allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

TEST DRIVE: ORLAIS EDITION

I. EVERYBEAR I GO

Believe it or not, there are bears in Orlais, too. Stuffed ones posed in noble salons casting intimidating shadows as lords tell unlikely stories about how they bravely stared the great beast in the eye before they slayed it with a single shot. One comtesse keeps bears as pets in large pens on her estate, much to the distress of her nearest neighbors. But most common are the dancing bear acts found on street corners here and there. Perhaps there is some sort of special bear communication network that has passed on a message, because it seems like the presence of the Inquisition has inspired these bears to finally make a break for it out of servitude, and that is how you find yourself being chased by a bear in a belled hat down a narrow cobbled alley lined with street vendors.

II. OUI OUI MON AMI

The Inquisition's efforts are currently focused on Orlais, where a civil war is raging and intelligence indicates Corypheus seeks to eliminate Empress Celene, while the oppressed elven population's discontent threatens to bubble over into a second rebellion. The Inquisition's activities here are mostly political and designed to gather influence and information: endeavoring to make a good impression at the ball of an influential comtesse with ties to the Council of Heralds, or assisting with the reconstruction of the alienage district destroyed by fire. There are rowdy soldiers in taverns to eavesdrop on, and restless crowds listening to streetcorner speakers preach Celene's virtues, or Gaspard's, or lament the end of the world.

But honestly, who cares about any of that? Halamshiral also offers great high-end shopping. Priorities. Gowns, tunics, fur-trimmed cloaks, sleeves slashed and puffed with layers of bright-colored satin. Tall boots with gold spurs to clink as you walk. Veils, lace-trimmed smallclothes, perfumes, necklaces worth your weight in gold. If you have the coin, the shopkeeps have time for you. The slightest whiff of poverty will leave them cold toward you. They might even pretend not to see you, but hey: they work on commission.

Even among decadence and finery, there are signs of unrest. In an out-of-the-way village square, little Orlesian children gather to throw thick gold coins in a gilt fountain, with whispered wishes and giggles. All at once, a thief pushes his way into their circle, breaking the idyllic scene. He leaps into the fountain and grabs a handful of coin. Thin, dirty, ragged, hollow-eyed and, under the hood of his cloak, elven, he scans the now-screaming children -- and then takes off running.

“Stop him!” howls one precious Orlesian cherub, her rosy cheeks streaked with tears. “That dirty knife-ear took my money!”

Kids are just the cutest.

III. SKYHOLD

Skyhold is where people who don't like fun accents and life being a constant masquerade hang around repairing walls, filling out paperwork, and, on rare occasions, engaging in elaborate, color-coded team snowball fights.

That last occasion? Totally over. Now the Inquisition will see you work, work, work, work, work. Working to save Thedas is not all fun and games, and there are plenty of things to keep you busy in Skyhold. See that roof over there? It has a hole in it. Climb up, someone suggests, and fix it. See that hole over there, in the wall? Some drunk from the tavern fell through it yesterday, and it needs repairs. See that floor over there? It’s dirty. And here’s a mop.

If these tasks seem too menial and demeaning, perhaps you’d like to head up to the library and reshelve some books. Perhaps you’d like to meet a special friend there? The stacks are warm and cozy, and at least a little out of the way. Secret spaces are at a premium. But be careful: you aren’t the only one in Skyhold, no matter how many people shipped out to Orlais.

If warm ovens are more your style than warm books, try the kitchens. They could always use a helping hand - especially because one of the baby griffons has made its way down there. A sharp-beaked competition for your plans to pilfer snacks, but you’ll prevail, right? The griffon loves chicken, and the taste of your blood. Get her outside before she gets too comfortable.

Or just feed the dogs, you dirty Fereldan.

IV. WILDCARD

Thedas is a big place. Do something else in it. Maybe in the Hinterlands.

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( iii. Skyhold. )

There is a fearsome tall man entering Skyhold. He may even be taller than the Iron Bull, and he doesn't stand so much as loom. All the other Rifters arrived in Skyhold a good three weeks past, and this man comes with-- is that moss hanging from his hair? and lichen crawling up his boots and his trousers?

Yes, that would be correct. His beard is scraggly and unkempt, and whoever the man is, he doesn't seem to be in any great hurry to do anything.

More often than not he stands still and silent, but when he does move it is with long, slow strides. Impossibly slow, in fact. What is a reasonable pace for an ent is not a reasonable pace for a human, even a very tall one, and he hoooooms and huuuuuums as he stands outside a door. He is very tall, you see, and the door is smaller than he, and his limbs are strangely stiff.

"I do not understand this body," Treebeard says, eventually, staring at the hands he has been given, fingers splayed. "It is very..."

Edited 2016-07-24 02:32 (UTC)

"... Tall?" Shino provides helpfully. He doesn't even feel bad being loomed over so thoroughly. This man puts most all of the residents and transients of Skyhold to shame. "Are you not used to being like this?"

He makes a general motion with his hand, encompassing the moss and lichen and the overall presence of this man. Who knows, maybe he wasn't used to being human, or maybe something had happened to make him so tall. Shino's concept of what is possible in Thedas isn't fully formed.

A long, long

long

long

sigh.

"No," Treebeard finally offers, turning the hands over with a slow wriggle of the fingers. They did not sound as fingers ought. The crackle and shift of bark, the rustle of wind. How did Men endure such quiet bodies?

