been in the form of a dragon? Is she the Morrigan who'd taken part in stopping the Bight? What had done this to her?
His eagerness distracts him from the name she utters--Corypheus--but he belatedly realizes he's heard it before. The Warden meeting. The doomsday talk.
"You mean the mythical magister?" He shakes his head. "There are no darkspawn-magisters here that I know of--and if there are, I hope not to find out. People call this place Wonderland. A world between worlds or... something like that."
no subject
One hand rakes over her face and through sandy hair. She casts another quick look up at the sky. "Perhaps I hit my head far more severely than I thought."
Would her subconscious truly present her with a place called Wonderland? There are two things she can claim with certainty: this is not the Fade, and he is not a demon. Her hesitation is brief but evident.
"Then who are you and how did we get here?"
no subject
"Let me know if you're seeing two of me," he says amicably. "Sadly, I wish I could say the rest is a product of a concussion, but it's very real. There was a portal of some kind or a crack between dimensions, and you fell through it."
Satisfied she no longer seems in danger of becoming a human pancake (or morphing into a creature big enough to squash him under its pinky toe), Anders settles back into his ears, trying not to stare in a way that only makes it obvious he's staring.
"Anders is the name. If it means something to you--something related to abominations, say--uh, trust me, that's a different Anders."
He waves that off. Her identity is the more interesting of the two, in his opinion. He can't help a bit of curious wonderment.
"And you... you're Morrigan, aren't you? I've heard someone with a talent for it can take shape-shifting to a new level, but I didn't think a dragon form was possible. That's a first."
no subject
"Then I assume you arrived in much the same way. Perhaps with less need of a healer."
Though a bit more cautious, she is no less determined to get on her feet. This time she pushes herself up from the ground without getting distracted.
Or, as it happens, without getting distracted until he goes out of his way to assure her that he is not the man who caused such a stir in Kirkwall that it rippled out into a widespread rebellion. Oh, he does not act -- so far -- like those she has known who were possessed, but she would not think twice about his introduction if all he offered was a name.
"You are either a terrible liar or a man who has repeatedly suffered from coincidence." Though she reserves judgement for the moment, her eyes are sharp with appraisal when she turns to face him fully. "And how does my name mean something to you?"
omg autocorrect got me good last time
Straightening with her, he brushes his knees off, boots sunk deep in the sand Morrigan's dragon body had disturbed in her passage. She sure knows how to make an entrance. His hadn't nearly been so flashy--one minute he'd been in Ferelden, the next he'd been standing in the snow much like he is now. No fuss, no muss, just instant transportation to a new world.
It'd been alarming, of that there's no doubt. He can sympathize if the other mage is a bit out of sorts.
"It's certainly something like coincidence," he says airily, but when the question falls to how he knows her, he smiles widely like he can't believe she has to ask. "Are you kidding? Anyone who's been paying attention knows who you are. You're the mage who fought in the Blight."
Anders leaves out the part about how he'd recently seen a vision of her in a Wonderland event for now. He'd still have recognized the name--she'd been an apostate flying in the face of the Chantry and that had always stood out to him when hearing stories about the heroes of the Fifth Blight.
"I just didn't think we'd ever meet like this."
autocorrect has interesting ideas about his flexibility!
"I am a mage who fought in the Blight," she acknowledges. There was Alim, as well as Wynne. Alim is the one the most far-reaching tales are about, and rightfully so. The Hero of Ferelden, indeed. He is deserving of the title, yet she cannot help wondering if Ferelden would have embraced him so thoroughly if he had survived the Archdemon. "The only apostate, however."
If that makes a difference to Anders, and if he is who he claims not to be... well, perhaps it does. Her head tips to one side as she studies him. "Had you thought we would meet at all?"
mage by day, contortionist by night
It's not an empty compliment. He'd lived in Kinloch Hold. Some of them weren't much to look at, and that's the Maker's honest truth.
"Since you ask... Well, it's a bit embarrassing to admit with you here now, in the flesh, but after hearing the tavern songs some part of me wondered what the Hero of Ferelden and his companions would be like. I'm sure I'm not the only one. Those of us who survived the Blight are big fans." Too late Anders realizes Morrigan's Hero might not be male, or even the Hero at all, but he carries on, hoping the slip won't be noticed. "I certainly didn't expect to make anyone's acquaintance in a different dimension."
But here they are.