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New Year...

...Same Old Hinterlands

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, the first days of the new year find 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.

STILL WITH ADDED SNOW.

1. SHOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT

You have turned the wrong corner in the snow, forded the wrong stream in the snow, crested the wrong hill in the snow, entered the wrong cave in the snow. Maybe you are far from camp, in the snow. Maybe you are in camp, which is also snowy. Whatever has happened, wherever you are: you are being chased through the snow by bears. Did you throw a snowball at the bears? Are they huge and snow-dusted? Babies burrowing through the snow drifts and coming for your ankles? Fade-touched in addition to snow-touched? Controlled by cold mages who are hiding in the snow? Popping up out of the snow like a game of whack-a-mole? What are they chasing you away from in all of this snow? What are they chasing you into, other than more snow? What warm things do you plan to make out of their hide if you kill them in the snow? What do you think they'll craft out of your hide if they kill you in the snow? P.S. It's still snowy.

2. WE TWO HAVE RUN ABOUT THE SLOPES

Farmers have been forced to abandon their homes after a series of vicious attacks by wolves. Packs of them are roaming the foothills and stalking paddocks and even roads seemingly without the usual wariness of humans. Inquisition agents and local volunteers guard travelers through the affected region, hunt the wolves through snowy woods, and track them back to their cavernous lair in the edge of a canyon. Only eliminating the demons that lurk there will free the wolves from their influence and allow the area to return to normal.

3. AND PICKED THE DAISIES FINE

Winter snows freeze and bury the ground, but the need for healing herbs is as great as ever. Stockpiles are thin after the chaos of the last year, and Corporal Vale is desperate enough to send people out to search caves and hollows and cliffsides and beneath overhangs for any plants still clinging to life. The weather is brutal, the search tedious, the footing often treacherous, but that last patch of Crystal Grace could be a key find. Getting it requires clambering up a slippery hillside and stretching up to a ledge and hoping whatever creature lives in that foxhole beside the plant isn't at home, but it's worth it, right?

4. WE TWO HAVE PADDLED IN THE STREAM

With many roads through the hills and ravines blocked by deep snow, some crazy, desperate few have begun traveling by river. The ice is thick and jagged along the shores but in the center the water rushes, just deep enough for a shallow draft boat lightly laden. Supplies are carried down from the passes toward Redcliffe this way, a white-knuckle process that you, for some reason, have become involved in. Maybe you were hired to help fend off the bandits that haunt the calm shallows and try to demand tolls for passage, maybe you're paying your way downstream by helping port both boat and cargo around the steep falls, the mist so thick and cold it coats whatever it touches in a thin sheen of ice. Maybe riding a glorified canoe through rocky rapids and narrow gorges just sounded like a good time. Don't rock the boat!

5. WE'LL TAKE A CUP OF KINDNESS YET

It is still snowing, and the tavern in Redcliffe is still the closest and warmest place to duck into to wait it out, and not only is it packed to the gills but it seems that the First Day celebrations have continued within long past the dawn of the second day. The Gull & Lantern is so packed with thawing visitors that it's hard to walk from one side to the other, the owner has given up on telling these Fereldans they can't bring their dogs inside, every few minutes the group in the corner breaks into a traditional First Day song that will be stuck in your head for weeks, and that lady in the corner is almost definitely someone you've tried to kill before, or vice versa. But there's a fire going, and the bartender seems to think that giving everyone half-price drinks might prevent a brawl instead of causing one, and there aren't any demons indoors, so it could be a lot worse.

6. WILDCARD

Hunt game in the snow, kill demons in the snow, dig under the snow for herbs, track bandits through the snow, deal with someone charging extortionist coat prices now that it's snowing, fall off a deceptively tall rock into the snow, 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 in the snow, climb trees or abandoned towers covered in snow, rummage around in empty homes to get out of the snow, run from a dragon in the snow, cry over how cute that fennec fox you just shot in the snow was, set up camp and chat around the fire because it's snowy and cold, knock yourself out (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your ~~Frostback Mountain~~ oyster, topped with snow.

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[Ferelden-born Seeker, avid loyalist to the Chantry and the Divine. Uptight, straightforward, stern, honourable. From a family line of templars of some mild renown. Brackets or prose hit me.]

4
Of course supplies still have to get where they need to, and people, of course, still must rely on trade for their own survival, but while arguing with one of said traders on the icy bank of a river, Malcolm is beginning to think these people have let the snow addle their minds.

"Ser, you cannot possibly think traversing these waters will net you anything but a loss of your life. If they must get where they are going, I suggest requesting the help of carts and horses from the Inquisition or even your fellow men."

The Inquisition, after all, as much wants to help the people in the area as it does want to focus on the bigger picture. The merchant is not having it. What a fool. And this has nothing to do with not wanting to get anywhere close to the edge where the ice finally melts off into swiftly running water in the centre. Of course not. Who has a problem with water? Not Malcolm, never. Why did he agree to go on this little mission again? Oh right because refusing would show weakness, silly him.