"Perhaps is it why Men are always wanting to be moving," he muses, speaking both to the person who had addressed him, and not to them at all. Slowly, Treebeard looks to the Man, eyes an earthy brown but shot through with bright, vivid green.

Shino finds himself almost holding his breath waiting for Treebeard to finish sighing. He doesn't, which is probably better for him, but the urge had been compelling.

Green eyes turn up to meet his in turn, openly curious and considering. Talking about Man like it's a thing here is a strange mixture of various races that he barely understands, but talking about Man like that reminds him of very different standards back home. "It might be, compared to whatever you're used to, friend. It's not the same for everyone, but I know I want to keep moving for the fact I can."

His lips pull up into a smile, pleased at this fact even five years after not dying. He's not sure how he's doing so well without Murasame, unless the glow of what's in his right hand is helping (somehow), but Shino isn't caught up in the details. Being hale and healthy is still awesome.

"What's your usual form like?"

He may take comfort in the fact that, nearby, there is an elven girl covered in mud and with leaves in her hair carrying a bucket of dirt across the courtyard. Which is to say, a kindred spirit, or at least one who might be perceived as of the same kind by anyone watching.
Noticing the very tall man's apparent distress, Sina walks up to him with a curious smile, and looks wayyy up to his face.

"Are you here to help with the garden?" she asks hopefully. He looks like the sort. She also takes note of the shard in his hand, not that it means much-- she's got one of her own, glinting out of her sternum.

"I am here to help the plants," he replies, after a time.

There is a long, slow sigh that sounds closer to breath of wind through treetops and branches than to the essential in and out of air in a man's lungs. "Whether or not they wish to be a garden remains to be seen. The trees here are not yet awake."

It is very sad. He misses the words and whispers of his brethren, of those he had known from acorn and sapling, through seasons and centuries. These trees are old, some of them, but they are not old friends. He looks at them pensively.

(He may have forgotten Sina is there. Or not. Maybe he's just thinking. )

Sina stands still and quiet and listens, not that he doesn't appear to be a human like the rest, but he is a rifter. Sometimes rifters need a bit of coaxing, and lack familiarity with the way things are.
Not to mention, the things he says are... quite intriguing.
"...how can they be woken?" she asks, enraptured. "How can you tell if they wish to be a garden?" Before she even gives him a chance to answer, she adds, "there's a tree that speaks and walks, in the Brecilian Forest. He allowed me to sit in his branches while we traveled."

"Mannish?" Thranduil offers, drawn as all elves are to works of nature. Fëar are fëar, despite outside trappings, and he is buoyed by hope for more kin, even as he is sorrowed by Arda's loss.

The Man before him certainly looks Mannish, at least, a great, giant bearded specimen of a mortal, though with a few indications of overt other-ness. The plants are one, but the uneasy way he seems to sit in his skin- that is the most obvious one.

"Mannish."

It is not inaccurate. Without looking at the source of the voice - a couple of feet below him, and yet far closer than he would normally be used to, Treebeard sighs, his brow knotted. "Men and Wizards and Elves, all so careful with their secrets."

Finally, Treebeard looks to the elf - his eyebrows raise very slowly, though the pause he takes before continuing seems more an inevitability than reconsidering his words. "I wonder if these secrets are kept so carefully, because their bodies are so..."

Hoooooooooooom.

"Delicate."

And, of course, whomever this is, they are far from delicate. It is rude, he supposes, to ask outright- but neither men nor wizard nor elf-- and certainly no dwarf. The idea does make him smile, for a moment-

"And you? You are indelicate?"

Certainly, he is something-

(The speed of the conversation is no great concern, if anything it is calming, not having to rush about.)

"The rest came from the Rift weeks ago. Why did you ... linger?"

"It's very tall," Sam offers, craning his neck up to look at the Man. "But how can you not understand it? It is yours, isn't it?" He wrinkles his brow in confusion. "Though I must say I haven't always understood my own body, specially back when I was in my tweens, and everything was changing. But you're a lot older than that - begging your pardon," he adds, (too) hastily. "Yours can't have changed very recently, can it?"

Gauvain had been watching this stranger for a while now from his seat on a nearby bench. He was going through part of his daily routine (or rather, as daily as he could make it; circumstances did not always permit it), contemplating and letting his mind settle into a state of calm. Most days he focused on his breath, the blessed in and out of life into his body as granted by the Maker; on occasion, he let himself focus on an object or, rarely, a living creature. Today he had chosen this rather tall gentleman.

There was something peaceful about his slow movements, but really, the whole point of Gauvain's practice was to find peace even in a thunderstorm. His soft gaze broke, however, once the fellow spoke, eyes going into focus at the words. This body. With all the rifts, demons hadn't found much need to possess people recently, at least in this Seeker's experience. With the sorts of company the Herald had decided to gather to their side, Gauvain had to learn not to judge so quickly; it wasn't so hard, having been judged rather harshly in his youth for things beyond his control.

He pressed up from his seat and strode over toward the man's side. Arms crossing, he took a look at the door as well.

"Bodies are rather confusing things at times, I agree," he said in softly Orlesian-accented Trade. "But making do with what we're given is very often our only option."

TEST DRIVE MEME!

treebeard | the lord of the rings | rifter. ( don't look at me. )

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YES

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looks @ u

stares @ the sky

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I FORGOT THIS WAS A THING

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