[OPEN] He's searched the surface for an exit.

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Who: Cullen Rutherford & YOU
Where: The Deep Roads
When: 5/5 to 5/9
Rating: up to R for violence
Summary: Cullen is a loyal collector of the Worst Things in Thedas series, but for over ten years the Blight has steadily eluded him. Now Wonderland is finally giving him a chance to complete his ensemble.
The Story:

5/5 - ( Closed to Anders )

The day is a nightmare long before Cullen hears the news. Shards of glass in his veins, where the lyrium ought to be. He doesn't rise from his bed before noon, before the living cards' strange appearance makes sense. Then he laboriously packs supplies, because all he knows is this: Something rose from the ground last time, something rises from it now. If the surface doesn't hold answers to their prison, then perhaps the space below will.

And he knows he can't do it alone. Couldn't, not on his better days. Not even when he's halfway out of pain's grip by the afternoon. Cullen makes a point of standing up straighter when he walks up to the fourth floor. He knows exactly which group of people he must ask, but the specifics make him question his own choice. There are others, he reminds himself, even as he stops in front of the mage's room.

Is saving room on torches really worth this? he asks again, but his hand is already a fist, and makes three sharp knocks against the door. Cullen swallows down the urge to announce himself. He'd rather see that door open once, before it gets slammed in his face again.

A) 5/7 - Tunnels

His steps sound remarkably small on the smooth floors of those massive roads, until a cave-in blocks the path ahead. With no way through the rubble he takes to a side passage, narrow tunnels dug through the rock. He barely rounds the first corner, when he hears the sound of a fighter - and sees the number of darkspawn no man ought to fight alone.

The leeway for strategy is narrow. Cullen charges ahead with a booming outcry, and lets his sword and shield clash together challengingly. "Over here!"

He sees the spawn turn his way, some more readily than others. The strategy, apparently, is this: Divert their attention, and hope that two of them will be enough to stand against the group.

B) 5/8 - Camp

Alone the campside brings neither rest nor relief, but needs must as much as they can. He risks a small fire, and tends to his wounds. Negligible, save for his arm, where an emissary's lightning seared its mark into his flesh. He slathers on some of the ointment he brought, and wraps it in what little clean cloth he has left. Good enough.

Cullen breathes a quiet sigh, and leans back against cold stone. Eyes and ears focused intently on the darkness he reaches for the rations in his pack.

C) 5/? - ???

[ Prompt me! Cullen will be down and available in the Deep Roads from 5/6 to the very end of the event, so encounter him wherever and however you like! Prose or brackets are fine, contact me if you'd like me to set up a starter for you. ]

Comments

[circlejerked]

Mounting means literally mounting. Ember, as precocious as his orange tabby forefathers, jumps on the toe of Cullen's foot to put his front legs around his shin in the bizarre approximation of a human infant hugging its mother's leg.

Anders is no good at pretending something ridiculous isn't happening right in front of him, and he looks torn between staying eye-to-eye with Cullen or bending to snatch the cat back. He squints at the man standing ramrod straight in his doorway. Is this Cullen being his usual sullen self? He looks about as happy to surprise Anders as Anders is to be surprised, but all things considered, there's not much joy to be had with darkspawn around. He resolves not to ask how Cullen found him. At least not for a full minute.

"Just two," is the automatic answer. "You and cats seem drawn to one another."

On the food chain, darkspawn trump Cullen by a few orders of magnitude, but Anders has to admit, he's still surprised Cullen would suggest they work together in close quarters. Maybe he shouldn't be. From the beginning, Cullen's shown more willingness to work together than Anders has, if he's being honest.

And even Rolan understood when to bury the hatchet when it came to darkspawn.

"Well, I am a Warden and I am headed into the tunnels," he confirms slowly. He looks hard at the other man for another second. At first glance, he'd thought Cullen had looked on the haggard side with the kind of pale wanness Wardens get when they wake up from a dream influenced by the taint. Looking again, perhaps "tired" is just Cullen's natural state. "But if you kick my cat, all bets are off."

Coming from Anders, that's a yes if there ever was one. He bends then to pry Ember off. It's a struggle. The cat doesn't want to go.

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Cullen's features are set stoically with practice, as he pointedly disregards the very animated new layer of fur on his boot. Huffs only at the accusation.

Why would I kick it if it's not a mage? pools on his tongue in acrid sarcasm, and for a split second they shoot each other icy glares across the stone courtyard of the Gallows, and Anders is so much Fade that even he can sense it, and in the aftermath of the explosion Cullen tries to remember if they met before at all, between escapes and solitary confinements, a brief glare from behind a bookshelf as the other templar escorts him away, either him or someone who only looks more like him in hindsight--

And then Cullen blinks, and its neither stone nor a library which surrounds them.