"Ser, I ask again for you to reconsider, but should you depart, I can grant that I will keep this side of the embankment clear of bandits and unsavoury lots." On horseback, he should be able to keep up, so long as the small vessel doesn't crash itself into icy shards and shred apart. Help.

6
He has more important things he could be doing than playing guard, but the day is quiet, he's out not far from the way to Skyhold, spending time honing a few of his skills. One can never practice too much; it's not practicing enough that gets one into trouble. Malcolm is still deeply troubled by the waves the formation of the Inquisition has made in a negative sense and hopes more of his brothers and sisters will come to their senses and heed the word of the late Divine.

It's almost a form of meditation, he's come to realize. Going through the motions of a punch, the follow-through of a knife's edge, or the pull and release of an arrow sets his mind at ease, body occupied with what it already knows so that he can worry internally at other matters.

But there are enough dissenters, and bears, and demon-possessed wolves, and bloodmages, and renegade templars around that keeping an eye out for potential troublemakers isn't going to hurt anyone. Should someone or something approach, whether it's a shadow in the trees, the crunch of a foot in snow, or a cloaked figure, he whirls to, arrow drawn, aim true. "Who goes?"

even wilder card
[feel free to bother him or flirt with him or flagrantly diss the chantry or spar or whatever with him]

Ever since the Rift had dropped her in the middle of this mess of a land, Ariadne was quite frequently the shadow in the trees. Something about living among all the foreigners had forced her old, Alastrian instincts to take over. Ironic, considering the fact that she'd worked so hard to control them.

Ironic, considering the fact that she was no longer Alastrian.

She'd just jumped from the branch of one tree to the next when the Human caught her attention. The way he was skulking about made her leery and she fully intended to avoid any contact. But evidently, he'd heard her.

Which meant she needed to make it very clear, very quickly that she was a harmless little girl with no secrets whatsoever. A surprisingly easy game for Ariadne to play. She had an unassuming frame and a gentle, girlish voice.

"No one," she called, dropping down to a lower branch noisily and intentionally clumsy. "No one important."

The arrow drops lower, though it's still tense on the bow. No one important, he scoffs at that, but doesn't otherwise comment about it. "What are you doing in the trees?" Spying, perhaps? On him or the Inquisition? Or just a young woman playing where she shouldn't be?

"Climbing," she replied. Which was absolutely the truth.

A rare thing from Ariadne, but she saw absolutely no reason to lie.

Hooking her knees around the branch, she dropped backwards so that she was hanging upside down for a moment. Completely exposed and vulnerable. Obviously unarmed, although that wasn't strictly the case.

The string of the bow finally relaxes, arrow pointed at the ground. Ready to lift again at a moment's notice, but for now, she is apparently not much of a threat. Just odd. "And why are you climbing so far beyond Skyhold's protection?" More or less beyond. It's probably still safe enough, but out here by herself?

"The trees there aren't the same," she replied, grabbing the branch with her hands and slipping her legs out so she could easily drop to the ground.

Ariadne was hardly an imposing figure. Five feet and two inches, with a long, brunette braid that fell to her hips. Despite having a relatively woman-shaped body, there was an odd mismatch in her. Almost like she was really just a child playing pretend.

It was what she'd trained herself to do.

She offered the stranger a bow. "Anyway, it's less crowded here. Better place to think."

"I'll grant it's better to think here. It's calm." His gaze wanders up through the trees again, across the snow, seemingly admiring the area. Though he gives the impression that he hasn't necessarily stopped watching this little bird. "Seems more arrive at Skyhold near every day. At this rate, we might as well declare it a city in its own right. Trade tents for quick ramshackle houses to be better built when funds and materials allow."

"That would be wise," Ariadne said. "Although you mustn't make them out of wood. Wood burns far too easily. One wrong cooking fire and you could lose everything you've worked for."

Sadly, she spoke from some experience there. Refugees were common enough back home.

And without meaning to, she felt the pulse of the shard in her hand. It was, of course, completely imagined. But it was hard to ignore. Especially when she started to think of home.

She shook her head. "What's your name, milord?"

"I think there is plenty of stone around, or plenty that the dwarves could gather, to make some basic homes, but it would be a long effort, yes. What there is will simply have to do for now."

It's a far cry from the shining palaces and villas of Orlais where he trained, different from the Ferelden villages and Templar training facilities where he spent some of his youth. But he has no complaints--none that he would say aloud. Too many live in even poorer state, after all.

At her question, he sets arrow back in quiver, bow slung over. Gives a short bow, originating around the shoulders, quick but respectful, even for her unknown or presumably lower status. He would never have been good at the Great Game. Orlesians...so strange. "No lord at all, but Seeker Malcolm Reed, at the Inquisition's service. And what of the lady?"

"No lady," Ariadne replied. Although she could pretend, she could feign the bearing and dignity when she needed to. "My name is Ariadne of Valeria," she said, her fingers twitching around the shard again.

