TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

What if there is no tomorrow?

Only more 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 AND NOW ALSO ADDED KINDNESS TO ANIMALS (MOSTLY).

1. IF I GET SCARED, YOU'RE ALWAYS AROUND

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. THEY SAY WE'RE YOUNG AND WE DON'T KNOW

The Inquisition has, possibly, been a little too good at dealing with the Hinterlands' bear problem, and a group of concerned citizens--including young burgeoning naturalists, farmers concerned about the effect an unchecked population of rams may have on their crops come spring, and at least one woman who claims to be directly descended from bears--has taken issue. Maybe they're blocking your character's attempt to enter a bear-infested area. Maybe they've doused your character in bear blood. Maybe the bears they have been working so hard to save have cornered them in the wilderness and they're changing their tunes.

3. WITH YOU I CAN'T GO WRONG

The Inquisition's (cough Leliana's) habit of communicating by raven works out fine, usually, but this particular raven has gone a little rogue. It's not the raven's fault! She's young, she's trying. But she has very important information tied to her leg, and instead of delivering it, she's joined a flock of identical wild ravens to hunt for food in the snow. Recover her, somehow, without hurting her and making any spymistresses angry.

4. BEFORE IT'S EARNED, OUR MONEY'S ALL BEEN SPENT

The tavern at Redcliffe remains as busy as ever, filled with locals, travelers, and Inquisition members. But this month in addition to the usual free-flowing ale and rowdy conversation there is also a contest going on. Bakers have come from across the Hinterlands bearing their very best in an effort to win a coveted ribbon and the title of Best Cake. They pack the tavern and spill out into the surrounding courtyard when the weather allows, cakes sold off tables, out of packs, small chunks given away to whoever is passing and not paying enough attention to refuse. The votes are carefully guarded by several serious looking fellows in the back corner of the tavern. In addition to traffic issues, the cake madness has also caused an infestation of large local rodents, who have appeared out of their holes to devour the many crumbs. Legend has it that if they can be humanely eradicated from the tavern before the final vote is cast, spring will come early. No one in living memory has succeeded, but you are strongly encouraged to try anyway.

5. AIN'T NO HILL OR MOUNTAIN WE CAN'T CLIMB

Hunt game so you can rescue it before other hunters get there, kill demons or maybe just try to hug it out?, dig under the snow for herbs or plant some of your own to replace what others have taken, track bandits through the snow and see if they need a hand, deal with someone charging extortionist coat prices now that it's snowing and convince them to do the right thing, fall off a deceptively tall rock into the snow and admit it was your own fault, 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 so that you can give it a decent burial, climb trees or abandoned towers covered in snow and be careful not to knock them down, rummage around in empty homes to get out of the snow but leave a nice apology note, run from a dragon in the snow and promise not to trespass on its territory again, definitely don't kill any fennec foxes, set up camp and chat around the fire about your feelings because it's snowy and cold, give yourself a pat on the back (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your playground.

Comments

thranduil oropherion || the tolkiens

[rowancrowned]

1. It was disconcerting, to feel the cold at a greater degree than he ever had before. His cloak was warm enough to protect him, the white fox fur of his collar shielding his cheeks from the worst of the winds. His hair, secured under the hood, did not whip about in the wind. The circlet of his office, silver and set with some white, shining gem, was cold against his forehead.

Was this what a mortal felt, then? Was this why they could not hear the song of the earth, nor educate themselves, or think beyond their own needs? It was certainly an excellent theory as to why Men were as they were.

Even his lips were chilled. He wanted the warmth of some hot drink—he wanted a chance to step inside, but the armored Man had told him to stay here, and he had full intention to pull an explanation out of someone as to where he was, for this was like no Mannish city he had ever seen.

A sharp, elegant, utterly careless gesture—well practiced, one might summarize—called the attention of one person walking by. “Hail. Might you tell me where there is mulled wine to be found?”


3. [ she is shy, and the weight on her leg confusing, stymieing her flight. worse yet, she does not speak the language of her sisters in arda, and thranduil has no other avenue than trying out words, slow and careful, until she does understand.

but she is clever, of course, she is a raven, and his praises as to the color of her plumage and the curve of her beak were not untrue.

thranduil stands below her, arm out in the traditional falconcer's stance, forearm offered as a new perch, a better perch. she caws, once or twice, shifts- and he thinks he has her, only for the door to the barn to slam shut, and she to flee to a higher rafter in fright.

thranduil turns on his heel, sharp and quick, addressing the intruder with little sympathy in his tone, and less measure of patience. ]

Your carelessness has cost me the work of half an hour.

