bakerstreet | the i n s o m n i a meme

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the i n s o m n i a meme

the i n s o m n i a meme

It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they?

i n s t r u c t i o n s

• Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
• Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10.
• Have fun!

o p t i o n s

01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet.
02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.
03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it.
04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them...
05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort.
06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help?
07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on.
08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them.
09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you.
10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Most comfortable? A dagger or sword, something that allows for maneuverability, particularly against our more girthy friends in the keep.

[ And he has no issues stabbing these red templars in the back from the shadows. It seems like he'd be putting them out of their misery, truth be told.

He nods to his steaming cup and smirks. ]

I also have a few other tricks. I'd ask if I should keep magic use to a minimum, but considering you've already told most of your fellows what I am, I can't imagine a bit of fire would shock them too terribly.

You'll have your pick from the camp, something should be to your liking, I think.

[ He nods along. ] It will be primarily my companions there; most of the Inquisition agents stationed in this area are busy elsewhere. It will be difficult, but seems the better plan all things considered.

[ A quiet pause, then: ] I appreciate your willingness to do this. It won't be forgotten.

Nor have I forgotten the efforts you went through for a deadly creature alone in the snow in the middle of the night.

[ His smirk twitches a little higher, but seems softer somehow. He imagines that for the Inquisitor, dealing with every battle, every fight, every matter that crops up must seem an uphill battle.

May it not crush his spirit in the end, like so many before him. ]

[ His brows raise in surprise, and then his own expression softens into a smile that seems almost shy. ] I cannot say it was the wisest course of action, at face value, but I'm glad I could help.

[ Sheepishly he swirls his tea, seemingly just to give him something to look at other than the man across from him. ] Dragons in this world are more known for wanton destruction and consuming livestock than anything.

[ Wise? Perhaps not. Certainly kind, and worth repaying for that. Kindness is a thing in short supply, no matter the world, but it's something he senses is simply in the elf's nature.

And kindness deserves repayment, when it can be done. ]

Mm. They were not so different from our progenitors, then. Little more than beasts, until they were granted sentience and power by those who wished to see the world properly defended.

Of course, they were as flawed as any such creatures could be. They placed their affections foolishly. They envied, they fought amongst one another, they fell to despair and madness. Some longed for power and inserted themselves in the politics of mortals to manipulate affairs to their liking. And some, like my father...

[ He lets out a snort, mouth thinning. ]

I think the world at large would have been grateful if some minor property damage a few devoured herds of livestock had been all he was capable of.

But I digress. I think I've had my fill, and if you are ready to begin preparations to take the keep, I'd be happy to accompany you.

[ Curiosity almost claims his attention again, but Lasulahn remains focused - though resolves that perhaps he'll take Wrathion up on the offer when they have less pressing things to attend to, and ask more about his world. For now, he just listens and nods. ]

They sound much like man, in that regard.

[ He rolls the scroll back up, and replaces it in his pack, then moves to gather the breakfast he had brought along, simple though it was. ] We'll go to camp, first. You can meet my companions, and find a suitable weapon for yourself.

[ As he stands, he shuffles a little in place, looking rather sheepish. ] Ah- two of them in particular are quite keen to meet you. I apologize if they ask anything untoward. They mean well.

Of course.

[ He's not quite as impatient with such things as he once was. Years among mortals have granted him a measure of patience about such curiosity. He can only imagine how very curious these new allies must be.

Reaching to straighten his coat, Wrathion gestures ahead towards the stone steps. After you, Inquisitor. ]

[ Returning to camp, Lasulahn calls attention to his several companions, gathering them round to introduce Wrathion. Most of them are mercifully reserved in their greetings, and Cassandra brings up the topic of assaulting Suledin Keep before Sera gets a chance to ask if she can ride Wrathion in his dragon form.

Lasulahn pulls the same scroll from his bag to roll it out on a table. He brings up the points that he had discussed with the Black Prince, gaining high ground in the courtyard for the sake of Sera and the mages, and perhaps Varric.

When they are decided in their tactics and making final preparations, Lasulahn gestures for Wrathion to join him at a small stack of long crates and upright weapon racks. ] There aren't many, but perhaps once we get back to Skyhold, we can see about something more suited to you. Harritt is our main blacksmith, he can craft just about anything.

It is appreciated. I've been able to craft my own weapons in the past but...sadly, I'm a little lacking in resources, as of late. With the proper reagents, perhaps.

[ But a pair of daggers catch his eye, and he tests them out, flipping them casually before catching them again in the air. Good balance, good weight.

Yes. These would do nicely. ]

Quite the interesting group of friends you have, there. Does that woman always look like she's five seconds from gutting someone, or am I just lucky?

Oh- yes, we should have access to most of what you need, at least. The Inquisition has found several sources for fairly rare materials.

