allthisshitisweird | Test Drive Meme!

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Test Drive Meme!

No, Seriously, You're Never Getting Out Of Here

Maybe the Inquisition sent you, maybe you came seeking the Inquisition. Maybe you fell out of a rift into this world last week and are still just trying to find your feet. However it happened, early fall finds you in the Hinterlands. Tucked between Ferelden's massive Lake Calenhad and the icy Frostback Mountains, the Hinterlands are a hilly region covered in patchy forests and small farms trying to eke out a living between the boulders. Though somewhat remote, the area is rich with game and minerals and home to Redcliffe, a bustling town on a busy trade route.

Lately the Hinterlands have also been full of mages and templars and rifts, all threatening to turn once-peaceful countryside into a dangerous warzone. The Inquisition has set up several camps and sent personnel to try to restore order to the region, unwilling to let it slip into chaos. There's a lot to be done, some of it straightforward killing bad things, some of it weird and nebulous morale-building.

NOTE: We will not have an App Help/Enable Me meme this month, but anyone who has questions about OC concepts or AU adaptations is welcome to ask for assistance on the Mod Contact page.

1. WHERE THE SUN COMES UP ABOUT TEN IN THE MORNING

QUESTS COME AND GO BUT BEARS ARE ETERNAL: You have turned the wrong corner, forded the wrong stream, crested the wrong hill, entered the wrong cave. Maybe you are far from camp. Maybe you are in camp. Whatever has happened, wherever you are: you are being chased by bears. Did you provoke the bears? Are they huge? Babies? Fade-touched? Mage-controlled? What are they chasing you away from? What are they chasing you into? What do you plan to make out of their hide if you kill them? What do you think they'll craft out of your hide if they kill you?

2. THEY MOVED DOWN SOUTH OF REDCLIFFE

NICE PLACE FOR A SPOT OF CAMPING: If there were an inn, which there's not, there wouldn't be room for you in it. Traveling with the Inquisition means carrying your own bedrolls, putting up your own tents, and sleeping alongside whoever you've been told to share with--no matter how much you hate them or how loud they snore. If you really can't stand it, the alternative is sleeping outside. On the ground. With the bears.

3. AND THEY LAUGHED AND SANG A NEW SONG

Hey, there's a big, crazy light in the sky that craps out demons! Let's worship it!: Not everyone thinks the Breach was a bad thing. In the southeastern mountains, a burgeoning cult has taken up residence in Winterwatch Tower to wait patiently for the Maker to reach through the tears in the veil and gather the faithful to his bosom. They're a little kooky, maybe, but harmless, and they're happy enough to share their wine and lager with travelers in the area. The demon-spewing rift behind the Tower, on the other hand... Too bad the Herald didn't close that thing before she bit it. Watch your step.

4. NO ONE EVER KNEW THERE WAS LYRIUM IN THEM MOUNTAINS

TROUBLE IN THE DEEP: The Carta is everywhere, but it's here in force, occupying dwarven ruins in a chasm behind a waterfall. Inquisition forces have already cleared most of the smugglers out of the hold, but there's still a vault to break into, bodies to loot, and old texts to search through for anything worth adding to the Inquisition's growing archives. Also: darkspawn. Sorry.

5. AND THE SUN GOES DOWN ABOUT THREE IN THE DAY

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE: hunt game, kill demons, gather herbs, track bandits, haggle over the price of armor, fall off a deceptively tall rock, get lost circling the same hill ten times trying to find a way up to the weird glowing skull on a stick you can see is up there, climb trees or abandoned towers, rummage around in empty homes, run from a dragon, cry over how cute that fennec fox you just shot was, set up camp and chat around the fire, knock yourself out (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your ~~Frostback Mountain~~ oyster.

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1

He runs.

He runs without looking back, nearly tripping over his own two feet but never stopping, never daring to look back over his shoulder. Sharp rocks press against the soles of his bare feet, branches whip across his face as he flies by, but Sam takes no heed of any of it.

