congrekate | dragon age au!

dragon age au!

The rumor mill is still going on as to why Jonathan Strange fled the circle to become an apostate mage. Some say that it's as simple as an argument with his former tutor. Others say that the man never really recovered from his actions in the Mage-Templar War. The most likely answer is that something snapped after the death of his beloved. The one thing everyone can agree on is that it's really a shame someone with such potential threw it all away. He could have easily made his way up the social ladder, working at a court somewhere!

To which Strange would respond that he was doing perfectly fine right now, thank you very much, even if he was currently living in a shack that leaked when it rained, he had not even half of the books he was used to, and he heard people whisper behind his back, calling him the 'mad mage of the Dales'. So be it. His plan was probably a bit mad to begin with: Jonathan Strange planned to summon a god.

Not just any god, of course. He had gone through the various pantheons, trying to find the perfect one to grant him what he wanted (power, mostly, a way to take the tools and trade of necromancy and make it more solid, to raise the dead instead of raising spirits.) And eventually, Strange settled on Fen'Harel. He could draw upon the power of the location of the Dales as well as his status as an outsider himself to appeal to the god. The ritual itself was the most complex part, but modified necromancy bindings and a few of his own additions should suffice.

And so, Strange performs the magic. And poor Solas is probably just damn confused as to what he sees when he's forcibly woken up from his nap. The shack is small, covered head to toe with knick-knacks and trinkets, some of magical significance, others not. Dried herbs cover a table and books cover almost any other flat surface. Good luck trying to find where Strange sleeps as the bed has also become storage space. The mage himself looks wild: a middle aged human with scruff and hair that looks like it hasn't seen a brush in years, clothes ragged and dirty. And he just regards Solas with sheer confusion.

"I thought the wolf part was literal."

This is an elf. This isn't a dog. Did he make a mistake in the summoning? And if he didn't summon a god, then who the hell did he summon?

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The man has summoned what he assumes to be a god and he's concerned with his sleep? Of course. Solas knows he shouldn't be surprised, from what he's see of humans and their priorities, and yet. He stares at Strange and shakes his head decisively. That had not been an error of words on his part.

"Have you heard of uthernera?" Instead of waiting for an answer, Solas continues, assuming that the answer is no. "It is a sleep the People enter when needed or they feel their time is finished. I entered it before the fall of Arlathan." For the former reason rather than the latter and guess who woke him up?

The answer is indeed no. Strange is about to say that he hasn't heard of it but then Solas continues talking and Strange shuts up. Though he can't help but frown a little at Solas's explanation. A sleep the People enter when needed...most people just call that sleep. Then again, most people don't sleep for thousands of years.

"Well then. Once we finish what I summoned you for, I'll be happy to release you from the spell and let you go back to your nap."

Strange is not at all ashamed that he woke Solas up from a nap. And why would he be? He woke Solas up for an important purpose, after all, the elf could deal with it until the ritual's finished.

Solas did not care either beyond that it had dragged him away from where he had intended to wake. No focus and only the clothing he had been dressed in to his name. He had never been a man to care much for material positions, but the set back to his own goals was what he found intolerable. If the man knew what he had delayed being set into motion, he might rejoice.

"How generous of you," he returns dryly. "I will keep you in my thoughts as I return to my slumber and dream."

Yoinked away from his silly Trespasser outfit, stuck in just those elf pajamas. Even then, compared to Strange who's clothes are a bit ragged and who's slowly becoming out of breath, Solas is still the person who people'll ask for help first.

Strange pauses for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He's halfway tempted to ask if they're there yet, but he's not going to do so, he can do this, he's got this, and so on.

"And I thought you would try to forget me entirely," he sasses back, through a few panting breaths. "I'm pleased to hear I already made the impression."

Would they man even make it as far as the ruins? Solas pauses with him if only to try to assess Strange's current physical condition. He'd give the man a fifty-fifty shot at getting that far and then Solas could find out if natural causes of death also worked to remove an unexpected binding spell.

"Enough to not be forgotten." Immediately, at least. How could he forget the first face he saw upon waking? "Next time knock before waking me."

"Hopefully there won't be a next time," Strange grumbles, in between trying to catch his breath.

Because sorry, Solas! You're kind of obnoxious and this conversation has gotten off to a terrible start and Strange just wants to bring his wife back, not deal with all this...this elven bullshit. It shouldn't be this hard in the first place! Just bring back his damn wife!

