〔 W.D. GASTER 〕 @voidata // the acheron ; limbo.
—✕ █ ▌Were he in better spirits, he'd comment — and sarcastically so — upon the FALSITY the calmness the river provides, yet he is still in shock even as he's deposited upon the shore. A TERRIBLE FATE —— that makes sense to him —— but his surroundings and their nature are not what the lay sisters sung of. The Maker didn't judge him. No one did.
What is this place?
Whatever it is, it is sickening, HELLISH — though he does not complain. Eyes distant as if in a dream state, chest pulsing with the Fear Demon's wounds ever still. An idle hand wanders over a gouged abdomen ... and feels nothing. Is there a special place in the Fade for those TORN APART within the Maker's realm?
He walks away from the now departing Charon, footsteps slowing with every step. Planks of wood creak under his movements, the weight of the docks squeaking as he takes a seat upon an upturned barrel.
❝Are you planning on sitting there ALL DAY?❞ A voice calls. Loghain lifts his eyes to gaze, perhaps mournfully into those of a rather small demon with perhaps too many teeth.
❝What are you going to DO about it?❞ The old Warden snorts with a tilt of his head and a wrinkled nose. ❝KILL me? I'm already dead.❞