He can't remember how he'd gotten here. None of this looks familiar - not that much does, these days - and more to the point, he can't figure out where the others might have gone. Normally that itself would have been cause enough for panic. The last he can remember, he'd been curled up on the shores of the Anduin beside Frodo, cold and exhausted and grateful to be out of the blasted boat at last. Merry and Pippin were nearby, already asleep, and he'd been vaguely aware of Strider and the other Big Folk talking quietly a few yards away as he drifted off to sleep himself.

Now, it's daylight, and he's alone, and the river is nowhere in sight. Frodo is gone, along with the rest.

And it doesn't matter, because this is more important right now, and he has to keep running.

Behind him, the bear roars, the sound splitting the air and - he swears - shaking the earth itself. Sam shakes as well, turning a blind corner and crying out himself as he does. He just hopes he doesn't crash into - well, anything.

There are a lot of different kinds of running and Varric, well, he's been around long enough to know all of them from sound alone. There was the 'Sneaky Stealthy Run' (notable because of its utter lack of running sounds), the 'Battle-cry Charge', and the 'Oh-Maker-Demons', he even knew the sound of 'Scatter, Aveline's Coming!' The run he heard desperately crashing through the brush today? Well, that one was unmistakable.

'Oh Shit, Bears.'

The roar that resounded through the bush a second later just confirmed it. Maker, he was tired of being right all the time. Unfortunately, as he went to pull Bianca off his back and cast a not-so-subtle look around for the Seeker, he got a face full of small, panicked, fleeing person.

The guy plowed into him at top speed and they both went ass over teakettle down the hill toward lower Lake Luthias. Ass over literal teakettle, the guy actually had one hanging from his pack...along with half the kitchen sink if the racket they made was any indication. When they finally came to a stop, tangled up in blood-lotus and half on top of a frightened Fennec, Varric spared a moment to groan.

"I hate nature," he groused and his complaint was followed, almost immediately, by the disgruntled and far-too-close roar of a bear.

Sam had just enough presence of mind to give the stranger a shocked, offended look at that declaration. Hate nature? He'd never heard of such a thing.

But there was no time to dwell on his new companion's questionable taste. The bear roared close behind them and Sam jumped, the pots and pans tied to his pack jangling loudly as he turned to look over his shoulder.

"We have to get out of here!" he gasped, trying to struggle to his feet only to trip over the river plants wrapped around his feet and land hard on Varric with an oof. "It's got our scent now - if it catches us it'll eat us up for certain!"

Samwise Gamgee, hope is a four letter word and doesn't make it into a promise.

The inevitably is that Samwise is indeed crashing into something, or rather someone. The elf lets out an irritated shout when the hobbit runs into him, and they both go crashing down, rolling a moment until the elf is under Samwise and letting out a grumble.

"The hell are you--?" Twisted Fate demands before he hears an all-too-familiar roar.

Well. Shit.

Twisted Fate is shoving the hobbit off without a hint of gentleness, but at least he doesn't seem to be in a hurry about ditching him immediately. Instead, he's holding out a staff and throwing a burst of flames at the charging bear.

It's not going to stop the damned beast, but it'll slow down a bit.

"So maybe we should run, yeah?" he suggests hastily, completely forgetting to be bothered by the earlier crash-in.

To his credit, Sam does spot the figure before him and tries to slow himself down, but it's far too late for that, and he smacks into him all the same, sending them both tumbling.

"I'm - I'm sorry - " he stammers, even as he's shoved roughly aside. And then he spots the staff in Twisted Fate's hand and his eyes widen.

He looks nothing at all like Gandalf, but this is a wizard, and no mistake. Sam scurries out of the way when he raises the staff, ducking his head and peeking through his fingers at the wall of flame, a bit stunned.