"Maker, I won't kick your cat," he says hurriedly, because there must have been a pause. "Just take her before she runs, I'm not climbing anything to get her back."

He can pointedly disregard Anders' attempt to retrieve the feline, too, but he nods to him before, gratitude in the silence. If Anders means what Cullen hopes he does, but he supposes this is as forward as he will get it.

"We should leave-," -tomorrow, a plaintive thought interrupts, after a night's rest, because he just needs... he just needs the worst to wash over him; Anders, look, he looks his own kind of drained, he might agree, Cullen might dare to ask. And will you ask Corypheus to give you just one night's rest on the battlefield?

"We should leave immediately," he finishes brusquely.

And then the blighted cat still hangs on his boot when he's done, and he bends down, and carefully unhooks its claws from the leather with one finger.

[circlejerked]

"'She' is a 'he' and I'm getting to that," he says primly. "They're still learning to tell between friend and foe. He probably mistook you for Alistair."

Cullen finally intervenes and detaches Ember's claws, allowing Anders to pick the offender up, give him a firm paternal look (don't think they won't have a talk about this later, mister), and set him down out of the way.

Anders had assumed he'd need supplies to last a while--better safe than sorry--and his pack sits mostly filled on the bed. He slips one last bundle of elfroot inside, procured for this very situation, and closes the clasps. It wouldn't be the first time he'd stuffed a cat in at the last minute, but this time Ember and Ash are better off staying behind. "In fact, I thought you were Alistair," Anders continues on, still having not got an answer as to why Cullen had tracked him down and not one of the others. "But beggars can't be choosers, I suppose."

Pack, check. Staff, check. Anders runs through his mental itinerary and decides he's done. Shouldering his bag, he heads for the door where Cullen still stands and secures it behind them.

"Retirement hasn't dulled your sword skills, has it?"

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"I'm surprised you'd teach them the difference between one former templar and another at all." Was that an unwise thing to say, so very soon after wringing a tentative agreement from Anders? Probably, yes. Was it worth saying that if it could mean bracing tunnels filled with darkspawn on his own? Probably also yes.

The door shuts, with Anders on his side of it. So far, so good. Cullen didn't arrive with his own bag just yet. In the event Anders refuses, he reasons. Climbing four floors with it all are four floors too many, his muscles spite him, and he tries not to imagine the weight on his back. His room is on the way out. They can pick it up in no time.

"It hasn't." Cullen makes for the stairs, not looking back. "And I'm not retired."

[circlejerked]

His gaze cuts to Cullen, quick as the flash of a knife and just as effortlessly sharp. For someone claiming to be a former templar, Cullen showing up outside of his door without warning and making comments like that is all too reminiscent of one. "Alistair had the sense to leave them. Not all can say the same."

Thin ice. It feels thinner with every additional step and every additional second that ticks by.

Who's stupid idea was it not to immediately laugh in Cullen's face when he'd suggested heading into the tunnel together? Oh right, his. But then he remembers what happened to the last couple of templars who accompanied him during a darkspawn attack.

Okay, he feels better now.

"How did you know where to find me?" he asks instead of responding to the rest.

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Cullen flinches from the gaze, today.

Sense has little to do with it after a while, he thinks over the thrumming of an off-key song, wailed by throats as hoarse as his own, still strong enough to throw itself against the back of his head constantly, just to remind him that it shouldn't sound like this.

"He did at that," he caves quietly, today, because there must be enough poorly picked battles waiting in the tunnels. He was short-sighted to pick another before it.

And he'll need the distance of a few more stairs before he speaks again, before he stops a moment to glance back at Anders.

"We were trained to find mages all across Thedas. I can still manage ten floors."

The precise how he'll keep to himself, much as he'll keep to himself that Anders' discovery was two parts training at best, and eight parts following a steady trail of cats to their source.

At the bottom of the stairs Cullen makes a beeline for his room. The moment it would take to tell Anders that he'll only be a moment isn't worth the time. Besides, Anders knows the room. It hasn't changed much since he first set foot in it, either. Its appearance is still doggedly default, the way all of Wonderland's rooms look before they are occupied by someone's wishes to shape them. The only difference is a rack for weapons and armor in one corner, and the books and scrolls which are now littering the area on and around the small desk.

Without stopping a beat Cullen grabs his shield from the rack, and his packed bag from the bed.

"All set. Let's go."