"You are so sure you can even do this magic." Because Solas sure as hell wasn't going to do it for him, if they found a way. Particularly when-- "What will be her reaction if you bring her back?"

Solas can't imagine anyone would take it well to have died from disease then be brought back in what may not be a healthy condition.

Guess who hasn't thought that far ahead? Hint, it's Strange. He pauses for a moment before the bluster takes back over and he looks over at Solas with a frown.

"She'll be happy, I suppose. At least we'll be together and she won't be dead. Very few people get that sort of a chance."

"Yes, alive with the man she married and painfully aware of how her life ended," he says dryly. What a wonderful way to be greeted back to the land of the living though he supposes all could not be as fortunate as Mythal, who managed to cheat death despite what all had thought so many thousands of years ago.

"It was just sickness," Strange mutters, as if trying to convince himself that no, this is fine, Arabella won't have any lingering trauma over dying and being brought back from the dead, haha why would someone think that.

"Besides, I don't want your opinion on my actions. I just require your help in actually doing it."

So thank you peanut gallery, but no thanks.

"Just sickness." He hopes Strange realizes how insane that sounds given that said 'sickness' killed his wife.

"My opinions come free with my guidance. Or I could sit here for all eternity and wait for you to grow too old to continue," he offers with a slight tilt of his head. He has far more years and patience.

Strange doubts that's an actual threat. Sitting for all eternity? Waiting for him? Please, the elf would probably find some way to stir Strange into action himself. Besides, though it would be wonderfully petty and he's halfway tempted to do so, he certainly doesn't have the patience to actually sit and wait and drive Solas mad that way.

So, Strange starts walking again...but then realizes he still has no clue where they're actually going because SOMEBODY is a bit of a secretive bastard.

"Let's go then. The sooner I accomplish this, the sooner I won't have to deal with you anymore."

He has no intentions of being anything but. A secretive bastard is all he knows how to be. He lets Strange walk for a moment, well aware the man has no idea where they need to hide before he starts down a path of his own making once more.

"I have similar thoughts," he remarks without even looking over at the other man. As if that is any surprise to Strange.

Unfortunately for them both, the trip to the entrance to what Solas hopes is an eluvian network is slightly longer than one day's travel. Solas isn't keen on further conversation and if allowed, would gladly continue walking in as much silence as Strange is capable of even as the sun starts going down. He won't be the first to suggest they stop for the night and set up camp.

And then a timeskip happens and it's getting close to dark. Strange's bitching is kept to a minimum, but there are a few moments where he has to pause and recatch his breath, making worrying coughing noises as he does so. Though really, now that it's getting dark, this seems like the perfect time to stop traveling, scavenge up something to eat, and just rest for the night.

"Some of us haven't been napping for a thousand years. We should make camp here." And if Solas doesn't want to make camp? Well tough luck, Strange isn't moving from this area. Granted, he doesn't know if it's the perfect place to make camp or not but it's a wooded area and he can hear a river flowing nearby. A few nugs adorably scamper a few feet away--at least in Strange's mind, they're soon going to be adorable dinner. Food, water, shelter, why not stop here for the night?

The only thing that gets him to pause is Strange's sudden stopping. He scowls at the loss of progress, but he has a feeling the other man would fall sooner if he didn't take a break. So be it. This isn't Solas' first time staying out in the wilderness and he starts making meagre preparations for camp. At least, the parts he cares about which center primarily around a few glyphs on the perimeter of camp to act as magical guard against any hostile creatures and warnings.

"You do only need to rest for one night, correct?" What with the self-inflicted pain and all.

"Correct," Strange responds, with a nod. At least, he hopes he only needs to rest for one night. He honestly doesn't know how long he'll need to rest until he's back at full health...or if he'll even be able to return to full health to begin with. After all, this isn't the first time he drew some rot from Arabella's corpse.

He stretches slightly before looking things over. Magic can take care of the fire, but dinner...that might be a challenge.

"I wonder," he teases, "can the great and powerful Dread Wolf lower himself to a meal of braised nug for the evening?"

Because Strange is straight up gonna magically murder that sucker and eat it.

"If I were hungry," he responds tersely. Guess who's body doesn't need as much sustenance upon waking from a long nap where he drew it all from the Fade? Either way, he's lived on far, far worse than braised nug when the time called for it. There's something else he's far more interested in.

"Are you going hunting?" Because the image of Strange chasing down a nug with his magic is a sight Solas would enjoy seeing.