It was always a little unpredictable. Introducing herself as a Rifter. There were some people who were very kind and compassionate. They empathized with her plight, being so far from home, with no way back in sight. Others treated her like a curiosity, which she didn't mind so much.

Still others treated her like a monster.

Malcolm Reed had kind eyes. She hoped he wouldn't fall into that category.

There is, however, hesitation, sorting through information (does he know of a place called Valencia where someone like her could plausibly be from, she is fussing with her hand). "You are not from around here, I presume."

He's heard the tales. People who have emerged from the breaches, whole people who have not shown a trace of demonic possession. Who have knowledge of such fantastic things clearly otherworldly. And damn if there's nothing in the Chant that speaks specifically of what to do in a situation like this.

If Lady Cassandra has deemed them fine, then he will also. "Are you treated well within the walls? No mishaps, I hope?"

Ariadne shrugged up one shoulder to her ear. "How could I ask more of people who are suffering?" It was, perhaps, a tad bit saccharine, but it was Ariadne's way. She did wish some of the people would stop looking at her like some sort of terrible beast. But there was nothing she could do about it.

Not yet, anyway.

"I have all I need," she continued. "Although I do wish I could be of more help. But I'm neither a Mage nor a...what was the word? Templar? I'm just me."

A talented spy and a thief. Well, no. Not a thief. Thieves had bad intentions. Ariadne never did. She just...borrowed things. From time to time.

"Or, and here's a righty shiny idea, we get on the foutu raft with 'em to make sure noth'n and no one goes overboard, get everything downstream, help them unload when they make port and get paid. Like we're supposed to." Why Seeker Squinty can't do anything but argue the point is beyond Mal- a little river ford'n ain't ever hurt nobody.

Well.

Ain't never hurt nobody he weren't paid to hurt while ford'n the river. But the river itself! That didn't hurt anyone.

Except the guy that drowned. That was. Right.

Point is, this needs do'n, they need to get it done before they freeze and Mal's had just about enough of all this haggl'n. "C'mon, Seeker. This'll go quicker if we just take the ride along and make sure no one gets shot."

His pride insists that he not explain why he's so nervous to board a relatively small vessel in rapid, freezing, if rather shallow waters. And if he's pushed enough, he may make the bad decision to board it with Captain Reynolds. He levels a look just this side of exasperated at the man. "I can also make sure no one gets shot from land. These horses are used to the snowy grounds of the Hinterlands, after all, and should have no trouble keeping pace if you aren't being reckless. You do know how not to be reckless, I hope?"

"If you gotta I won't stop ya, I just think we oughta get this done so this gentleman can get himself and his wares outta here before the weather turns f'the worse." It ain't the sea, he ain't got the same long horizon and sky to tell him when things are about to go rough. It ain't the creak'n of Serenity that speak to his bones; but there is a familiar grey tinge and bite to the air he knows better than to ignore. "Jayne'll stick with you on the shore, I'll stay on with the Merchant, D'accord?"

"That sounds perfectly agreeable if you really think this is a better plan than putting his wares on a wagon and shipping them in a much safer fashion," Reed sniffs. He's never been a seafarer, so to be fair, he defers to Reynolds on matters such as these. Is it his fault he'd prefer a modicum of caution here?

"They're already on the boat, we don't got time to move 'em and we ain't gett'n paid by the hour." Otherwise, by all means, he'd be happy to lug around these boxes for the rest of the night. "Mount up, Seeker. We're push'n off- that means you git. Git, Jayne. Mind him."

He repeats the Order in Orlesian, nudging the Mabari with his boot- Jayne sighs and sloughs off to stand with the Seeker.

"This isn't about our payment, need I remind you." But alas, the captain IS about payment. And so, of course, is the irritated merchant.

He does not, of course, try to pet the warhound. In fact, the dog is given a bit of a look. Jayne doesn't seem to get along with anyone, much less Reynolds, but so long as he doesn't wander off or get underfoot... He gives a little bark of an Orlesian order himself, if that's what the dog responds to, as he mounts his snuffling horse. "I'm not fishing you out if you tip over."

It might be a lie. Depends on the situation.

"Maybe not for you. We good?" To the merchant, he hops on, his dog sort of minds whatever business Mal tells him- and minds Seeker Squinty even less. Soon enough they're push'n off and work'n their way to the middle of the stream.

S'gonna be fine. He's done this plenty.

Well.

Sorta.

Honestly, so long as the dog is out of his way, he's fine. It's not that he doesn't like dogs, or mabari, but...Captain Reynold's has a bit of a history. Of being a little shit.

Clearly takes after his master, that one.

Reed takes the time they take maneuvering to scout out ahead, along the snowy land and not on the ice thank you. Maker forbid he start seeing debris float by, then he'll know they tipped over.

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Test Drive Meme!

Malcolm Reed | Star Trek | native

6 (Hi, hi, it's Wizera!)

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