[circlejerked]

Just when he thinks he's getting a read on the other man, Cullen goes and does the opposite of what he expects. It's maddening, like trying to play Pin the Tail on the Donkey, only the donkey keeps strutting out of reach. Anders had been prepared to defend the differences between a templar-in-training and one who'd officially sworn his oath to terrorize mages until the end of his days, pin ready to stick into Cullen and name him a condescending prick, but then Cullen backs off as fast as he'd come on.

One might detect a trace of thwarted ire in the look he sends Cullen's way. Just be a bastard so I can call you a bastard. If he picks this battle, it's one Anders doesn't have to feel bad about fighting.

The answer, when it comes, has a certain amount of logic behind it, which he grudgingly concedes by refusing to look at Cullen. He'd known his location wasn't much of a secret here, but still. It's the principle of the thing. "I suppose I should be glad you haven't abused the knowledge by now. And you even knocked."

This is going to be a great partnership, Anders can already tell.

In a matter of moments, they reach the ground floor. While Cullen detours to his room, he remains at the mouth of the hall, choosing to wait where he is. He's trying. If he can work with Rolan who'd been impossible to stand in every humanly possible way, he can work with Cullen. Probably.

None of this really explains why him, though.

"What's the matter, the other Wardens wouldn't have you?" he questions once Cullen has finished and they're on the way to the front door. Sun assaults his eyes the moment he pushes it open, making him squint. It's too fine a day to be dealing with darkspawn.

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Cullen closes his eyes when they step outside, because he knows his eyes will adjust grudgingly today. He lets the warmth wash over him, and flexes his fingers, some of the stiffness leaving them. It is the exact opposite of what they will face, and- he breathes in. He breathes out. There. That was as much time as he allows himself not to think about that, before he starts marching towards the hills.

"I didn't ask the other Wardens," Cullen says plainly.

He stops dead in front of the tunnel's entrance. The past years of his life, the years of disaster upon disaster flash before his eyes. The Blight is not in them. Maker, and he's about to remedy that. With Anders by his side no less. He looks at him then, and remembers- remembers a line, though not the person who told him. The Maker smiles sadly on His Grey Wardens, as no sacrifice is greater than theirs. He finally looks at Anders then, and wonders what exactly it means.

"Any final piece of advice I should have before we go?"

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Walking past the gardens, Anders finds his gaze drawn to the spray of colorful flowers and thinking that soon--soon this could all be destroyed by darkspawn, flowerbeds churned up by stomping feet, flowers wilted into dead, dry stalks by the taint. The image has him hurrying, strides long. He still has the mind to look across at Cullen, puzzled by the response.

Cullen putting two and two together and figuring out where he lays his head at night is one thing, but to approach him first? That makes no sense. "What? Why not?"

What's his angle, exactly? Anders would feel much better knowing that before he walks headlong into a dangerous, claustrophobic situation with the templar. Doling out advice for him seems all the more funny for that reason.

"Don't get me killed. Though you might not want to get yourself killed, either." How's that for advice? "I can sense a fair number down there. I'll be able to tell when they get near, but they'll be able feel me out the same way--be prepared for them to come on strong."

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"I didn't need to. You agreed."

More Wardens would be a greater advantage, but one is sufficient for the beginning. With one at his side, there is no need to ask another. Not that it answers why Cullen asked Anders first, but that wasn't what the mage asked. It is what he meant, Cullen tells himself pointedly, and lets the reminder sit. A fair question, in case he ever wants to stop pretending otherwise.

"Your ability, how much does it tell you about them- about their exact numbers, their positions?"

Cullen takes a last look at the sky above, and steps through the tunnel entrance.

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The wave of exasperation that rolls off of Anders is practically palpable. That was truly groan-worthy. "Fine, if that's how you want to play it. Let me make one thing clear just so we're on the same page: if you have some ulterior reason or a scheme forming behind that heavy brow, save us both the trouble and don't bother. It won't work. Consider that a blanket statement now and in the future."

Good? Good. He doesn't look away from the tunnel entrance during this matter-of-fact delivery. Maker only knows what's waiting for them in a magically unstable that had literally sprung up over night; that there's no darkspawn pouring out like water from a leaky tap is perhaps the most unnatural part of all. One thing's for sure, though. Tunnels mean going underground, and underground means no sunlight... no space...

... Rock walls on all sides...

You've faced worse with worse people to face it with. You can do this. He rolls his shoulder, releasing one last breath before the plunge.

"I'll steer us clear of any large groups. Here's hoping it won't come to that," he answers, passing into the cool, shadowed mouth of the tunnel at the same time. "Long distances makes specifics difficult, the same when they're massed together--then they tend to blend into one indistinguishable source--but I'll have advance warning."