[ never mind that he's had-- literally hundreds of thousands of those, and an uncountable number remaining. ]


wildcard.

make ur own or pm for a specific prompt.

1

[laurenande]

Redcliffe was, in the way of many human settlements, strangely named. It boasted a large but unimpressive looking fortress, off in the distance, but was neither red nor had any cliffs that she could see. The town was little more than an array of little buildings; each was tidily kept and well built, but made of terrible wood sheltered beneath questionable thatch. To walk through Redcliffe was to trudge through mud and watch as the architecture soaked up the snow and damp. The buildings would crumble within two decades; it was nearly enough to make Galadriel frown.

Fortunately, the fate of Redcliffe's simple cottages was driven from her mind fairly quickly. She stepped into the yard between the buildings she caught sight of Thranduil, his arm half extended in gesture. Before him stood a human, arrested in place, staring at him in the most peculiar way. His expression was some combination of offense and shock, as if one had tried to wipe the other away and both had gotten tangled together in the process.

It was a look Galadriel had received on more than one occasion and, ultimately, one that she felt exemplified how it was to be Eldar in Thedas.

"I would suggest speaking with elves whenever possible," Galadriel said as she strode toward them. The human's eyes darted between them, still caught in between both expressions, and he shifted away. Snow had already begun to pile atop his shoulders and head. A glimmer of panic danced in his gaze, as if he expected they would attack him, and Galadriel turned her attention to Thranduil instead.

"I have found the men of Thedas are rarely very helpful."

[rowancrowned]

His attention shifted from the Man to Galadriel in a moment. His fingertips brushed his breast, he bowed by a measure of scant degrees. The gesture ought to be familiar to her—it was the same he had greeted her with so long ago, when he had been but an elfling, and she newly arrived in his birth city to meet Melian.

He performed it with much more grace, now. Still, it told her all she might need to know of his mood—displeased enough to be in one of his more fey tempers, the sharp side of his tongue freshly whetted.

“My dear Lady.” He caught her hands in his own gloved ones, and gave a light squeeze. A friendly enough greeting for cousins-by-marriage, and carefully without royal overtones. “I find Men unhelpful as a whole excepting a few, but I have seen no kin since arriving until you. I cannot feel any fëar beyond yours, and then only barely.”

He himself felt… floaty. Nauseous. Thranduil cocked his head, affected a smile. “Do you imply you know where I mind find something to thaw the ice from my ears?”

The Man, of course, was wholly useless to him now—and had been unhelpful too boot, rendering him unworthy of future attention.

[laurenande]

Watching him offer silent greeting felt somewhat surreal. It was a simple gesture, made with ease and a sharp, telling sort of grace. It had been barely any time at all since she had been in Lorien, mere months since she had last been greeted this way, and yet the familiarity of it, however brief, made her take pause. The human beside them was alarmed and drew himself tall as Thranduil's attention shifted from him; when Thranduil took her hands, the human began to make his escape, backing away from the both of them gradually. The leery look he leveled at them persisted until he was well and truly out of sight.

"I do, though I suspect you may find it wanting," she replied and drew a hand free to gesture at the largest building in the small town. "Come, and once we have chased away the chill, you must tell me how long you have walked these lands."

This situation should not have been as strange as it was. It had been some time since she had last spoken to him, at least in person, but not so long that she should be stunned by the very sight of him. To find him here was odd, truly, but not without precedent. She had not been so staggered by Samwise Gamgee--or perhaps she had. It was hard to recall how she had felt; the hobbit had charged straight into her and nearly toppled her over as he embraced her legs.

Galadriel moved alongside Thranduil and remained there as she ushered him toward the "Gull and Lantern". The tavern was, perhaps, the least perishable of the buildings in Redcliffe. The windows were lit gold and red, welcoming as and warm as the firelight within. The doors were open and the snow drifted away as the heat rose up around the roof. It was not until they arrived that she realized she had not released his hand.

"I have met many elves in this place, though they are...removed from themselves." She released his hand and immediately felt as though he had moved far away. The distance that yawned between them, even as it did not, was fairly disconcerting. "I cannot sense their fëar at all, but we are not entirely alone in Thedas."

[rowancrowned]

He did not offer her his arm in replacement—the situation not formal enough to need it, and while he was in a foul temper, he was not that poorly to remove his hand so rudely. If Galadriel had answers, she would share them, or they would spar verbally until the edge was taken off and he might pry them from another source. No point in denying her what amounted to comfort.