But then the wizard is speaking to him and Sam looks up, swallowing. And he'd thought Gandalf's magic was frightening! Still and all, he seems to be on the right side, and Sam nods mutely, climbing to his feet and preparing to resume his mad dash from the bear.

"Look on the bright side: you can make it up to me later."

The mage doesn't look back towards the bear, because that might incite a bit of panic. Not that he hasn't dealt with wild life before, but it's a bit hard to deal with angry bears without someone a bit more stocky to duck behind while setting it on fire.

And suffice it to say, Samwise does not look burly enough to deal with that.

"What'd you even do piss it off, anyhow? Take its honey?" the elf mutters, shaking his head.

He's never heard the term piss it off before, but it's easy enough to understand what the wizard is asking. Sam manages to look offended even as he trips over a tree root and nearly falls.

"I didn't - do anything!" he protests, breathing a little hard as he tries to run and talk at once. "It was just there, out of nowhere, and - then it was chasing me!"

He's been wandering for hours, it seems like, but to no effect. It's time to face the truth of it: he's lost, and hopelessly so. The rest of the Fellowship had vanished without a trace, and for all his calling and begging one of them, any of them, to find him, there hasn't been a single reply.

Sam sniffles, trying not to cry. Crying won't do him a lick of good, and he knows it. Yet he's cold, and tired, and hungry, and the sun is starting to set. He can hear wolves howling in the distance, something closer crashing through the underbrush, and he shivers. He'd come all this way, just to meet his end lost and alone in the woods!

There's a faint glow up ahead, and Sam moves towards it almost without thinking. There's no real hope of it being one of Strider's campfires, but with the sky growing darker by the minute, it's as good a thing to head towards as any.

The outer edges of the Chargers' camps were always watched over; the men were famous, or infamous, enough to occasionally need to protect themselves from forward scouts, encroaching bandits, travelers that might turn tail and find a local banorn to report mercenary presence to. So the closer Sam came to the camp, the more easily he was spotted by two pairs of eyes settled halfway between him and the campsite.

One glowed faintly in the moonlight, like cats' eyes.

"State your business," one of them called as he stood, unsheathing a sword as he did so and taking a step forward. The owner of the glowing eyes was thrown into silhouette relief against the background glow of the campfire; an elf, with a bow at the ready, though not aimed at Sam just yet.

The closer the first man came to the hobbit, the easier he was to see, all armor and caution, dark eyes narrowed down at the little man with what looked like half a kitchen hanging from his pack. His blade was lowered when he caught sight of the look on Sam's face. A refugee, headed for the crossroads maybe? He didn't look like a dwarf, not any one that he'd seen before, at least. "At ease," he called back over his shoulder, then made a gesture that sent his partner back toward the camp. He lowered himself to one knee after that to be able to look Sam in the face. He lowered his voice. "Where are you going?" he asked quietly. If Sam didn't even know where the hell he was, then it was almost certain that the poor guy was another one that fell out of the rifts.

Elves with arrows are familiar enough. Sam stops, eyeing the elf and his companion warily and wishing Legolas were here with bow and arrows of his own.

But he's too exhausted and too scared to even reply, and after a moment, the Man dismisses the elf and drops himself down to eye level. Sam takes a step backwards, still watching him - the stranger doesn't seem to wish him harm, but then, he is a Big Person, and there's just no telling.

"Nowhere much," he declares, which is true enough; it's hard to go anywhere in particular when you don't know where you are at all. He tries to make himself sound much more careless and brave than he's actually feeling, though the worried look in his eyes probably gives him away. "Ain't trespassing, if that's what you're asking. Don't want any trouble." His gaze drifts past the Man, trying to see where the elf had gone.

Krem's brow hovers upward subtly at the tone. Forced, covering fear that the little man doesn't want to reveal. He can't blame him for that.

"Not trespassing, no. This isn't actually anyone's territory that hasn't passed on of late. But we're stationed here to keep the fighting from encroaching on the last of the farmland here. Dunno about what else you're carrying, but from what I can see, you're not about to lay siege to Dennet's fields."

