dream visit; timing is sometime after his chat w/ Sina
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(Atticus is not the only masked man in the Fade tonight, it seems.)
He stands in the middle of a grove of dazzlingly colorful trees, whose leaves and flower blossoms are bits of tinsel and ornamental paper. A row of luminous paper lanterns light his path towards a thicket. He follows it with slow, measured steps, and that is when he first glimpses the masked face through the trees; a face that belongs to a creature unlike any he's seen before, and one that seems to ghost from view when he turns his eyes directly on it.
At the end of the path he's confronted with row after row of empty seats that frame a central stage, where a raised wooden dais elevates an elaborately illustrated pastoral scene for the absent audience. There is no one present at all that Atticus can see, save for the occasional shiver and shift of a spirit drifting like dandelion fluff through the walls.
Pensive, he glances backwards over his shoulder again to search the trees for the strange face; he feels the weight of the eyes on him, but no one approaches him. Not yet, at any rate.
With a flick of his wrist, Atticus raises stones from the earth that he can step onto, in order to ascend to the dais, to explore the strange, stylized tapestries woven into the fine fabric of the backdrop. When he reaches out to touch it, he draws back fingers wet with paint. He turns and drags it like a paintbrush through the air, sending a gout of green light bursting from his fingertips and scattering shades of bright color across the sky.
He smiles as he does so; perhaps toying a bit with his host's sandbox will coax him out of the shadows.
He stands in the middle of a grove of dazzlingly colorful trees, whose leaves and flower blossoms are bits of tinsel and ornamental paper. A row of luminous paper lanterns light his path towards a thicket. He follows it with slow, measured steps, and that is when he first glimpses the masked face through the trees; a face that belongs to a creature unlike any he's seen before, and one that seems to ghost from view when he turns his eyes directly on it.
At the end of the path he's confronted with row after row of empty seats that frame a central stage, where a raised wooden dais elevates an elaborately illustrated pastoral scene for the absent audience. There is no one present at all that Atticus can see, save for the occasional shiver and shift of a spirit drifting like dandelion fluff through the walls.
Pensive, he glances backwards over his shoulder again to search the trees for the strange face; he feels the weight of the eyes on him, but no one approaches him. Not yet, at any rate.
With a flick of his wrist, Atticus raises stones from the earth that he can step onto, in order to ascend to the dais, to explore the strange, stylized tapestries woven into the fine fabric of the backdrop. When he reaches out to touch it, he draws back fingers wet with paint. He turns and drags it like a paintbrush through the air, sending a gout of green light bursting from his fingertips and scattering shades of bright color across the sky.
He smiles as he does so; perhaps toying a bit with his host's sandbox will coax him out of the shadows.
The explosion of sound and colour above him makes him instinctively put up a hand; the multitude of colourful tinsel and smoke fall around him in an arch, but don't touch him. It is through this veil of smoke that he glimpses the Medicine Seller, and realizes with some subdued surprise that this man is the dreamer--not the masked one who had been following him.
"I do not often see others here. ...You are not a spirit."
"Clearly not."
He lowers his hand, then pushes it to the side as though moving aside a curtain; in response, a low wind blows and sweeps the smoke and tinsel away. Approaching the edge of the dais, he steps off of it onto a flight of wooden steps that rise up from the ground to meet each of his steps. Down the stairs he descends, and approaches the Medicine Seller with avid interest; around him, the chairs scuttle out of his way on deer-like feet.
Atticus stops some meters away from the oddly dressed elf, then turns his head to the side to find that masked face still watching him from the treeline. He frowns, though it's hidden behind his own mask. "This is," he begins in a musing, pensive, and not entirely unthreatened voice, "peculiar magic."
He turns his stare back on the Medicine Seller. "If this is your dream, then who is it who accompanies you? How have you transported another here into the Fade with you?"
"I do not often see others here. ...You are not a spirit."
"Clearly not."
He lowers his hand, then pushes it to the side as though moving aside a curtain; in response, a low wind blows and sweeps the smoke and tinsel away. Approaching the edge of the dais, he steps off of it onto a flight of wooden steps that rise up from the ground to meet each of his steps. Down the stairs he descends, and approaches the Medicine Seller with avid interest; around him, the chairs scuttle out of his way on deer-like feet.
Atticus stops some meters away from the oddly dressed elf, then turns his head to the side to find that masked face still watching him from the treeline. He frowns, though it's hidden behind his own mask. "This is," he begins in a musing, pensive, and not entirely unthreatened voice, "peculiar magic."
He turns his stare back on the Medicine Seller. "If this is your dream, then who is it who accompanies you? How have you transported another here into the Fade with you?"
Atticus regards the pipe as it is extended to him, shifts his eyes to meet the Medicine Seller's strange ones, then steps forward to accept it.
"How does a man from beyond this place command it so deftly, I wonder?"
At this question, he responds only with a thin smile, and doesn't rise to the bait. He supposes it is possible that this elf could simply be a cleverly disguised demon, and, though unlikely, it is better to err on the side of caution. "You're so certain that I'm not of this place?" he asks instead, and brings up the pipe to smoke from it.
"How does a man from beyond this place command it so deftly, I wonder?"
At this question, he responds only with a thin smile, and doesn't rise to the bait. He supposes it is possible that this elf could simply be a cleverly disguised demon, and, though unlikely, it is better to err on the side of caution. "You're so certain that I'm not of this place?" he asks instead, and brings up the pipe to smoke from it.
“Nor I,” Atticus replies, savoring the foreign taste of the smoke on his tongue. He shifts his eyes back to the face of the masked apparition still lurking within the line of paper trees several metres away. A moment later, and the Medicine Seller is the recipient of Atticus’ intense focus again, his peculiarly pale blue eyes studying the shape of the elf in front of him as though searching it for some indication of just what he is.
He offers him his pipe back; he may be a monster, but he’s not a greedy one. “You can affect the Fade,” he notes softly, recalling the show of fireworks that the Medicine Seller had made of the splash of color Atticus had painted across the air. “Are you somniari, or a spirit yourself?” He doubts the latter.
He offers him his pipe back; he may be a monster, but he’s not a greedy one. “You can affect the Fade,” he notes softly, recalling the show of fireworks that the Medicine Seller had made of the splash of color Atticus had painted across the air. “Are you somniari, or a spirit yourself?” He doubts the latter.
Glaewron, [ politely. ] I am in need of an apothecary. I do not suppose you would be willing to check your wares for a certain item?
A contraceptive. For use by a lady, not myself. Preferably something that would keep for several months.
Preventive. [ firmly; the alternative option that the medicine seller mentioned is clearly beyond acceptability. ]
I intend to furnish her with the option, upon her request. The Inquistion is no place to raise a child.
I intend to furnish her with the option, upon her request. The Inquistion is no place to raise a child.
Edited 2017-10-19 04:52 (UTC)
Is the ingredient common in Thedas, or your home?
That would be helpful. Shall I come to your rooms to retrieve it?
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