“Not long.” A quick glance to the sun—assuming it moved similar to Arda’s, he would measure “—perhaps six hours. I—stumbled upon whatever this place is to find myself fighting what I can only term dark shades, dispatched them, and found my presence… requested by the Man who found me.”

He raised a brow as they entered the tavern, glancing at Galadriel. This is where the Lady of Lorien would go to drink? This is the best this Mannish town can offer?

“Like unto the Avari?” He had some Penni in his kingdom, though most married outside that group, and no purebred elflings of that group had been born in an Age or two, to the best of his recall. He listened to the conversation in the tavern—eavesdropped, in truth, but it was in his favor to gather as much information as quickly as possible. “The Man with his law on the floor, he acted like he had not seen an elf before. Pray tell why that was.”

3

[harthad_uluithiad]

[ He jumps back, startled, his eyes wide. ]

B-begging your pardon!

[ The elf is tall, taller than the elves he has become accustomed to seeing here in Thedas, but between his surprise and the dark of the barn, darker still after being out in the sunlight, Sam does not quite take note of that at first. He hesitates, staring at the Elf and trying to figure out just what it is he had managed to ruin. ]

I - I didn't mean to, honest I didn't! I - I could help, I can put it right or try to anyhow. I could -

[ He looks around again, still at a loss. The Elf doesn't seem to have been working on anything that he can see. ]

...What were you doing, anyway?

[rowancrowned]

[ it is impossible to be mad at a hobbit. indeed, thranduil- regret is not the right word, for the elvenking does not regret- would have been less sharp, had he a chance to redo it. all he can do now is wipe the anger from his face, and calm the halfling to the best of his ability. ]

'Tis I who must beg your pardon, child of the Shire. [ and he bows in apology, an incline of his head. ] I thought you to be one of the Men bumbling about- stinking of drink.

[ thranduil cuts his rant short, and steps closer, to have a better point from where he can gesture to the bird, high in the rafters, the sunlight coming through the rafters turning motes of dust into sparkling glitter. ] She is frightened, and, whilst not in pain, close to panic. The tube about her leg is new to her. I seek to calm her, and remove the tube.

[harthad_uluithiad]

[ But Sam misses Thranduil's patient explanation entirely. He stands stock-still, stunned into silence for one in his life, and stares.

He knows him.

He knows him for a hobbit, and he'd barely even blinked to see him there. ]

You're - you're an elf!

[ But that's not enough. There are so many elves here, and he expands on the exclamation immediately, his words tripping over themselves now in his haste to get them out. ]

You're a real elf! You're from Middle-earth! You -

[ He realizes what he'd said, and claps a hand over his mouth. Real elves they all are, of course, but, well, there's elves and there's elves, after all. And this one looks nearly as elfy as Galadriel.

He lowers his hand, craning his neck to gaze up at Thranduil, wonder in his gaze and his voice a mere whisper. ]

- You're from back home.

[rowancrowned]

[ clearly, the bird can wait, for the hobbit is in a worse state than she, and thranduil is able to prioritize. he smiles, reaches to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear, highlight the point. the rings on his fingers glitter, the room is warm and bright as if filled by unfiltered sunlight.

thranduil appreciates the need for theatre, and is certainly not above using it. ]

I am indeed an elf, master Hobbit, and we are both of Arda, though I am of Mirkwood, and you the Shire.

[ he's not too interested in giving the poor little thing a heart attack, so he sweeps over to the stacked bales of hay, and sits, smoothing his outer robe to keep it from wrinkling. ]

Will you not sit with me, and talk? I long to hear the story of how you came to be here.

[harthad_uluithiad]

[ It's better than anything else he could have said - all those words that remind him of home, so strange and unfamiliar to anyone else in Thedas save Galadriel, said as easy as anything. Sam gazes up at him, stars in his eyes. It speaks to just how overcome he is by the Elf's presence that he doesn't even hesitate when Thranduil invites him to sit, but follows close at his heels, unwilling to stray too far away.

But Thranduil's question hardly registers; he's still caught up in something else. ]

Mirkwood? [ His eyes go wide. He's never seen Mirkwood for himself, nor does he ever wish to, if half of Bilbo's stories are true. But the other half, of course, had been filled with elves and dragons and wonderful things, and Sam looks up in awe even as he perches on the edge of a bale of hay, legs dangling off the edge. ] Are you from Mirkwood, then? Were you there when the dwarves all got locked up by the elves - when Mr. Bilbo broke them out? Oh - [ He claps a hand over his mouth suddenly, eyes wide with alarm now rather than wonder. Once again he'd said too much. ]

[rowancrowned]

[ his expression does not betray his inner thoughts- he is far, far too old for that, so all sam receives is a knowing little smile and the blandest of replies. ]

Indeed, I was present, though not for the escape. That I learned of only after.

