bakerstreet | Always come back

(He is a pretty stable figure to come back to, but sometimes duty calls and he needs home afterward :x)

The chance was unmissable. His first Veilguard job, without Grier's protective presence, without the almost Fledgling shield around him of just learning. He knew what was expected of him now and what he represented. He was no longer Crow, not Grey Warden, his leathers were nondescript as far as organisational ties, black and cooper, still new and stiff as he pulled it on. If he felt nervous when he left the Lighthouse, it was tempered by bubbling excitement when he kissed Grier goodbye in the privacy of their room before heading out to the Eluvians.

The Grand Necropolis certainly lived up to its name. Huge, on a scale bigger than most palaces, Illario has infiltrated, and it is overwhelming in its grandeur, too. He hadn't exactly been sure what to expect when Emmrich brought them to the gates, the carved skeletons of the departed towering over them, but Illario had felt something change when he stepped inside. Gone was the excitement, replaced by the very real sense of dread.

Calming the frenzied spirits was mostly going to be Emmrich's work, with Neve lending her magic to his efforts and Illario offering protection. He had been sure he'd been up to the task before the whispers started.

Murderer

Usurper

Kinkiller

Murderer

It didn't stop. Bitter and twisted, whatever spirit followed them deep into the catacombs, and it was only on the second night, when sleep evaded him, that Emmrich felt the disquiet of more friendly spirits.

"Dear boy, why didn't you mention anything?" he'd said, banishing the spirit of one of Illario's past victims to some further edge of the Necropolis and giving Illario some respite.

It helped. It didn't make up for lack of sleep or the uneasiness Illario felt for the rest of the trip, the feeling of being seen and judged never quite leaving him. It made the fight against their target all the more complicated, trying to protect both mages from several skeletal constructs while the whispers persisted.

Neve could get out of the way more often than not, but Emmrich, who had the more demanding job, seemed not to be so lucky. Illario did what he could, all of them walking out the other side, but with various bruises, cuts, and damage to their egos.

The return to the Lighthouse was more subdued than he'd imagined, with more cats returning home after several days away than triumphant heroes. He made sure Neve and Lucanis, and Manfred and Emmrich were reunited —it seemed the least he should be doing.

Grier had suggested this mission as his first "unsupervised" -- where he or Lucanis wouldn't be looking over his shoulder -- because it was not necessarily an easy one? But Neve and Emmrich would be the best to get along with while acclimating to what is frankly a dizzying setting. The Deep Roads were one thing but the Grand Necropolis somehow made the underground feel even more endless -- with places even making him forget there was no sky above him. Emmrich knew his way around like the back of his hand, was gentle and nonjudgmental, and had a certain way of making even the impossible feel commonplace and simple. Neve was pragmatic, a wiz with magical locks (especially helpful as the Venatori and even their remaining hangers on had a tendency to hole themselves up in places like this, seeking magic to plunder), and tended to see things for what they were.

It put his mind at ease while he dove into work in the South (strange still to be in places like Starkhaven and suddenly surrounded by people that sounded like him). It meant he wasn't worrying the whole time, never doubting the three would take care of each other.

But he also knew it wasn't going to be a simple job. And more to the point, not everyone sipped from bottles of healing potions like an addict the way he got in the habit of doing when he was carrying Varric with him. So he should not be surprised to find visits to the infirmary were needed.

And yet...

"Illario?"

There's something deeply calming about the infirmary. It's cool. It's dark. There are no windows to the unsettling Fade beyond. Most importantly, it's quiet. The voice isn't murmuring in his ears now, isn't haunting him, and for a little while, he can almost pretend it never happened at all. It was just an unfortunate incident in the Necropolis, something that only could come to pass because one of his marks from years ago had been interred there.

Why did it feel like there was still an echo, like a door left open a crack, the noise from another room just audible but removed. Muffled. And he doesn't want to strain to catch it, because he's afraid of what he might hear.

The sudden noise of the real door opening makes him jump, twisting on the narrow camp bed to face whatever apparition from the Fade appears. Thankfully, he doesn't knot himself into the sheets, but he heart is beating harder than it should be.

"Grier!" Relief floods his voice and expression. He sits up, forgetting the bruises, bumps and the soreness of his ribs, and smiles at the other man. "You're back. How was Starkhaven?"