He stands and looked back at the camp, where there were several of his men crowded at the edge of the firelight watching the two of them. He nods back to it and turns to start back toward it. "Come on, you look like something the bears left behind. We can at least get some food in you 'fore you have to find a direction to go in."

None of what he says makes any sense. There shouldn't be farmland here. There shouldn't be soldiers. But there should be a river, and he supposes if that can up and leave the way it apparently has, then why can't a farm take its place?

The Man stands and starts back towards the camp, and Sam hesitates, but at the mention of food his stomach rumbles loud enough to make him blush. It's true that he hasn't had a decent meal since he left Lorien, and nothing at all since waking up here...wherever here is.

And it's cold, and dark, and he's so tired...

Finally, he steps forward, hurrying to catch up with the Man on his much shorter legs. As they near the campfire and the Chargers sitting around it, he slows. It's an odd assortment of travelers, and every one of them is staring at him with great interest. Without thinking, Sam shuffles over to the side a bit. He's not quite hiding behind Krem's legs, but he's not quite not hiding, either.

At least there's a river near the other side of the campsite, if that comforts Sam at all.

Upon their approach to the camp, it doesn't surprise Krem that the rest of his men are staring at them. Rubberneckers, every last one of them, when it came to something or someone new and interesting. For the moment, that was Sam.

Krem accommodates his attempt to shield himself from that, nodding shortly to the humans they pass, picking a bottle up from a stash beside where one of their dwarven men was resting beside a small fire of his own, tipping a brief salute to one of their elves, then finally settling down in front of a tent before which a pit had been dug and lined with stones, just ready to be made into a fire.

"These are the Bull's Chargers," he says after a moment's arranging himself, a supply of tinder dragged from just under the flap of his tent and arranged to be lit. There was a pot filled with bubbling stew in the center of their camp, but he wanted to speak with Sam a moment, help alleviate some of that fear. One of the other men would be by with food in a minute. "Name's Cremisius Aclassi, I'm in charge of this bunch until the Chief makes his way back to us. Most the boys call me Krem. What do we call you while you're here?"

Sam's glad enough to get away from the staring eyes of the other soldiers, though he does give the bubbling pot a longing look as they pass. The Man had mentioned food, but it seems he has a few questions first. Sam just hopes that his answers won't decide whether or not he gets some of that stew.

The first question's easy enough, at least. He furrows his brow at the list of names Krem gives him in return. Chargers? Bull? They're very threatening-sounding names, and more than that, they're as unfamiliar as everything else here. His heart sinks a little. How had he managed to get himself so very lost?

"Samwise Gamgee, at your service," he replies, the traditional greeting coming automatically before he amends it. "But most folk call me Sam."

"Sam." Krem nods some; now he has two very distinct Sams to remember. The thought makes him smile just a little bit. He looks up when one of the other human men comes by with a pair of bowls, casting Sam a look then raising a brow at Krem, though he didn't say what was on his mind.

"Where are you from, Sam?" he asks as he picks a spoon out of one of the pouches around his waist, handing one to Sam in kind. "This is Thedas. Fereldan. You'll want to be careful walking here, the bandits are thick in these parts."

Sam takes the bowl eagerly, his attention momentarily averted. He does take a moment to look at the stew suspiciously - there's no knowing what's really in that bowl - but hunger overcomes paranoia before long and he accepts the spoon with a grateful nod.

Thedas. Ferelden. He frowns, thinking hard and wishing he'd spent more time looking at maps in Rivendell. Neither of the names sound familiar, and he feels that same worry he'd had while wandering alone, before he'd found the camp. Well, perhaps Krem has a better grasp of just where they are. Maybe he can help? The thought is reassuring, and he relaxes a bit, dipping his spoon into the bowl.

