Just a bit chilly

[furtive_heroics]

A man grumbles at the cold. He always grumbles at the cold, here. Everyone does. There's no escaping it. You can wear the warmest clothing possible, sit by a roaring fire, and still the cold bites. It doesn't numb, either, you'd think that after a while you'd just go numb - no. It's not that kind of cold. The victim shivers and curses and bundles up with a thousand layers and still it's so cold that it hurts. Almost everyone here travels from tiny insufficient fire to tiny insufficient fire to insufficient and drafty bar run by a terrifying dragon, trying to stave off the cold. It never works, but it makes it slightly less torturous. And cursing and grumbling at it always helps.

He is not staying here any longer than he has to. He is not going to fucking stay here, no way. He's been through too much to languish as a sacrificial lamb in the eighth circle of hell while an archdevil goes on a rampage. Cania's for traitors. And he's not one. He was loyal until the day he - well, not died. Was banished. And he doesn't deserve to be here.

He'll find a way out. Eventually. And then someone's going to have a very bad day.

But he's not thinking about that right now. He's thinking that he's pretty sure some vital parts are going to turn blue and fall off from the cold, so he's picked the warmest of his available frigid options to try and plan his next move. He'll take the bar with the dragon. He opens the door -

...

And this is not the bar with the dragon. It's much, much warmer.

His head screams trap, but he can't bring himself to close the door and walk away. Inside he goes, shivering. Warmth.

Comments

[subtly_artistic]

"Oh, it's probably real, I'm just not sure why your distinguishing criterion is detail."

[furtive_heroics]

"With the illusions I'm used to on Toril, it was the little details that were where you saw through it. Repeats in little things that wouldn't repeat in ordinary circumstances, or logic that didn't quite make sense while your head was all fuzzy and you stopped to think about it, or - I mean, I don't have a lot of experience with it. I'm not an expert on the subject. But I keep not getting tricked by the few illusions I've been up against, so it seems to work okay." Pause. "Unless of course this is an illusion, and then I will have my words with a side of mead to drown my sorrows."

[subtly_artistic]

Snort. "It looks like extraplanar studies people got a little too creative near the supply closet, not an illusion. There's no motive for it to be an illusion, anyway. Toril's your plane?"

[furtive_heroics]

"Mhm. Bit of a mess, and you can't walk anywhere without tripping over something bizarre, but it's home." And currently having an archdevil problem, that's great. "What about yours?"

[subtly_artistic]

"I'm not sure if it's got a name besides 'Prime Material'."

[furtive_heroics]

"I bet it does. Everyone thinks their plane's the main one until they go to another plane and get told that the people there think theirs is the main one."

[subtly_artistic]

"I haven't gone into enough thaumatology to say if there's a good reason to call mine that."

[furtive_heroics]

Shrug. "Might just be easier that way."

[subtly_artistic]

"Maybe. There's worse reasons."

[furtive_heroics]

"There are!" Sip. Delicious cider. Gosh it's great to pretend that everything is normal and that his world isn't in peril. For a little while.

....

Ugh nevermind now he has to work to go save it, that's his home. Smalltalk to find out what she has, do not mention the archdevil. He will have exactly zero helpful people if he says that he wants to stop an archdevil.

"So um, I'm Veron, my job description seems to be adventuring now because I keep tripping over adventures and handling them competently. What do you do?"

[subtly_artistic]

"I'm a subtle arts major, sophomore year."

[furtive_heroics]

"Subtle arts?" he asks, because the only subtle art he's ever heard of is the art of cheating at cards without getting your teeth knocked in.

[subtly_artistic]

"Maybe you call them psionics or something? Not a technical term, but whatever. Oh, and I am not reading your mind, I don't have that problem."

[furtive_heroics]

"Oh! Psionics! Yes, I know what those are. Okay. Thanks for not reading my mind, I appreciate it." He is good enough at controlling himself that he doesn't scoot away, and - well. He's fought mindflayers. Mindflayers. Walked into their base and then said, 'Why no I do not want to give you the magic thing you want instead you can go straight to hell' instead of not doing a stupid crazy suicidal thing like that. A psionic in college is kind of - not as scary, in comparison.

(Though he prods at the mental techniques The Seer walked him through for resisting mind tampering. Up they go. Safety.)

"Is it a specialty school or something?"

[subtly_artistic]

"No, there's non-subtle-artists there too."

[furtive_heroics]

"Huh. Cool. Good luck with it." Pause. "... I technically never graduated from my school, did I, huh."

[subtly_artistic]

"Couldn't tell you."

[furtive_heroics]

Snort. "Be a bit creeped out if you could."

[subtly_artistic]

"I don't blame you. But you are not a volunteer practice subject, so."

[furtive_heroics]

He considers.

"I don't mind being a volunteer practice subject if you need the practice, I could use the practice on the defensive side too. Keep the mindflayers on their toes if I have to fight more of them."

[subtly_artistic]

"That's not usually the kind of practice I'm assigned, but I guess it probably wouldn't hurt? As long as this is, like, shield defense and not offense-is-the-best defense."

[furtive_heroics]

"Shield defense. I'm not trained in, uh, subtle arts offensively. Just defense. A bit shoddily, too, we were kind of in a rush. And I wouldn't stab you or anything."

[subtly_artistic]

"Right then. What do you want me to try to do?"

[furtive_heroics]

"Uhh. I'm not sure. What can you do?"

[subtly_artistic]

"Read surface thoughts, read memories, knock you unconscious, it gets a little more not-so-much-for-practicing from there?"