[ He watches as the other picks out his weapons. ]

Oh, Cassandra? [ The Inquisitor tries not to seem too amused at that question, but he can't really help a small smile. ] No, that's how she usually is. You'll know if she's displeased with you. It gets worse. [ Even sometimes when she's reading her novels- but that's a guilty pleasure they both share, and he won't spoil her secret. ]

I hope I never have to know what that looks like, then.

[ Smirking, he turns back towards Lasulahn, the daggers slipping into place at his side with a flick of his fingers. ]

Hopefully a new keep by night's end will improve her mood.

It's quite frightening, I assure you. Imagine being faced with it after waking up in shackles and not knowing where you are or what's happened.

[ His smile widens into something almost grateful. It's nice to hear that sort of optimism. Taking the keep in Crestwood was a boon for the Inquisition. Suledin Keep should be no different. ] Yes, let's hope.

[ Lasulahn glances towards the rest of camp. Several appear ready, standing idly by and talking, though a few have yet to finish their preparations. He looks back to Wrathion. ] Do you want any potions, or need anything else?

No, this should suffice.

[ The corner of his mouth hitches upwards slightly. ]

The plan is a sound one, and we should be able to see this through without too much difficulty. So long as there are no surprises waiting for us by the end.

[ Which there very well may be, if the red templars truly have a grip on this place. But he gave his word he'd see them recover this fortification, and that's exactly what he plans to do. ]

Alright. I hope so, but we must be prepared for anything.

[ He holds a hand up as someone calls 'Inquisitor', and gives Wrathion an apologetic smile before turning to see what he is needed for. By the time he returns, everyone else appears prepared for the battle and have gathered to leave.

Lasulahn returns to his new companion, and offers a nod. ] Ready?

[ He lifts a hand in turn. Go on. Doubtless the others require his attention more, and there's little more that can be done to prepare him for what's to come. There's just the matter of doing the thing.

Which...he might be a little eager for. It's so rare for him to step in and do the actual dirty work himself, he's actually starting to look forward to it. He just needs to be careful not to overdo it. Given the ideas about magic-users in this place...

By the time Lasulahn returns, Wrathion flashes him that sharp grin of his. ]

Always. Lead on.

[ He's getting a little more used to the sharp smile, though he feels Wrathion seems... at the very least, in a pleasant mood.

Lasulahn supposes that if his night had begun with being under the thrall of Red Lyrium, and the next morning began with new allies, he would be in a good mood, too. The Inquisitor though, is far more tense than anything, brow furrowed as they begin their trek towards Suledin Keep. He responds to anything directly addressed towards him, but otherwise remains quiet. The companions talk amongst themselves, and some inquire after Wrathion or include him occasionally in their banter. One good thing about having such a diverse team, perhaps, is that new members join with relative ease. They have a common goal. There are disagreements often enough, some more vehement than others, but this morning is thankfully free of bickering.

In the last leg of their short journey, when they've paused at a landmark where an Inquisition agent is to meet them with any updates, Lasulahn perches on a rock. He crosses an ankle over his knee and brushes snow from his feet. Aside from a knit wrap that secures beneath the arch, his feet are otherwise bare.

Deciding that idle curiosity is alright while they've nothing to do but wait, the elf looks to Wrathion. ]

Are there places like this in your world? Azeroth? [ He gestures to the snow and ice around him. ]

[ They're a ragtag little bunch, that's for certain, but there are a few remarkably brave souls among them who do try to include him in the conversation as they march along. In particular Sera, the elf girl with messy blond hair, doesn't seem to have much in the way of personal boundaries when it comes to asking questions. But in truth, her blunt demeanor makes him chuckle more than anything, and if he didn't know better, he'd swear the beardless dwarf was taking notes as he answered her inane questions.

The other magic-users in the party seem less enthused by his presence. The statuesque woman with the fabulous cheekbones says nothing to him at all and seems to be trying to ignore him out of existence, and the bald elf doesn't appear overeager to speak to him either. The third mage, a fantastically handsome creature as mortals go, at least knows how to carry a good banter back and forth. He and the bullish looking man -- a Qunari, he finds out as they chat -- make for the most pleasant company of the bunch.

No, the truly unnerving one is that pale boy in the hat, who stares at him with milky eyes and then creases his brow as though suddenly feeling pity for the dragon. He's not sure where that look came from, but he quickly finds cause to turn his attention elsewhere. And then, before long, they're within line of sight for the massive keep.

Everyone seems to be settling in to wait for a spell, and Wrathion moves up to stand nearest to Lasulahn. Out in the cold like this, it's possible to notice that even in mortal form, the dragon actually seems to radiate heat like the low burn of a campfire. ]

There are. Especially to the north. They are not my favorite, as places to be go.

[ Regardless, he does still seem to be smiling, but more relaxed. As if that's simply the way his face naturally falls at rest, into a slightly knowing smirk. ]

[ Lasulahn listens curiously, wrapping his hands around his foot as though to warm it and stave of the discomfort of the cold. ]

Really? The North here are mostly warmer climates.