[ very shortly after, when galion had come to inform him and he had realized that all his attempts to keep smaug slumbering had failed. damnable hobbits. though this one certainly seemed more docile. or so he hoped. ]

Bilbo Baggins. I suspect all the young hobbits- hobbitlings?- enjoy his tale very much. I have been told life is very quiet in your Shire.

[harthad_uluithiad]

[ He doesn't seem mad, at least, and Sam's shoulders sag in relief. He doesn't want to be the one to give Bilbo away, even this long after it had all happened. ]

Oh yes! Why there's not a child in the Westfarthing what hasn't heard of Mr. Bilbo's adventures with the dwarves. As for quiet, why I wouldn't ever have said so: there's always something going on in Hobbiton, and always those willing to tell you just what it is, and who it's happened to, or because of. But there's nothing that compares to Mr. Bilbo's stories of course; and nothing compared to anything I've seen, from the moment we set foot in the Old Forest!

1~

[felsendesalters]

Loki's observation upon his arrival was that there was a clear division between the peoples of this world, that some were superior to others. It tended to be normal, unremarkable, humans who placed themselves at the top of this imagined hierarchy that they clung to so desperately.

It was shocking really, though that seemed to be the way of human behavior, lost creatures that killed one another in droves. How they could be at the top of the food chain here, or anywhere, was a mystery.

Loki had been treated with the same sort of dismissive, mild neglect all because he carried a scepter and looked like one of their mages. He was learning, he was learning quickly, where his place was on their list of concerns...not that they shouldn't be concerned, but the presumption of it all drained the good humor right out of him.

It was time to get it back.

And to the man who neglected to answer the elf's question Loki conjured snakes at his feet, this was one of his favorite pranks to be honest. People were easily put out by creatures that slithered on the ground and the man was no different.

As soon as he noticed that his feet had been beleaguered by serpents the fun began...the screaming, flailing, and scurrying about as if he'd been lit aflame? It brought an unrepentant smile to the sharp features his face.

"He seems to be...in a hurry," Loki said in a low, indistinctive voice, waving his hand after he'd had his fill to dispel his illusion, "...a shame he could not be more helpful, though perhaps I could be of assistance."

[rowancrowned]

At first, he held his tongue, watching as the man fled—frightened, but not harmed. The serpents were only illusions. Thranduil drew his conclusions rather quickly. Capricious, enjoys cruelty—possibly not a Man, for all he drew the form about himself. His bearing suggested a wealthy upbringing, his clothes supported that—but if he was a ‘rifter’ as Thranduil was, it pointed instead to an astute mind with ambitions to amass resources quickly.

“I had thought to request you return those from whence they came. They would not survive the snow.” He did turn to address him, give him that much respect—and pulled the hood down from around his face, to bring to light the color of his hair and the delicate tips of his ears. The white fur brushed against his cheeks, and made his hair seem more gold than silver in contrast. “Could you? I have seen no … sorcerer of this world weave craft as tightly as you, which names you outsider to these Men. Yet they have trusted you with their wine?”

[felsendesalters]

Or perhaps Loki just liked to bring the party at the expense of others, practical jokes were up his alley after all. So was cruelty for the greater good, or his greater good...there was a grey line in there somewhere, to be perfectly fair, and absolutely ambition.

He was also reasonably, though not abnormally, tall, and more curious than that...the cold did not seem to bother him, as though it glanced off of him. He wore no furs, no cloaks.

"As they came from me it is a problem...easily remedied." Loki, for his part, stood there, ramrod straight, feet together, arms folded behind his back giving off all of the appearance of perfect posture and yet there was something about the way he stood that was like a caricature of the act.

If it weren't for the pointed ears the man before him would vaguely remind him of the Asgardians of his world as fair as he was dark, Loki was a counterpoint to everything their society valued, but fortunately he was not of Asgard, he was an elf...and one unlike any he'd seen before, "now that would be a cold day in Valhalla, my friend, and I doubt they would know good, robust mead from swill. I have means, however."

Dishonest means, but if these other worlders had no intention of welcoming them with proper hospitality then Loki had no intention of wasting away while he waited.