Imprints in Stone [AU]

[Varric]

"I think I have to agree with Cindy being the better bet. If nothing else, they have a shared expanse of trauma because of the Danver's cesspit. That might create a... common ground in their mindscapes that could make the overlap more stable." Varric sighs a little. And... "Besides, Cindy likely needs a Delve too, but the only one she knows well enough is Garret. Tying them together should allow us to interact with her mindscape so Garrett isn't forced to try and solo it."

[GamesMaster]

And so, after discussing it with all parties, they set up the ritual once more. This time, Helene and Wynne work closely on the setup, adapting the ritual for two minds -- and making it twice as risky in the process. They are instructed to avoid. damaging. anything. 

They all promise to do their best.

And then they are inside the red gem once more, with one major noticeable change: there is a patch of shadow on the far wall, a shadow that takes out a whole facet of the gem. A shadow as black as pitch, impenetrable from the outside even to their keen eyes.

Walking into the shadow, it becomes more comfortable to Varric: he can see, once he's inside it, and there's a path beneath his feet, a path made of obsidian but a path nonetheless. Still, he feels an unwelcome, as though he is treading in Someone Else's territory, some ancient foe he instinctively fears and loathes. For Zevran, that sense of hostility is entirely missing. This is his heritage, the shadows he was born to -- as a lover, the dark is no stranger to him, and as an assassin, darkness can be like an old friend, welcoming him in.

Isabela shifts a little, nervous, but only a little. Helene stops, swallowing. "Shall we hold hands? This one cannot see the way forward."

[Varric]

"I'm reaching towards you," Varric murmurs softly. He carefully rests a hand on Helene's upper arm, then slips a cord of some kind into their hand. "Silk rope, looped through my belt loosely. Don't tug, it'll slip out, but that should help guide you in case we need our hands free." He squeezes their arm comfortably. "The ruby has changed to obsidian. Too glossy to be real though. It's all polished, not natural."

[Tethras Clan]

Zevran takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders with a half-smile on his lips. "This is... interesting, no? Far better than that ruby prison," he murmurs, his voice a bare whisper that reaches their ears and no further. 

[Isabela]

"Not really. It's all weird to me," admits Isabela. "But I can see, at least "

[GamesMaster]

As they progress along the path, there's a feeling of being watched. All of them can feel that the watcher is distant, cold, calculating, and ruthless; Varric gets the distinct impression the watcher wishes him harm, but while the darkness embraces Zevran, the watcher does not. 

Then the darkness lifts, and they step out into... oddly enough, the town square in a small village not unlike Golden Shores. The architecture matches Golden Shores, but the layout is different, different houses in different places -- and the people all faceless, smooth bodied, genderless, unimportant.

As they look around, however, Varric doesn't see the friends he expected. He's in the company of strangers: a half-elf male entirely unfamiliar to him, dressed in the same garb as the locals, as well as a rat-man dressed as a cleric of Uryll and a Sylph dressed in armor. Zevran doesn't see the rat-man, but he does see a tall, handsome Aasimar, dressed in rich garb. Oddly enough, the Sylph is holding the rope attached to the belt of the Aasimar, and all are looking around bewildered. 

[Varric: Aasimar male]
[Isabela: half-elf male]
[Zevran: ratfolk male]
[Helene: sylph male]

[Varric]

Eyes tracing the rope, Varric frowns. In terran, Varric asks, "One who seeks, please inform this one of what drink we shared when bond was formalized?"

[Helene Dakesh]

"Wh-- ah, no, it was chocolate," the sylph stammers, looking down. "Depending on-- but yes, formalized, that was-- this is very strange! This one's voice is deeper? But this one does not feel different?"

[Varric]

"Helene, take a deep breath," just pretend you're using your flight spell (too tall). "Focus on me. Listen to me talk. It's fine. We're- we're masking. In disguise. We must be back in Garrett's domain."

[Tethras Clan]

"I have fur," the 'cleric' comments with bemusement. "Splendid fur and-" The ratfolk cuts off as he stares at the merikos elf. "ma'bela, your wondrous curves! Thine booty and bosom have been stolen!" A beat. "We should check your pants, just to be sure." Oh hey, found Zevran.

[Isabela]

The elf laughs. "I suspect if we slip away we'll never succeed at this delve," she teases. "But this could be fun. We should get some spelled items made?"

[Helene Dakesh]

"Un-understood," they stammer. "Th-this one is-- this one cannot be polymorphed," they realize with a start, looking down. "This one is too tall. This one no longer has the form of a child. It must be illusion magic."

This seems to help tremendously. 

[Varric]

Breeders. "Yes, well, focus perhaps? Everything is illusion here, if you think about it, so yeah, makes sense. Everything is move around but..." The dwarf aasimar looks around a bit, then nods. "The old Hawke place should be that way, mine... that way." Flipping a mental coin, he ignores the outcome to head for his old place. "Follow me."

[GamesMaster]

The roads are different than he's expecting, though oddly not because they follow any underlying geography, nor because they are laid out more logically: instead, they seem to turn and veer at random, different for the sake of being different. 

As they approach the rough spot where Varric's house should be, however, there it stands, a perfect replica. Out front, instead of another faceless person, they spy a half-elf girl, sweeping the front step. Not Marian; Liz, whose face is Marian's but whose eyes are whole, whose ears are sharper, whose hair is cut shorter than Marian's was when she bore an unmarked face. 

[Varric]

Gesturing at the others, Varric carefully approaches the young woman. No, girl. Still young and... mostly innocent. "Hey. Something wrong, lass?" he asks gently.