Emmrich is the sort to bear up rather well and had already tended himself rather thoroughly, but he did not let Grier go before suggesting he look in. Suspicions that Illario was likely a little worse for wear, poor fellow, but he bore up rather well.

But something usual also took place. The necromancer hesitated to make any assumptions, but he would welcome the warden's assessment.

"Better than much of the Free Marches right now, all things considered."

He thankfully has enough of himself together not to immediately rush the man and start fussing as soon as he sees him. But he also isn't blind and very calmly sits to rooting around for an elfroot potion and a few other odds and ends. Clean water. Bandages. Rags. The beginnings of a proper cold compress.

He bet that he could find some fresh basil in the kitchen, too. But that could wait.

"I can see you were very busy yourself."

Illario smiles, even if it pulls the bruise on his jaw uncomfortably. But that doesn't matter, because Grier is there and despite seeming tired he looks well and whole. It makes all his aches pale in comparison.

Shuffling to sit up a little better, he reaches to take the other man's hand before Grier can fuss too much, before he can get too engrossed in bandaging wounds that don't need it.

"I'm alright, amore. You don't need to worry. I came in here for the quiet, mostly."

He brings Grier's fingers up to his lips, pressing a brief kiss there, enjoying the simple fact Grier is here with him. He doesn't need much else to feel better.

But he does still have that little unsettled feeling flitting around inside, and perhaps Grier can help with that.

"What did you think of the Grand Necropolis, first time that you went there?"

"That it made me hate stairs," is his immediate reply. Which in itself could have lots of connotations, the fact that there seemed to be unending new levels but also: it's not hard to imagine that a man who struggles with jumping probably fears falling more than the average person.

And he is going to worry, even as that reassuring (and distracting) press of lips to his fingers warms him with a return to order, to this baseline where they are both (home) and all is quiet.

Because he sees rising bruises. A cut or two that has stopped bleeding but can be cleaned and tended. And what is the point of going to ground if not to recover?

"I imagine that hurts some," he remarks to one bloom in particular. "It's going to hurt more and then itch and hurt before it starts getting better, especially with how close it is to the bone. The faster the process the better, dear."

"There was a lot of those. Emmrich seemed to think they'd moved which is not something I thought staircases were known for doing." Illario says, happier to talk about that than the odd voices and the sound of shifting sand that seemed so oppressive. He would run up a humdred sets of stairs to never hear that again.

Just thinking about it seems to summon the noises again and even if he knows it's probably just in his head he talks to ensure he doesn't need to listen to it, trying to prompt Grier into more of a conversation.

"I didn't realise it would be so big. But of course what have I to compare it to? There's no such thing as a Necropolis in Anticlva, unless you mean the ancient elven ones."

He falls silent as Grier points out the ulgy mark Illario can already feel throb on his cheekbone, spreading up to his eye-socket. It will no doubt look all the worse in the morning.

"You want me to take a potion, don't you? I don't suppose I can talk you into just kissing me better?"

"It's not just the stairs that move; whole levels will shift around, or even go somewhere else altogether." It's the closest to the Fade you can get without being in the Fade itself; not surprising it is the ideal place for spirits to mingle with the living. "Wouldn't be surprised if at least some the time there is a search on for Venatori and other thieves, it is not even that they have stolen away; it's that they cannot find their way out again."

Which is another way that it makes sense that they seem to root themselves down wherever they have staked a claim. There is no guarantee if they spread out too much that they will always find their way back to something they have passed.

It occurs to him he is not especially certain how Antivans handle their dead. Emmrich's obvious curiosity regarding various cultural practices is infectious.

"...I can do both," he says with a smile. "If I can find some fresh basil, I can make something to bring the swelling down more." Before throwing in a little potion -- which just makes the process go faster, not go away, that way the bruise doesn't break through the skin on the way to healing.

"Personally that seems a very good way of ensuring that any thieves or interlopers never get out again. It would be a very good deterrent if they made it more common knowledge." Illario replies, although the whole concept of things moving around so freely makes him somewhat alarmed. Thankfully, it isn't something he'd ever come across in the buildings the living used in Nevara.

Murderer
Murdere-
Murder-

He shakes his head free of the voice rasping and hollow as it is, coming from some part of his brain and certainly not the Fade he's surrounded by presently.