"Some of us have to eat," Strange responds as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. So yes, he is going hunting. It'll be a goddamn trainwreck until it isn't but hey, Solas would probably appreciate the fifteen or so minutes of Strange failing before some poor nug gets the magical equivalent of a rock to the head.

"I assume you're coming along?"

"I have no choice." What with the bonding spell making it so he couldn't be too far from Strange. That and he would want a closer view of what the mage considered 'hunting.' He had clearly lived on his own long enough, but Solas didn't get the impression he was much of a survivalist.

"At your lead," he says dryly. This might be the only time Solas can say that to Strange on this trip of theirs.

He's not a survivalist in the slightest. This is going to go terribly.

Strange walks over a few feet closer to where the nugs are, staying as quiet as he can. He places his hand on the ground and mutters a few words. One of the roots of a nearby tree grows, piercing the top of the soil, and loops itself around into a crude snare. Of course, this is interesting, the nugs are going to go explore and see what's going on. One of them steps in the snare...and nothing happens.

By the time Strange has realized this and is trying to get the half-assed snare to magically close, the nug's hopped off and is rolling in the grass being adorable and creepy or something like that. Strange swears. This is going to be harder than expected.

The only thing that could have made the sight better was if Strange had managed to get himself caught in the snare instead of failing to catch anything. Solas would have paid to see the man strung up by his own trap.

Helpful as always, Solas stands by and watches. If it aggravates Strange then it's all the better.

"Do you have no way to get one over on a nug?"

Solas is absolutely no help. Strange looks over at the elf and just gives him a glare. He's still on the ground, with his hand in the dirt, looking not all that impressive. And, unknown to him, a second nug is hopping over to sniff the snare.

"Of course I know how to get one over on a nug. I know precisely what I'm doing!" And then, without realizing it, Strange clenches his fists in anger. The snare tightens around one of the nug's legs and the creature lets out a small yelp of pain--which, of course, causes Strange to look over.

This was entirely by accident. And so, after a brief, confused pause, Strange decides to play it off like he totally knew what he was doing. He couldn't do anything to hide that brief moment of confusion but now there's a moment of smugness.

"See? It simply took a little finesse." And, with a quickly muttered incantation, a second root grows from the ground, wrapping itself around the tiny creature's neck. With another clench of his fist, the root magically tightens and the nug's dead. Now he just has to skin and cook the damn thing.

Solas notes the surprise though that reaction doesn't stop that the man does indeed succeed with his goal. And Solas had been hoping for a longer show and to see Strange running through the forest, cursing loudly as all wildlife within miles fled in panic. Alas, maybe he would get to see it tomorrow when no doubt the man would be starving yet again.

"Finesse," he repeats, staring at the man. His tone implies the adjectives he would use to describe what just happened are far from what Strange would.

"The same sort of finesse you will use to cook no doubt." And perhaps that is where Solas would end up with his show. He watches Strange for another second before he's leading the way back to camp. The man could handle carrying his own dinner.

That is entirely where Solas will end up with his show. Gingerly, Strange removes the nug from the roots before following Solas back to their campsite. It takes a bit of rummaging in his pack but thankfully, he managed to pack a knife...even if it doesn't look like the sort of knife one would use for skinning an animal in the slightest.

Without starting up a conversation, Strange sits on the ground, takes the dead animal and attempts to start skinning it. And really, attempts is the best way to describe this thing. Hoo boy is it awful. You can take the man out of snooty mage training but you can't take the snooty mage training out of the man. Strange's practical skills are a solid D+ with regards to this situation.

Eventually he's gotten the skin mostly off. Though...okay. Now what. Now he guts it, right? It's got to be gutted at some point, he's not eating the intestines and other chattal. But when exactly does the creature get gutted?

Top of his class at the White Spire, staring at this slightly skinless nug without a damn clue in the world of what to do next.

How did the man survive? Solas watches, almost mystified, that this is not only the man that's summoned him and bonded him in place, but one that has supposedly survived on his own for a good deal of time. At least, for however long his wife had been deceased. No wonder he wanted to bring her back if he couldn't manage skinning and gutting an animal.

His gaze doesn't leave Strange though he wonders how helpful he should be. Being woken early and dragged from his plans had made him far less receptive, but watching this was getting to the point where he'd rather take the nug from Strange's hands and do this himself.

"How is your dinner coming along?" he asks eventually, deciding to settle on that.

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