As Above, So Below is a play-by-post RPG based on the Dragon Age series of video games. Play takes place during the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition as our characters navigate cutthroat politics, tumultuous relationships, and the looming threat of a sky torn asunder. Set in a world of dark fantasy, we explore mature topics while crafting thoughtful and compelling plots focusing on OC stories with minimal canon involvement. We're an advanced RP for those who are comfortable with creative writing. 18+, 3/2/2, Faceclaims optional.
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Post by Gaatlok Katari on Sept 9, 2018 18:49:49 GMT -5
Gaatlok wasn't happy about his fun getting shut down, but then again... he shouldn't have had the Antivan Fire Whiskey, always messed with his system something fierce. Being dragged out, his face moping like a puppy, he shot the barkeep a sidelong glance.
"I expect you'll be here in the morning to fix it all back up?" the man asked, cleaning a glass with a rag, an uncaring air about him.
Gaatlok only nodded. The coin he'd put down should be more than enough to pay for a full night of brawling, and he'd talked with the barkeep about it all before, had an arrangement, but these new people... Perhaps they'd come by the shop sometime, or maybe they'd get a taste of their own medicine. New people always ruin things. None of the attendants would have reached for weapons if that woman hadn't put a hand on the hilt of her blade first. He may have started it, but she was the one who'd escalated it, and he wasn't about to forget that. Unless he did. The fire whiskey would put him to rest long before he had time to write any of this down, and with Molmana pulling him along... and the adrenaline starting to wear thin... it would be a wonder if he didn't collapse before reaching his smithy again, but he had to, no use in fainting on top of the tiny elf, she wouldn't be able to lift him. All he could do was grumble and blink as he left the tavern behind for the night.
Post by Athela Sparrow on Sept 9, 2018 19:11:27 GMT -5
The way the scene resolved itself defied explanation, and Athela could only stare on mystified as a waify elf appeared to haul the hulking qunari warrior away by the lobe of his ear, like a mother scolding a misbehaved child. Once they were gone, she turned her eyes up toward Maraas, shrugging.
"Well, then... I suppose that settles that," she murmured, shaking her head. To the crowd, still staring, she called, "Get back to drinking, you excitable morons."
The rabble obliged, settling back into their seats and returning to their booze and their conversations—or starting new conversations about what they'd just seen. Athela hadn't expected Haven to be boring, that was for sure, but... well, this was one of the more peculiar disagreements she'd dealt with.
"I expect he's a part of that mercenary group everybody's talking about. Perhaps somebody ought to talk to them about their man, if so... ah—you know, you seem like the perfect candidate... well, either way, we'd best tell Chancellor Roderick about this. If he finds out about it from somebody else, he'll turn all red in the face again."
Athela scoffed and rolled her eyes, then jerked her head towards the door and wandered out into the cold.
Post by Silas Agosti on Sept 11, 2018 18:28:32 GMT -5
A thousand things were happening but Silas could barely focus on one. There were raised voices and the sound of copper bouncing noisily against the ground. A nearby table exploded as a chair was thrown into it, but the ringing in his ears deafened it all. He felt himself be pulled under the table and gave no resistance, bonelessly sliding to the floor. Devlin was there, somehow; he hadn't even noticed Mathras drag him over.
Mathras' voice echoed in his head for a moment before he realized he was being addressed. He blinked in confusion, trying to just focus. Devlin groaned and his eyelids fluttered open for a brief moment, long enough to search Silas' face in a silent plea before they slid shut once more. "With, um . . . with a head wound," Silas leaned forward over Devlin's form, shaking hands delicate at the corners of the man's jaw as he turned his head for a better look; there was a nasty gash just below his right ear. "We would sterilize . . ." He turned back to the room at large, seeking—yes! He took a deep breath and lunged for a bottle that had rolled under the table adjacent. He hastily uncorked it and allowed the clear liquor within to spill over the wound. ". . . and stabilize." He placed the bottle beside him on the floor and very gently positioned his hands at the back of Devlin's neck, careful not to shift his spine more than necessary. His eyes darted around for something to place under the man's head.
"Your scarf," he said, gaze landing on the elf. "We can rest his head on it."
Silas realized that his hands weren't really shaking any longer. "It's very likely just a concussion. If his neck is broken, there's not much more I can do. He'll need a few stitches, too, but unless you have a needle and thread . . .?" He felt a grin twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Post by Mathras Halasan on Sept 11, 2018 20:42:31 GMT -5
Mathras, eyeing the healer curiously, pulled off his scarf and maneuvered it under the injured man's head. It wasn't a particularly nice scarf, anyway. He'd pulled it off an unfortunate fellow he'd been forced to kill several months ago, so it felt right that the scarf could now be used to help save this man before him.
At least...to save what little time any of these people had left. Their lives almost began to seem more precious to Mathras than they used to, knowing they were going to be cut so short. But their knowledge, at least, could be learned and preserved if deemed useful to his people.
He frowned and reached for his pack. "As it happens, I do have a needle and some thread, for mending my garments. My travels have been long." He fished them out and held them out for Silas. "Are you going to s--" sew him back together like a torn cloak?!, he'd almost asked. But no, a true Dalish would already know the answer to that, wouldn't he? He would have quite a bit of experience seeing these brutish methods in use, even if he wasn't trained to do them himself. He would already know whether wounds could be sewn together.
Mathras thought he knew, too. He'd read about it, and even heard about it on his travels, but he'd never seen it. He'd hoped it was a myth. It seemed absurd to him to not take a wounded person to a mage for healing, even in this stifled world where most people were not mages.
"--sterilize these, too?" he finished instead, after a slight hesitation. He hoped Silas would take the hesitation as nervousness.