"Are you planning to cover me in pesto, amore?" He says, trying to be nore light-hearted than he feels, forcing himself to smile a little as he takes the potion flask from Grier and sips at it. It doesn't taste very pleasant. Potions never do.

"Now I need the kiss. Something sweet to chase away the bitter."

Emmrich's suggestions are still fresh in his mind. That serves as enough of a distraction that Illario is taking and drinking from the flash before he can stop him. "W--" Sigh. "Well, not now."

Hurriedly, he wets a rag, wrings it and his fingers play briefly over it, weaving little wisps of magic to bring the temperature down. Not to freeze but still considerably cooler. He gently brings it to rest over the more rapidly growing and repairing bruise.

"I know it's cold but to help the swelling stay down. Healing potions just speed up the process but it's still going to hit all the stages. I just don't want it to raise too much and break the skin." A smile he hopes is encouraging. "Basil is an old remedy too; I used to forage it to treat bee stings when I was a child."

Of course, he should have waited. But there is a part of Illario that is forever rushing into things without necessarily thinking them through, and that is the case now. Truthfully, he did need the distraction, but he didn't mean to panic Grier into rushing, either.

"My apologies, bello." He says, and he does mean it, turning his head slightly so that Grier can press the wet cloth where it's needed- sucking in a sharp breath as the chill hits his skin. He makes himself breath through that first shock of cold, closing his eyes just while he gets himself under control. He hates being cold. Hates hates hates-

Murderer!

"Mierda!" His eyes fly open again, heart skipping a beat and he swallows. He can almost feel the worry radiating from Grier now and he touches his hand, trying to ground both of them. "I'm alright. I'm alright. Just wasn't expecting the potion to feel so intense. That's all."

A moment more, the voice back to an undercurrent, hardly there at all.

"We had basil in the kitchen garden. Amongst a lot of herbs ypu really don't want to eat. Part of our training was picking them for salad. And then eating it."

Of course Grier had an understanding of poisonous plants to avoid as a child as most children in the country would -- if there are not chores or games to play they are inevitably going to be finding free things to eat; it just made sense to teach them what they should avoid. But it was nothing like that Illario describes.

It is also enough to distract him from asking about what Emmrich brought up right away, because this is more important.

He has maintained, gently, that he sees parental things in the figure of Illario's and Lucanis' grandmother. But there is also no excusing much of what the two have described of their childhoods, in small doses. To make clear there are more gruesome tales under the surface.

When he was younger it is the kind of thing that would have made her an immediate enemy. And he does defend her a lot less, if his actions can even be called that. Perhaps now he is just much more aware of how parental figures can do very evil things and still somehow love, in their own warped ways. And that the children they harm can have very complicated feelings about them as a result.

Given what Emmrich told him and the shift in this subject, it does give him a worrying pause.

Lucanis would have said if a letter from home had come through with bad news.

A question sits on his lips for a moment, then he lets it go. "That is terrible."

"It's certainly one of the reasons I don't enjoy salad. I'm always wondering- is this lamb's lettuce or blightweed?"

Illario hasn't meant it to be something that Grier concerned himself with over-much. Their childhood isn't necessarily a happy one and nothing can fix the damage done, but they still have lives to live and relationships to repair. Especially he and Lucanis. Illario can't bare to deal with Caterina even now.

The cold compress is doing it's job, easing the swelling of the bruise as Illario's body goes through the accelerated healing brought about by the potion. Not just the nasty bruise the compress covers, but a few of the smaller ones, a couple of the scrapes and knocks elsewhere on his frame.

Instead of saying any more he just leans a little closer, pressing himself up against Grier and cclosing his eyes to breathe him in.

"Have you been to see Neve and Emmrich? Did they... how do they think I did?" He sounds like a Fledgling, he knows. Waiting for a report from his Masters and hoping it will be a good one. Emmrich is a professor, his assessment probably sounds exactly like a school report but Neve... he doesn't know her well enough to understand what is biting scarcasm and what is truth.

Grier settles on the side of the cot to get his arms around him, now that he's less concerned he will exacerbate something.

"I promise salads tend to remain optional at meals here, if they are present at all." Something to inspire quiet confidence and just a touch of levity.

Though now that he considers it, Lucanis never made them either. Everyone wanted something cooked when they settled down at the table.

At the question, he raises an eyebrow to himself, smiling against Illario's hair.