[ He's just about to curiously remark on the fact that Wrathion seems somehow to be giving off heat, when the reaction of some of the other companions draw his attention. Running towards them, from the direction of the Keep, is a lone Inquisition agent.

'Someone is already fighting!' the agent tells them breathlessly, as Lasulahn moves quickly to meet him. 'I think it's Michel de Chevin.' ] From Sahrnia? [ The agent nods, and points outside the gates.

The Inquisitor turns to his companions. ] Stick to the plan as much as you can, try not to get separated. I don't want anyone getting hurt if we can help it.

Let's go!

[ How much of a leader he is to them is obvious enough. For as gentle and kind as he seems, there is a resounding fortitude that for a moment makes Wrathion just a little homesick.

It's quickly pushed aside, however. His smirk widens, and the party moves forward towards the looming gate. All around, the signs of that blood-red crystal jut out of the snow, over the stone, like a spreading disease.

And true to the agent's word, there's a man in armor fighting just outside those ominous doors. Armored knights, coated in glowing red dust and eyes bulging and unnatural, take their swings at him in turns. ]

Poor fellow looks as though he could use a hand, doesn't he?

[ Lasulahn prepares himself, staff in hand as they move towards the fighting. The number of Red Templars... is less than he expected. Perhaps more are waiting inside, having drawn back in the preparation of a greater force arriving.

The Inquisitor looks to his new companion, brow furrowed and expression set in a serious look. Battle is not new to this elf. Not any longer. ]

Fight as you will, I will do my best to keep you shielded.

[ As they venture close enough, Lasulahn gestures with his staff, the crystal focus illuminating. A glyph scrawls itself beneath de Chevin's feet, a faint green-white glow that seems to coalesce around the man. A Red Templar's blade glances harmlessly off, and the display draws the man's attention as the Inquisitor's companions enter the fray. ]

[ Swiftness is the order of the day. Quick and clean. The dragon relies on speed to catch the stiff-moving templars off their guard, daggers glinting as they jab towards joints, gaps in the armor, never lingering in one place for too long.

The flutter of his coat tails behind him is nearly reminiscent of the dragon's wings, just for a moment, as he dives forward to dig his blades into the throat of one unfortunate templar...but he quickly jerks back as red crystalline matter rather than blood sprays free, and the choking gasps of the man as he crumples sound like ground glass.

Poor bastards. ]

[ Lasulahn, much like the other mages, hang back from the immediate battle, offering support from afar. With his only real offensive talent being fire, and the risk in close quarters being far too great to singe ally as much as enemy, the Inquisitor's focus remains on support.

True to his word, he shields Wrathion in the same strange glow that had protected Michel de Chevin. Blows glance off, though eventually the magic cracks and splinters eventually whether for the damage sustained or the time it has been in place - Lasulahn is quick to replace the protective magic. Even the spray of red lyrium falls harmlessly aside.

The Dalish mage holds no love for Templars, but even he does not wish this sort of fate on them. Lasulahn is quick to join the others when the last Red Templar lays dead. De Chevin is just as quick to leave to see to some other matter. As they prepare to assail the front gates (which look surprisingly fragile for the apparent remaining strength of the rest of the keep), Lasulahn checks individually on his companions, and then turns to his newest to do the same. He is a little breathless for the strain of keeping everyone shielded as best he can, but looks otherwise none the worse for wear. ] You're unharmed?

Not a scratch.

[ A cocky grin hitches into place, though his eyes linger for a moment on the elf. Managing to shield all of them like that is no small feat. There's good reason they all seem to follow Lasulahn's lead, and it's more than his calm and resolute demeanor.

There's a great deal of power in him. That...that may present opportunities later.

But for now, focus remains on breaking through to the inner parts of the keep. Arching an eyebrow, he looks to the largest of their number -- Bull, was it? -- and gestures broadly at the doors. ]

If you'd be so kind.

[ Lasulahn sighs softly in relief. He has grown accustomed to the number of companions he has - an extra, particularly one that fights within melee range, is something that will take time to adjust. For such a brief scuffle, he wouldn't normally be out of breath.

He looks to Bull, and the door, weak as it looks. The Qunari swings his arms back, ready to strike with his axe, and Lasulahn finds himself holding his breath.

The door gives way in a shower of splinters and broken, rotted planks. Cassandra and Blackwall are the first through, shields up, and Lasulahn follows close behind into the courtyard. ]

[ Wrathion, for his part, keeps low. In fact he seems to meld into the shadows as he darts under the ramparts and pillars, keeping an eye open for any templars lingering the corners, waiting to ambush their fellows and ah...

There's one with a rather large greatsword eyeballing their stalwart leader, as they proceed into the keep. Before he can lunge at Lasulahn however, he suddenly chokes on the blade extruding from his throat, reddened eyes bulging.

Wrathion slips the blade free with a brief salute before heading off again, and the templar slumps face-first into the snow. ]

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