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

Lucarius Silanus // native oc

[southernson]

( cw for implied slavery...? )

I. SKYHOLD COURTYARD

It was never especially difficult to distinguish between the upper class and the low: a look was usually enough. In Lucarius' case, this was particularly true, and like most men of means he advertised his wealth in every stitch. His black surcoat was cut in the sharp angles which were all the rage among nobility in Tevinter, ornamented with heavy embroidery along the hems and sleeves and hood. White thread stood out as starkly among the black as clean-picked bones against a pool of black ink, drawing delicate vines and leaves. Here and there when he turned, the light caught gold flowers all in various stage of bloom, no larger than a fingernail. Black boots, equestrian-heeled and polished to a military gleam, and no obvious weapons made him a curiosity worth ogling rather than a visible threat, and for the most part he toured the courtyard like any other noble might.

Chit-chatting with those of the appropriate socioeconomic background, making falsely-bright greetings to Orlesian dignitaries, spectating the disasters of construction. Watching the men-at-arms at drills. The sense of his small, slight stature always disappeared when he began to speak, he was so lively a conversationalist, and on the whole he might not have been terribly untoward... but for his shadow, a black-clad, pale-skinned elf only slightly less tall who padded behind him wherever he went, mostly-mute but for when his master addressed him.

Like he did now, companionably chipper, "-- quite a shame! You know my preference for native-bred stock, but there are some quality specimens about. One can almost appreciate why mercenary slavers travel to such lengths for their goods."

The dark-haired elf, expressionless, and matched in all ways to his master like little better than an accessory, nodded shallowly. His eyes were on some guarded men near the gate and portcullis. "Of course, my lord."


II. THE TAVERN

Other men might not have been at all certain how to reconcile a pampered noble's upbringing with... the relatively sorry state of the Tavern within Skyhold. But if anything, Lucarius seemed very visibly determined to enjoy the opportunity to slum it.

He sat across a table from an archivist, his dark-haired shadow beside him and nursing a goblet of watered wine. And they were quite clearly playing a game of some kind. Lucarius, brow already sweat-filmed from drinking, leaned across the table.

"Prince Arwand de Glace!" challenged the archivist, her lowlander Orlesian accent thickened by wine.

"Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons," rejoined Lucarius... and then exhaled a raspy, surprised laugh, shaking his head at himself.

"Too easy! Empress Celene Valmont I," crowed the woman, laughing.

Lucarius grimaced, muttering a quick curse, "V... V.... There was an Empress... Vougiere? Maker's breath, I don't have one..." He lifted his glass to toast the individual across from him, and drank deep.


III. EVENING ON THE SKYHOLD WALL

The slave is gone, and he's on the Western ramparts, leaning his forearms against the stone, staring out at the last swaths of red clawing up from the horizon. The last blood-coloured moments of day, barely visible above the crags of the nearby mountains, the blue-purple of night pulling up along the sky at his back like a pall over a tomb. His nostrils flared when he breathed deeply, relishing the sight, and a cool-edged wind plucked at his short hair.

"Only a few more left."


IV. WILDCARD

( whatever you like! )