"Neve had nothing sideways to say, and Emmrich could see you take your role very serious and praised your adaptability." ...About that. He strokes his back. "Illario, I have a question. Emmrich said you were being bothered by a spirit or two down in the Necropolis. Does he mean you saw a few or were you hearing them?"

"There are much better vegetables and Lucanis knows it." Illario agrees in a soft mutter, keeping his face turned into Grier and not worried if his voice is somewhat muffled. Grier will be able to understand what he's saying, or at least the gist of it. But he appreciates that Grier isn't taking too serious a tone with him.

He missed him, just the sense of him around the same space, the gentle brush of fingers when Illario passes him a mug, the shape of him bent to his research. They weren't apart for long, but it seemed like it. Strange, considering when he was with the Wardens they were apart weeks at a time. Now? Even three days seems too long, and it's worn Illario down more than he'd realised.

"I was expecting a terrible review from Neve. I'm almost ashamed she didn't tell you on the second day I didn't retouch my eyeliner." He did, although between the lack of sleep, the fights with rogue undead, it had smudged before midday. Not that it was possible to tell when it was midday so deep underground.

He takes a slow inhale, the scent of Grier's floral soaps and the parchment that seems to cling to him helping make him feel like he really is home. Even if the reminder of the haunting is a little distressing.

"Both. I saw them until Emmrich banished him. And after that, I only heard him. Hear him. I'm sure it'll pass."

"Him." Not a question, but he is noting there is enough of a specific presence in mind. Someone he was either familiar with before, or at least that he could single out now.

Grier is working with more limited knowledge with regard to spirits in this world than someone like Emmrich would have, but he still feels mostly like his feet are on the ground.

"If he says they are banished, I trust that they are," he says carefully. "But it would make sense that it is staying with you. Was it someone you knew?"

There's a low groan, almost petulant. He's used to a debriefing of course, but with Caterina it woukd be the second they got back to Treviso, injured or not. With Evka and Antoine, they'd wait till the worst injuries were tended first. He supposes that is very much what Grier is doing, tending them so he can make sure Illario is alright, but getting the details he needs at the same time.

Which is very smart, but all Illario wants to do is hold him for the momwnt, not invite the voice back by talking about it. Unfortunately, Grier is asking questions.

"I didn't know him. I had a dossier on him. A mark, some Nevaran lordling that upset an Antivan merchant prince."

Murderer
Murderer
Murder-

"It wasn't even a remarkable job."

[tends to be located in and abouts the edo period, japan, but given the nature of the shuuga no mine he can pop up literally where/when ever. Other times, other countries, other universes, hell, maybe even other planets. The wanderer, obviously.]

[ open to either role. ]

( ooc | any interest in eileen here from silent hill 4? not sure of the logistics, we can assume they met through one some strange way. )

[ aw i love eileen! i'm down to seeing how well they gel! ]

( open to either role, ota cross-canon/medium. )

( most likely to be the one waiting. )

( can be either role, ota cross-canon/medium. )

Always come back

Dorian Storm | Critical Role | OTA

nicole demara ( zzz )

navia ( genshin impact )

topaz ( honkai: star rail )

mualani ( genshin impact )

lumine ( genshin impact )

march 7th ( honkai: star rail )

vanitas | the case study of vanitas | ota

Xiao Xingchen | The Untamed

Grier "Rook" Thorne | Dragon Age: The Veilguard | OTA

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Ri!Kusuriuri | Mononoke (2007) | OTA

fenris ( dragon age 2 )

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malcolm reynolds — firefly

Vax'ildan | CR: The Legend of Vox Machina

eileen galvin — silent hill 4

Rey | Star Wars | OTA

Cassian Andor | Rogue One | OTA

akito sohma — fruits basket

jayce talis | arcane

Matsuno Chifuyu ( Tokyo Revengers )

Crow Hogan ( Yu-Gi-Oh 5Ds ) OTA

Belphegor ( What in Hell is Bad )

Togame Jo | Wind Breaker

Kuroko Tetsuya ( Kuroko no Basuke )

Belial | What in Hell is Bad?

ao bing | nezha / nezha 2

Obanai Iguro ( Demon Slayer / Kimetsu no Yaiba )

Tamaki Amajiki | My Hero Academia | OTA

Miya Chinen | SK8

Asta ☘ Black Clover