#this is going 2 be my echo chamber now >:) hello 18 followers!! i cannot wait to get 4 notes on every post its going to be so hype | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

voidchill · 7 years

Photo

Don’t Panic | Plan It

In 9:18 Dragon, a 6 year old human is found in the Kocari Wilds. Her demonstration of magic grants her a one-way ticket to Kinloch Hold.

These events would hardly stand out if not for two facts: 1) She knows she's trapped in a video game. 2) She was 26 years old, the last she checked.

The upside: 12 years should be more than enough time to come up with a plan to survive the impending Blight. (She hopes)

CHAPTER 1

[9:18 Dragon] [Helena: 6 years old – Thedas | 26 years old – Earth]

“My men said the poor girl was in hysterics when they found her. She appears quite calm now,” Knight Commander Greagoir comments as he sidles up to First Enchanter Irving. He follows his gaze to the newest member of their Circle.

The girl sits on the healer’s cot, hair tangled about her face, head tucked down and legs curled beneath her. One of the Senior Enchanters had replaced the ill-fitting garments she wore prior in favor of one of their smaller sets of robes. Though an improvement to the gaping collar of her old tunic, the fabric swims about her still, sleeves swallowing her tiny hands.

“Children have a remarkable ability to adapt, as you well know,” Irving reminds him, crossing his arms in the loose clasp he often favored when deep in thought.

They watch the girl, a child of no more than five or six, push her sleeves back to stare at her hands. She studies the curl of her fingers with an almost disconcerting amount of intensity.

“Yes, but I’ve come to expect quite a bit more,” Greagoir’s mouth twists, “excitement.”

Irving peers at him with a raised brow.

“I had not known you were so keen for excitement, Greagoir.”

Greagoir scoffs.

“You know what I mean, Irving. Acceptance does not usually come so easily,” he points out, gaze returning to the girl. She studies her fingers still, though the purse of her lips has since deepened into a frown.

“Perhaps her complacency is borne of weariness? She must have endured quite the ordeal abandoned as she was out there in the Wilds.”

“That is what concerns me.”

Irving turns, his brow furrowing and his usual placid smile falling at Greagoir’s tone.

“Have you reason to suspect—”

“No,” Greagoir denies, before such thoughts can gain breath. The girl wraps her arms around her legs and he catches a glimpse of her crumpled expression before she buries her face in the folds of her robe. He diverts his gaze back to Irving. “The Circle’s wards did not repel her, nor did the healers uncover any wounds which might have been made by her hand. Her mind seems her own.”

“Then what has you so on edge, Greagoir?”

“Need I remind you, Irving, how my men found her?” Greagoir crosses his arms, the clink of his armor distant as his stare shifts toward memories Irving cannot follow. “I cannot understand how a mere child managed to survive where so many men have not.”

“Perhaps it was the Maker’s will that she be delivered to us,” Irving offers, gaze drawing back to the girl as Jowan sneaks toward her, the boy far too curious for his own good.

Greagoir huffs, but his shoulders fall in a loss of tension he had not realized he bore.

“To what end?”

They watch Jowan settle on the cot beside her, coaxing her face from her knees with words spoken too softly for them to hear.

“We cannot hope to fully understand the will of the Maker,” Irving reminds him, tapping at his left elbow. “We can only accept his miracles and strive not to waste them. Still,” he presses, when Greagoir opens his mouth, “I will keep an eye on her. Secrets do tend to have a way of exposing themselves, in the end.”

…

“Psst!”

Helena flinches at the quiet hiss into her left ear, jerking her face to the side. The cot dips as the young boy settles in beside her.

“You’re the new mage the templars found, aren’t you?” he asks, eyes wide and smile eager.

The boy looks young. Somewhere between five and ten. And thin, though not malnourished. His brown hair has the shagginess of childish neglect and he wears a deep, blue robe not unlike her own, though his seems to fit better. Even hunched over, she can see that he might be a little taller than her.

Looking at him reminds her of a fun house mirror.

“I heard them talking,” he rushes in a whisper, “they said you were in the Wilds.”

Helena drops her stare back to her knees.

“Were you really out there?” he presses, the cot shifting with restless energy. “What was it like?”

She resists the urge to bang her head against the stone wall behind her. Somehow, she doubts that kind of behavior would go over well with these people. The weight of those men’s gazes presses into her senses like a bruise.

“That is enough, Jowan,” the man in robes says as he strides toward them. Helena’s eyes widen. “There will be plenty of time to visit once she has a chance to settle in. We don’t want to overwhelm her, do we?”

Her stare flicks from the old man standing before her to the young boy beside her.

“No, First Enchanter Irving,” the boy, fucking Jowan, recites, hopping off the cot with his head hanging.

She watches him sulk out of the room—no, chamber—with a disbelieving stare.

“Hello,” the robed man, goddamn Irving himself, greets as he crouches in front of her.

Her gaze darts over his shoulder when the man in armor also steps closer.

Would that make him Greagoir, then?

“My name is Irving—I am the First Enchanter here. This,” Irving gestures at the armored man behind him, “is Greagoir, the Knight Commander.”

Of course it fucking would.

“Can you tell us your name?”

They must want her surname. Two possible answers rest on the tip of her tongue.

She clears her throat and bites both back, unwilling to take the risk.

“I’m Helena,” she whispers, cringing at the high tone of her voice.

“Helena,” Irving repeats, his lips curving into a small smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Helena purses her lips and offers a short nod.

“And how old are you, Helena?”

The truth rises from her chest in a vicious yearn for honesty, but she clenches her stupid tiny fists and looks down at her stupid tiny knees and keeps that truth held firm behind her stupid baby teeth.

When she looks back up, she catches Irving and Greagoir exchanging a glance.

“Can you tell us how you arrived in the Wilds?” Greagoir asks.

Helena peers up at him from over Irving’s shoulder and shakes her head with a shrug.

“I don’t know,” she admits, digging her hands into the meat of her legs.

Greagoir frowns, but Irving only purses his lips, seeming more contemplative than surprised.

“Never mind all that, Greagoir,” Irving insists, before returning his attention to Helena. “You have been through much these last few days and I suspect you could use some rest.”

“Uh, yeah,” Helena whispers, eager for privacy.

Greagoir watches her for a moment before conceding with an incline of his head.

“Very well,” Irving smiles. “You may rest here for tonight. I fear the apprentice quarters would prove too lively for you at the moment.”

“Thanks,” she offers, a little louder.

“You are quite welcome.” Irving rises from his crouch. “Now, do try to get some rest.”

Irving and Greagoir draw the privacy curtain shut. Helena watches their shadows flicker beyond the pale flaps, until they fade along with the sound of their steps. A dull creak and the heavy echo of a door falling shut. As far as she knows, she is alone.

She raises her arms and watches the heavy sleeves of her robes pool in her elbows. Again, she finds a child’s arms, a child’s hands. Her wrists remain as bony as ever, but scaled down.

“What the fuck,” she hisses on a near silent breath.

She blinks hard, but the image still refuses to resolve into something more familiar. Age regression. Of course, she has read countless stories about the phenomenon, but who actually expects it to happen to them? To awake one day with two decades of their life shaved off?

Her hands drop in her lap.

The shift in locale almost falls secondary to all that.

...

#i had these sketches of the characters #and i got bored #so here we are #modern girl in thedas #misssnazzy writes

46 notes · View notes