"I'm from the Shire, but we're a long way from there by now, I reckon," he replies at last as he eats. "We've just left Lorien - the Golden Wood, if you follow me, and we were heading down the River towards Gondor and - well - Mordor."

He risks a glance at Krem at that last admission, slightly apprehensive. However the Man reacts to the name Mordor, it'll say a lot.

Krem was taking a moment to parse all of that. None of it is familiar to him, and it shows on his face. Maybe Sam came from somewhere else in the world that hadn't been charted here in Thedas? Or he had fallen through a rift. Stranger things had happened in recent days.

"Sorry, can't say I do follow you," he replies with a shrug, sticking his spoon in his mouth and letting it hang there. He leans forward with his elbow on his knee, looking Sam over with a thoughtful frown. "Accent sounds local, but that doesn't mean much. You're not a dwarf, not furry enough, ears are shaped wrong for some sort of elf... y'look human enough to me, 'sides being about a foot and a half too short. You from out past the Expanse maybe?" Really he just sounds like he's puzzling it out for himself, rather than directly asking Sam all of these questions.

There aren't many who run toward the roar of a bear rather than away, but Nerva's first instinct isn't always the most common. Especially not when the Bear in question is so close to the refugee camp. With a shield nearly as tall as she was and armour that shone with careful and constant cleaning, the Templar suddenly appeared before Sam, running up towards him.

She grabbed him by the collar before he could run into a tree, throwing her shield up to cover them both as the bear reared up before them. She let go of him only to pull her blade from its sheath, blade flashing white gold in the sun.

She didn't need to know the dwarf to know he needed saving.

Out went the blade - her body twisting behind the shield to keep herself covered even as the fang lashed out, burying itself into flesh past fur and sinew, the bear letting out a blood-curdling roar.

Sam found himself hauled upward by the collar and yanked abruptly off his path, but he couldn't even complain, not really. Not when he had a close-up view of the tree he'd just been prevented from hitting as he was swung him through the air, and not when he could hear the familiar clatter of a sword being pulled from its sheath.

He turned to look, flinching at the sight of the bear rising up on its hind legs and cowering, just a bit, behind that conveniently-placed shield. For a moment he thought it might be Boromir who had saved him, but the shape of the shield was all wrong, and so, when he looked, was the shape of his savior himself.

Herself.

It was enough to make him forget himself for a moment, staring wide-eyed as the woman held up her shield and plunged her blade deep into the bear's side. Just for a moment, and then he shook himself. He could hardly stand here and stare while she fought on his behalf! He brought his own (much shorter) sword out of its sheath, and braced himself, hesitating as he tried to find an opening that would allow him to attack the bear without being squashed or ripped apart himself.

She heard the tang of the sword as Samwise drew it, though she did not look back at him. But a second blade would be useful, as even though she'd thrust the blade as deep as she could - even though the blood ran black - the bear was still standing, still roaring. She braced her shoulder against the shield and rushed forward - slamming into it as hard as she could. Even with all her armour and her shield, however, she was far less mass than the bear, and did not topple it. It was stunned enough, however, for her to pull the shield up, bearing its thighs for Samwise to stab.

"There!" She said, nodding to the opening as she kept the creature at bay.

His jaw dropped as she ran full-tilt at the bear, but she wasn't prepared to let him stand there and gape while she did all the work, it seemed. Sam snapped his mouth shut at her call, then nodded staunchly, tightening his grip on his weapon and rushing forward with a shout.

The blade went in easily, surprisingly so, and the bear roared in surprise and pain. Sam had just enough time to pull his sword out and prevent himself from being dragged along with it as it staggered backwards. He glanced briefly up at the warrior, as if for permission, and then ran forward to attack again, making full use of their - perhaps momentary - advantage.

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Test Drive Meme!

Samwise Gamgee | Rifter | Lord of the Rings

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Let's have a spot of 2, shall we?

KREEEM BRULEEEE

The kreme of the crop

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