TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

ii help i'm crying from your narration

[rowancrowned]

A man (elf) is nothing without good shoes. And so this morning had involved visiting no less than five cobblers, being refused service by two (on the elf principal, on the this elf must be up to something if he has that much coin principal) and finally deciding on a metallic silver leather pair from one and good riding boots from another--

In short, he's been left in a mostly genial mood, a mood lending itself to mercy and kindness and a dulled tongue. Even the atrocious heat can't ruin it- the tunic and pants a concession to the weather, as is the seat by the fountain- until he is reminded where they are by a screaming human spawn and the generous action of a Man who looks as if he'd been made to eat an entire lemon, rind and all.

He goes from inspecting his nails to looking at the speaker: "Is it a Mannish habit to think you still have ownership of something, even after literally tossing it away?" Throwing coins into a fountain and acting surprised when someone takes them. Honestly.

dghsf haha thank you! dries your tears gently.

[goodforsaken]

Lex actually sits on the fountain, its waist-high lip setting him at that angle enjoyed by short people and cats. Not that he could be taller than Thranduil without opting for like, climbing gear, but the point is it neatly deters any new clots of money-throwing children forming.

"Good question," he muses, pulling his legs up to cross them in front of him and prop an elbow on each knee. He could just say obviously it can't, inasmuch as he is Mannish (human? imaginably so), but--he's exceptional, thank you. "More charitable to say it's Orlesian, I think." ...is that really more charitable. "Considering for starters the caprice is an innately Orlesian thing."

Thranduil is a behemoth of an elf; let us loosely assume Lex has enough information about the Inquisition to make a reasonable guess he is not, as they say, from around these parts. "Symbolic money," he summarizes on that account, "coins whose only value is to be thrown away."

[rowancrowned]

It's a precarious angle, the sort where a few degrees either way could lead to a toppling, but the Man is as languid as a cat and hopefully has decent reflexes-- all that fake sword fighting they do with those metal toothpicks has hopefully left something behind.

He's informative, at least, and hasn't thrown around rabbit yet. Two points in his favor.

"May I guess the game?" The elven child is already gone, and the swirl of the crowd is back as it should be, no path left from his run to freedom. He gestures as he speaks- tight, controlled, still illustrative- and the green shard in his hand should also help place him as a Rifter. "The child is in the employ of a minter, or a shop owner in the city, to whom he will return the coins- and the Man will sell them again tomorrow."